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 Blacksmith continued to watch, murmuring encouragement and lending a helping hand where it was strictly needed--but mostly leaving Onyx-Three to teach themselves through his example.

"You might return... any time you wish... to learn these skills," he offered, a soft-spoken invitation.

As for names-? He glanced to the sickle, first. "It holds... no name. It was forged... for one bearing... a similar shape," he explained, "but it never gained... reputation." Such was often the way. A weapon was to shed blood, or win some great battle, before gaining a name--for some, at least. He nodded to the bow in Onyx-Three's hands. "It is the same, with this one. Some wait for... the weapon to have... a story. Others wish... a name, or... the smith... will choose one, for a particularly... worthy piece. I can name them... when they are a pair, and you come to collect... if you wish. The magic-..." The Blacksmith briefly trailed off. All of this talk was exhausting him--he spent many cycles at a stretch silent and alone. "Is that of the will o' wisp. If you wish... such a name. And the bow's... is a powerful spell. It is called... Event Horizon. Yours," he went on, gesturing to the Sentinel's halberd, "held no name... but my brother... called it... the Void-Whisper... Talon of Carthagnon. This was not... its name, you understand... it was a-" He paused.

Calling his brother a liar, and his words lies, seemed... rude, somehow. Algol wasn't malicious, certainly. Not always, at least. He was just... misguided.

"...Description... to aid in its appeal, for... trading it." It was the sort of thing Algol had come prowling the Workshop's armory to find--an item to enchant for one of his dark deals. "And so you may... call it... whatever you wish." His gaze trailed away, off toward the workshop's interior, an accidental admission of his weariness.

"I will rest... soon, I believe. But you may return... at any time. Had you further... questions, before you... depart?" he asked politely.

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.

He could name them-!

He could name them whatever he wanted! Excitement jumped in his chest, eyes widening a fraction, his face tightening into what was almost the faintest smile. "I will name it," he was too quick to say, too eager. "...When I return, that is." Was his dignity saved-? Perhaps.

Onyx-Two listened with half-interest (his mind still reeling with excitement) to all the Blacksmith said--but his attention was quite wandering. He'd get to name his own weapons-! Practice with them. Learn with them. Cool.

He stepped back, and bowed, overly stiff and formal. "I thank you for your time. I have no questions," he answered. And looked to his brother, for his answer.

"I will be sure to return in the future for lessons." Onyx-Three understood that the bow was not an easy weapon to learn, and perhaps along with his visits to learn the art of shooting a bow, he may also pick up some more knowledge about smithing.

As the Blacksmith explained the naming of weapons, they collected the items they had acquired, slinging the quiver of arrows over their shoulder and paused when considering the bow and dagger. They did not yet have a way to carry the two without holding them, but perhaps there was a way to attach them to the quiver as well? He would have to look into that later.

Onyx-Three liked the idea of naming a weapon after it has gained a reputation, or has a story associated with it. It reminded him much of how he himself did not yet have a name, but would hopefully earn one in the future. Perhaps once he had a name then he would bestow one upon his weapons as well. Yes, he liked that idea.

They had been here a while, and the Blacksmith did seem a bit more tired than when they had started. "I hold no more questions. I have learned plenty." Onyx-Three looked to the Sentinel for further direction, for instruction of if they would leave.

@The Sentinel

"I look forward... to your visits. Perhaps we might speak of... martial philosophy... in the garden," he half-mused, half-offered, and behind the mask it sounded as though he were gently smiling.

A bow, and he took a step back: dismissing himself, or perhaps his guests, as politely as he could.

The Sentinel pulled himself from the urges of Chaos, taking a moment to gather his mind. To others, it likely looked as though he were--as he so often seemed--simply off in his own world. In a sense, he was, the desire to simply lash out and draw blood with the Talon strong.

But when he looked to his children, from one to the other, and spoke, he sounded perfectly composed. "Then we will return. I will shepherd them. Come," he added, and turned to go.

He waited, of course, to ensure that both followed--but given the incursions of Order, he wasn't about to leave his spawn unattended.

As if in afterthought, he glanced back to the Blacksmith, once again offering his thanks. "It bears gratitude." As awkward as his phrasing was, his meaning at least was clear.

exit the Sentinel

He was, truth be told, reluctant to leave without his new weapon. Admittedly he had this crossbow, just as his brother had the reforged dagger--but where Onyx-Three would be leaving with a beautifully enchanted bow, Onyx-Two was otherwise empty-handed. There was a little jealousy, but more than that, desire. He wanted the sickles now. He wanted to go back and practice, train with them, learn them. Instead, he'd have to sit and fret and want them without having them in-hand.

It was a childish desire, and he bit it down, but the sullen resentment at life in general soon followed.

"I will come back for the weapons," was all he said, only thinking of his fingers closing again around cold metal.

Soon.
He nodded, unsmiling, to Onyx-Three: an acknowledgment that they were done here, that they'd both depart together. And then he set off, feathered wings flexing, behind The Sentinel.

He did not know what martial philosophy was exactly, but it sounded interesting. Hm. But it sounded like the Blacksmith had plenty more knowledge to offer him than just the usage of weaponry. Onyx-Three looked forward to his future visits.

There was a feeling of potential, of new heights yet unreached. Would he one day wield the bow as effortlessly as the Sentinel wielded his halberd? He had a more specific path to follow now that he had a weapon to master. At their brother's nod, they followed after their father on the way to return home.

Exit V-Onyx-Three