Lava — stolen from Wallace’s Forge, of course — squelched in Arwin’s mouth as he chewed. He rested against his anvil as he worked to prepare the molten stone to work with. Magical energy prickled at the inside of his mouth. If he pretended hard enough, it almost felt like spices. If he’d never tasted any of Lillia’s cooking and had such high standards to compare against, he might have been able to believe it.
“You have been chewing for too long,” the red mist said, irritation tinging its voice as it flitted around Arwin, steps flickering in and out of sight as the invisible being moved. “It does not take you that long.”
Arwin reached into his mouth and pulled the ball of worked lava out before sending a cross glare at the smoke. “Who said you get to decide how long I take? I’m the smith here.”
“I am impatient.”
“Then you will learn to be patient,” Arwin said curtly. He popped the lava back into his mouth and went back to chewing. Every movement layered more of his magical energy into the rock, infusing it with his intent.
The Armory wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d taken longer than he normally did. Arwin’s connection with the lava had already been firmly established — but he wasn’t satisfied yet. The longer he worked the stone, the more of his intent entered it. That wasn’t to say he could keep at it forever. While there didn’t seem to be a perfectly clean exact limit, there were definitely drastically diminishing returns. The past few minutes of work were likely overkill. They’d only gotten him the equivalent of a one or two percent boost in his synchronization with the lava.
But that tiny amount wasn’t something he was willing to give up. Not when he was about to start working with cursed materials. He finally pulled the lava out of his mouth with a [Soul Flame] encased hand a few minutes later, adding it to the rest of the lava he’d prepared and rolling it all together into an orb. Waves of heat rolled off it and prickled against his face and sweat beaded against his back before soaking into his shirt.
The entire building had heated to the point where even he was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Molten energy pulsed within the lines running throughout the ground and walls. He could feel the Infernal Armory’s impatience with him. Arwin ignored it. This was not something he would let himself rush through and make a stupid mistake in the process. He would be taking every precaution he could until he knew the extent of what kind of items he’d be consistently creating.
It hadn’t taken Arwin long to determine what kind of material he wanted to try to work with for his next Cursed item. He didn’t have a teacher that could give him suggestions as to what materials would lend themselves the best toward being Cursed, but his latest Title had given him a strong hint.
[Harbinger of the Forsaken] –You reached out to the deepest reaches of your soul and welcomed the shadow that lurked within into the light. That might not have been a good idea. You can now sense and forge the emotion contained within materials — whether you want to or not. In addition, Cursed items you craft are shrouded from all but the strongest of gazes.
“Emotion, huh?” Arwin asked, examining the black metal. “Show me what I’ve got to work with.”
A section of stone before him slid open and a small pillar rose up from beneath the ground. Upon it rested a large chunk of warped black metal that had once been part of a set of armor. Its edge was coated with dry green crystal and splatters of blood marred its surface.
Two more pillars followed afterward, and Arwin did a double take as they appeared. The first bore a single scale — one that had not belonged to a Wyrmling, but a Wyrm. It glistened in the glowing orange light spilling from between Arwin’s hands. And, on the third pillar, was a warped sword. Its blade was blackened from fire and its hilt heavily dented. The weapon was completely worthless in a fight now, but Arwin recognized it instantly. His stomach knotted.
Zeke’s sword.
“How did you get that?” Arwin demanded, his gaze snapping to the figure in the mist. It stepped to the side and flitted across the room in a stream of crimson as if unwilling to remain in his line of sight for more than a few seconds.
“Items of power are drawn to one another,” the Armory replied. Red smoke slipped between a crack in a floor and the cloud vanished, only to reform behind Arwin. A refreshing breeze rolled across his skin. “It wishes to be used.”
“Items of power?” Arwin asked, reaching for the sword before stopping himself and pulling his hand back. His brow knit. “What do you mean? This was a good sword, but it was no artifact.”
“Power is vested in more ways than one. Great emotion can lend itself to great strength when in the hands of someone with sufficient skill to activate it.”
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Arwin’s eyes lingered on the sword. Then he shook his head and pulled his eyes away from it. “Put the sword away. I’m not going to waste it on my first attempt. I’m not so sure how I feel about warping one of the last things I’ve got from Zeke either.”
“Creating a tool is never a bad thing. The purpose of an item is to be used, not to rot.”
He didn’t have a response to that. It didn’t change his gut feeling. Working with Zeke’s sword… Arwin wasn’t sure he was ready to do that yet. It was going to require more than just physical strength. Splitting his attention like that when he was trying to learn was a good way to ruin the material.
“Later,” Arwin said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He shifted the ball of magma to one hand and picked the Wyrm scale up with the other. Then he let his head tilt to the side. “And this? An item of great power as well?”
“No. You left your bag in my domain. I took it.”
“You stole it,” Arwin said. “When did I give you permission to root through my stuff?”
“All material that belongs to you belongs to me.”
Arwin’s eyes narrowed. Then he nodded to the pillars. “Get rid of those. We’ll use this. And that’s not how this works. Next time you yoink something, ask. I’m willing to be partners. I’m willing to feed you. I’m not willing to give you free reign over everything I have. Understood?”
An irritated hiss rolled from within the smoke. Arwin stood fast. After a moment, the Armory let out a childish huff. The smoke swirled past him to curl around the anvil and shoot into the ceiling.
“Very well,” the Armory said. “I will ask.”
“Good,” Arwin said. “Now, how are we on metal?”
“Which metal?”
He thought for a moment. If he was going to make something with the scales… given how tough they had been to break, it had to be something defensive. Arwin glanced down at his feet. He’d still yet to complete the Ivory Executioner Set. All he had left were the boots, but he hadn’t figured out what kind of enchantment he wanted on them.
A scale like this one is going to lend itself great to defense. That wouldn’t hurt to have on my sabatons, but I think I’d prefer some sort of movement related trait on them. If I’m going to go for defense, then there’s only one option.
A shield.
“Get me the rest of the Maristeel,” Arwin said, coming to a decision with a curt nod. He set the scale on top of the anvil and rolled the ball of magma between his hands. “Some Brightsteel as well.”
The pillars sank into the ground seamlessly before being replaced by another one. Piled upon it were several large sheets of Brightsteel and Maristeel. Arwin looked from it to the ball of magma in his hand, then reached out to grab the first piece of metal, sliding it into the lava. He had a lot of work ahead of him.
***
Hours slipped by. Arwin purified and prepared every single piece of metal, breaking pieces of the sheets off and feeding them into the orb of molten rock one by one. By the time he finally finished, he had a large stack of blue and silver ingots resting on the anvil beside his dragon scale.
Arwin dropped the magma and the floor opened up to swallow it. That particular feature of the Infernal Armory got more and more useful with every passing day. It was like having a magical trashcan that followed him around.
Something tells me the Armory wouldn’t take too kindly to that.
His gaze flicked over to the red mist. It swirled at the back of the room, quivering in anticipation. There was definitely something a little disconcerting about the smithy being excited about this. He wasn’t quite sure if the building was malicious but given that the magical object powering it was a massive zombie heart, it certainly wasn’t going to be feeding any orphans.
Arwin blew out a breath and studied the materials he’d readied one more time. He was pretty sure he had everything he was going to need. He gestured to the mist. “Come on, then. Let’s do this.”
“You’re going to make a Cursed item? Properly?” the airy voice grew even more animated and the mist danced through the air to gather by his side. “What kind?”
“Why do you sound so surprised about it? I’m making a shield,” Arwin grumbled. He rolled his neck and extended a hand. Verdant Inferno snapped into being in his palm. The weapon sent a contented purr rolling through his mind. It was just as eager to make this as the smithy was.
I think I’m getting ganged up on. This is unfair. Where’s Lillia when I need her?
“And of the traits?” the Armory asked. “What will we imbue? The bloodthirsty will to carve through our enemies? The all-consuming hunger that drives us?”
“It’s a shield,” Arwin replied. “What do you think, smart guy?”
The voice hesitated for a second as the mist shifted back, taken by surprise. “You are sarcastic.”
“I’m allowed to be snippy,” Arwin growled. He extended his hands. Black tendrils shot form the wall and streaked through the air, slamming into his back and shoulders. Arwin drew in a sharp breath as energy thrummed and started to flow between him and the smithy, connecting them.
Arwin lifted the scale before him with his free hand and extended his senses toward it. Faint whispers tickled the back of his ears. The desires that had been trapped within the material slowly grew louder as he beckoned them forth.
They grew louder and the world dimmer. Darkness encroached over Arwin’s vision as it focused in on the scale until nothing else remained. There was desire, but that wasn’t all. A dark, ruddy crimson smoke poured out from the scale and pooled at his feet. It bore a thick, sticky-sweet energy that clung to his skin like hot sugar.
Emotion that did not belong to him burned in his mind. The final thoughts of the Wyrm before its scale had been stolen drove into his mind like a spike. Anger. Humiliation. Hunger. Annoyance. A flicker of fear. But there was more. Amidst it were emotions that most certainly didn’t belong to the Wyrm. Victory. Survival. Not just his, but the emotions of others in the Menagerie, resided within the scale.
So this is what I’ve got to conquer, eh? Come on, then.
The emotions rose like the tide and swallowed Arwin along with the mist. He dropped to the ground and sat just moments before a familiar darkness washed over the world. Then the smithy vanished, and a vision rose up to swallow him whole. He met it with a determined smile on his lips.