Some Leg Stuff/Fafnir arriving, and Arryn being mom

Arriving. He enters the house as Alloces exits; brief moments caught, and the man observing them in silence. To watch from afar, he more than content with such action; "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

He had left last time. After she had attempted to dress wounds, and brought him here -- waking up to no one, and leaving without note, nor word for her. The attack of kin against him, and he to have suffered from it. Borne on his back were scarred patches of flesh still; healed through the reversal of wounds, and yet it seemed incomplete.

"...Sorry about last time." Came the apology, an awkward hand rustling throug hair, and the Este a bit embarrassed over it all. "I didn't expect that to happen." How could one? To be assaulted with no sign of culprit; happening often again it seemed -- such a thing finding him recently before a journey here.

A story he would not tell, the Youth tired of it, and here for two things solely: Arryn herself, and the company she offered. Then there was her expertise with mechanics, and his limb that needed to be done, and forged.
(Hendrix Este)
She watches Alloces leave the house, and there is a small smile upon her features. Gifted the handgun of her forebearers, and off to play, the mother stands at the bottom of the stares with her hands clasped over her belly... but then a figure steps through the door, which surprises her. She scarcely had expected Hendrix to show up out of the blue like this, and there is both a mixture of concern and anger at his sudden departure - dressing his wounds, leaving to get them food only to return to find him gone when she stumbled into the bedroom.

"...Hendrix Este." The woman begins, in that tone that every mother took when chastising a youth. As he approaches, she closes the distance and then, rather suddenly, embraces him. Her arms wrap around him, and she exhales sharply, settling her chin on his shoulder. "...I was worried about you. What were you thinking, running off like that - not even a note? You didn't leave me anything to tell me even if you were alright. You get attacked in broad daylight by a man who just... vanishes, and you don't even stick around to tell me what the hell just happened?"

It was quite the weird meeting, that day. Rosenkov's appearance out of thin air for a few seconds to strike Hendrix with apparent lethal intent stuck out in her mind - the violins, and she scarcely even recognized the figure behind him before it dematerialized into mist. Pulling back, she glares at him with her mismatched eyes, but it soon softens. She cannot stay made at him ere long. "Come, sit down. Are you cold, sweetheart? Hungry? I could fix you some food, make some tea or hot cocoa - come, come, rest your weary body. I'm sure you must be exhausted after your journey."

He is escorted to a cushioned armchair by the crackling fire, whether he wanted to be or not. "What the hell even happened, that day?"
(Arryn Roh'hi'tin)
"I rather not talk about it actually..." Something he dealt with a lot more while younger. The appearances stopping for a time, but once in a while- Rosenkov did appear again to torment him. It more often than not ending in violence nowadays, and each new encounter seemingly worse than the last.

Pulled over to a chair, and pressed to sit, he shakes his head at her offers, his mind focused now. "If you want to though. . . While we work on the leg- I'll talk then." A bit desparate at this point, and unwilling to wait much longer for prosthetic; Arryn's expertise was necessary, and he was adamant on receiving it this time.

"You can even show me, and I'll study- you mentioned continuing your legacy last time." Yes, prior to the blow; the pressure that had knocked him out had not taken his memory it seemed. Arryn had spoken of wanting something to live on -- her skill with a wrench, and knut; bolts, and screws her field of expertise, and she not willing to just let that fade into the dark.

"I'd like to... If you are still offering that is."
(Hendrix Este)
He didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to push him, but how could he expect her to entirely forget that scene? Her brows furrow, and he is pushy about being distracted with work - so she acquiesces, and nods her head. She was much like he, and sought comfort in the steel. Grasping at his shoulder, she tugs him up from the chair and bids him to follow her. A portion of the ground floor of the house is partially carved into some sort of workshop; there's a forge here, with a chimney rising up to the roof constructed of thick clay bricks, just like the hearth. Her machinery work bench rests nearby, bolts and nuts and other assorted drawers of small gears or cogs stacked atop each other.

Crates of ore of varying purity, including some pushed to the side - his ore, the ones he had brought. Tempestine, mythril, with some tyrium and lesser metals. A rack carrying two aprons and some goggles, along with a myriad of tools - pliers, smithy's hammers... there is an anvil, and a water basket for cooling molten metal and frames. Approaching the rack, she takes an apron up over her head and tying it around her back, she slides on her smithy's gloves, and snaps her goggles down around her head. Turning to face Hendrix, she motions to the apron that hangs behind her - the spare. Black and leathery, it is designed to protect from scrap metal.

"Then stop looking so mopey, lose the cloak, and get over here and work. First things first. I've got your measurements, and I've already prepared a mould for the proper components to fit that size. We've got to melt down the metal, so - you're not a fire magi, are you? Of course not. Start getting the ore ready. We'll need adamantite, mythril, some steel - and the tempestine. You know what they look like, right? Get them gathered, and I'll prepare the forge." Bellows are depressed, and coals smoulder, burning hotter and hotter as she uses her magic to incite the flames. Over the span of several minutes, the house goes from warm to sweat-inducing heat.

"Now, talk to me."
(Arryn Roh'hi'tin)
"Yes Ma'am." Doing as instructed, his hood lowerd, and coat removed; leaving only undershirt, and revealing paled flesh to the sudden temperature difference present. There a bountiful supply of materials gathered - all recognized; ranging from mediocre, to exxtraordinary in one such case, Tyrium there, and present.

What he had brought to her prior seeming to be among it; tempestine held in bundles, mithril that clanged, and those more common metals clinking along now. "I'll handle the melting as well then." He was infact a fire magi; his own craft requiring such a thing, as the natural fire of a forge, even when stoked could not always live up to the expectations of those magically imbued ores, and minerals he often worked with.

The apron now grasped, and his weapon- Ascalon alongside an unnamed, and relatively unused blade are stowed at the side. Bandaged, and sheathed; resting against the wall are the both of them now.

For a moment, he fixes the Apron around his waist, letting the top half fold, and hang behind tightened rope -- shifting from there to find those requested materials; Adamatine's purple exterior easily made out, the green of tempestine ascertained as well, and there the paled hue of mithril residing next to the average gray of steel.

Alll are retrieved, and individual carried over for Arryn to look over. "My family is a strange one basically..." An odd way to start off, she knowing this much already.

"My Grandfather- a proud man at some point, and supposedly a swordsman of near unparralled caliber; Rosenkov was his name..."
(Hendrix Este)
Good. He brings the metal over - surprisingly, he states that he's a fire magi, and then she recalls his usage of magma magicks during their fight in the summoning of the Apostles. Was she getting that old, already? "...Don't make fun of me," the woman begins, smiling gently at her 'son', "..but I forgot your skill with the earth's molten blood, from our desert fight. It seems that getting old has really adversely affected my memory. Say anything, though, and I'll sock you in the face. So let's just keep this momentary lapse of rememberance between us, alright?" The woman chuckles softly as he approaches with the metals, separated - and the forge is heated enough to prepare to melt them.

"Alright." Prosthetic grasping the steel, she begins tossing harshly-cut chunks of that ore into the dark, cast-iron kiln that the flames heated to a point where the metal contained withhin would melt. Slowly, the grey clumps start to lose cohesiveness - and with that, she adds some of the mythril chunks. As her magicks flare, her arcana enchating the flame to reach temperatures perfect for smithing... she sweats, some of the color leaving from her flesh. Doing this now, in her age, was tiresome. A soupy, bubbling sea of silver-blue is left behind as the ore slowly, so slowly, begins to melt into a molten liquid.

Bellows are depressed, and steam hisses not only from the forge, but from her joints as well. "A strange one? What an understatement." She says, another lighthearted smirk across her features. But then, he mentions his grandfather, and she raises her brows. Rosenkov? That was a name she had seen once before, a very, very long time ago. "I know of him." Arryn murmurs. "He was one of the top-tier intelligence officers working for the Republic. That name was in plenty of logbooks and classified, circulating documents. I believe... he went missing on a mission, and just vanished. That was one of the many odd files that I'd bookmarked..."

"...That man is your grandfather? He was the sire to... Rosengard children, I think. Castiel Este nee Melym. Wanted fugitive and felon, aiding Arimanes..."
(Arryn Roh'hi'tin)
"That's my mom, yeah." His actual mother- not Elena, nor her being his blood; the obvious thing at this point. Her momentarily laspe for the moment, while funny- is shelved as she requested.

Something to throw out later, risking getting a 'sock in the face' as she put it. As they begin their toils, metals, and ores are tossed into the flames now -- set to metal, and meld into one another. He follows along as this was not his place of work, he a bystander to a craftsman in their own domain.

"I've heard tale of her throwing lot in with Arimanes- a fiend that reached dangerous levels of power, and also ruined my mother..." Marciel had told him much; of a tragic story, an even more horrific outcome besides that one that befell Castiel Melym.

Hands reach for hammer, and grip it as he searches for some security now continuing to speak. As Arryn's fire burns, his does ignite as well; conflagration heating alongside her's, and filling in gaps where there was a need for that.

"That Rosenkov though- Intelligence Officer or whatever, is my Grandfather. He's also the one who you saw wound me out towards Fafnir's manor the other night." It was confusing to hear of his family members, and their accomplishments in the past; Rosenkov greater than he had ever imagined, and he pondering how is it that such a being fell to the depths where he now resided.

"Strange though. Like I said."
(Hendrix Este)
...Castiel Este?

His mother? That floors her, for a moment, and she stops her ministrations to stare at the youth, with wide eyes. She hadn't expected that, honestly, but she soon returns to work - the spigot underneath the forge is turned, and slowly, the molten-hot amalgamation of metal oozes through the enchanted pipes, ensuring they did not melt. A mould is kicked underneath the faucet, and it pours into the mould. Whatever was inside wasn't visible to the naked eye - it was just a block of obsidian, but obviously the components were carved out in the interior. It, too, was enchanted to make for fast, rapid cooling, lest they wait forever for it to finish.

"She did thrown in lot with Arimanes." The woman murmurs, thinking back to her youth. "I knew your mother. I met her, when she was... fourteen. Bodyguard to my... lover, William Hastings. Corrupting him... corrupted by Arimanes. Got involved in a fight, I believe, against the Republic - and vanished into the wilderness with the Yokai that took Demeter's life." Yes, she could not forget the haughty, blonde-haired youth and the arrogant way she had taken a name that did not belong to her. "She was no Este, not by blood. She was a Melym, and you, then, Hendrix - you are a Melym. Offspring of Lauriel Melym... Rosenkov's wife."

His marriage certificate was part of his file.

"He must have been over a hundred years old - how was that him? He... it was a split second, that he was there, and then he wasn't. You take it so casually - how do you explain that? Rosenkov was a somewhat-known soldier in the Republic - he refused Knight, and even Paladin in the Glacium before it's disbandment. Infiltration missions in the original Cult of Belial, to see their destruction - in Alteros... mmmh." His grandfather was against the Cult... how ironic.

"...What's going on, Hendrix."
(Arryn Roh'hi'tin)
BOOM!

Well, not really.

Without a knock, the door was pushed open and in shuffled the wretched creature that was Fafnir. Over his shoulder was a sack of jangling armor. A single set of the red Nivis armor. Why? Because he needed more. In truth, he waltzed in because he figured Arryn was around and able to do some quick smithing for him.

He did not expect Hendrix.

It was a good surprise!

"Wa, awrite thaur! Whit a brammer surprise! Arryn consortin' wi' Hendrix in Frostvale? Tsk, tsk. But ontae serioos matters, Ah got some Nivis armur haur. Thes needs tae be discreit. Gie mair gart. Gie it fitted. Aye?"

It was hard to tell who the dwarf was talking to, but that didn't matter. With one fluid motion, the boisterous man simply slung the bag of armor over his shoulder and onto the ground before him. A loud clang of metal resounded.
(Fafnir Stoneborn)
"Yeah." He doesn't argue; knowing his lineage, and understanding just where he came from. Something that came later in life, but the lineage of a failed dynasty was not lost on him.

Arryn's tales of his mother's time alongside her first husband; the wielder of Ascalon lying against the wall now. "My Grandmother- Lauriel Melym-Este; it's a name that comes from her, and it's why I have it." He didn't like Melym, it was as simple as that -- the boy never pretending, nor believing it the truth of origin.

As they continue, the cooling process beginning, and the boy receiving history of ancestors, and family. Nodding along as he helps- an eye looking at processes, and recording them. ""What do you mean..?"

She brought up his Grandfather's affiliations; how different it was from his own. The golden-eyed man that had been with him for years. Always judging, always silent...

"I'm not sure I fol---"  Fafnir enters, and as usual- he was loud, and a bit hard to understand! A task for Arryn, and in the middle of this- the moment, and the process; there he stands.

"Fafnir. You're here."
(Hendrix Este)
Fafnir Stoneborn: <The task is also for you too, nerd.>
Such a moment of closeness so rudely interrupted.

Fafnir kicks in the door to her home, basically, and she jumps. In a matter of seconds, she has a pistol in her hand, pointed... several feet above the dwarf's head, having expected assassins or some such. Gazing down at the stout Drakanite, her lips purse and she lowers the handgun back to her shoulder holster, staring at him as he speaks - his voice and accent are, as always, hard to comprehend, but he wanted her to produce some kind of... armor? Admittedly, she was terrified when he happened upon them. Hendrix, the general of the enemy's army, here in Frostvale...

...he could have had them for treason.

"Ah, Fafnir." The Ookami says, quietly, the forge hissing as the last few bits of molten metal are poured into the mold. "You need more Nivis armor made? I can easily do that, though I don't see why something so simple needs to be kept under wraps..." A shrug of her shoulders, and it is good she was sweating already, because the perspiration brought on by the situation is lost amidst that. She takes the bag he had thrown to the ground and carries it to her workbench, for later. Her eyes soon settle on the dwarf, even as she hoists the mold from the floor up onto a table for her to start cracking it open.

"...Hendrix is family, to me. He's like a son, so, please, don't get violent. He's not here to cause trouble, or anything - did the Nivis go through more armor training today, or what?"
(Arryn Roh'hi'tin)
By Ryujin's scaly stones. By th' saggin' sacks ay mah forefaithers. Fur a wolf ay justice, yoo're a bit slaw, Arryn. Ah ainae talkin' tae ye abit th' armur. Since Ah assume Ah can troost ye, coz ye trusted me enaw tae hire me afair, Aam leadin' a coop. Cannae hae Desmend failin' Frostvale. He's a guid cheil at heart, but he's nae fit tae rule. That an' he's a body ay Gabriel's friends. Tay much at stake haur. Tay much tae gamble. Ah ainae lettin' nae dumb half-bluid help some grottie Urayan.

So, Hendrix, Gie thes armur fitted tae yer men. Ah want discretion. Cannae hae idiots strollin' in wi' other gear. Looks bad. Looks wrang."

The dwarf, as usual, spit out his words at a mile a minute, with the thick accent giving that lair of frustration to it. However, what he was said was simple enough to follow. He was too comfortable about Arryn. To him, she was just as much in a sinking boat as he was. Then again, Fafnir didn't have some angry king wanting his head on a pike for murdering his wife.

So, he approached this with his usual 6 CHA diplomacy. The axe swung into the ground and the hilt used as a resting post for the half-man.
(Fafnir Stoneborn)
Things were making sense now where Arryn had harbored misunderstanding. Armor not for her, but for Hendrix to lay claim to; discretion was necessary, and the Dwarf wanted it as much as he did for future dealings.

Arriving with armor, and Arryn quick to defend him. From that moment there is a brief intermission as he turns ot face him now. "This will help us out a lot, Fafnir. You've pulled through on your end." Plans that he had never expressed towards Arryn; Fafnir let that cat out the bag, and for some reason- he didn't seem all too bad about it himself.

Gabriel was mentiond, and that being one of the other many reeasons he had offered aid in this coup. Securing the Silver-Blessed's safety, and doing away with even the faintest idea of communion between Frostvalian, and Danarite through eradication of the current regime.

Shifting over, to let the forge, and it's works not deter him for a moment; the armor is taken, and held up to check for weight, and the work done already upon it. "..Should work for us- there are four, including myself in the end. Plus yourself, Fafnir; my sister can not make it, and that is probably for the better in the end. We will be enough though."
(Hendrix Este)
What

Arryn suddenly drops the mold. The heavy obsidian mold, weighted with cooled metal, collides with the floor harshly enough to break the wood planks underfoot, sending splinters cascading through the air. First, Arryn stares at Fafnir, in total disbelief of what he had said - and then, her gaze slowly turns to look at Hendrix, and her brows knit. Lips trembling, face burning red - the Ookami's lips curl back and she growls under her breath, clearly incensed. "...You were planning to do a coup in Frostvale and you didn't even tell me?!" Her voice shouts, amplified volume only kept in check lest anyone outside hear of what was being discussed. Looking between the armor, the dwarf, and her son...

..."You walk into my house, tell me of some kind of coup - Kraus, when were either of you going to fucking tell me this?! Why in the hell - Ariadne?! Why would you bring here here, of all fucking places! That goddamn immoral murderous witch - yeah, I know Desmend is an idiot, but if this idiot," her hand moves to motion to Hendrix, clearly angry at the lack of communication, "is involved, then Nostvale has to be, and I would rather have him on the throne than the goddamn Belial Cultists running amok in this city! No offense, Hendrix. But GOD DAMN IT..." Throwing her hands up, she turns away, massaging at her forehead...

Too much at stake, too much to gamble. Something about Gabriel - she exhales sharply, holding her head in her hands. Was this right? "How did that dumbass even get the crown?! Percival has a son, Rillian! The prince! The right to rule in a monarchy is led by blood, which means sooner or later that kid's gotta take the throne. You can't just - usurp it, he's a pureblood. Isn't that, like, holy for Drakanites?! I don't - I don't understand Frostvalian politics, I don't-  when were you two going to fucking tell me this?!"
(Arryn Roh'hi'tin)
When were they going to tell her?

Fafnir just stared at Arryn blankly. His draconic helm hid his expressionless visage. Just the fierce look of his helmet gazing at her, and the emerald eyes beneath. She was right. There would be aid from Nostvale. However, she was wrong to assume that the Cult of Belial would have free run over his city. Oh, no. Even if Hendrix was right here, Fafnir shook his head.

"Settle doon, lass. Tae be honest, if Ah didne ken ye an' Hendrix waur sae close, probably ne'er woods hae. Oan th' level, Ah ainae gunnin' fur th' thrain ay Frostvale. It's a temporary hin'. Mah een lay mair tae th' sooth. But still, Ah need Frostvale tae nae be a crabbit pit ay weakness. {lus, mah bluid is pure. Percival trusted me abune aw others in his army.

By reit ay bein' a landed laird, Ah dae hae a claeem tae th' thrain. By reit ay bein' a purebluid an' faithful tae Ryujin, Ah hae a reit tae claeem. But Ah willnae befool th' nam loch Desmend has. He calls himself Sacra an' his bluid isnae pure! He calls himself Sacra an' he cannae achieve th' blessed f'rm. No, Arryn. Ah aeem fur th' thrain tae prevent his foolishness frae ruinin' thes city. Frae havin' us baw tae some rageful Urayan!

Besides, th' agreement pit forth is... loose. Tae be frenk, Ah caur nae fur th' cult ay Belial. It is simply thaur. Ah willnae caur unless they start producin' staurn horrors again. Otherwise? Infightin' will follaw. But reit noo, mah fash yerse ur th' Urayans. Glaikit zealot idiots."

His speech was... rambly. He seemed to trail a bit and loss focus. But through all he said, there seemed to be something off. It wasn't what he was saying, but how. As if there was something else driving him forward. As if he had to, in fear of his life.

As if there was a promise sworn and something was going to collect.
(Fafnir Stoneborn)
"Fafnir is right." There were some points that were assumed before he had a chance to explain himself. The Marshal typically ending up in this position when Arryn caught wind of his acting in accordance to orders from Nostvale. In the wake of them now he does not waver; the Stoneborn sharing his piece, and he agreeing.

"Our agreement is a loose one. The Cult will not impress itself upon Frostvale as you assume we would." 'we' here to express that he did still have dealings of course; the crack, and splinter of wood having him step back as she screams.

"Ariadne is not coming like I said, but that was considered from the beginning- I meant Arwen..." Confusion there, and while it was okay to assume he meant the Prophet herself; Hendrix was not a man who did not practice tact, and strategy. Bringing one such as her would do little more than stir too much attention, and so her part was omitted from the very beginning.

"If I would have told you- would you listen to me when I say I do this to prevent Gabriel from having your head? Frostvale needs a strong ruler in the abscence of Percival; Fafnir is that while Blacktooth is a weak tool to be thrown away when he is spent." His own opinions on the politics of FV were expressed briefly.

"This isn't me turning a city over to Belial, Arryn. This is me protecting you, and your family. The means does not matter; the end is the same as long as you are safe, and Gabriel has no point for entry." Personal stake in this made known. What he did not want to share, and now that it were out in the open?

Turning to Fafnir again, he speaks- "A show of sacrifice is of course required, and my Commander would have your aid in the conquerin of Danarium when hat time comes. As long as this is done -- we do not need to see the streets run red with crimson pools in the name of Belial."
(Hendrix Este)