ORIGIN

So there were different kinds of oil? He did not know about the oil from plants, as he did not eat plants, but he supposed that sometimes after eating lessers, they did leave a certain oily substance on his hands that was not the black oil of Corruption. Perhaps it was something like that?

They listened to the Blacksmith's guidance, adjusting their grip as instructed upon the sandpaper. The task was something that seemed easy, but once you attempted it, you soon found it was much harder than expected. Or was it just them? The Blacksmith's encouraging words served to slightly alleviate these fears. And the Sentinel was watching- he had to do good, to prove that he was able to do a task such as this one.

His eyes narrowed as he focused, starting to keep a rhythm to the sandpaper as he listened to it scrape across the rusted dagger. Slow and steady. It wasn't perfect, but it was ready for the next step. Onyx-Three then turned to heat the weapon, waiting until it was red in color, then waited a bit longer. He had to make extra sure. Then he placed the dagger into the water, trying not to flinch at the noise. And now back to the sandpaper- at least it was something he had done before. Onyx-Three was not afraid to put in the effort to ensure that the dagger was polished well. They worked at a constant pace, not taking a break until it was finally shined with oil and cloth.

Upon looking at the dagger, it was clear it was not brand new. But it was now reliably functional for all of his stabbing needs. "Thank you for teaching me this craft. I will be sure to make good use of it." Onyx-Three knew at least the basics now, so he wouldn't have to bother the Blacksmith should he need to repair a rusted weapon in the future. He found his arms were now shaking from exhaustion, refusing to stay still by his sides. But it had been worth it. And there was a certain special connection he felt towards the dagger. It was them who had fixed it up. They did it themselves! With help and guidance of course, but they had done the physical work. He held the dagger on unsteady fingers, noting the way the light reflected off the surface. To him, it was perfect.

And Sentinel spoke with the question of names. For weapons? How did one name a weapon? Did they come with a name? "Perhaps I should name mine as well." and he had received his bow and dagger from the Blacksmith who was the procurer of such things. Maybe they came with names? Their brother voiced this question aloud, and Onyx-Three turned to the Blacksmith to hear the response to the question.

They wondered too, where the Sentinel received his weapon from. Was it also the Blacksmith? If not, what would he name it?

The Sentinel absorbed this information in utter silence.

Void-Whisper, Talon of Carthagnon.

Except, Carthagnon was apparently a wholly made-up word, a nonexistent owner of this particular talon. He was lost in thought--missing much of the rest of what the great smith said--wondering who had forged it, and why, and who prior to himself (and his father) had borne it.

He pondered, briefly, whether to change its name. Sentinel's Sight, he mused, the first thing to come to mind.

As if in approval, or perhaps utter hatred, the whispers rose in his mind. It was likely the attention he was casting upon the weapon--but the maddening urges toward violence, ever-present, were suddenly stirred and stoked. The only exterior sign he gave (though perhaps familiar to his spawn, should their attention stray to him) was the tightening of his fist around the haft, a stock-stillness to his silence. He was used enough to the prods and snarls of Chaos that trailed along the edges of his consciousness, taking any opportunity to exploit his mental lapses. He was well-versed, too, in ignoring them--or at least holding them at bay.

But it still left him staring off into the distance, feeling the hot pulse of violence tugging at his chest, until the Blacksmith had wholly finished speaking.

A blink of all his eyes, and he came back to the here-and-now. "I hold none," was all he rasped, and looked to his children for their answers.