Date: ???

Job Arseoth sighed deeply, "as interesting as stone or bone would look, I do have a metallic dragon bloodline, so…."

Black Cloak nodded, "+ metal it is then. I'll need to borrow a bit of know-how from the golem-makers, and a bit more from the war-forgers for the interfaces… +"

Job held up his hand in a gesture of surrender, "I won’t even pretend to comprehend what you intend so long as it works this time around."

Black Cloak laughed, "+ but of course! After all, Artificial beings are indeed part of my Domain, so artificial limbs shouldn’t be an issue. Might take a few iterations to get all the way right, but that can be done before Lady SiDiabolo goes attaching things to you. +"

Job felt a weight dragging on his body, the insubstantial pull to wake up calling to him. It was an odd sensation to say the least.

"+ Looks like our time is up! I'll be keeping an eye on you, as oft as I can spare one anyway. +"

"Somehow that fails to fill me with a sense of hope or appreciation."

"+ Probably a good thing, overall. See ya! +"

. . . - - - . . .

Date: Seventeenth of April, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Job Arseoth woke up in a comfortable bed, naked save for the clean white cotton sheet pulled over his torso. As his eyes flickered open, Job took stock of the room he lay in. Walls of a pearly-white stone washed and Cleansed clean enough to eat off of. A glass pained window to let in the meager sunlight that made it past the overcast sky to dace over the white-crested waves. A starburst of quartz crystals set into a ceiling the pale blue of a summer sky, glowing softly to grace the room with a cool light.

"How do you feel?"

"< Hungry. Sore. Incomplete.>"

"Hah! Understandable, to say the least. Stay where you are, you took more damage than you could know."

"< Fairly sure I can't go anywhere, even if I wanted to. >"

"There is that. You do speak common, don't you?”

“ Why do you ask?”

“Because you've been speaking draconinc since I met you. Instinct perhaps?”

“Probably. I've no better explanation.”

Lady SiDiabolo leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms across her chest. “Interesting. What do you know of the dragonmark on your back?”

Job used his one arm to lever himself up to a sitting position.

“Probably less than you do, Lady.”

“More and less and other. I know of dragonmarks of old. Wild things, manifestations of raw bloodline-power that caused as much harm to their bearers as their targets. Yours... isn't. I would know why.”

“Build me limbs to replace the ones you cut away, and I'll happily help you find out.”

“Oooh, bartering are we? Lucky you, I like the feisty ones.”

A cocky grin spread across Lady Sidiaolo's face, revealing gleaming white teeth, pointed and fanged in the manner of a pure carnivore.

“I'll say this for you humans, you make things interesting again. Nothing is as it was, and nothing looks to be growing back along the same paths, not even parodies of those paths. And yet...”

“Interesting times, hey?”

“The most interesting it's been in nine centuries, perhaps longer. The elder races were smashed back down to little more then crude iron and fire. Magic ran dry, rituals went unheard, Gods fell silent as they licked their wounds. But you humans...”

Lady Sidiabolo shook her head

“You never once backed down. You lacked claw and fang, so you forged them of metal, and then made the tools to make better blades. Magic ran rampant, so you made new rituals to channel it. Gods bled, and your faith bandaged their hurts. You saw the world, the whole plane, and didn't simply try to survive. You charged ahead, unafraid to mix and match an tinker, finding the most unusual solutions for ancient challenges.”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Job stretched out his one working hand

“So do we have a deal?”

Lady Sidiabolo took it and clasped it tightly, “What the nine hells, why not. We've a deal Job son of Arseoth.”

. . . - - - . . .

Date: Twenty Third of April, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Job frowned at the piece of metal held in a Mage Hand for his inspection.

“I don't like the thought of losing more flesh then I must.”

Lady Sidaibolo grimaced, “nor do I like the thought of taking it. But your shoulder is a burn-scar ruinscape unsuitable to bearing weight and we need a strong anchor for your new arm to hang from.”

“So you plan to...?”

Lady Sidiabolo used a small bit of Prestidigitation to crate a pointer of light. She directed it about the item in question, illustrating her points.

“In essence? Replace your shoulder bone. The 'dent' here is the shoulder-socket to which the arm will attach, and the entire rest of the 'scoop' is to give places for your back muscles to anchor. As part of putting it in place, I'll be removing the aforementioned scar tissue and a bit of bone, then using Mending and alchemical healing compounds to fuse this into place as part of your skeleton.”

“And the rest of the arm?”

“That's what the runes in the socket are for, to connect the humerus – the upper arm bone – as well as the 'pauldron' to cover over the seam and protect at least the upper and outer surfaces of the interface.”

“And from that, we have a skeletal structure from which to hang 'false-muscle'”

“Including the minimal golem-esque plating because neither you nor I can figure out how to do skin in metal. It'll look out of place no matter what we do...”

Job nodded in agreement, “better an obvious prosthetic than an  Artifact.”

“Ehh, the arm and the leg will be one-of-a-kind magical items, so they will be artifacts...”

job shook his head in disagreement, “not capital a Artifacts though. A pain in the neck to make, and more of a pain to enchant, expensive as all nine hells, and undoubtedly a 'wondrous' grade magical item, but they are reproducible.”

“Just.”

“Heh, I'll be the one walking around wearing a target for Artifact hunters, not you. Ain't nobody dumb enough to challenge Lady SiDiabolo to a fight.”

Shadows danced in the back of lady SiDiabolo's eyes. “they don't bother with challenges, formal or not, in these parts anymore.”

“ 'Blood of fools' is it? Then why not move? What keeps you here?”

“...”

“Your call, not mine, to make. Is the hip interface ready too, or are we doing that separately?”

“Separately. I want to take the chance to probe about your dragonmark while you are unconscious, and it is 'asleep', instead. Ready?”

“As I'll never be I guess. ”

. . . - - - . . .

Date: Second of May, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

Job flexed his new fist and marveled at the smoothness of its motion. Brass 'muscles' pulled on rune-carved iron bones. Copper ligaments and tendons quivered with power as they held bone and muscle together. The last exterior plates lay n the table in front of him, waiting installation on special brackets that literally protruded from his bones.

He started down at the fingers, slipping each of the fingertip cups into place with a slight click and locking them on with a quick Mending cantrip, literally fusing the metals together. Each piece went into place in a steady progression, lapping over the outside half of the hinge-joint beyond it. The inside surfaces got smaller plates that let the joints flex through their full range of motion, especially across the palm.

The forearm was next. Job laid his arm flat in the 'outer' half of the covering and snapped the inner half into place before mending the whole thing into a solid piece. The upper arm was much the same, although Job had to hold each half in its proper place one at a time. Lastly was the 'pauldron', dropped into place over both the protruding metal of Job's new arm and the flesh near the interface. It neatly hid the surgical scars and the exposed ends of the augmetic, protecting the whole area from incidental damage.

Job took another long look at the plating, admiring the way it imitated the appearance of a plate-armored golem, while still feeling (almost) like his natural arm. The Iron bones Collected, stored, and channeled ambient magical energies to power the whole limb, the brass 'muscles' reacted much as his natural ones did, and the 'golem plate skin' was deep-blued to just this side of an iridescent black, with brass filigree 'dragon scales' scattered down the larger pieces, much as patches of them speckled Job's living arm.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Lady SiDiabolo nodded in agreement, 'We do good work, you and I.”

“I can hardly claim that any of this would be possible without you...”

“Perhaps, but I can smell Black Cloak in some of the inspirations in the past month. And we still have to do your leg. Are you sure you don't want an integrated boot?”

“As much you as that would be, I still need too put on pants. Kinda hard to do that with a boot already in the way.”

“You're 'wearing' it, so it's your decision.”

“So what did you find out about my stormmark while working on attaching all of the bones?”

“Above all else, it is as a living thing, a small fragment of living magic. T will grow as you do, both in power and in age. It is as much a part of you as...”

Job met Lady SiDiobolos eyes. He saw the desire to keep one of her secrets, to not voice what she knew that he musts suspect. Job spoke anyway.

“Your own mark is a part of you.”

“Yes, that rumor holds some kernel of truth.”

“And you don't want to talk about it.”

“No, I do not.”

“Tell me this much, and I will leave the subject alone: is it your dragonmark that keeps you here?”

“Within a thousand miles of Armageddon Reef, yes.”

Job bit his lower lip, thinking hard. “I'll not pry any more, but if you need my aid with regards to your dragon mark, you have but to ask.”

“Thank you. Not now, but perhaps once you come back from Glacierheart? I'd need some time to prepare.”

“That I can do.”

“Fine. I can't help but notice that you don't have much in the way of a wardrobe...”

Job shrugged, utterly unconcerned with the limited selection of clothes at his disposal.

“Grew up in the gutter most of my life, then as a student pinching every copper penny to fill my belly. I don't see much value in extravagances.”

“The one tunic and pants set? Prestidigitation-cleaning or no, mageweave or no, I'm taking you to Elci's of Westmarch for another set or two in another week or so, when we're done with your leg.”

“Far be it for me to argue with you on this. I need a good set of boots for mountain-walking anyway.”