The Infernal Armory rested. Its tendrils had pulled back from Arwin and the red mist was nowhere to be seen. Heat still gripped the air and Arwin, who stood in the center of the room, was covered with a layer of soot, sweat, and grime. Verdant Inferno leaned against the anvil before him and he held a knife in the air before him, examining the results of the last few hours of his work.
His knife had a smooth bone handle that gave way to a matte black blade the length of his hand from base to fingertip. He’d gotten the bone from the Infernal Armory and had opted not to ask where the building had sourced it. Arwin got the feeling he didn’t want to know.
The center of the handle had a fang embedded in its center, the metal molded around it seamlessly. Arwin tilted the knife from side to side, examining its blade as magic tingled against his palm.
When it caught the light just right, he could just barely make out dim orange lines running down the blade and gathering at its hip like veins buried within the metal. Arwin could feel a faint pulse against his palm from the knife’s handle — one that wasn’t quite a heartbeat but wasn’t quite far enough one from one to be called otherwise.
The knife’s blade hadn’t always been black. Arwin had made it from Brightsteel, but the moment he’d quenched it with the aid of the Infernal Armory and applied the finishing touches to his project, the dark sheen had spread through the water like drops of oil. They’d slowly expanded to completely consume the glistening silver until nothing but darkness remained.
Arwin was less concerned with the item’s appearance than he was with its attributes. He wasn’t about to give Lillia a cursed knife that wanted to rip her own throat out or tried to ruin her food whenever she cooked it.
And thus, when the Mesh bubbled up to form into molten red words and reveal the results of Arwin’s efforts, the breath remained lodged in his throat like a stone.
The Chef’s Kiss [Cursed]
[Bloodthirsty]: This item has been imbued with the desires of a starved wyrmling, its power smothered under the immense hunger of the smith that forged it. It cuts living and formerly living material with increased efficiency.
[Will of the Wyrm]: The Chef’s Kiss possesses a fragment bound from the soul of a wyrmling, granting it the ability to act on its own. So long as it has been properly fed, this item will follow its owner’s orders. Should it grow too hungry and be offered no food, the blade will turn itself against the one that has used it most recently until it is sated.
“Well then,” Arwin said, studying the knife. He’d just been thinking he really didn’t want to give Lillia a knife that was going to try to run her through, but as far as drawbacks went, this one didn’t seem too bad. All it needed to do was get a little to eat every once in a while. Arwin couldn’t think of a place where that would be easier to accomplish than Lillia’s kitchen.
The knife remained inactive in his hands. He wasn’t sure if that was because he hadn’t fed it yet or if it knew he wasn’t meant to be its owner. It was difficult to tell exactly how far the intelligence of Cursed items ran.
Verdant Inferno buzzed in the back of Arwin’s mind. The hammer sent him a series of contented feelings before pulling back from him. It vanished from where it had been leaning against the anvil, returning to wherever [Arsenal] sent it of its own volition.
Arwin stared at where it had been for a moment.
Since when could Verdant Inferno summon and dismiss itself? I’ve been thinking that the Infernal Armory is the only one of my items that has a full level of comprehension as to what’s going on, but I’m starting to wonder just how true that is. The hammer might not be able to talk yet, but it’s definitely aware.
I should really make sure I can get that core for it soon. I don’t know what Verdant Inferno will be able to do once it’s actually completed, but I’d really like to find out. I bet I could make that heat-based core with Dwarven Smithing — but not today.
“That’s all for today,” Arwin said as he let his hand lower. “Do you have some oilcloth or something that I left behind? I need to wrap this.”
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A section of stone in the wall slid open and a rolled up ball of oilcloth launched out like it had been shot from a cannon. Arwin grabbed it out of the air and started to wrap the knife, giving the armory an appreciative grin.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. I don’t suppose you know what time it is?”
“It is late in the evening.” The Infernal Armory’s voice sounded weary, like it had been drained and left with only scraps.
Arwin supposed that was basically exactly what had happened.
“Perfect. I hope I didn’t miss dinner,” Arwin said. He rolled his neck and ran a hand along his face, wiping away a layer of soot and grimacing “Thanks again for the help. I really need a damn bath.”
“Most likely. Do not forget my food tomorrow morning. I desire power.”
“I won’t,” Arwin promised. He took a step toward the door, then paused. His head tilted to the side. “Hey, I just realized something. How exactly is it that you can tell the time? Can you leave the building?”
“I am the building. I am aware of the world around me. Particularly the world in the immediate area of my body,” the Armory replied. “Lillia’s tavern is cloaked to my sight, as is the small building between it and me. My senses do not extend far past this street yet.”
That gave Arwin another pause. He supposed it made some degree of sense that Lillia’s building was somehow cloaked from prying eyes. That sounded like something that her class would have given her — and if he had to guess, it probably had something to do with the darkness that enshrouded it.
He was more focused on the second half of the Armory’s statement. Arwin hadn’t known anything about another, smaller building that should have had any relevance on the street. His brow furrowed.
“Small building?” Arwin repeated.
“Yes. It arrived several days ago.”
That only deepened Arwin’s confusion. “What do you mean, arrived? Buildings don’t move.”
“This one did. It is frequented by an old woman. One who is currently waiting in my main room.”
Arwin looked over to the door. His ears strained. He couldn’t hear the slightest amount of noise. It was perfectly silent. Now that he thought about it, the room was too silent. He couldn’t hear anything from the street outside at all.
“Why can’t I hear anything?” Arwin asked.
“That would be because I have muted the sound entering and leaving this area of the smithy to protect our efforts.”
“I see. And how long is it that the old woman has been in the main room trying to get my attention?”
“She has been knocking on the door for the last hour and a half.”
“For an hour and a half? What old woman is this? Esmerelda?” Arwin exclaimed. “Why didn’t you do something?”
“I have kept the door locked to avoid you being disturbed. She did not have anything important to say.”
“How do you know? And why didn’t she leave if she didn’t have anything important to say?”
There was a moment of silence. Then a gentle cough echoed through the room. “Because the main door is also locked.”
Arwin’s eye twitched. “Why is the main door locked?”
“Because Rodrick is waiting outside it. His information is important, but it is less important than the work we were doing. Being interrupted would have wasted my energy and caused your efforts to fail.”
Arwin looked down at the bundle he held in his hands. Then he looked back up. He wasn’t actually sure where to look. It wasn’t like the Infernal Armory had a face he could stare at, so he settled for the wall.
“I may not like getting disturbed, but what if someone was in trouble? You can’t just—”
“Nobody was in any immediate danger.”
Arwin blew out a curt breath. He wasn’t about to get through to the armory. The only thing it cared about was crafting. All he could do was find out if it had been telling the truth about the lack of importance Rodrick and Esmerelda’s messages bore.
“Open the door,” Arwin said. He hesitated for a moment, then pinched his nose between two fingers. Being an asshole wasn’t going to help him and it wasn’t going to change the past. “And in the future, please don’t trap anybody without me giving you permission to, okay?”
“Very well.”
The door cracked open.
A fist whooshed through the air where it had been.
Then, to Arwin’s horror, it continued on its path, devoid of an arm behind it. The fist hit the ground with a thunk and rolled to a stop at his feet. Its fingers fell limp.
Esmerelda’s head poked in from beyond the door, exhaustion and zealotry mixing in her features. She looked from Arwin down to the hand at his feet.
“Your hand!” Arwin exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, it’s quite fine.” Esmerelda adjusted her clothes with both hands. Neither of them were missing. “That one was an extra. I got tired of knocking.”
“An extra — oh, I don’t care at this point,” Arwin said through a defeated sigh. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“What happened? What happened?” Esmerelda exclaimed, her voice raising in octave as she hurriedly shuffled over to Arwin. “What happened is I felt flows of Cursed energy gathering in this building. Not just once, but twice. There’s someone here. Someone looking to steal my business. I smell it.”
“What?” Arwin asked, more from surprise than from confusion.
Esmerelda lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. “Someone is making Cursed items, smith. And I’m going to—”
The words caught in her throat and her eyes flicked down to the bundle in Arwin’s hands.
Ah, shit.