So, the description Kera'd given him regarding Dragon had not been, exactly... perfect. He'd been told that there were Gembound living in Cetus, and that Dragon led a group of them here.

For Vargas, that was damn near unthinkable. That anyone would choose to live in Cetus-... And he hadn't heard about these Gembound, before. At the moment, he was only investigating. He wanted to know what this other group did, what they wanted--and why the hell they'd have decided to live in what basically amounted to a death-toilet.

He paced through the swamp, now, a caricature of a living being, all impossible size and spindly spiderlike limbs. To say he looked horrific would have been an understatement; for most Gembound, something his bulk slipping from the mist would likely be terrifying. Nightmarish, at least.

He was pretty sure that Kera'd called him, "gross."

A soft, sickly glow--acidic green, and dim--illuminated those bits of mist around his jaws, eyes, and nostrils. At first it might've looked like a wisp, high up in the air, until his silhouette broke through behind it. But that made ti harder for him to see, as well: the fog was thick, close, as if it had just finished a heavy rain. And given the storms, right now, that wouldn't surprise me.

At length, he paused. He knew he'd not find what he sought by sight--everything was shrouded. And not by sound; the fog muffled noise. Scent was covered well enough by the stench of rotting swamp. His magicka, though--that would not be foiled. He stood, silent and impossibly tall, extending out that sense.

Despite the dim silence, Cetus thrummed with life. Vargas had to concentrate to pick through the hundreds of signals. Cave deer scurried in the distance, well out of sight. Cave spiders lurked in the ledges, and birds fluttered here and there among the trees. One of them--one of the many Hallowed Callers--was just overhead, perched high above, but he ignored it. They were native here, and he wasn't hunting; he was looking for-... Ahhh, that; yes.

There were signatures for a dozen or more Gembound, but there were two that he thought looked promising. Long. Large. Lying quiet, motionless. Both of them struck him as "lizards," and he started off toward the one that lay closer in the muck.

This particular 'big lizard' was not, in fact, Dragon. It was related to him, to be sure, but with forelimbs like Vargas' and a gurgling black ooze covering its form, it edged more into "lovecraftian horror" territory than "scarred-up alligator."

It was laying silent in the swamp, utterly indistinguishable from the black muck and water all around it, when the vibrations from Vargas's steps reached it. The creature's mind was primeval, its thoughts a dark mire, wordless; instinct drove it to slowly open its jaws, the single red eye within peering into the mist.

If Hunger felt such things as fear, it might have then. As it was, it simply observed Vargas appearing from the mist, and decided it would be in its own best interest not to be seen. Vargas was too large to eat. Vargas was large enough to eat it. It would, therefore, withdraw.

But though the creature lowered itself back into the muck, it felt the vibration of the steps--and heard the sloshing of them--draw straight toward it. Vargas stopped just in front of it, and it lay silent. There was no reason to address it; perhaps it had not yet been seen.

Vargas stared down, tilting his head this way and that. His magic said there was a creature here, but visibly, all there was was black muck. Submerged, he supposed; it was impressive camouflage, if it could stay that way.

"Creature," he addressed it, in a very demanding tone. "I seek the 'Gembound' known as Dragon. Are you he? -What is your number?" he added, out of habit (though he was beginning to despair of ever finding another 'number' again).

He was careful not to get too close. It was small, comparatively, to really do him harm--but he had no idea what its magic was, or how volatile or bestial the being might be. It wasn't that it made him nervous--but Vargas was an ambush hunter, and also, not an idiot.

Hunger heard the creature's words.

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the mud, and slowly, his jaws creaked back open. The red eye within stared up at Vargas, observing him; then the throat began to contract and ripple, vibrations pushing out a choking, gurgling imitation of speech.

"Draaaagon..." and it paused, taking a guttering breath. "Nooo. Hunger... Dragon is... the faaather. Son... of Aquarian... Children... of the Rot..." Hunger paused, its memory laboriously rolling over imagery and sound, scents, from its past.

"Seek... the dead... the mass... the rotting. Dragon..." It didn't elaborate further, seeming to think this was clear enough; in its own mind it was recalling the massive, rotting offering pile of Lessers left out for Aquarian, and remembering that Dragon often lingered nearby.

For a moment, a half-conceived idea of drawing a map in the mud occurred to Hunger, but no sooner had it scored his claws through it then it refilled with black water. It abandoned this concept at once, flattening itself back down into the muck, though its jaws remained open, its red eye staring up at Vargas.

It also, apparently, did not have a number.

Vargas stared, listening.

Okay, so a few takeaways from this.

First, Hunger was named Hunger, and had no number (big surprise there).

Second, "son of Aquarian?" "-Son of Aquarian?" The shock was evident in the Overseer's tone. Had Aquarian filled Cetus with his own creations..? Could he--do that? Was that why the creatures lived here--was this some sort of larva that would grow hundreds of feet long? Vargas eyed it uncertaintly. Aquarian certainly didn't look like this, he thought. Yet, it was long-bodied, semi-aquatic... could it be a creation, or even a distant descendant?

Third, apparently to find Dragon, he was to "seek the dead, rotting mass." Well, this thing's oily black hide made him feel quite at home in ways he hadn't since awakening. Spikes and ominous mist, dead Children and Rot or whatever-...

Vargas sighed. It was like being back at the start, again.

"Your cooperation's noted," he said bluntly, and paced around Hunger, and away.

Hunger's open jaws turned, keeping that one red eye trained on Vargas. It wasn't suspicion, or fear, or hunger: it was just that Vargas was the only thing there, the only new and different change. So Hunger observed him, shuffling a little in the muck to watch him go.

When the Overseer's form vanished out of sight, Hunger's mind lapsed back into the still and silent nothing that it had lain in for weeks. It rarely thought, or spoke. Most everything was an empty void, a pure ambush predator that awaited activation by passing prey. It was as if it lay asleep, undreaming, for the spaces in between.

And those brief moments were violence, rending, eating--only to fall back into stillness.

When Vargas had passed, Hunger did exactly that. The jaws slipped shut, its form slowly sinking back into the black muck, where it awaited its hapless prey. It did not notice the Hallowed Caller flit past high overhead, its single red eye--not unlike his--trained on the way that Vargas had taken.

Vargas angled off toward the other pulse that he had seen. From hearing "son of Aquarian," and knowing that Dragon was apparently Hunger's father, he'd have thought that Dragon must be huge. But the signature, if he had seen it right, was somewhat smaller than Hunger's had been.

His heat-sensing kicked into play again, the magicka flickering up as he sought, again, the heartbeat. This time he found nothing. He jarred his magicka, the equivalent of giving a machine a kick, but nothing happened. Had his magicka failed, or had the lizard ceased to be? He shifted in place, looking around, but all he could see was black swamp and mist.

"I SEEK THE CREATURE KNOWN AS DRAGON," he called out at last, his bellowing carrying, though muffled, through the fog. He was in about the right place; perhaps he was in earshot, at least?

Dragon heard the voice--and though it was muffled by distance, and he couldn't see the speaker through the fog, he could tell that it was large. As large as he was; perhaps larger. Curious, he turned toward it; was this some Gembound looking to join the Children? Someone bringing news, perhaps--or with questions?

His magicka flared out, his flash of mischief matching the permanent alligator grin. Batlike wings, smoky and incorporeal, spread and flowed out from his sides. Horns seemed to twist back from his head, draconic, and his eyes flared a dim blood crimson. ...He hadn't designed it, but that wasn't to say he didn't enjoy the effect. He rose up, taking flight--an astonishing thing for a sixteen-foot alligator of his immense bulk. It would have been more impressive if he soared, horizontal, like a true dragon. But he did not; instead his weight, his massive ridged tail, hung straight down as he flapped his way toward the voice.

He startled when he saw Vargas's shape erupt through the fog--the Overseer was standing facing him, but its head was twisting this way and that, searching. At first, Dragon only saw the arms--each one nearly as long as his body!--and then he looked up, and realized that he was looking at something impossibly big. Not Aquarian large, but Dragon was still immediately and heatedly jealous. He flew right up to Vargas, inspecting him, and with a sour note he said, "You're too big." He then lowered himself into the muck, chagrined at having to lay near this stranger's feet--but he was what he was. He pushed the thought away, though he maintained the arching wings and twisting horns for a long moment before letting them disperse.

"I am Dragon, son of Aquarian and father of the children of Cetus," he said, after a moment, staring up at Vargas. Something about the thing seemed--off, reminding him somehow of Nox. Unnatural, perhaps. It didn't bother him overmuch. "You are looking for me?"

Vargas stared, nonplussed, even taking a brief step back as the vertical alligator came helicopter-flying out of the mist. It did not seem aggressive, but nor was it afraid, offering greetings as an equal--and its comment that he was "too big" left him somewhat bemused. Too big for what-? Did he intend to eat me, were I small?

He looked the creature over as the magic (and what had that been?) faded. He could see some basic resemblance to Hunger--a long, squat body, a flat and powerful head, a thick tail. But it ended there; this thing had a simple, scarred-up hide, with very normal eyes and--teeth. But--a son of Aquarian? Dragon certainly was not a dragon, first of all, and to claim that he was both a son of Aquarian, and spit fire, was very strange indeed. He could see no sign of citrine on him, and he certainly didn't look like something that the screeching behemoth would have deliberately created--but Vargas didn't know him well enough to be sure. Though, perhaps his stone was internal? "I seek you, yes. I am Overseer Vargas. You are a son of Aquarian?" He seemed to be asking for clarification, at least; he looked out over the Heart, in the distance, or at least what he could see of its black expanse through the fog.

He then looked back to Dragon, patient. This thing had an air of authority--not rebellious, but confident and secure. It was unlike most of the questioning, or resentful, or frightened creatures he'd yet come across, and he hoped that this one might have some decent answers.

Overseer.

That might explain something. Dragon had his own questions, at once; cunning questions that cut sharp edges through his mind. But he'd answer, first; Vargas had asked him a question, and politeness demanded that tit for tat.

"Yes!" he boomed, staring up at the thing's eerie green glow. "I was born in his waters, and I fought him; he is our ally, and my father." He was very proud of this. Of course, by "fought," he meant he'd been a foot-long hatchling that had tried to bite the immense sea serpent's ankle and eye, but-... it was the thought that counted.

"What is an Overseer? This is a title I do not know. Perhaps one before our time," he suggested, a keen glint in his dark eyes.

If Vargas was from a time before, a time of authority, then he might be from a time of authoritarian behavior. It might be bad news for the rest of them, but Dragon found himself intensely curious.