Ember had come looking for his lifegiver, initially. He knew the dragon lived here, somewhere, though they'd never met; and he'd invited to carry Spark along to try and find him--his grandfather, really. It seemed only wise, to introduce them, and to introduce himself. But he'd heard, too, of the Blacksmith's offered lessons; so he'd tucked Sir Hammersly, the sentient hammer into one large forelimb before setting off.

The pluming geysers and distant shapes heading for the workshop told him where the lessons would be, at least--and in his mind, Sir Hammersly was already grumbling. Sixty feet in the air. Flying. Flying! At my age! This is no life for a blacksmith. You are a hammer, Ember pointed out gently, but received only a Hmph in return. Their mind-to-mind communication had become second nature to him now, no longer feeling so foreign, though Sir Hammersly's cranky nature could still grate on one's nerves.

He swept down low with a beat of broad wings, his white form flashing in the light of the volcano's lava. Feet touched down a moment later on the hot rock of the tunnel, and he lowered himself down to head inside. His magicka flickered up at an afterthought, his body illuminating the tunnel walls in dim firelight.

Look at this place. This isn't a proper smithy! Where's the ventilation?! This lighting is terrible--one mistake and... The hammer continued his half-hearted tirade, followed by reluctant admiration that at least it has some good materials, and Ember smiled faintly. The one who runs it is supposedly just called The Blacksmith, he thought back. Hmpph. We'll see.

Ember plodded closer, offering careful nods to those inside--eyeing over the elegant bird, the winged humanoid, the hooded Blacksmith. He wondered, briefly, if it were harder for land-based creatures to make their way within. "Hello," he offered; "I'm Ember. Is this where the lessons were going to be?"

Ember glanced back once to check on Spark, his demeanor patient and attentive but no longer so overbearing as he'd been the first day. Spark seemed like a good kid, and so far, they were both doing all right, which had mostly reassured Ember out of his helicopter parent first day.

"It's all right," he offered, a soft reassurance, a half-squint of his eyes and backward flick of his ears an additional encouragement. It was meant to say, you're safe here; the Blacksmith certainly struck him as nothing sinister, and the rest seemed perfectly friendly. Leading by example, and with a nod toward the weapons, he said "Would you like to pick something with me? We can each do one," and made his way to the racks.

Sir Hammersly, of course, was braying in his mind, insisting that he choose a 'good, reliable piece like a strong sword! or a helmet! Everybody needs a helmet! To protect your head, you know!' Ember gave a soft hum of acknowledgment but little more, not wanting to draw too much attention by having an audible one-sided chat with his hammer--instead, it sounded like a thoughtful sound and little more.

Ember perused the racks, his big form sliding among the troughs stuffed full of old metal scraps and shields, and found that Sir Hammersly was perusing with him--commenting on this or that quality of metal, disparaging nicks left in rusted steel or complaining about the uneven thickness of an axe-head. At length, Ember found a large, mostly clean greatsword of what looked like old but polished steel--and given that the hammer didn't immediately find anything to complain about, he took it up at once.

Aside from some internal grumbling that 'nobody understands the importance of a helmet anymore, not these days, no' the hammer mostly seemed content with this, and Ember paused to wait for Spark before moving back to his position in the 'audience.'