While intended for V-Onyx-Three, anyone in Draco is welcome to join this thread.

Slender fingers closed uneasily around the handles of the wheelbarrow that trundled its way to Draco's western wall. Vargas would come, soon--would recognize his magic here, remember this appointment, and arrive. The Sentinel had already gone for the child--V-Onyx-Three--and so there was little left now but to await their arrival.

A suitable location had already been selected: a broad, flat area just at the base of the Climb. Here, the Blacksmith paused, his wheelbarrow creaking to a halt; his head craned back, and in his mind's eye he compared Draco's sheer, Oily black ridges and cliffs with the bright, glittering sea stacks of Leo.

There was no comparison; he already itched to return 'home.'

The forge, here, had already been somewhat constructed on his prior visits: a survey, and then a test, and then--with his brother's mocking help--a piling up of suitable stones. They had to be cemented into place, but that would not be too hard; he would ask for V-Onyx-Three's help with it, perhaps. That one had enthusiasm. Maybe it would help to build a bond, he thought, between this forge and its new master. Yes; he would ask their help, then.

In the meantime-...

Slender back bent and rose as he went about the rest of his work. The heavy sets of tongs, the large (if old and somewhat battered) bellows, the hammers in their worn steel and iron from merely a foot long to almost three, their heads small to backbreaking. Then there were the heaps of scrap beneath, the things he'd bought to refine and calibrate the forge.

He'd wheeled all this here, stopping every so often to camp (and, it must be said, to make himself some tea).

It was... ominous, in a way. But interesting, too. In the past, Leo's Workshop had served as the caves' armory. Now? It seemed, in some sense, that the Valkhounds' spheres of influence had shrunk. On the one hand, it meant spreading weapons and armor farther through the caves... but he had a feeling, too, that it meant Leo would be strangely free from future visits.

When he was done unloading all of his tools beside the piled bricks, he carefully upended the wheelbarrow, and sat atop it, legs dangling down beneath the robes. Here, he waited.

@V-Onyx-Three

Onyx-Three's training had been interrupted by the arrival of the Sentinel and Vargas- a rather intimidating combo. He had not expected for his encounters with the Blacksmith to eventually result in the idea of building a forge in Draco, but he had taken up the prospect of being a smith for the Chaos Forge with excitement. He was nowhere near skilled exactly, but he knew enough to be able to repair weapons and crafting basic components. Perhaps with future lessons with the Blacksmith he would be able to forge weapons and learn the intricacies of the craft as well. For now, this was enough.

They had informed him that the Blacksmith was here once more, and awaiting his presence. He wasted no time in gathering up his weapons and departing for the base of the Climb. Through repeated training and muscle memory, the motion of attaching his bow and dagger back to the quiver could be done quickly and smoothly. There was no point leaving it anyway. It was important to always be on your guard, and also, it was very possible that he might just decide to live near the forge anyways, or at least store his belongings there.

Onyx-Three jogged in the direction of the Climb, coming to an abrupt stop some feet away from the Blacksmith and giving him a light bow. Their eyes were already inspecting the many tools that he had brought with him contained within the wheelbarrow. "I have arrived. How may I help?" He never quite got used to seeing the Blacksmith outside of Leo, or even just the workshop. Like a master outside his realm. Or perhaps because Onyx-Three was still in quite a bit of disbelief over how this was really happening. Would they miss visiting him in Leo? Well, they would probably still go see him for further lessons if the Blacksmith chose not to come to Draco himself. There was always more to learn, and they did not want to disturb him too much to travel all the way here.

He straightened. The first arrival was not, as he'd expected, Vargas--but instead, Onyx-Three themselves. Maybe Vargas had sent them, then-?

He turned, and shuffled over, bowing in greeting. There was a soft, somehow reassuring slither of cloth as his robes shifted with him. Then, he gestured to the stones.

"These must be lifted... arranged, like so." He had already laid the foundation ring. "The bricks... will interlock. You see how I... have begun?" He demonstrated, just in case: another brick lifted, so that its center point lay across the split between the two beneath. "I will show you... how to form it into... a chimney, at its top. But for now... lay the bricks... follow my lead."

He moved another, carefully.

Then, his expression--gentle, curious--slid to Onyx-Three's face. "I did not bring tea," he lamented. There had been no space for more than what he'd drunk along the way. "But I will bring some... next time I come... to visit. For training... You will want that?" It was best to ask, though he had planned it. And on the heels of this, another question, again curious: "Will you be... the blacksmith of the Chaos Forge? A... Chaos Smith?" he asked, gentle humor in his words. And then the faintest wince, as if he'd realized something sour about his own joke.

@V-Onyx-Three

He knelt down to watch the Blacksmith place another brick upon the foundation taking up a brick himself once he understood the assignment. It seemed simple enough, the difficulty mainly in the precision of placing a stone in the right place rather than the strength it took in picking it up. And this was where he found some difficulty. It was not that the task was impossible, but Onyx-Three took care in ensuring utmost precision in the placing of the stones. When he saw that a brick was place a little bit off, he would keep adjusting and inspecting it until it was perfect. He understood the importance of doing things with great care. Though it was not nearly as fast as the Blacksmith, he made sure to be meticulous and keep a consistent pace as he went about it.

Onyx-Three found it all relaxing. Something about the repetition allowed him to be productive without needing to strategize or think as much as he did in training. "Yes." The Blacksmith's voice broke him out of his state, and he looked around upon considering the question. "There is space here. If the tea is too hard to bring... it can be made here?" Of course, he did not fully understand the details of how tea was made exactly, but Onyx-Three wanted to make things easier for the Blacksmith especially considering how helpful he had been with everything. It definitely inspired him to be more helpful himself, whether it was just providing aid to others or passing on knowledge.

The blacksmith of the Chaos Forge. That was an accurate description of what he would be. It still felt strange to think about it in that way. Onyx-Three did not fully pick up on the tone behind his statement, though he understood that it was a play on words. "I have no corrupted magic. But a Chaos Smith. Fits." he paused in his work, looking to the Blacksmith. "Has there been a Chaos Smith? Before?" Or someone in the Chaos Forge who had done similar work. He wondered if he would be the first to do something like this in Draco. To make weaponry for the purpose of Chaos. Or had the Blacksmith covered that as well?

The Blacksmith, of course, helped. His movements were slow: a stoop and shuffle, a careful laying of this brick or that, with a gentle and almost meditating demeanor. "Take your time... this forge... will be your home. Your heart. The heart of... your work," he advised gently.

As for the rest-?

He contemplated, and did not at once answer. Only when the stones had been stacked fairly high did the Blacksmith at last again speak. "There were many... smiths for this... nest of Chaos. Have you delved... deeper beneath the... Forges of Leo?" If Three had, they'd have seen the rows of anvils, the many flowing streams of magma banked and held by carefully hewn stone, the racks of armor intended for beasts half a dozen meters tall.

"As for tea... yes. I will bring it. That brings me to... the greatest difficulty. Fuel." A mundane consideration, but imperative nonetheless: "To fuel... your forge... you will require coal. Fire. Magic... or otherwise. It must be... maintained. And such things are... in limited supply, here." He paused to lean back, ticking things off on his fingers. "Wood... but it does not burn so hot... without aid. Magicka... difficult to maintain... for long. Coal... must be taken from... old stone. Here," he added, half-interrupting himself.

He began to lay the foundations to the upper part of the forge: the transition on one side to allow a lip for the bellows, the little tower that arched ever-higher to allow for the forgesmoke to escape.

"Like this," he said, and tipped his head in a gentle sort of bow.

@V-Onyx-Three

He nodded, maintaining careful movements as he continued to place the bricks with precision. There was something special about constructing your own home. Onyx-Three had always lived in Draco, but with the building of this forge, he would have something like a home within a home. He could already feel a connection to the place even though it was still incomplete. And though he still had much to learn, and had yet to master the art of smithing, he could not help but wonder if this forge would one day expand to become a home for other members of the Chaos Forge. Not that he was quite sure if there was anyone else who would want to work here. But that prospect was far away now.

"No." Onyx-Three was not one to wonder much into those areas without an explicit purpose in mind. It seemed dangerous to him, even if he wasn't sure why. But it was now that he felt curiosity grip him, and he ventured another question. "What happened? To the other smiths?" The usage of 'were' implied that they were no longer around. But that was a scary thought. Had they died? Was there something about smithing that made it dangerous?

Wood could be found in Pegasus which was fairly close. "Where can coal be found?" Onyx-Three hoped that there would be a source of it nearby, but if there wasn't, wood might have to do. As for magicka... they would be fine with learning some fire magic for the forge. After all, they understood it was something that could be mastered, even if not as consistent as one's body was. And it wouldn't have to be too difficult either, just a spell simple enough to start a fire.

They pondered the question of fuel as they followed the directions, continuing to lay down the bricks that were at a taller height now. But they were beginning to tire, and took a break, shaking out their arms. It would not do to continue placing bricks if the task couldn't be done with the proper precision. Then it would have to be done all over again eventually.

The Blacksmith shrugged as he worked. His answer would be perhaps less than satisfying to Onyx-Three's curiosity, and so there was a note of apology in his words. "I slept... a great deal. I am unsure, but many were not... present when I awoke. The Architect returned, but the rest..." Another shrug. "We had rebellion, before." He paused in his work, gaze going to V-Onyx-Three. "Did you... know of this? Of the rebellion. Before the sleep... before the awakening. Many were lost. I do not know... if they left, then... perished. Slept, elsewhere... or awakened early... sought new tasks." Another shrug. "I was... The Blacksmith," he added.

He hoped his meaning was clear: that he had been a main smith, regardless. That other, massive arms and hands that had forged weapons had perhaps put those massive arms and hands to better use in battle elsewhere.

He did not know.

He went back to lifting bricks, settling them into place. If only he'd brought enough tea for here, rather than the journey. Ahh, well. Next time. "It is... scattered, but there... should be enough. You will need tools... to dig it from the cave. I can... bring those... or you might come... to Leo to retrieve them." A strange thought, those old pickaxes and lanterns being brought back into use. He'd need to make sure they were in good shape. "I will show you coal... when next we meet. So that you know what to look for." He wondered, too, how much was even left. "Now-... wait." The first layer was in place.

The Blacksmith turned, carefully lifting from the pile an ancient, battered bucket and two trowels. The bucket swashed with water, and he poured some form of powder from a sack down into it, then mixed it with a trowel. Before Onyx-Three's eyes it would become thicker, forming a paste that he stirred into uniformity. "This goes... between the bricks... the layers. Use these... to smooth it. It will dry... and become a... cement. To hold them... in place."

Ahh, manual labor. It wasn't quite the magical adventure one might expect to perform within the heart of Chaos, here, but it needed to be done.

@V-Onyx-Three

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas arrived just at the tail end of the Blacksmith's instructions, his stride carrying him swiftly to where he sensed the Smith's magic and stone. Chartreuse gaze took the scene in, appraising, and his greeting (after the Blacksmith had finished speaking) was booming. "You are here! Good. Laying bricks-? I will help."

This perhaps unexpected offer was followed through on: the Leviathan settled in to physically lend a hand, lifting bricks to place them on any cement the two might slather on the stacks.

"No tea, today?" he asked, intending it as a bit of a mocking joke but accidentally adding insult to the Blacksmith's tea-related injury.

It seemed the smiths from before were also fighters in a way, if their lives had been lost in the rebellion. But what was the rebellion? Or the awakening? He did not know. And there was also the question of whether it was correlation or causation. Did the making of weapons set the stage for violence? "No. What caused the rebellion? Sleep? Awakening?"

And now their mind was spinning about what the Blacksmith meant by sleep. Although rebellions were not directly linked to sleeping, if anything, a rebellion would probably make someone quite awake now that he thought about it. Though rebellions also meant fighting and injuries, all of which would lead to chrysalis which was the closest he could make of the connection. Onyx-Three was wondering now, if it was a good idea to be doing all this if it may potentially lead to another rebellion. But maybe it had been a good thing? And perhaps rebellions were all in the spirit of Chaos. And also a good opportunity for him to put his skills to use.

"I will come to Leo for tools." This coal must be rather tricky to obtain if tools were required. Digging was something he knew how to do, though not a task he took on often. He may be part dog, but he had not quite found the joy of simply digging to dig. But digging for coal, with the usage of tools, was something with much purpose, and sounded enjoyable.

Oh no. It was Vargas. And it wasn't 'oh no' in the sense of 'oh boy this is gonna be bad' but more 'oh no I gotta look GOOD'. Onyx-Three bowed in response to his entrance. Vargas was going to help them lay bricks? This was something he didn't see coming. The pressure was on. Following the Blacksmith's instructions, he took a trowel to slather on the cement. He needed to perform! But his hands were shaking, drops of cement dripping onto the ground, and when he moved to slather them across the bricks, much of it drooped off the side or were spread unevenly. His attempts to fix it didn't go very well either, now the cement was everywhere except where it was supposed to be. Was cement good for fur? He didn't know, but his arms were covered in it now.

The question asked was one that gave the Blacksmith pause. He took a breath, thinking, a sorrowful slump to his shoulders; but before he could answer, Vargas had arrived.

His response, then, was redirected: a quiet, softly urgent "You must wash your arms." This was followed up by explanation. "It will give off... energy. Heat, as it dries. It will burn your arms. You must wash it before it does." He had, of course, brought enough water to mix the paste, and so now he poured another cupful and offered it out with a rag.

Then he leaned back, lifting a trowel again and lapsing into that melancholy expression again. He glanced at Vargas before carefully forming an answer, though there was an old grief lacing every syllable.

"It is hard to say," he began, carefully. "Some felt... imprisoned, or mistreated." Already Vargas's many eyes had snapped to him, guessing at the topic of conversation, and the Blacksmith chose his words carefully. He did not mean to insult; he knew the Overseer's violent history. "They wished to be free of the responsibilities... imposed upon them. Or they wished for freedoms... that were considered by their masters... to be unearned. Others wished to have... families, even those who were born... weaker than others." He paused, pensive. How best to describe this?

"It was as... any war. Any rebellion. A fundamental... difference in beliefs. In values. One side... used violence as a rule. The other... thought it their only choice. And so... violence was had." A soft sigh escaped him, but before he could continue, Vargas interrupted.

For a moment, the Blacksmith feared (not in a truly frightened way, but in the polite manner to which he was accustomed) that he'd insulted the Leviathan: but to his surprise, Vargas spoke almost softly.