Receiving Tyrium from Haleakala

[22:21:13] Seated at the table, Hendrix alone with tools, and materials. A piece of flesh-riddled, Belial infested arcanium resting on the mahogany frame; radiating power -- the 'corruptive' influences of the once pure piece of magicite ore now changed forever by the plague-like power of Apostles.

In one hand he holds a hammer. Nothing big, or extravagant- a normal hammer, for normal hammering needs. A tap every so often against the edge of aforementioned arcanium; hums of power echoing as a result with each soft blow against it's exterior.

Reactionary tales of life within! Or perhaps something within him? That let it stir, the lingering presence of that which possessed him mayhaps causing for development when proximity was scarce.

This was what he did- no one else here, save for Atticus. His forge the better place for these kind of things, but since returning to Nostvale, he hadn't bene so fond of cramped, and enclosed spaces for long durations of time!
(Hendrix Este)
[22:27:12] Whumpwhumpwhump-CRACK!

A massive cyclopean fist that had been knocking on the door would accidently find itself thrust through it. The giant hand would wriggle around a bit as the wood bit into his thick wrist, the appendage stuck fast. Bracing himself against the doorframe, and with an audible grunt from the outside, Hal would yank his fist out- in the procss, making an even bigger hole, splinters and large chunks of wood cascading onto the ground. Haleakala was about to knock again...but instead, he would just twist the knob, and poke his large head inside.

"Helloooooo?"

He had been inside the home once before. Marciel, the rather pretty woman, had lead him here. Partaking in a rather awkward ritual, and awarded the Bone, he was quickly shuffled out of the house. Now he found himself entering it once again. Hal would take a step inside. In one hand he held a large box, earthern with an iron handle, and as he closed the door behind him, he grimaced at the head sized hole he had accidently punched into it.

This is why he wasn't allowed places...
(Haleakala)
[22:39:08] Turning in the direction of commotion, he soon turns from it- looking directly westward, as if peering into the lens of a camera, this the close-up shot where he said his catch phrase: 'are you shitting me?' line.

There wasn't a camera there of course, and this wasn't some sort of sit com. This was real life, and in real life- doors costed money to repair. The wide, and boisterous frame that belonged to Haleakala is seen- made known who it was due to a booming greeting that carried with it an unnecessary echo.

Filling the manor, as his fist seemed to fill the -fucking- door with a new place for a knob! With debris falling, and he in the end giving up the subtlety that was 'knocking', choosing just to turn the knob, and pushing open whateve remained of the obstacle that would prevent any from just blindly entering.

Blinking at him, eye to eye, he doesn't know what to think. "...Why." It wasn't a question, but it definitely should have been! At a loss for words, and not even wanting to inquire; arcanium is replaced atop the table, and the teen raises from his seat now.

"My salary..."
(Hendrix Este)
[22:45:07] "Hrmm?"

Turning back to look at the door, single eyebrow would arch upward like a happy caterpillar. Why, he didn't truly see anything wrong with his new addition to the manor door. Infact, it was an improvement. It would let in some light to the stuffy interior, give them some fresh air. A secondary mailslot for those that would deliver rocks carved with ones name to their doorstep and not show up for what seemed like several years.

Haleakala would chuckle at the hole as he turned back towards Hendrix. He would gently- yes, he was actually gentle- set the large stonelike box onto the floor, brushing a hand off on his pantleg. "I, uh. Here to see metalworker." He would look around the room, a frown creasing his face. "You know where they is?" Face turning back to Hendrix. Whoever the blacksmith was, surely they had to be a grizzled old veteran. One who had forged many blades, and had many a tale.

"Have valuable metal-stuff to work. Can pay good money for it."
(Haleakala)
[22:52:48] Fuck sunlight. Hendrix didn't need it, nor did he want a giant opening for 'friends', and hopefuls rushing in to run him rampant with questions, and requests. This a place of work for all who lived here; Ariadne's cult management, his Viridian duties, as well as smithing, and Arwen's photo lab that had been left untouched since departure.

Looking at it, a grimace there on his own face- frowning so deeply that it might leave permanent wrinkles if not for his youth! A box deposited onto the ground, more gentle than he handled the door, he assumed it was worth something to him on a personal level.

"Metalworker?" This wasn't a term coined often in the field of Blacksmithing out in Nostvale. Heard only once before now, years back in Danarium, and there mentions in the occasional odd how-to guide concerning smithing that he peered back on when stumped.

Crossing his arms, he takes a step forward, towards the box. Things becoming clearer at the mention of the word 'pay.' "Oh! You mean 'Blacksmith', right?" Hoping to garner understanding, he looks up at Haleakala; comparison in size not even worth mentioning considering the sheer difference between the two.

"If so... That's me." The teenager, yep. He was the blacksmith- Hendrix Este, co-owner of Este Inc., and sole propietor to any rights regarding the name.
(Hendrix Este)
[23:01:20] "Ya, blacksmith. That what me say, wasn't it?"

Nope, not even close. Single giant eye would look the raven haired boy up and down. Indeed, he seemed familiar now that he got a look at him. They had gone down into the pit, together with Sidriel, if he remembered correctly. Young, though albeit a bit skinny, the boy fought well for someone his age. Or size. Or...profession, apparently. But, he tried not to judge a book by its cover. After all, one of his closest friends had become queen, whilst another a king. Neither of which seemed right for ruling, until it was thrusted upon them.

"Well. Me need your blacksmithing." Still delicately, Hal would lift the box up with one massive arm, carrying it over to the Este lad, before setting it down before him. "Not know much about metal myself. So..."With an idle flick of his hand, and with a little bit of earthern magic, the top of the stone suitcase would begin to crumble away. It sunk between the floorboards, the weakened magic dissipating from the vile materials inside.

The contents were split into two sides. One was the Gore Arcanium he had recovered, the evil metal seeming to fuse with the inside of the box. Parts of it were wiggling and writhing now that the lid was gone. The other half, however, was the exact opposite. It burnt the very air around the box, and the stone within it was mostly eaten away. The raw ingots of Tyrium within would've had its way with the Arcanium, had the walls of it not been so thick. Both eating metals, sharing the same box.

"What these do, and what can do with them?"
(Haleakala)
[23:12:25] Holy shit.

Things started coming back to him. That dreaded dip into the pit, the chaos that came from it, his mind forever changed, and his flesh bearing the immortalized brand that would become radiant in the wake of enemy, or comrade.

Haleakala had been there! The Cyclops in no way a faint figure in his mind when actually straining to remember, the act of suppression taking all of that experience, and shelving it until he was ready to pry open the latch again.

One-Eye One-Eye! We remember him, the giant of earth, the casted monger of blunt! Fought us hard, destroyed our body...! Reason we find you, we use you.

With the memories came the whispers. They also remembered the Cyclops, and they seemed... happy? For some reason, or another; breaking out into some jubilant cheer, they applaud, and commend. His strength recognized, and through it their 'freedom' ensured.

"You were there..." Stating the obvious, kneeling down now at the exposed pieces of material, Gore Arcanium the focus-- his own on the table; festering effects of symbiotic nature rooting it momentarily upon wood.

He reaches for it, bandaged hand extended with no fear of reprecussion, within him already enough of a malignant force that acted as 'ward', against corrupting influence.

"This one here-" Showing it to Hale, remaining there, crouched down, he looks up with it extended outward; "Magically imbued, some of the strongest stuff you'd find. It's a calling card to our Lord, Belial- a parting gift from one of his many Apostles demise." Information he shouldn't have, a gift of his own Apostle- feeding it to him as he now toys with the piece of ore, tossing it back, and forth between each hand nonchalantly.

"The other... Dangerous- to magi. Don't touch it." Tyrium didn't outclass Gore Arcanium when it came to danger, but the differences in what made both of them dangerous was a tad bit contrasting. With Tyrium actively draining any foolish enough to hande it without the proper tools, it boasted the most lethal of the two right now presented.

"Armor, Jewelery, even some kind of weapon- not too big- you can use these to make it with complimenting ores, and fragments as well."
(Hendrix Este)
[23:20:57] Don't touch it.

Haleakala had once held one of the raw ingots aloft, showing it to another prospective smith. It had taken a long moment before the flesh of his skin had started to burn, and the could feel the mana being drained from his entire limb. It had taken a long while to get the feeling back, and he still held a large scar on his hand from his manhandlings of it. Occasionally it would throb, though it didn't do it as much as it used to.

The Arcanium, however, seemed promising to him. Despite it being Belial-infused, Haleakala didn't see it as Hendrix saw it. It was an ore, made to be forged into a weapon for him to use. It wasn't a gift from his god, as he himself had earned it at the defeat of the Apostles they praised so highly. The cyclops would cross his arms, looking at the box, eye locked on its contents.

"Gauntlets?"

A single word, as he looked up to Hendrix, wormlike eyebrow crawling upward once more. "One made of each, maybe?" He would raise a mutton sized fist, running his other hand from the tips of his fingers to his elbows. "Here to here, maybe? Made for hitting, punching. Hurting." Maybe he had put a little too much emphasis on that last word.

But, he knew what he asked for.
(Haleakala)
[23:29:29] Ariadne Hirano: yo boy u dark as hell ]
[23:29:29] Ariadne Hirano: wtf ]
[23:29:29] " You want a gauntlet made out of Tyrium. . .?"

Having just covered the 'no-touching' policy that applied to Tyrium, shoving a whole fore-arm load of it onto one's flesh didn't seem all that smart. Haleakala's request one that boasted suicide, and would probably end in a lot of misery, and pain . . not just for his enemies.

"The Arcanium, even if once harbored the sapient energies of a spirit- that's doable, and not at all insane, but the Tyrium..." Casting a glance at it. He remembered Viola had wanted this very same material- Clementine had requested it, and the girl had gone out of her way to try, and find it for her friend.

He had never voiced then how grateful he was that they never came across it during their expedition trip. "It'd require the casing of another metal- something to hold it's inherent properties at bay, and even then, I'd need a special method to ensure that it sets properly as a cast over the Tyrium for you."

It was going to be tedious. Wracking away silently in his head over what would be suitable- there a list of materials coming to mind, but nothing that was readily available in the Nostvalian vault to succeed with in this sort of endeavor.

"This isn't cheap, Haleakala..."
(Hendrix Este)
[23:39:44] Most of the words that Hendrix had just sent went over the cyclops' head. He had dealt with dangerous materials before, for the first half of his life, in some bleak mine in the middle of a scorching desert. As the boy smith rambled, the cyclops eye would wander back down at the twin ores. They were almost, in retrospect, exact opposites of one another. One meant for draining all around it, the other infused with dark magic somewhat meant to project. It seemed fitting, all in all, to put those two combinations through a mans face.

"Whatever the cost. I pay it. I help make it, if need be." His eye would glance back up to the young Este. It was clear that there was no joking in his voice, a serious tone emitting from the deep bass voice. "I pay for it, I help. I do whatever need to make these." He would clear his throat, tilting his head downward ever so slightly at him. "Would be in your debt."

And yet, that would be another who would have a grip on the cyclops. Feithan, Clementine, Marciel. Any and all seemed to want to befriend the man, to have them on their side. It was surprising just how many wanted Haleakala to fight for Nostvale.

"So, what you think? Yes, no?"
(Haleakala)
[23:49:07] Payment... was never really something he discussed. That being something that Atticus just threw in there as an act of whim- he didn't ever request money, the thought that people used his weapons enough of a payment already.

What he meant when speaking of cheap, and what wasn't-- materials were hard to come by of the caliber he required. If there being any payment ever given, it was through the items needed to forge these requests he received.

"Hold onto your money." Lowering the Arcanium back down with the Tyrium, he raises himself afterwards, dusting off before straightening up. "I'll make it for you. No debt to pay- you'll be helping me along the way, to make sure it all goes as planned."

A hand extended, his fingers tiny next to Haleakala, and yet he still holds it out in efforts of shaking the Cyclops' meaty digits. A sign of agreement, a contract formed now, and a task set for him to commence work on.

"Gathering other materials, shaping them- whatever I ask you to do, I need you to do it. Understood?"
(Hendrix Este)
[23:55:05] Hal couldn't help but smile. Depsite what people said about Nostvale, it truly wasn't that bad of a town. The people were nice, albeit slightly deranged. Though they couldn't truly point fingers, as the cyclops knew first hand how corrupt Rynoa was. Reaching out with a meaty hand, his own would engulf Hendrix, the fingers reaching upwards to the boys wrist. He would shake his hand once, before gently letting go, dropping it back down to his side.

"By bone and stone. Your word, me do. Will be great work."

An old cyclopean wording mixed with his own bastardization. "I leave metal with you. Know better with it than me, after all." Though, for safeties sake, he would flick his wrist once more. The stone lid would shudder back into place, the handle forming at the top for easy transportation. One could lift it off, or with the proper magic, evaporate it completely. Being an earth magi was handy, after all.

"Business be done. There anything else you need before me go, or?..."
(Haleakala)
[00:10:27] Things were set in motion! The gargantuan hand closes around his own, and takes with it most of his forearm along for a ride- a hefty shake that ends in gentle release. A smile, toothy expression there to share with Hale his happiness over this all.

"By bone, and stone, huh... I like that.. Bone.. Blade." Taking a liking to some racial calling, the teen's thoughts wandering elsewhere for a moment as a hand wraps around his wrist, making sure all was settled.

"I'll make a list of complimenting metals for you to look out for." Nodding, the Tyrium, and Gore Arcanium to be left with him- a look at his own rested at the table for a moment. Two of them now! This would probably be bad if someone walked in, and assumed the wrong thing.

The container resealed, he doesn't move to take hold of it yet, Atticus shuffling over to stand at his back- awaiting word of when would be okay. "Besides that- nothing else from you today, Hale. Thank you for choosing me for this!"

He was excited! His last work for the departed Julia; adamantite halberd that would never see the light of day- this a chance to return to what he loved, that fevered dream translating into yearning for some form of greatness sought through the things he created.

"It'll be an amazing weapon. One that I'm sure you'll have fun with when it's completed." Some parting words, the schematics already being drawn up in his head now. He was eager to start, and Atticus finally receiving an impromptu nudge to shift forward, and take hold of the earthen handle; strength in those bones beyond any normal old elderly man- he grunts once, or twice as he drags it along, and out of sight.
(Hendrix Este)