“Damn...” Tyr was soaked in sweat from standing over the dual forges, wreathed in vapor as his clothes dried themselves in the heat. “I never thought I'd lose by such a landslide. I'm sorry for letting you down... I'd hoped for better given all the time I've spent.”
Valkan frowned in displeasure at Tyr, tracing a gray finger along the blade of a crescent axe. The workmanship was exquisite, with fine lines and false runes patterned into it's edge, decorated with luminescent mana crystal. Unnecessary and overly artistic, not very efficient to waste even that small amount of energy on aesthetics – but they'd serve two purposes. One was to throw off an enemy from determining what enchantments the blade carried, which was important. The second, in the event of it receiving a jewel crafted augment in the empty but available slot – they could network the power and serve as additional mana storage.
It was embossed with the head of a snarling tiger and bore many similarities with a halberd if not for the overlong blade, a spike on the reverse side, edge curving down nearly to the haft to give it a wicked look. Even the hilt was immaculate, carved free-hand and rough in some places to enhance the appearance of the enchanted black yew. Wrapped in the hide of an awakened barghest, tempered and treated in mana-enriched wyverns blood. The creativity might not be there, but the technique and raw majesty of the weapon was notable, he had indeed come far. As if he were born for this, Valkan felt no small amount of pride looking at the thing.
“You are a very entitled and often whiny young man.” Valkan growled. “This is passable, and I daresay the work of a master. Among humans... Few without access to the techniques of other races could make anything better than this.” In all honesty, he was astounded that Tyr had developed such talent in just a few years. There were dwarves who would squint their eyes in doubt if one had told them a human had wrought such a thing. “Even I cannot ascertain the purpose of these runes without better facilities. If nothing else, that is worthy of notice, I'd pass a doctorate level student in a heartbeat if this was the product presented to me. Explain its purpose.”
“All of the normal runes, self repair as well – I managed to figure that one out a while ago. On this one, I added a mana displacement array, force projection, and a mass driver at its core. It's experimental, but I think it'll work.” This is what Tyr had made, but Valkan was simply too good – and far more creative. The challenge had been 'forging and enchanting', not something as specific as 'make a weapon' – and Valkan hadn't. Instead, he'd created a belt of silver discs that could give someone the ability to soar through the sky like a bird. Appearance wise, it was beautiful – but Tyr thought he'd had him beat. It was all in the finesse, though. Even after observation and the use of his adventurers tablet – he couldn't divine its purpose until Valkan explained it to him directly. It could even be projected on other things around the user to make them near weightless, not so simple as a flying artifact or focus for magic. This was a literal anti-gravity device.
“Mass driver?” Valkan raised an eyebrow. “What's that?”
“There is a gravity rune in the center of the weapon that can freely change the weight of the item without effecting its density, I combined this with a rune of space and rune of focus. So... I suppose it can be half as heavy, or double – and if swinging at a target that's been identified by the mechanism as physical – it'll latch onto that point and come down with a magnetic force. Generating... I'm not sure... Two to three times the striking power of the original swing? It'll strike once, transfer the shock of a blow to the target, and then strike again at a point when the displaced energy is attempting to leave the body, with no need for the movement, it'll all happen at once. It's like a... Magnetic rail system, almost, the funnel construct the rune activation generates is, anyways."
Valkan nodded, impressed at the use of sequential activation runes. Tyr was ignorant to things that even most apprentices would know because he hadn't been trained in one system, but rather in three. Because of his unorthodox education, his process was unique. Genuine innovation rather than following the beaten path of so many others. “Precision runes exist, not quite like this and you used a space related array instead of wind to facilitate the result. But if you wanted to play with a force multiplier you should've gone for a blunt weapon. Why an axe?”
“It looks cool.” Tyr shrugged, oblivious to the look of unabashed awe coming from the other man.
“Sometimes I almost forget who you are.” Valkan chuckled, patting Tyr on the shoulder. In his culture they had a word for people like that. “It looks cool.”
Valkan was the winner by a long shot. His belt didn't just allow for flight – Tyr was just lacking in understanding or creativity. It would give the ability to freely use a dual gravity and air domain to the user should they wear it. It's only downfall was it used an extreme amount of mana, a weakness Valkan was working on with all his projects – otherwise it was just a very novel trinket.
Lacking in creativity, Valkan had been wrong about the boy. Here was a rune array he doubted any of his people had discovered since the fall of their golden age. Already he could see two dozen ways of improving it, but the current product was more than passable. Tyr had stepped beyond simple imitation and had invented something new, albeit a bit contrived. There was no telling what kind of wonders he would shape in the future.
“You made this for someone.” Valkan understood. Part of attaining a true journeyman level status among his people was to know who or for what purpose an item existed. They didn't always create personal commissions, obviously, but it was a good skill to have, and that was where the greatest magical artifacts came from. “That is good, but given the craftsmanship... Some rich noble somewhere or another would easily commission this for three thousand credits and you'd sell it immediately if you chose to. Thinking of a human army wielding things like this make my skin crawl, and it only took you eleven hours. If this is a gift, we can make something together. Something far better.”
Tyr shook his head. “No, this is the one, this is mine, and there will be other projects for us in the future. Maybe it contradicts the whole reason I'm doing all this in the first place – but I need to stop relying so much on people. At the very least, I need more challenge. This one, and the others – I'll do them alone, it's necessary.” He looked apologetic, but Valkan waved it off. In his opinion, Tyr was the exact opposite, relying too little on other people – but the child was stubborn. “I'd still appreciate your pointers like always, but I see no merit in allowing myself to be carried by you.”
“No, it's a valid enough point. It helps that Abaddon has not come to collect his hammer...” Valkan pondered, curious about why Tyr was still carrying it – it wasn't so simple an artifact as a mithril smithing hammer. It was far beyond his ability to understand, something ancient and incredibly powerful, worth more than every coin Tyr possessed and he hadn't come to realize that. “Quite strange... Good work, take the opportunity to learn. That vaguely irritating self deprecation grinds at me, and it will only do the inverse in regard to your progression. Humility is good, shame is not, this is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, little prince.”
“Not a prince anymore.” Tyr replied, but he was happy hearing those words of praise from a man – or Anu – that he respected so much. Tyr loved the forge, everything about it was well within his control, and nobody could get hurt. Except him, but... He leaned into the vocation, and had a great deal of respect for those who did the same. To create was sacred, even if they were tools of violent purpose.
“Will you share the runes for that mass driver array, as you called it?” Valkan asked.
Tyr nodded immediately. “They are Anu runes. I think it's only right.” Draconic runes were far too inconsistent in scope and creating complex artifacts was too difficult. Making a multi-stage array from them was definitely possible, but beyond him – and beyond the materials available. Every racial magic system had its perks, and this was where Anu excelled.
“Did someone say three thousand gold!?” Mikhail cried from the other room. Tyr had purchased this building, a villa in the 'upper city' that had been abandoned by it's previous owner. Ensuring that it had enough space for a forge, while he was dumping all of his other resources into businesses, he figured a workable facility or home wasn't so bad. He'd just sell it when he left and Tiber kept talking about how real estate was where the money was. The others had been staying in the room opposite the forge, in eager anticipation of viewing this challenge of theirs. “Oi, I really chose the wrong career...”
“Indeed.” Samson gave a rare chuckle. “That's quite the piece, Tyr – enough to make for a family heirloom in any of the tribes of my people. Who did you make it for? Your wives? It's a bit long for their frames, I think.”
Tyr shook his head – looking back at the man. “It's yours. I'm glad you like it, because that really tired me out and I'm not in the mood to start all over again.”
Samson regretted keeping his mouth open as the wash of lukewarm wine erupting from Mikhail's own sprayed all over him.
–
Tyr kept the other artifacts rather simple, dropping an oilcloth full of rattling metal onto the table as they ate their lunch. “What's all this?” Tiber asked curiously.
“A bow for Fennic, cast of blue steel. Pretty light, but the weight offset might be difficult to adjust to, I tried to whittle out a stave but I have no talent as a bowyer. Two short swords, too. Same for Mikhail, but I extended the length and haft a bit to match your respective arm lengths. And a buckler gauntlet and sword for you. I also had some options for armor delivered to all of your rooms that you can pick and choose from, with explanations of what they do. I had a lot of extra items from previous forgings and things I found in the astral space – and a lot of them are just as good as the stuff I can make now. I don't have the time or resources to see to a matching set, so we'll have to make due, you'll look a bit strange – I'm afraid...”
“Damn!” Mikhail cried out in awe at the majesty of the bow, a complex looking recurve with a compound mechanism on its tips. A bow likely worth more than he'd ever seen in his life, and it was made of metal – giving it an appealing and dangerous look. The short swords were just as magnificent, leaf bladed, in the gladius style. “Are you serious...? Don't get me wrong, this is great... But we haven't earned this. I mean... Three thousand sovereigns?”
“I don't care.” Tyr frowned. “Someone close to me was killed, and if it helps you accept the equipment I offer my bodyguards – I would rather not lose any more investments. I gave the guy a skillbook and then he died without even using it.”
Jura turned from her meal to lower her eyebrows at him suggestively, but said nothing. She was well aware of his insecurities by now, quickly deciding that this was all part of his mechanism. Disguising the pain of loss with sarcasm or very inappropriate jokes. Tyr liked to call himself simple, but she'd never met anyone nearly as confusing in her entire life. Sometimes it was better just to leave him be.
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“Then I'll accept it.” Mikhail said with an assenting nod. “Thank you, truly. These will be my most treasured possessions for the rest of my life.”
“They really aren't that great.” Tyr coughed, blushing, much to the amusement of those observing him. And they weren't, they weren't masterworks, not even his best work. He'd been tired when he'd made them and cut some corners with their gear in particular, being more frugal. He had better things just lying around in his ring, dozens of them. But these were cast with them in mind, which should more than make up the difference.
Benny's death had come as a shock, not in that it had happened, but how much it had crushed Tyr down to his most basic parts. He hadn't expected that, feeling like a small part of him had withered away. Xavier and Abe too, to lesser extents. There had been a moment where he thought he might lose it, nearly killing a senator in broad daylight who'd made a mockery of their sacrifice. If any of these men died... He wasn't sure what he'd do, they were his family, like uncles to him. Jartor could lose his head tomorrow, Tyr sincerely doubted he would be overly aggrieved. But these men... They were different, they meant something to him, perhaps he wasn't such a machine after all.
They'd called him psychopath, sociopath, monster. Demon, heathen... But there was still some humanity in him, and these people were like pillars holding that part of him up. He didn't want to lose that, each of them was a candle and without their flickering flames he'd be cast in shadow. Finding out what version of him would emerge from that darkness was not a part of his plans. After all, he'd done things after his mother had died, terrible things by consideration of others. He might not see them that way, but he knew how people felt about it, and that perception was a reality. No regret, but he knew he'd been cruel, unusually so. He wanted to be better, he really did, and his only way to do so was to hold on to these lights inside of him.
Selfish. As always, and he accepted it for what it was. There were far worse things to be, relying on others to keep him on the right path was a flaw he could live with.
Unexpectedly, Fennic accepted them without complaint. “Poor excuse for some bodyguards as you're always run off somewhere, but I think we both know I earned this. Just me though, not the rest of this lot. Unlike them, I've actually guarded your body, aye lad?”
“Oh really?” Mikhail scoffed. “And how exactly is that?”
“I taught our little prince the true satisfaction of a hard days work among the earth and the roots. You might even say I made him a man.” Fennic replied with a smug grin on his face, holding the bow as if it were an infant child.
“What the hell does that even mean!?”
Tyr slammed his hand on the table once, a bit too hard. He wasn't used to exerting himself and he left a slight dent in it, a crack emerging in the thick wood. It also hurt, which was precisely why he rarely struck things at full strength, his durability couldn't keep up with the force. “Fennic taught me a great deal, and without him I most assuredly would've been worse off. And it's not just him, I owe you all a great deal and I have never truly shown my appreciation for you.”
Even if you were the worst role models a boy could ask for, most of you... He didn't say this, opting to let the moment be a good one for them. Fennic blushed, stroking the curvature of his bow lovingly with his gloved fingers. Finding his eyes getting lost in the warped surface of lines threading through the metal. Crystalline in appearance, if not for the warmth of the steel he'd have sworn it was covered in frost.
Each of these bows would nail at man to a tree at two hundred yards, they were worthy artifacts.
“That's not true.” Mikhail waved the concerns away, changing tune all of a sudden. “I'll take your gold, magical items, and I've got your back as long as I live. That's all. Others forgot, but I didn't – and neither did Fenn. You have always been fair with us, and these days that's all a man can ask for. I was born a lumber mans son, only got a badge because I was talented in ranging and my superior caught me sawing the scalp off a raper and thought it was funny. You walked alongside us as and treated us as equals despite your position, called us brothers, saved some of our lives and gave us places to live. A purpose fit for a Harani man. Now we'll be given the glory of a whole world staring at us and we didn't earn it, I believe that – really and truly. These are noble gifts, and you've never stopped giving them.”
“Mmm...” Fennic chuckled. “You have no idea how important you are to us, like a son to me personally – and I'm sure Mikey's no different. A cold little bastard, but we love you all the same. Can't say I didn't enjoy giving some empire justice to those rats we hunted back in the day, kinda miss it to be honest. Rich folk deserve a good clubbing from time to time, to keep them in line, savvy?”
“A man who lives on a lake can't offer a thirsty traveler a bucket of water and declare himself a saint.” Tyr grimaced. He was incredibly fortunate and had paid more than fair wages, sharing his wealth, but they were pennies to him then and that fact hadn't changed.
Still not realizing that Mikhail, through their old looting runs on the properties of murdered nobles, had already cashed out more than fifteen pensions worth of gold. Sitting pretty on a nice stack of his own. He could start a business, live the rest of his life as a merchant or innkeeper, but he wasn't that type of man. He was a road man and a rogue in all ways, mostly the good. To him, far too many went about living without every being alive. He wanted excitement, adventure, and at the end of his road serving the primus he was absolutely confident Tyr would reward him with something well endowed and exotic. An elf, preferably.
Tyr's eyes slowly moved to Tiber who had yet to take hold of his gift. “Do you not like it?”
“It is a masterpiece.” Tiber's eyes didn't leave the silver-blue blade. It was built to the ideal standard of a longsword, perfectly matching his preferred reach. In his sicario days, Tiber had been known as the raven. Because all he'd ever left behind were a flock of the black birds in his wake. There was a raven on this sword, stamped to the pommel in vivid black moonstone to match the leather around the hand and a half grip. Sat astride an astonishingly detailed sheathe of midnight black, velvet on the inside with Tyr's signature wolf embossing, another raven bursting from the maw of it to give it further artistry. Funny, that, the raven from the mouth of the wolf, Tiber smiled down at it affectionately. The symbolism was not missed on him, it was surprisingly romantic. “But I already have a sword.”
He presented his own, drawing it slowly from the sheath. It was old and beaten, magicless, just as he was. It was a mark of his dishonor, to never again carry a magic sword or make use of his implants as long as he lived. Signe had died, and he'd lived with that. When he'd thought she had, at least. It's edge was rough in some places, but it carried a mirrored sheen, meticulously cared for every day. Well oiled and polished, but it was as old and beaten as he was. There was only so much he could do with his skill, and no others were permitted to touch it but him. That sword had been through many struggles at hip or in hand, and he wore it as proudly as he could a true mark of his gravest failure.
“Everyone, get out.” Tyr said softly, and they listened. They always listened when he took that calm monotone. For those who knew – it was better that than get a beating from Tiber who enforced a harsh hierarchy while the prince had refused to bother with doling out punishment. For those who didn't, they could feel his troubles and knew a fight was about to break out, and it wasn't their problem if Tyr beat the old man down for disrespecting his generosity.
Tiber was an honorable man, but he was hard – and had a dark past. He had taught Tyr the game more intimately than any other, and was no less than family to the man. They both saw it that way, uncle and nephew, master and student. At some point, Tyr's shadow had been cast far longer than his own, and he'd been left behind – but it didn't change the facts. Tyr was Tiber's greatest pride, and also his greatest shame. He felt responsible for everything the boy had become, ruthless and cold, but pride lay in the fact that Tyr had become mighty despite his infirmity.
“She's alive.” Tyr said. “And you're forgiven. There was never anything to feel guilty about in the first place.”
“That's where you're mistaken.” Tiber said. “There is everything to feel guilty about. When I was betrayed and dishonored, she found me. Lifted me up and used her influence to ensure that my legacy remained intact, false accusations buried along with the one who had made them. I know what it is, and yet I still refuse. I will die with this sword in my hand, and no other.”
“Take it.” Tyr slammed his fist to the table again, getting frustrated. His mother had done this to Tiber, broken the man when a simple letter of explanation or 'goodbye' could have saved him from disgrace. It wasn't just Tiber, he was the lucky one. The rest of the dawnguard had been stripped of all rights and titles and thrown out of the capital. Tyr had looked for them, all of them had been like aunts and uncles to him, but he'd never found any. Dead, probably.
Tyr grimaced, sighing and continuing as calmly as he could. “This is your sword.” He said. “Quite literally, it is forged with your blood.”
“...My blood?” Tiber voiced his concern, looking a bit disturbed. “Is this why you kept that whittling knife when I cut my thumb?”
Tyr nodded. “It is soulbound, it's not some profane ritual, its just the easiest way to do it. Just enough to ensure no others could access its runic array, it will only work for you. And it is the greatest thing I have ever made, it is even better than my own. For now.”
“I did not consent to that, boy.” Tiber growled, standing up and glaring at Tyr. “I have served you faithfully, allowed you to go about your fancies and dishonor me further by always leaving me behind. Because you think I am weak, perhaps, or old. Maybe you're right, maybe you have grown so tall that a man of my stature is no longer of any use to you, but I'll not accept this.”
“I love you like a father, Tiber.” Tyr's expression softened, the older mans along with it. “I need you to take this, to serve as proof that I did something good. It's strong, I can feel it – I've never made anything so perfect, and it was all for you. Only you, Tiberius Scarr, the Raven.”
“And I, you.” Tiber looked tired, patting Tyr on the shoulder with a thin smile. “Like a son. An irascible, delinquent, incredibly selfish son – but you are what the great primus made you. I think, and no small part of that is my fault. I see good changes in you these days, and this unburdens my spirit, but there are limits to the commands you give me. I would die for you, but I will not do this.”
“You will.” Tyr was insistent, that stubborn streak bursting out of him as he glared down at the shorter man. “You'll take it, or I'll make you take it. Do not test me, old man. I love you, but I'll hide you if you don't, I will not tolerate a refusal.”
“...Oh?” Tiber raised an eyebrow. Tyr had a laconic nature, even when around close friends or people he trusted. Just staring at things, always. It made them uncomfortable, a lot of the time – even the men of the blackguard and their affectionate 'little monster' comments. He wasn't young any more – he was a fully grown man, and quite a bit larger than Tiber. Filling out very well, becoming a handsome adult with fine features, if not for the constant scowling and angry turn to his brow. “Alright. A wager, then. You match your sword against mine, and win, I'll use this great work of yours. Is this agreeable?”
“I...” Tyr paused, feeling some indecision settling over them. “You have no idea how strong I've become, uncle. I spoke in anger, I do not wish to hurt you, please don't make me.”
“Mmm...” Tiber snorted, shaking his head at the gal of this young man. Tyr was a knight, his junior, technically. “You've grown a bit too big in your britches to think I can't still put you in the dirt after all these years. Without your magic, I doubt you'll do anything of the sort.”
This got Tyr's attention. Laconic, stubborn, foul tempered most times. But he was competitive, insanely so, borne from the inferiority complex he'd felt his entire life. Too proud, but not in the sense that he thought he was better, rather because he refused to accept his own limitations. A good trait to have, for a killer.
It was settled, he'd beat some sense into this old man and make him take it.