Set shortly before Vargas departed for the Ursa raid.

The thing of meat and flesh that had shorn its way into Draco had been... an interesting one. Once Effluvium had been dealt with, the Sentinel had been instructed to recover, see to any injuries, and then--when returned to full fitness--to resume his duties.

Master Vargas had also instructed him to seek the Master out, "at some point."

Some Gembound would have done just that, without all that much thinking, but the Sentinel had obsessed over this tiny point of phrasing. At which point-? He knew that it meant time, yes--and so he had spent hours--days--staring at the ticking pocketwatch as if it might hold his answers. The esoteric astral sigils etched around its dark metal hadn't helped him much, and the slender hands that moved with every quiet tick told him nothing of its secrets. He knew that the pocketwatch told time, but no one had explained to him the meaning of hours, and the way the watch was meant to measure it, and so he came to the strange conclusion that--somehow--the pocketwatch itself would tell him when to seek the Master. "At some point" was a decision: and without rigid instructions, the Sentinel found it difficult to make a decision. With proper information--and if he knew that the decision was his to make--he made them instantly and without second thought. But this had been vague. Baffling. Bewildering.

And he did not think to ask.

At last, one day, he snapped the watch shut. He turned, and let the metal drop cool against his chest; he picked up the halberd, as if some hidden signal had been given him, and marched to find the Master.

He found him sorting bones at the foot of the Black Spire, as he so often did. He did not know what he was doing, there--why he sorted bones, holding this one, examining the next, so intently.

He did not ask.

"The Sentinel," he rasped hollowly, head canted slightly to one side, "has come to report."

This was, he had decided, "some point."

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He held up the femur, a strange bluish-black bone sheened as though with oil. This one was easy enough to match up. Not all the bones had been formed with calcium--though many had--and many were almost metallic in appearance. He suspected this one held carbon.

His time was often spent matching them--his reasoning being to try and lay out, in the end the matched skeletons of those now-empty chrysalises that Jupiter had shattered before they could ever hatch. So many were half-formed, malformed, or small; most had stones that were long past revival. But some could be revived.

Vargas himself had limited magic with which to imbue new creations--even with the cooperation of Totum or Astraea. It was simply the way it was--he did not want to drain himself by overreaching this early in his 'career.' This meant that if he could find promising Oilstones with life still left within them, and match them to the proper bones, he could get an idea of what the design had been. And then, he could offer them to suitable revivers who were not masters: those who could best complement the designs, and spawn potentially useful Valkhounds while the Master continued his own, and separate, work.

"The Sentinel has come to report." Vargas turned, head coming up and around, peering back at the creature. Ahh--this one was of interest. It was a direct revival, a few cycles old, and was proving surprisingly useful. He wasn't sure why it insisted on standing upright, but it was more than capable of the task to which he'd assigned it and it was blindly loyal and unquestioningly obedient.

"Good," he told it, bluntly, and turned to set down his bones.

He paced over and stood before the Sentinel, giving him his full, if stern, attention. "I wish you to tell me of your journey. Tell me what you learned, and tell me if you believe that it was worth taking the time to travel the caves--or if you think you'd have learned more staying, and training, here." It was an important question to ask, for future spawn; he'd get a few more opinions, of course, but he wanted to know that his attempts to make the creations more... 'worldly' was working. If it was a waste of time, he'd just keep them in Draco.

He hadn't gotten the chance to ask it this immediately upon its return; and Effluvium's sudden push into Draco had put a bit of a delay on things.

The Sentinel considered and, after a moment, began to simply list off everything that he had learned.

It was, for the most part, very similar to the rattling list he'd rasped off to Khavur a couple weeks ago, now: a rambling dump of information half-incomprehensible to those unfamiliar with his strange manner of speech. "It has seen places of sand, water, of stone, ice. The place of sea and islands holds much sand. Stumbling feet, and missed swings," he explained--it was difficult to fight on sand, even in practice. "The light blinds it." This was simple enough: the Sentinel's eyesight, with his corrupted magic, was virtually reversed in terms of light sensitivity. In the dark he could see perfectly; in bright light, not at all. "The place of bones, too, stumbles it. There is a Seer there. It is a red dog, and it knows of the giver of the black stone. The Seer saw the Black Dog's death. The child remains within the place of bones. The Seer saw this one's death, in many cycles, serving. She saw a mango," he added, matter-of-factly, for he had by now come to terms with this utterly mysterious fact. "The red dog taught the Sentinel of the void. He may take a thing that is, and make it not; and return it from not, to is. It fought this dog. This fight the Sentinel lost, and learned much. The Seer sees; the Sentinel saw that which he did not seek to see. Enemies, illusion, madness, decay, and flies." She had filled his mind with hallucinations.

Ignoring Vargas's slightly bemused stare, he simply continued to rattle everything off matter-of-factly.

"There was the room of Spire, and a small serpent. The Sentinel was thrown without touch. This fight it lost, and it learned much. Its power was nothing before this. The Child in Canis, it also fought. The Child of the Black Stone," he explained, lifting one forelimb to tap the corrupted Onyx at his chest. "The Sentinel was taught of the history of the Black Stone. It was shown how lights can blind, and plants can grip. This fight it lost, and learned much." It was the same phrasing he had used with Khavur: a matter-of-fact repetition that he'd gotten his ass beaten multiple times, but had learned from each defeat. "Water sent beneath the feet stumbled them. It saw the place of stars-in-stone, and the hot storm beyond, where dragons dwell." He considered, staring emptily at Vargas, his mind elsewhere for a moment. "It has learned that a thing which threatens must be killed quickly. A first strike. Death. A beginning is control. It has learned to move unpredictably, as magic grasps for it."

He demonstrated this, as best he could--suddenly jerking the halberd forth, dropping into a half-crouch. His movements were lean and practiced, now, and he swung a swift circle and turned, jabbing the halberd toward (but nowhere near) Vargas mid-air as he came to a sharp halt.

It was, all in all, not a very good demonstration; it did not look like the sort of thing that would stop a spell from striking in any way.

When he pulled himself back upright, he seemed satisfied, however. "Its journey," he went on, and then seemed to think for a beat before rephrasing. "Much was learned."

Worth it, then, it seemed.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Well, that had been a flood of words.

Vargas grunted. "Worth it, then? Good. Show me what you've learned in combat, then--strike me a few times, if you can. And meanwhile, I will tell you of how your progression will continue." He pushed up, and paced around the Sentinel in a wide ring, tail sweeping smoothly through the air behind him.

"When one of you--the spawn of the Forge--has proven themselves, they are allowed to choose a reward. I have changed this, slightly, from the old days, in that it is less... time-consuming." He felt they were on a bit of a tighter schedule here than literal thousands of years would allow for, and though he had no intention of simply giving them their names and privileges without proving themselves, he also wouldn't force them to wait centuries for each. He needed loyalty and he needed good servants, and he needed that sooner rather than later. "These rewards may be a name, or the freedom to roam when you are not needed, or the right to reproduce. And by performing various acts to prove yourself to the Forge, you may earn your choice of these. Your task is simply to guard the door. Thus far you have proven dutiful and skilled. So tell me: what do you think that you might do to prove yourself to me?" he asked, feinting a brief, skidding step toward the Sentinel before resuming his circling.

He listened, and he watched. Prove himself..? He did not know how.

"It is not... yet proven. When its training is complete, it-" Abruptly, mid-sentence and with no warning signs whatsoever, the Sentinel lurched from eerie stillness into a leaping lunge. He had remembered Vargas's prior warnings not to actually impale him through the throat--but he still aimed to cause damage. V-Chaos-Two had taught him some of the obvious points to strike for, and he knew that the tendon behind the ankle could cripple without killing.

The Leviathan was the sort of threat that required immediate neutralization--before it had any chance to make a first move. He did not think that slicing a hamstring in a spar was at all inappropriate.

When I think.

Round: 1
Attempt: Hit Vargas's achilles tendon
Defense:
Injuries:

- THE LEVIATHAN -

The Sentinel's sudden lunge was--even with Vargas watching for it--unexpected. But he had not trained millennia to sit unprepared for such a strike, particularly by the clumsily inexperienced. He had kept his distance as he circled, and his reflexes were as cat-like as they came; his sideways leap as the Sentinel rushed was nimble, and all four limbs cleared the air before neatly setting back down a few yards farther off.

Still tensed, watching the Sentinel closely, the Leviathan resumed his circling. But now the tail flicked, a little, as he did so: ready, and waiting, for another strike.

"You were saying..?" he said, and there was the faintest, taunting croon in his tone.

It hadn't escaped him that the Sentinel had spoken of the prior owner of the Onyx, of the "child of the Black Stone" and so forth. He knew of the Black Dog's children--the bird-dog, the sheep-... dog? He had seen them, waiting there after the Trial. And he was curious, too, about the Dog--he'd been curious when he'd seen it. In fact, several of its strange mannerisms, including the way that it spoke, had somewhat passed down to this child--though this one was coldly violent and unpredictable, his speech much less coherent, than even Black's had been. "And when you have done that, tell me what you were told of your stone-giver."

Round: 1
Attempt: Dodge
Defense:
Injuries:

Vargas avoided his strike seemingly without effort, leaving the Sentinel stumbling, halberd clattering down into empty air. It struck the rock with a spark, and landed there heavily. As he withdrew it--lifting it after a short drag, so that it did not dull against the rock--he lifted his eyes to watch Vargas warily. He retreated back into his ready stance, looking for an opening.

Vargas gave none.

"It desires no name. It is The Sentinel. It does not require spawn, unless they are required of it." Vargas was still giving him no opening, and so he had his own idea: he would become a fan, a whirlwind with the halberd's blade. If he allowed a swinging weapon to gain enough momentum, even the Leviathan would be unable to safely snag it with a bare hand; and with that much weight behind the blow, even the six-foot arm spines would not stop it for sure, not without potentially snapping away. And if Vargas were backing up, he would be--the Sentinel gauged, right or wrong--slower than the Sentinel's own forward advance.

He lifted the halberd, then, and began a rapid advance; swift strides bringing him at a near-run toward Vargas, the halberd guiding his momentum with a series of fast, heavy swings: up and right to down and left, then around and back up again, then the other way, and so forth. It was a wild swinging, but a potentially effective one.

"It would, perhaps, wander and learn further. Once its mind and limbs are shaped. Once the Master deems it so."

Round: 2
Attempt: Use wild swinging to push closer
Defense:
Injuries:

- THE LEVIATHAN -

...Well, this was new. The halberd was windmilling; there was no other word for it, a spinning slash that Vargas immediately (and accurately) judged a tad too dangerous to try and stick a hand into. It wouldn't have been impossible, maybe, but the risk just wasn't worth it.

Again his reflexes were on display, as he moved quite swiftly back and away without a stumble--a leap back, a skittering run forward, and he was well out of the Sentinel's range once again.

It gave him freedom and time to reflect on what it was saying. It is content without a name. Interesting, he noted, but nothing really beyond that--most of these spawn were scrabbling to display their individuality. Was this a lack of ambition, or an admirable loyalty to purpose? Vargas wasn't sure, but he'd keep an eye on it, and find out. It was the same for the spawn, mostly. The others--bar Chaos-One, perhaps--had shown desire to create spawn, to further their falsified genetics, their faked blueprints. Was this a lack of ambition, or a sign that it was something else--perhaps something closer to his own stock, by now? Its predecessor had sired children, so perhaps the Sentinel was merely more kin to chaos than it had been. "And so you think that when I have deemed you ready, you would travel and train again? Further training would be your reward?" he asked, pushing--not because of mockery, but to keep it on its toes, to force it to multitask. To speak, and think, and gauge the fight, all at once.

Round: 2
Attempt: don't let the windmilling fool get too close
Defense:
Injuries:

The Sentinel, as it turned out, simply ignored Vargas. Or at least did not reply, for now.

When the Leviathan scampered back, he darted forward--an attempt to catch up, so that his next strike could not simply be leapt from. He brought the halberd forward again, swinging in a swift arc before him--mostly upright, but simply to protect himself in case Vargas shifted gears and came at him, instead.

Round: 3
Attempt: Charge at Vargas, catch up
Defense: Halberd swinging in front of him
Injuries:

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Well, this was--something.

The kid charged him, and he stared nonplussed for a moment--how exactly did he react to this? He could just keep running, he supposed; it'd wear itself out before he did, for sure. For the time being he aimed to avoid the hits in a series of leaps and dodges, focused razor-sharp on each move the Sentinel was making.

His tail lashed, claws striking rock, muscles tensed as he moved. Quite abruptly one foot tangled in the other--the perils of running backward, he had time to grimly think--and down he went in a pile of confused limbs.

Round: 3
Attempt: Don't get hit-
Defense:
Injuries: