The Lost Gifts - The Blacksmith

He was sitting quietly in his garden, a little outside the workshop, but they would know that. It was a peaceful place: a large, rectangular area of smooth sand. Little stone outcrops, some of them mossy and some simply gray, were perched around the garden--and the sand around these had been carefully raked to resemble water lapping at the feet of islands.

The Blacksmith sat upon a stone bench at one end of this garden, musing with hands in lap as he regarded the strange new addition here: a fully decorated tree protruding somewhat at an angle from the sand. Crooked, he thought, but beautiful in its way. Stranger still were the gifts packaged beneath, each wrapped in reds and whites and golds and greens, the tags on them bearing names upon them.

Fahl. Reverend. Rift. Acheron...

Knowing Naskital, they would be arriving soon, and-... oh?

He stood as they arrived, and offered a gentle bow. "Naskital's gifts are... always welcome. I think... your visit here... is meant to be another." With things as chaotic as they were (and oh, the irony there) a relaxing holiday with the Gembounds was truly welcomed. The same amount of visitors as gifts. He gestured to the tree, and gently took the box addressed to himself. He sat, clawed fingers holding it for a moment, gaze fixed upon the packaging--and then he carefully pulled the paper free.

Within the box lay a thick fold of leather, a creamy-white dyed with red and green holiday designs. The Blacksmith stood again, unfolding it. "A... smock," he noted, with pleased surprise. It was to protect him while he smithed, but with a distinctly festive air. How sweet. "Thank you... for delivering it." Ahh, but that wasn't all, was it? He understood the atmosphere of the holiday. "I offer you a gift... in turn. I can choose... an item from my enchanted... armory. Or... I could teach you... a very rare spell. To cast the light... of stars into your eyes, or upon a wall... or into a little friend to accompany you."

Too, the boxes already labelled awaited them. For Fahl, there was a little, perfectly-fitted holiday sweater: white, with a green band around the chest and back dotted with jaunty candy canes. For Reverend, a little string of gold, red and white baubles that jingled as they were carried. For Rift, a thick green scarf with darker green pine trees stitched throughout. And for Acheron, a little green leather pouch on a strap, with a candy cane stitched upon the cover.

"And if you would like to stay... I will make us... tea. And you are welcome... to shape the garden." He beamed--he really did hope they'd stay awhile.

---

This is one of six Lost Gifts threads in the Holiday 2023 event! Characters who posted in the original Blacksmith's lost gift thread may post here to react and choose a reward, and then post in Update Me to claim it!

Gembounds in this thread may choose the rewards Starry Eyed, Pattern Painter, or Conjure Familiar, or may choose to take a random, enchanted item of the Blacksmith's choosing as a gift, in addition to Naskital's presents!

Pattern Painter
Low Intensity Manipulation. The user can create glowing patterns on themselves, others, or surfaces with minimal or no magic use. There seems to be no point to doing this other than to decorate. The color and shape of the pattern is up to the user, or may be random if the user lets their mind's will take over. The patterns do not seem to last very long by themselves, however the more magic put into a pattern, the longer they last. (Can Roll for max # of days.)

Conjure Familiar
Low Intensity Manipulation. Though not useful for anything, the user can summon forth an ethereal familiar. It is usually small, despite the shape of the creature the user may try and form. A user can only conjure a familiar with the shape of a creature they have seen before. The familiar cannot speak or understand language, but may make noises. It will follow the Gembound that conjured it, simply because that is its source of magic; but it may dissipate if separated or if brought too close to the Spire. It will disappear on its own after a while, but the user can re-summon it with a successful roll.

Starry Eyed
Low Intensity Transformation. The user's eyes become iridescent, lose their pupils, and turn a marvelous shade of glowing light blue for as long as the user can focus. There seems to be no other purpose to this spell besides dazzling others.

@Fahl @Reverend @Rift @Acheron

Reverend would have been at the rear of the group - relying on them to forge the path for him to follow their footsteps. The heat of Leo's magma was new to him - while it was intense, like Hydra's desert 'sun,' the smoke and dirt was its own sensation. And the sounds of the Blacksmith pounding away at metal - it wishes it could have seen it.

But the sound of the Blacksmith's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. And Naskital's name makes Reverend's quills prickle. I remember him. Back in Orion, all those cycles ago. I should've realized the gifts were from him.

But there's no reason to be rude. The Blacksmith is there, rummaging through his belongs for gifts Reverend could sense but not see. It's half surprised when one is offered to it, carefully taking it with his free hand. And as it unwrapped the ribbon and claimed its prize, the jingling of bells calmed Reverend's shy mind.

"Thank you, Sir Blacksmith. I'll take care of these," he smiles, attempting to look at the other's face. "I'd love to stay with you. Seems lonely, all the way out here. And maybe I could learn a thing or two."

Tea sounded lovely.

exit Reverend

Being trusted to take the lead on such a simple task as package delivery might've seemed no big deal to the average Gembound, but for one like Fahl the responsibility existed to rattle his nerves on the journey down to Leo. Certainly, there had been no issues with guiding everyone; the winding way he'd well-memorized, and all had been plenty motivated by the urgency and adventure their gift-wrapped charge had promised at a single touch. However, as usual, his struggles came out of perception: proving to the others his reliability even though no one had ever questioned it in the first place. It meant he had refused to take breaks or acknowledge the moments when his ceaseless strides brought shortness of breath, brief bursts of magic allowing him to glide seconds at a time whenever legs faltered. Each instance those behind him tired of passing their cargo between themselves, he'd insisted on taking the burden until they achieved enough respite to begin again.

This was the pattern that he followed up to the point they reached the Blacksmith's garden. Then, regardless of who'd been last to hold it, he made sure as the head of the approach to be the one to complete the group's little errand. Feathers of white light sprouting from shoulders framed the package balancing precariously on his thorny back while he swooped to meet its intended recipient. Once paws touched ground, the finned iguana bowed and let his passenger be plucked from where it'd slid down and settled its foremost corners in the crook of his neck.

"It was what anyone else would do," he said to the thanks given. His shrug might have downplayed the significance of the gratitude, but telltale golden flecks descended his throat at the sentiment. Furthermore murky eyes gained a glint at the prospect of arcane knowledge in return.

Light conjuration... Like the magic responsible for the Children of Rot's map, or perhaps something greater?

He did not provide an immediate answer to this offer, preferring to mull over it while wriggling his way into the sweater decorated with striped, hook-ended shapes that had apparently been addressed to him. The time taken, though, was ultimately unnecessary since his heart had already decided the second the options had been presented to him.

"I don't know what this tea is," he rasped, "but I wouldn't mind trying it... after you show me what you mean by casting light on walls."

True, he was a mage and not a masterpiece crafting artist, but it'd be a betrayal of Imp's tutelage not to express interest in leaving his mark on the world.

-Exit Fahl

The gift she cheerfully tore into, canines and hooves making short work of wrapping paper and thin cardboard. The thing inside--the pouch, on a strap--she nudged at. "I think it's meant to be worn?" she mused, at last, and then laughed. "I haven't got the hands to put it on, though. Can I ask-?" she added, picking it up in her teeth and carrying it to the Blacksmith.

Her attention strayed, meanwhile, to the little garden. "It's a nice place you have here. What's the deal with all the sand?" It looked... peaceful. Like a still picture that would always be there, the same, instead of the ever-changing jungle around it. But she couldn't have said quite why.

"Anyway, thank you. You didn't have to. It's been a nice trip--I'll try the tea. And--little friend?"

She laid down, and if the Blacksmith helped her with the straps she'd be wearing her new pouch slung around neck to shoulder and chest. Otherwise she was a hearty if polite guest, cheerfully brash but loudly grateful, too. Pleasant company, in other words, for as long as someone could stand her outgoing energy.

exit Acheron