Fingers gently tapped the sides of his own teacup. The Blacksmith shook his head gently at the apology, before answering any questions; his dismissal of it was quite polite. "Not at all. I am glad you enjoy it, very much so. I do have other flavors, if you'd like to try more."

Then his demeanor shifted a bit, more lost in thought, his speech slower as he considered each word. "No. He does not Shape. He Dreams," he repeated, but now it was clear he was about to elaborate on what that meant. "The Shapers are not chained. They have never been. They enjoy their duties, but they work together for their results. They are... really quite impressive in their skill. When the Dream is given to them... some will shape the very earth of the cave. Others... fill or empty waterways, lakes. Even ocean. Another will grow the plants the Dreamer shows them, or something... close enough to it. And so on. Do you see-?" he asked, peering now at Heathen. "I am not sure what would happen if... the Dreamer were to leave Centaurus. And I cannot answer whether it should be done." There was a trace of melancholy in this. Sorrow, maybe. But it was not his decision to make.

The Blacksmith paused to take a breath--and a sip of tea, slowly.

"I believe the Shapers would continue their work there... but perhaps more poorly. Memories of old iterations, or... amalgamations of them, or even poor inventions of their own. Not mirrors of real places. Not like now. But the chains..?"

He sipped again, pausing to peer over at the metals that lined his walls. He considered these as he settled his hands around the warm cup atop the table. "...It has been long enough, I think, that--yes, they can be broken."

@Heathen

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen seemed interested in the offer, head tilting in thought before shaking his head. "A kind offer, but I can not ask for you to empty your tea stash for me, answer my questions and show me your smithing." What a normal, polite thought for once! The Blacksmith's openness despite his prodding was refreshing, and Heathen was actually inclined to be just a little nice to the poor guy. "Do not be afraid to ask my leave if you tire." He offered, muscles no longer prepared to lunge at a moment's notice. Was he always that tense?

So that was it, then. Now that his questions had been answered, however boringly, Heathen moved on with ease. The Dreamer was only the muse, while the Shapers were the artists. Perhaps he could convince some of them to work for him, but that was a question for later. Would the Dreamer even want to leave, if released? There was little to see in the caves compared to what he had seen Elsewhere. He took in this information slowly, carefully, finishing his tea much faster than he expected to -- what a shame.

"I don't know if it is more or less interesting now, knowing how it works." He sighed earnestly. The magic and labour of many was strong, though, and gave him hope still for what he could achieve. "But you still leave me wondering, Blacksmith." He teased. Contented by the open flow of information offered to him, the leopard spoke more directly, no longer attempting to lead a conversation that did not need it. "You talk of training and commands. War?" Another tilt of the head as a paw gently swept his empty cup to the edge of the table. "You must have crafted some impressive weapons for such a thing. Maybe some you still have? Or remember how to make? I'm sure I could find something to exchange if you still offer such services..."

Notes:

The Blacksmith set the teacup down and looked again to the forge.

This, of course, was just his workshop. The Underforge below was sprawling, massive, lit with threads of open magma and shaped by rows of anvils and workspaces. But his workshop was his space, one he'd used by himself for many, many years and it showed. It was well-loved, organized just so, and--despite the size--cozy. His tool racks where placed in easy reach for his height, where a larger Valkhound would have had to stoop and struggle. His swatches of tea hung above the open forge, drying there. Leather gloves lay to one side, fitted to his arms.

He looked to Heathen. "Are you interested in learning... the history, our reason for having these things? Or the craft itself? I am happy to teach," he went on, and it was almost a murmur. "Or were you interested in armor for yourself?" His demeanor seemed easygoing, but thoughtful, as though he wasn't saying quite everything he thought. He studied Heathen, but he also seemed patient--as though, were Heathen to ask for all three, he would readily agree.

@Heathen

Heathen
I wanna be the Messiah, Pariah
The one who never dies

Heathen's eyes moved with his, taking on the details of the workshop, the persnickety placement of every tool only serving to make the leopard wonder more and more what each was used for. He didn't feel bad for taking up so much of another's time, but he was eager to seek out the altar. Still... why bother trekking all the way here again if he could avoid it?

"I am little more than a curious cat, here." He chuckled, almost apologetic for his rambling. He had been too vague, it would seem, in his excitement. It made him think, though, about what he really wanted here. As patient as The Blacksmith seemed, he did not want to leave without what he was most interested in. "I suppose my interest is more on the history and your services." He decided, using a paw to wipe at his face before flexing it above the table. "I fear my paws would offer little in terms of dexterity anyway." And besides, would he really want to do all that work with all this heat? Why bother when he could have someone else do it for him? "I'd like to know about the powers in the caves before my time, or at least which ones might still be around." He started with, shifting in his seat. If he was going to be here a while, he may as well get comfortable.

Notes: What a fun word of the day!

The Blacksmith blinked, then chuckled lightly. He stood, gesturing for Heathen's cup; a moment later he was busying himself making a second batch of tea. Hands deftly lifted a second swatch of dried leaves--this one fruitier in odor--and refilled the kettle in a trough of water nearby. (This trough looked clean; likely repurposed for drinking water.) He then rinsed his cups. All the while, he spoke.

"I think this will need... more tea. Hmm. Let me... work backward, yes? I think... Yes, I think that would be best, for what you are asking. There are some things... I will not say." He glanced back, apologetically. Secrets? Things that might land an unwanted eye upon him? He didn't clarify. "But I will tell you what... I know, or rather. I will tell you what I think... you want to know? There is too much to go over... all of it." There was humor, now, faint and fleeting. Which was concerning in and of itself.

Perhaps the histories were less bright and cheerful than the Blacksmith's humble, happy abode.

"I am... I was recruited with my brother to serve this Nest. -You know what this place is, yes? The purpose of these caves? That--would be a better place to begin, I think," he admitted, tone one of self-deprecating humor.

Tea was poured. And, from somewhere beneath one shelf, there was a crinkle of parchment paper. The clink of cups on a tray. When The Blacksmith returned, it was with two teacups and fresh, fruity tea placed on a well-kept silver platter; two small cakes (somewhere between muffins and biscuits) sat to one side. He wandered over, setting one of each (the latter on a little plate) before Heathen, and then took a seat himself.

The implication was clear; there was a lot to cover, and he was willing. But not without tea and cakes, of course.

@Heathen