A slow, thoughtful inhale rasped along his throat, and he studied the leg, looking for any visible sign of injury. Was it sore, or just broken-? Would there be a shattered point, a twisted bone? He spoke, regardless, gradually pushing for his magic again. "The body... is a weapon. A weapon... must be cared for. Polished, and sharpened. Repaired, when it is damaged. Do not... break it further, by pushing it too hard. Respect... your limbs," and that, perhaps, was some particularly strange if well-meaning advice. 'Respect your limbs.'

He reached for his magicka again, ready to pull away if it proved to be something detrimental--but he did not expect what actually happened.

His entire body abruptly erupted in black pustules with an audible pop: an outward burst like a pufferfish, black dripping fungus exploding from every square inch of flesh. There were soft squelch sounds as some erupted inside his armor, bursting from the confinement there, leaking long sheets of black sticky liquid down his limbs.

For a moment he simply knelt there, a huge cluster of black mushrooms, glowing eyes barely visible beneath the ebony carpet of goop. Then a long, rattling sigh escaped him. "Magic... is unpredictable." Well, it didn't outright help, but... maybe it would distract or even entertain the child.

The Sentinel hesitated.

This wasn't his specialty. He broke people; he did not repair the damage. He could see that the joint was wrong--misplaced, even--but aside from just... jamming it back into place oh and now there were bone spikes-

He jolted a little, and blinked. "It is fungus," he rasped in absent response, as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened with the bones. The poor child spoke of pain, and Sentinel's gaze darted from his fungus to the spikes. He repeated, then, a little sardonically: "Magic is... unpredictable."

He hesitated again. If he could not fix this now, he'd bring Onyx-Three to Vargas. Surely the Master would know what to do-? Because, for once, The Sentinel felt rather out of his depth. "Be still," he advised, reaching for the knee.

Would it harm it, to just--put it back where it was meant to be? He could not tell if something under the surface had been split, shattered; perhaps it would just slide away again the moment he let go. But if it were bones out of place, it might just snap back where it was meant to be. It was worth a try, anyway.

Assuming Onyx-Three allowed it, he would reach forward to push the kneecap into place, bending the joint a little after. With luck he would not completely botch it.

He pushed up, and offered one hand down to Onyx-Three, though showed no signs of being in a hurry to get the child to stand. It was just... there. You know, for whenever.

Then he inhaled, a deep rasping breath... and began to speak. As usual, he held no tone; nothing that could be discerned from his empty inflection or equally blank stare. The words themselves would have to serve to define his purpose in whatever story he was about to tell.

"When it was very young--no older than V-Onyx-Three--it travelled. It travelled, to learn. The place of glowing stones and Spire: there was a snake." He paused, staring down, as if trying to emphasize just how important this snake was. "It was very small." His other hand shifted the halberd, slowly, under one arm--and then his hand raised, to show the span of thumb-to-finger-claw. A foot long, maybe-? "The Sentinel engaged it in spar. Practice. Combat. He could not touch it. Each time he stepped forward, its magic tumbled. Threw him. Lifted, into the air. Held. Stones lifted by magic, and thrown at him. He could do nothing," he explained. "The serpent was very small." A reiterated point, again for emphasis. "But it taught the Sentinel much: to prepare against magic. That a first strike, will be a decisive one."

A shift in position, a breath taken, and he continued. "In the cave of bones, he found the spawn of his stonegiver. Winged dog, black. There he found another hard to even strike. Magic to blind, to fling objects once again, and water to slide underfoot. There were many battles with others. The Sentinel struck few blows," he admitted. The hand, still, was offered out, unless it had been taken, as he finished: "A failure is not a failure, if one gains knowledge from it. It is a success. It is learning. Without falling to very small snakes, the Sentinel would not have learned how to fight them."

It wasn't exactly inspirational, or even motivational, but he was trying his best to at least be encouraging. "If it wishes, we will speak instead. The Sentinel will teach of first strikes, and magic. Then... perhaps, a meal." This was an offer, spoken questioningly; if the child wished to rest, so be it. But he clearly had no intention of giving up on them, or declaring them a failure, or anything along those lines. This was simply a step on their path to success.

The Sentinel's face was a rigid skull, emotionless at almost all times. He had very rarely shown any expression on its thin-skinned features: no snarl of frustration, or narrowing of his many eyes. Yet as his son repeated his words:

"I failed. But it is also... success."

...he smiled.

It was faint, yes; but it was there, the faintest upward curl of jagged jaws. His tug to help the child stand was gentle, and then he kept his hand offered, in case the joint was still weak. Despite his size and horrific appearance, despite the Chaos swathing his form and halberd, his words and movements were both gentle and firm. A rock, really, that V-Onyx-Three could lean on, if he wished to.

"Good," he rasped, tipping his head in faint acknowledgment. "Then--let us go."

He turned, to lead the way to a lesson--and to food, each step cautious to ensure his child would not stumble or fall.

Or that he, at least, would catch him before he hit the ground. How very metaphorical.

He angled for the rear of the cave, and pondered, for a moment. "Does it know the role it would wish to play. A guardian, or a soldier. Or something other." He didn't immediately explain why he was asking, but given the context, maybe it'd influence the lesson, somehow?

A strange noise escaped the Sentinel. In any other Gembound it would have probably been a hum of thought, but in him it sort of sounded like large beetles scraping their legs together: a hollow rasp.

"It is easy enough... to gain the right to travel." He strode slowly, rather easily, for the tunnel. "We will go... and find rats. The Sentinel will hunt... if the child cannot run." An offer given with reassurance in his tone: the limping youngster would not go hungry. Back to the point: "To serve the Forge is to be rewarded... the Sentinel has been rewarded many times." He could, had he wanted, earned his own name. He had never bothered, keeping instead his title, as had his first child The Warden.

"You will train," he declared abruptly, as if coming to a decision. "The Sentinel will aid. In time... you will find what you wish." He went silent, then. Not only because there was little more to say--but because for a moment, the void had taken him.

His child was gone. He walked alone, the tunnel ahead yawning and empty, blue-gray with dim light and flecked with drifting motes of dust. His steps were both echoing in the emptiness and yet muffled, and he felt--he felt--the approach of some great creature, prowling, stalking him.

To Onyx-Three, it would appear merely as if he stuttered in his step--and turned, looking behind them as though he'd heard something. His hand tightened around his halberd, and abruptly he looked down at Onyx-Three, and then back ahead.

"Chaos ever beckons," he said simply, and pressed on.