- THE LEVIATHAN -

It had taken some time to corral the two new Valkhounds for a small meeting. He hadn't been aware of their hatching, at first. Finding and summoning them had been a bit of a chore.

While he tried to remain calm and businesslike, Master Vargas was kind of stressed. He did his best not to show that. After all, he created Valkhounds now and then, and sent them off to war, and never heard from them again. But these-... Making a few at once, when they were clearly sort of somehow bonded like siblings, or friends. And childlike. Just get to it, he told himself, and then launched into explanation.

He kept it simple. He explained, as best he could and in brief terms, what the Chaos Forge was. "A nest, to create creatures like you, to send you off to war. In a few cycles, you will be collected for it. If all goes well, you will be returned here," he went on, even though he knew that was unlikely. Survival rates were low as it was; usually a return wasn't expected. He wasn't entirely certain what the situation was with this group; only that it was different, somehow.

"The Chaos Forge has rules. It has ranks. If you wish a name, you may earn it by returning alive. In the meantime, you would be known as-" he paused.

Eyed them.

He had no idea which one had hatched first.

"...V-Chaos-Fifteen and V-Chaos-Sixteen," and he gestured from Timir to Tsvetok. Honestly, uh, he wasn't even sure there wasn't already a Fifteen somewhere in the Forge. The numbers thing was getting a little... overused. He was losing track by now, especially given how many quickly earned other names. I should really be writing all this down, Vargas thought to himself. Then he moved on.

"...But you do not have to join us. If you do, you will receive training, support, backup if you fight. If you don't, you are free to wander the caves and succeed or fail on your own merits. Let me know. And if you have questions, ask them."

Now to see if either one just decided to attack him, instead.

Timir shifted from one hook-clawed paw to another. He glanced at Tsvetok, then at Vargas.

Vargas was frigging huge, or maybe Timir wouldn't have afforded him quite so much silent attention. Half the creatures he'd met were trying to attack him or trick him so far, and being told he was meant to be in some kind of weird monster military cult and go off to war in whatever the hell a few "cycles" were was... unwelcome.

But it sort of tracked with everything else: he had no idea how anything worked or why he, like, existed. So maybe the explanation made sense?

He didn't know.

When he spoke, his eyes were narrowed slightly, his voice that low guttural sound like crunching gravel. And he was loud, as his friend had taught him to be (accidentally).

"IS WAR GOOD?" he asked, clueless. That seemed, he thought, like a good start.

@Tsvetok

It was like herding sheep-- but at least once Timir started going, Tsvetok quickly followed. It hadn't really split off very far from Timir at all, in fact. They were-- probably? --friends, or at least as much as Valkhounds created for war could be. Tsvetok certainly did not seem to have much capacity for knowing what makes a good friend.

When Vargas finally had the two in front of him, Tsvetok was... less than paying attention. It seemed to all be going into one ear-hole and out the other. It only perked up when Vargas gave them names, because it dimly remembered Fenmyre saying they weren't born to be numbers.

When Timir piped up, Tsvetok interrupted whatever Vargas was about to say by bellowing as loud as it possibly could. "OF COURSE WAR IS GOOD," it declared. Like it knew what that was. "IF WAR WAS BAD NO ONE WOULD DO IT!"

It elaborated on itself, "NO ONE WOULD EAT IF EATING DIDN'T FEEL GOOD. WAR WILL BE GOOD!"

Swinging its head back towards Vargas, it said, "THEY" (it didn't know, or care to remember, Fenmyre's name) "SAID NUMBERS ARE STUPID. WHY ARE WE NUMBERS NOW?"

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

If Vargas had believed in a God, just then he'd have said it. "Oh, god." He'd have rubbed his face, and groaned, and maybe sat back and cradled his head in his hands. Hell, he'd have stuck a finger comically in the air and frozen mid-protest to Tsvetok's assurance that war was good. Because, uh. They were probably going to die. But he couldn't exactly tell them that now, could he?

But, professional facades and all of that. So he took a breath, and kept his admittedly already rigid face carefully neutral.

"Many find war, bloodshed and battle, enjoyable. It is what you have been made for." He paused, briefly reviewing what he'd just said in his mind, and couldn't find a lie there. "If you do not like it, you will not have to do it again." If you survive. He tried not to sigh heavily; he couldn't exactly say that, either.

He wouldn't feel guilty about this. He never had before; he wouldn't now. (Both of these things were, just a little bit, lies. But at least he was only really lying to himself.)

"Who is 'they?'" he asked, at length, squinting at Tsvetok. "Numbers are because there are so many of you, and it is hard to remember names. This way, when someone HAS a name, you know they are important! That they have survived war, or contributed something important! If they are still a number, it means they are not yet proven." He drummed claws on the ground, and looked between the two. "Your element is flame. I might be able to find someone to train you, though I do not think they would be of the Forge. It is a powerful magic. Very destructive! As for you, yours is that of air and sound. I know some of it, and can teach you a little myself. This is, if the pair of you choose to join us." He took a breath, and then carefully added: "Also, you do not need to shout."

Then he waited, to see if they were ready to make a decision just yet--or if they had more questions.

Timir's visage had gone a little dark. He'd opened his mouth to also protest the numbers when Tsvetok took the words from him and spoke them himself. All Timir could do was look at him and nod along in solid agreement. "THE ONE--the one with the red face." He managed a loud if fairly normal speaking volume, and glanced toward Tsvetok for confirmation: he wasn't misremembering, right?

After a moment, he shook himself out, dog-like. Iridescent hair shimmered, and he made a sound somewhere between a growl and a grunt, or maybe a weird belch.

"I want to learn," he decided, but glanced toward Tsvetok. He wasn't sure if he'd join up without his friend, or not. It was temporary, right? He didn't really want to be a number, either, but... if war was good, and magic could be improved upon, was there even any drawback?

@Tsvetok

Vargas's advice that it didn't have to shout went largely unheard, because Tsvetok was already bellowing again. "OF COURSE IT WILL BE GOOD!" It declared. "WE WILL BE THE BEST AT WAR." Lofty goals, but maybe ambition was a good thing in Chaos Forge.

It'd also quickly decided that "DESTRUCTIVE IS GOOD!" Surely much better than being noisy or whatever Timir's magic was (Tsvetok was much noisier, anyway). It hadn't occured to take Vargas up on his offer of training until Timir accepted, though. Whatever Timir did or went, after all, Tsvetok followed. "I ALSO WANT TO LEARN."

Tsvetok's little brain began to churn after that. Its crest flicked from over its face to standing upright, ridiculous-looking, on top of its skull. What was stopping them both from just... learning both magic? "WE LEARN BOTH," it demanded. It did not know how to ask nicely. "FIRE AND NOISES. WE WILL BE THE BEST."

The Valkhound nodded frantically.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He winced again at Tsvetok. "Stop shouting," he insisted, but truth be told he was unfortunately used to it. Half the Valkhounds seemed to act like this, and his conversation with Callista floated through a despairing mind.

Honestly, Vargas really needed a vacation.

A moment later he was nodding. "Good. Then I induct you both into the Chaos Forge, as-"

Virosa. We never used it, but no, she was sixteen. And... Numbers floated through his head. Yeah, Gravedigger, hadn't it been? Ugh.

"...V-Chaos-Seventeen, and -Eighteen. My mistake. Those will be your designations, for now. I will find you training, then. And in four cycles' time you will be taken to glorious battle."

He tried to ignore the assurance that the two giant monster-children would be learning "fire and noises." It seemed far too silly a thing to call the magic of screaming, burning destruction, and the magic of whispering, crushing death. He moreso hated the fact that it was an accurate description.

Vargas spent a few moments briefly going over the Forge's rules, then. He kept it simple, for new-formed brains to comprehend and to remember, and when he'd finished, he took a breath.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked.

"V-Chaos-Eighteen," Timir replied, and didn't feel it. He'd use it, or try to remember to, but also, eww. A number. Part of him bristled, and he shook himself and made a face, long tongue flailing at his jaws as if to get a nasty taste out of his mouth. Fenmyre had already implanted him with the idea that they weren't too be numbers, and it was a hard idea to shake.

It didn't matter. They'd go to war in just a few of whatever 'cycles' were and then they'd have their names back.

Also, "WHAT'S A CYCLE?" He paused. Oh, right. No shouting. "What's a cycle?" he repeated.

No questions, apparently, about the Forge's rules.

@Tsvetok

Newly-Christened V-Chaos-Seventeen didn't particularly feel like a Seventeen, either. The second Vargas ordered it to stop shouting, however, it did. Thanks, Totum. It didn't even register in Tsvetok's primeval brain that it should question why it felt compelled to do such a thing just because it was told to. It simply did.

Apparently, Vargas had established himself as alpha.

"No," Tsvetok said at a normal volume for the first time in its life. It largely didn't really care to ask questions, except one. "When do we train?"

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas considered, for a moment. "Eat, drink, and rest," he decided. "Return tomorrow. I will find someone for you," and here he nodded at Tsvetok. "And I will prepare a lesson for you." This, of course, directed at Timir.

Ahem. V-Chaos-Seventeen, and V-Chaos-Eighteen.

Wait.

NO.

Vargas shut his eyes.

"I miscounted-... You are Eighteen. You, are Nineteen."

Valethyr. It had barely even hatched before it'd... slept? Whatever had happened to it. He really should've been keeping better track of an ex-Master's stone.

He tried not to give another sigh, exasperated at himself. "If there is anything you wish to focus on, in particular--magic, strategy, or physical combat--inform me. I will have your lessons tailored."