It had been a very long walk. The Sentinel was leading children to the Blacksmith--one swaddled in black clothes and scowling at the heat. And he had brought them at night, for the simple reason that the last time he'd been here, Leo's light had been blinding. Able to see better in the dark, he had taken them here at nearly midnight to lessen the risk of an unseen ambush--and allow them to move in greater stealth.

But as for the children, and the weapons? "They have hands," he had wisely observed in Draco, "and The Sentinel has trained them to use weaponry. It is time they are given their own." Had it been a hint of pride in his voice? Maybe not. Hard to tell, with all the rasping and staring.

Either way, though, he was trekking them through Leo's heat, up along the beach and to the Blacksmith's workshop. There, he hoped to find something of use to them--or even something the Blacksmith could create, custom-made. The children were old enough now that weapons could be sized more appropriately for them... rather than trying to train with something vastly outsized, as he had done growing up.

"Blacksmith," he called, the single word rattling in his throat, as they reached the hot cave mouth. He paused, peering inside.

@V-Onyx-Two and @V-Onyx-Three

Onyx-Two was still, despite his gangly teenage-approximate size, swathed in little more than shredded black curtain. It was old, faded and stained, and he kept it clasped around him and flopped over his face, which was scowling.

He hated Leo's heat. He hated its water, and its trees. At least--he told himself he did, though some distant and more innocent, childlike part of him wanted to explore it and get to know it better. But it was different from what he knew: softer and weaker than Draco's savagery, or Pegasus's powerful prey. So by default he deemed it too pathetic for the Chaos Forge to bother with.

"Why did we have to come here," he complained, trudging up the sandy trail. Teenage moodiness, too, had its hold on him. But despite his words, he was excited, and grew moreso the closer they got to the workshop.

A weapon. Just for him. Something he could use, make part of himself the same way the Sentinel's halberd had become part of him.

Well-... maybe a little less. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the Sentinel having grown an eye on his halberd's axe-head; there was something ceaselessly unsettling about seeing his father study him through a weapon while his back was turned. Creepy. No, he wanted something him. He hoped, somehow, that the Blacksmith would pick something that would help define who Onyx-Two was: something purely and uniquely him, something that would... tell him something about himself, somehow.

He kept a magical eye on his surroundings, as he'd been taught--his father had warned him of the battle with Order, here. But thus far, there was nothing. Only the pings of regular Gembound going about their lives, or more often, sleeping among the sea stacks and the trees. Satisfied with his utility, he tried to make a more professional statement than his complaints: "There is no sign of Order that I can see." The effect of his ringing authority was quite ruined by the break in his still-squeaky voice.

Onyx-Three had been on long journeys like this one before, like the time he had gone hunting with Renasci. However this time was different. Those past travels had been for training, improving, learning. Now he had learned enough, and perhaps grown a fair amount too, to be ready for the acquisition of his own weapon. The Sentinel had a halberd. It was a bit strange, an object that seemed to live. Would he have one like that? Or something else? It was not up to him to decide, it was up to the Blacksmith. Imagining all the possibilities of what it could possibly be had taken away from burning pain in his legs throughout the trip. Although he should've been used to traveling long distances by now, this did not make Leo any closer, or the terrain any easier.

"That is good." came the response to Onyx-Two, though they still found themselves keeping an eye on their surroundings. Leo had a lot of water, almost like an ocean, and it unsettled him to say the least. Something about that expanse of water had an ominous feel. But they shook off this thought, keeping their focus alert to any movement that may enter their vision. Onyx-Three was unconsciously protective of their brother, mainly because he looked so strange. No fur, no spikes, no nothing. If they were a threat, Onyx-Two would be the first gembound they would target. And so this was a good motivation to stay focused despite the tiredness that was seeping into his bones.

Then they arrived. He shifted onto two feet, ears perked as he tried to listen for the sounds of the Blacksmith.

The shuffling gait of the Blacksmith within the workshop announced that their presence had not gone unnoticed. It was followed by his lilting, halting voice. "Please... come in. I am... just here."

There was a sound of rasping metal-on-metal as he--around the corner, not yet visible--slid a blacksmith's hammer down to lie upon an anvil, and then he moved to meet them.

His black-shrouded form, horns twisting upward, gave a sinister impression not at all supported by a gentle demeanor. His eyes, behind the mask, slid over those present. Given what he knew of the Chaos Forge and the few Masters still at work in this--was it a derelict nest, or a burgeoning one in a new renaissance?--well, it didn't matter now. But he could see at a glance that they were unlike most of the Gembounds here, but... not entirely Valkhound, either.

The Sentinel was more Hound-like in his design, yes--and the Blacksmith knew him, had met him more than once. At the time he'd noted that its--his--features, even the overall style of him, belonged to none of the Masters that he knew of. Though, Vargas's designs were still quite new to him; he'd seen so far the clumsy and many-varied works of a new artist finding his stride. But he'd assumed that The Sentinel must be his. These children, though; they were of the Sentinel, that was clear. Or one was, at the very least. The elfin one was shockingly familiar; a callback to a time even before the Hounds had begun to hit their stride here. And the other-? It held the imprint of the Gembounds, a soft and mammalian appearance to it that spread a smile across the Blacksmith's face.

"Have you come... from Draco?" he hazarded, gesturing for them to come in, to make themselves at home. "Please... I have tea, if you wish...?" He turned, shuffling to the anvil, picking amongst the shelves carved into the rock wall of this cave. A teapot was taken from a steaming corner near the thread of magma streaming behind the wall; little cups--some chipped--on a tray were drawn out.

Four cups were poured, and set before them. "Let it cool, but... please... tell me why you've come?" It was an invitation, a host's pleasant request, rather than demand.

The Sentinel knew full well that his speech was not fully comprehensible by others. He'd learned it only over time, and even then he wasn't sure why; wasn't aware that his method of thinking, even, was more a parallel to the thoughts of others rather than a twin to them.

But he'd learned to carefully think over his phrasing in times where it was important--when training his young, or reporting to Master Vargas--and he'd damn near memorized a speech for this. He turned, a hand beckoning his children to follow him as he headed in to follow the Blacksmith. He did not answer his question, instead launching into that speech as he went. "It has created... children. They will require... weaponry. But he does not know... all forms of weapons, or which are fitted for their forms... their styles," he rasped. And he hoped that that made sense.

Taking up a cup in one hand, he studied it, inhaling its steam by holding it beneath his skull-like nasal passage. "...He assured... he would return for tea. It was forgotten. The Sentinel apologizes." That hadn't been part of his speech. But he'd suddenly remembered his promise to come back for tea--a promise he hadn't fulfilled, and it had been a couple of cycles, now. And on impulse, he turned, and gestured to Onyx-Three.

"The spikes... were part of a payment... for this one's lifegiver." Belated realization that Onyx-Three might interpret that as it having been a bought-and-paid-for commodity prompted elaboration. "It was... a precious cost paid for a child. V-Onyx-Three. And V-Onyx-Two." The names were given with brief points of black claws toward each.

Speech complete--and then some--he turned to the children. "Speak of... what you wish. If you know it," he suggested--the Blacksmith, he assumed, could take care of the rest.

The heat and light of the Workshop was somehow unsettling, putting Onyx-Two on his guard. It wasn't that there was anything alarming about it, exactly. But it was someplace new, someplace that felt purpose-built and long-used, a point of industry and work. He felt as though he were intruding on it; like it would continue to churn out whatever it created whether he were here or not; somehow, he feared that were he to stand in the way of that industry, it would simply crush him in its path.

He couldn't have quite said why he felt that way, but even as he took the tea cup--sniffing it suspiciously and lurking back beneath his ragged hood--he cast pale eyes around with a wary stare. It was, really, just that he was a stranger here. And he felt strangely alone, though that didn't occur much to him. The Sentinel was bringing him here, but it was a matter of business alone; his sibling... well, he saw him almost as competition. He didn't know that Onyx-Three felt protective of him. Whether he'd have been touched, enraged by his perception of his own weakness or both--he didn't know.

And--ahh--he was being addressed.

He stood a little straighter, trying to sound firm and certain and strong, but it came out again wavering, with that squeak of youth to it. (And like so many things, he hated that.)

"Something... like the halberd," he said, nodding to The Sentinel's weapon. "You made this-?" (Surely he must have; the Blacksmith was THE Blacksmith, not A Blacksmith.) "But... stronger," he said, and then blinked as he realized he'd just essentially called the halberd weak. "Not that--I mean... With more edge to it. More blade?" He gave up, and shrugged. "Maybe there's... weapons we can try out? I've not trained with anything but a stick." But he'd always thought the idea of only having a little of the swinging weapon be the chopping-bit was stupid.

He hastily buried his face downward, hood flopping forward, lifting the tea to his lips and burning his mouth in his haste to hide himself again.

He had not visited the Blacksmith before, and as such, had no idea what to expect in terms of appearance. As he appeared from around the corner, Onyx-Three found himself jumping to assess the stranger. Bipedal posture. Horns. Shadowy? Mysterious, yet also with a gentle aura to him. Though they found themselves generally untrusting of strangers, it seemed that the Sentinel was familiar with him, and so they would allow themselves to relax. They stayed a step behind their father as they entered further into the workshop.

He glanced at the Sentinel upon the offer of tea to see how to respond to this. Was it polite to simply take it? Was it even safe to do so? What if it was poisonous! But that was a silly thought he quickly decided, there was no reason someone like the Blacksmith would do something like that especially considering the two adults' friendly attitudes towards each other. He waited for the Sentinel to take a cup before taking one himself, feeling the heat of the tea emanate into his palms. It was hot. But in the heat of the workshop, it didn't seem to make all that much of a difference. The Blacksmith had said to let it cool, though how that would happen in a place as hot as this he didn't know. A quick glance at their sibling to see his reaction to the tea told them that he seemed to be just as wary about it.

Wait- payment? What? He had been listening to the conversation, but this comment snapped him into attention. A confused look passed over his face. Onyx-Three did not know of any spikes. Had Hunter had been paid to be his lifegiver? This would be a lot to think about later despite the elaboration. However their concerns were not voiced, and they instead chose to assume that it meant something else.

Truth be told, Onyx-Three had never given that much thought to what they wanted. They had assumed that the Blacksmith would magically know what to give them, and that would be that. But he could not read minds. Or could he? Anyway, they supposed that ones own preferences were not something even someone as skilled as the Blacksmith would know. But what did they want? As they pondered this question, they listened to Onyx-Two's answer.

It seemed that he wanted something similar to the halberd, but not quite. Did they want a halberd? Onyx-Three looked at the weapon held by the Sentinel, and decided that no, it would not do. It had power, utility, but it seemed too bulky for them. Plus, Renasci had promised him to get him his own deer when he was older. Carrying a halberd while riding a deer did not seem like something that was very feasible. "Something light." they responded, "Something that can be used when riding deer." As those words came out of his mouth, he realized that it sounded quite silly. In fact, he didn't even know if riding deer was even possible just yet. Renasci had not gotten back to him on that front. "But still lethal. Good for hitting weak points." Onyx-Three was one who much preferred dealing a few blows with precision rather than trying to get in as many hits as possible in a haphazard fashion. But they still felt silly about the whole deer comment, trying their best to maintain a serious face and refraining from letting their embarrassment show.

The Blacksmith sipped his tea, shaking his head gently at The Sentinel's apology. "It has not been... that long. And... you are here now," he pointed out. Even if that meant 'here' on business.

To each near-grown child, he listened with solemn intensity. The longer blade--he could do that. Swords were the obvious option--but there were others, even a longer-bladed polearm. And Onyx-Three--he did not laugh at this one, but he wondered which deer he was considering riding. He looked like it still had some growth coming to him, and already dwarfed nearly all the deer in the caves. "If you need aid... in attempting to tame a beast... come to me. I will try... and aid you," he suggested. The Meadow Deer were slow, but powerful; but they were a test. They were meant to be, and taming or killing one required precision and planning more than force. And, of course, a touch of magic. But there was no mockery--only that brief suggestion of help, and then he moved on.

This 'moved on' was to sip his tea, then set it down. "Please... finish your tea if... you wish it. Or leave it now... and drink it... when it is cooled. But when you are ready... come."

The Blacksmith led the way to a large, lava-lit alcove some ways off. Each wall was covered in weapons racks, and training dummies made of old hay wrapped in burlap, stood up on iron bars, stood to one side. The weapons collection was extremely eclectic. It was likely meant for precisely this: offering a number of choices for a potential fighter to try out, to see what might best fit them.

There were longswords and broadswords, katanas and daggers, pikes and halberds, small axes and enormous double-headed battle-axes, longbows and crossbows, flails and maces, staves and sickles... "These," he told Onyx-Two, passing by the swords and pikes, sickles and axes, "may interest you... feel free to try them. And one of these," he added, to Onyx-Three--pointing out spears and pikes and bows--"perhaps... might be what you seek."

The following two items have been GM-rolled as part of the Origin Anniversary Raffle, and V-Onyx-Two and V-Onyx-Three may find them here awaiting them. These items can be added as default icons to the characters' Enchanted Items inventory after they are claimed.

V-Onyx-Two may in particular feel drawn to a short-handled (19") platinum sickle. Its 16" blade features complex engravings inlaid in silver. It has retained its shape well, is perfectly balanced and heavy for its size, and is very sharp, with jagged teeth covering the blade's inner edge. The handle is mahogany--strong, dark wood--with a detailed, pale grey grip. The sickle is enchanted with Will o' Wisp, so that a tiny wisp perpetually orbits the curved blade.

V-Onyx-Three may feel drawn to a Rosewood bow, rich red-brown in color streaked with darker color. The wood smells strongly sweet. It is beautifully tooled, and comes with a matching, supple leather quiver with a set of twelve arrows tipped with razor-sharp obsidian points. The grip of the bow is plated with copper and wrapped in the same reddish leather. It is enchanted with Event Horizon, so that its fired arrows cause magical crushing damage, and the bow is imbued with a black, shadowy aura.

The Sentinel--content merely to plod along behind--carried his tea with him. Were it not for his monstrous appearance he might've looked downright noble: stalking along perfectly upright, head held high, teacup lifted to his lipless teeth.

With the monstrous form, admittedly, it looked very strange.

He did not speak, otherwise, simply lingering and watching. He'd let the children choose for themselves--though if he saw the need to offer his advice, of course, he would.

Onyx-Two obeyed, head kept down and eyes up, faint teenage resentment in every glance. (He didn't know why he was mad at everything. He just was.) The weapons, though, distracted him well enough, once he remembered to set the teacup down at least.

A pike was hefted and swung. A sword tested, and he liked that: a longsword, not too heavy, not a big claymore but just something that would've suited a sort of avenging angel. But he was soon distracted by a sickle: something with carvings not unlike his father's halberd (which made him partial to it at once), but more blade than haft. He wasn't sure how useful it would be, being a one-handed sort of weapon. Maybe that was a good thing-? He gripped it, lifting it to the light, and then swung it, noting with some satisfaction the brief whistle it made as he carved it through the air.

It was a clumsy slash, but when he took it to the training dummy, his swiping cut carved a rip straight through its chest. Unpracticed--but, he thought, an impressive weapon. He wasn't sure of the purpose of the wisp drifting around its blade, but it didn't really take away from it, at least.

He looked to the Blacksmith, lifting it with a frown, to indicate it. "What is this?" he asked, and then--more importantly--"How exactly do you use it?"