- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas burst into good-natured laughter. Oh, he liked this one. He stood back, lifting his wounded arm--cradling it in the good one. "Mirac--you have my full approval. You are powerful, and useful. I make you an offer. Draco is the home of my people. Of the Chaos Forge. You may remain with Sentinel for as long as you wish, and share in our magic--and train, and fight--spar--with as many of our members as you want. It will be good training for all of you. And in time, if you wish--if you prove yourself further in serving Chaos--you can gain authority among us. Power. The right to create your own spawn. To help train our younger members--yes, in battle." If it refused, so be it; the Sentinel would be held responsible for it, then, whatever happened.

Speaking of whom!

He nodded to the Sentinel, a gesture of approval, even as he flexed the wounded arm in a little test. "You did well in finding this one, in bringing it here. Keep it with you, train with it further, for now. Mirac: the Sentinel guards the entrance to this cave. If anyone enters without his permission, against his command, you may both kill them. Does this sound like something you might want?" he asked, and oh, if he could grin.

Just who had made this delightful little beast-? This sword, which so loved the task for which it had been made? He didn't know; but whoever it had been, Vargas did approve of their work.

His little flex, an influx of magic in testing, seemed to do little. In fact, it improved blood flow to the limb--blood flow that had been cut off by his biology, given the open-veined nature of it at the moment. A sudden surge of acid, a splatter on the rock below, and he regarded his open wound, alarmed.

It seemed they'd need to cut this short. "Tell me what you think," he suggested, a little more hurried now. "And then I must go and tend to this."

The Sentinel remained silent, observant and attentive, and when Mirac complained but did not attack he finally began to relax a little.

Vargas's praise birthed nothing in him--no pride, no pleasure, only a distant acceptance that he had done his job well. He was already content; it added little to it. He did, however, feel that he had done well. That Mirac had done well. He was pleased with their cooperation, and he lifted Mirac to regard it.

"It is good," he said sternly, though to whom or what the topic was, he didn't specify.

The Sentinel looked to Vargas's splattering wound, and lifted one clawed hand. Nothing happened, though he tried to funnel more power into it--he wished to help. He had thought the chaos would do so. When he spoke, it was booming--deafening--impossibly loud, and for no real noticeable reason:

"THE SENTINEL WISHED TO AID, B-" He cut himself off, flinching at his own volume, and fell pensively silent.

He had no idea what that had been.

@Mirac

Vargas could've said any combination of war crimes and tea parties, and Mirac would have said yes. As long as it included fighting, Mirac's wishes and wants were filled. And he said as much. "YES!" The sword began, nearly interrupting Vargas. "MIRAC wishes to FIGHT! Yes, yes Mirac will train. Mirac will DEFEND! Mirac will prove the superiority of both wielder AND--"

Mirac choked on his words. The sword flinched, his eyes wincing in pain as Sentinel's voice assaulted his very being. His teeth themselves felt as if they were vibrating. He looked back up at the creature, a cautious squint still in his eyes. "AH! Sentinel has found a NEW weapon! Mirac admire's wielder's resourcefulness! Mirac has not considered a voice a weapon!"

He paused, momentarily, humming to himself in thought. Mirac opened his jaws and screamed. It was a brief "A", quickly cut off by spluttering and choking. He'd inhaled his own spit mid scream. Mirac swore. Repeatedly. Trying and failing to clear his throat of spit. Mirac in a battle now with a new enemy: breathing.


"speak" think

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

"Excellent!" Vargas boomed, pleased with the eldritch blade's enthusiasm--and then winced back as the Sentinel suddenly amplified like a megaphone in his head. He stumbled a little back, and when done flinching, glanced to Mirac. Mirac, too, was now LOUD: but a natural sort of volume, at least. And again enthusiastic.

And-... Choking, apparently. Does it-... Does it have lungs, then-? A stomach? Vargas hesitated briefly. "If it needs food, water, ensure that it is fed, Sentinel. Ensure that its needs are met. The next time I hold a meeting of the Forge, you are invited, Mirac. Welcome to the Chaos Forge."

A final attempt to mend his wound with magic failed, and he grunted.

"I go to tend this, now. Find me if you have need of me--and well done, both of you." He turned, then, sweeping away, leaving them to their business.

exit Vargas, probably

Mirac's praised earned a brief response from Sentinel.

"It held power," he acknowledged, indifferent; it didn't occur to him to assure Mirac that he hadn't meant to do that. He waited as Vargas spoke, but he was gathering himself for another attempt. But what could he even do-? Bar unleash Chaos, and let it do what it would?

Time seemed to slow, then. It was as though Vargas was abruptly in slow motion, as though everything had stuttered to a halt. This power does not cooperate, he observed, to himself--unaware that he'd have caught Mirac in the little bubble of paused time, as well. ...Is this eternal? Have I slowed the world around me? Or have I sped myself up? -Have I broken time? the skull-faced beast wondered, without actually bothering to react to it outwardly at all.

When time lurched forward, catching up, he nearly stumbled.

"We will return to the door," he began, and then paused--was Mirac hungry? Vargas had said to care for its needs. "Does the One True Sword made for Maiming and Murdering require food? Drink? They may hunt, if it so wishes," he offered; surely Mirac would enjoy that.

Killing things, that was.

exit the Sentinel (due to inactivity)
@Mirac