Servant of Flames - RPLOG
From Rusted Promises
Participants
Date
30/4/478
Log
It is the night of the sojourn into the mines, before the military moved into the camp and started bordering things up and collapsing tunnels. A naked Elijah has finished performing his quick repairs to Grizz, his Dire Grizzly golem, from after the fight with the Magma Elemental, and rather than leave immediately he almost feels... called... to take a look out the other side of the chamber, to see the bubbling, liquid heart of the Firebough volcano.
Elijah is still pretty exhausted from both the fight and getting his golem into fighting shape again. The burly bear stretches his huge arms and yawns, leaving his equipment for a moment to wander across the chamber. After all, might as well see the caldera itself as long as he was here. The grizzly shambles over to the open side of the cavern and leans out to see what he can see.
For anyone that hasn't seen the heart of the Firebough caldera, the sight is breathtaking - in multiple ways. The sheer heat of the liquid rock down below causes a strong convection current, meaning that there is an almost steady wind as air is sucked through the various tunnels and chambers in the mountain, then heated to rise out above the desert. The magma below churns and bubbles, with little bursts arcing into the air. And, just barely audible over the sound of the air and the bubbling stone, the very distinct sound of a hammer striking metal against an anvil can be heard from below. It even seems that, where the lava fissure sheard off a piece of the ledge overlooking the caldera, the rock split in a way what... seems to leave a traversible path down around the inside of the magma chamber to a lower level.
Elijah smiles at the feeling of the superheated wind blowing his shaggy, golden fur around, then that smile is replaced by a frown when he hears the sound of metal working. "What in hell?" he grumbles as he looks around. The bear does not go back for his things, there might be another of those elementals and he wasn't about to lose his goggles or tools if he had to go dragon again. He starts making his slow, and careful way along the unexpected pathway, ready for a fight, just in case. Too bad Grizz wasn't up for much more than the relatively easy walk home at this point.
The searing heat is tolerable, if only just even for a dragon, and the sound of forge-work continues as Elijah makes his way down the path. Eventually it stops, and shortly after Elijah reaches the end of the line - bare feet above the current level of the magma, there is another opening in the rock wall. As the bear steps inside he is treated to an unexpected sight - an old, wrinkled Creator woman, wearing a robe of brilliant scarlets and golds, working a fully featured forge here in the heart of the mountain. She is holding something in the forge in a pair of massive iron tongs, and she does not even look up as Elijah enters, although she addresses him. "Be a sweety and pump the bellows for me, Elijah dear."
Elijah stares in shock. He is in the middle of a volcano where he was fighting magma elementals, right? How has he ended up nude in a Creator's forge? In his state of bemusement, the bear goes into autopilot, following the woman's instructions and going to the bellows, pumping them with familiar motions. After a few moments of working in silence, the bear realizes that she called him by name! "Uh," he stammers, "Have we met before, Ma'am?"
"No," the old woman replies, tone matter of fact. Her attention does not appear to waver from her work, watching the iron grow white hot. "But you caught my eye a while ago, youngster. You have promise, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before you found your way here." She smiles softly, then pulls the iron from the fire and quickly moves it to the anvil. She picks up one of her many hammers and lays into the metal, striking with surprising strength and vigor for someone of her apparant age.
Elijah certainly does not know what to say to that. He has caught the eye of an elderly Creator blacksmith? "I'm sorry, Ma'am," he says politely, "I don't think I understand. I'm nobody special. I just build machines and things. Don't see how you'd even notice." The burly bear leaves off the bellows and fetches a quenching bucket and dips it in the inevitable trough. It was not his forge, but there were certain constants.
There were always certain constants, and even though the water should be all rights be steam, it is nonetheless there. The old woman delivers a few more decisive strikes to her working, bending the metal a sharp angle, then dips it into the bucket. She finaly looks directly at Elijah then, making eye contact, and there is something smoldering and carefully banked in her gaze - like looking into the heart of a forge itself. "I am Hephastia, Elijah. I *am* the fire of hearth and of home, the fire of the forge. The fire of the soldier's camp, bringing warmth and comfort to those in need. Perhaps that helps you see?"
Elijah stares into those fiery eyes and sees something familiar there. He seems a little hypnotized by whatever he sees. "Maybe," he hesitates, "Maybe I DO know you. I mean, you seem familiar." The bear shakes his shaggy head and goes back to working the bellows. "I don't think I have heard your name," he say, "But, are you one of those Spirit beings? And what are we making, if you don't mind me asking."
Hephastia inclines her head. "One of those Spirit things," she replies, with a wry tone. "Precious. And as for what we are making... well, -that- is the question, isn't it?" She considers Eljiah for a moment, then picks up her bent piece of metal and sets it just inside her forge, away from the most intense heat, to let it begin the tempering process. "This is going to be part of a set of farm tools. But as for you, Eljiah... I wanted you to come here so I could see what we are making with you."
"With me?" he asks, still more than a little confused. This must all be a dream. He must have been so exhausted from the fight that he had passed out beside his golem. That makes this make so much more sense. "What did you plan to make with me?" he asks, "I'm just a golem maker. Not even one of the best. I just make stuff to keep things moving smooth, you know."
Hephestia holds up a finger as she regards Elijah again, then shakes her head. "No, what are -you- going to make, Elijah? Are you going to be a wrought iron pot, empty unless someone gives you a purpose, left to rust away forgotten in a corner? Cast iron, useful but brittle, and easily broken? Or do you have other plans?"
Elijah snorts and reaches for a pocket to retrieve a cigar, then suddenly realizes that he is completely nude! "Oh, Creators!" he shouts, "What am I doing!? I'm nude in a lady's forge! Sorry about that! But I guess it's a dream anyway, so why not?" The bear shakes his head at the question. "I don't want t be any of those things," he says, "I'm no farming tool or vessel or anything like that. And I'm definitely not a weapon. I've met that kind before and I'm not interested." The bear scratches his head, taking a break from the bellows, since the Spirit seems to be done. "I guess I'm more like a hammer," he rumbles, "Like that one you got. I want to shape things, make them strong and new. That make any sense?"
The sigh that greets Elijah's apology sounds much like the gust of a bellows, but the elderly woman-Spirit smiles ruefully at the bear-Being. She crosses her arms and stands by her avil, and as Elijah continues her smile grows warmer. "It makes perfect sense, youngster. Those are my favorite sorts of people."
Elijah shuffles his feet and fidgets a little under the gaze of the elderly looking spirit. His eyes flick around the forge for some kind of distraction. He had not been nude in front of a woman since his Grandmother had passed away. The burly bear coughs and tries to put his hands in his non-existant pockets. "Uh, so is there anything I can do to help out, Ma'am?" he asks, "I mean, since I stumbled into your forge and all."
"Well now," Hephestia draws it out, her tone soft. "That is the other question. I have rules, as do all of my kind. I can not ask any more of you than you have already given, Elijah." She smiles. "But for my closest followers, my apprentices and journeymeny, my craftsmen and caretakers, I ask that they be the hearths that strengthen and mend the spirit. That they be the forge and the hammer that shapes and mends the tools of the world. That they stand strong, so that others may lean on them in times of need." She pauses, then shrugs.
Elijah looks around the well kept forge. "You take on apprentices?" the bear asks, "I could get behind that kind of thing." The bear looks aside in embarrassment. "I mean, if I haven't already ruined my chances by walking in here in the buff," he rumbles, "I guess I am pretty okay with doing all that stuff if you can teach me to be a REAL craftsman. There's just more great things that want making than swords and shields and things, you know? I want to learn to make things that really matter. To make lives better." That's probably the longest speech the bear has given in a decade! "Will," he hesitates, "Will you teach me?"
Hephestia gives Elijah a brighter smile, then moves her iron - now glowing a dull, cherry red - off to the side to air cool. She moves to her stock, collects a piece of raw iron, and offers it to the bear. Should he accept it, it is heavy - a large chunk of the raw ore. "I would gladly offer you my gift and my pact, Elijah, shaper of the forge. If you accept,then I bid you to Create and to Prepare, and I offer the fortitude to persevere and a steady hand to see the work done well."
Elijah nods. He gets the feeling that this is part of some kind of ceremony, but it feels too surreal to really feel worried about it. The burly bear reaches out and takes the lump of metal. "Yeah," he says, "I can do that."
Hephestia's robes burn with her tamed fire as she hands off the lump of iron, and she raises a hand. "Excellent. And where shall you carry your mark, Elijah?" she asks. "Once this is done you will be one of my Callers, and I will always be at your side. Whenever you work the forge or tend the hearth, I will be watching and waiting to offer my guidance."
"Mark?" Elijah asks, "I don't know? On my shoulder I guess? Do I need to paint it on or something?" He turns his shoulder to the Spirit. This is certainly a strange dream.
The wrinkled old Creator woman reaches out and touches Elijah on the shoulder. There is a moment of numb cold, then subtle soothing warmth as her brand takes shape. Then, with another sound of a sighing bellows, the spirit - and her forge, except for the lump of iron Elijah is holding and a single hammer left on the floor - vanishes. "Return to your hearth and your forge, Elijah, and I will be there waiting."
