Forge One - (Audio)

[bullhorned]

[The forge had echoed loudly from the sound of hammer on steel. Such had been the case for a week now, ever since Gendry had discovered the forge and learned he had the freedom to use it and its materials. He had fallen in love immediately. At the Crossroads, he had suffered a shambling forge that he'd had to largely put back together himself. The forge in Harrenhal had been better, but he was one of many who worked it. Tohbo Mott's own forge came close, but it lacked the size of this one. It was expertly crafted and spoke of a skill he could only imagine. His old master had talked of the forgs in Qohor and Volantis and how great they were. He could only imagine them being like this one.

And so Gendry had set to work. His half finished sword was completed. The blade was made sharp and glimmering. He did not bother himself with anything but the most basic of hilt and crossguard. Why should he? The sword had been forged from the only steel he could acquire. Now he had superior metal to work with and he imagined how he might forge himself a sword of the finest steel as could be found. And then, armor. A new helmet. Greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget. And why not? They were generous in their provisions and Gendry though to himself that when he had finished, he would look more a knight than even Ser Loras Tyrell. And then he would be more than just King Robert's bastard son born in Fleabottom. He would be a self made knight, secure and confident in his own armor.

A week in the forge. Drenched in sweat and smoke, with nothing but a damning heat as company. It suited him fine. He was hard at work creating a new helmet, after all. Indeed, he was so utterly devoted to his craft that he had not even returned to his bedchambers. He found the hard ground of more comfort than the feather soft bed provided to him and the distant heat of a cooling forge like a friendly reminder of home. And though he could not claim to have friends among his fellow arrivals, there were at least people of note that concerned him. Even if some, like Arya Stark, thought him as little more than a stranger.

And so he tried the locket.]

[Audio]

I found a forge. A good one. Better than any I've ever seen, at least. These fairy folk might be a queer sort, but they make for fine things. So I've been doing the same.

[He paused and wondered at his own message. Did he want to offer to craft armor and swords for others? No. And certainly not for charity. He only wanted to arm himself and make himself a knight. Once he had, he'd only need the forge to maintain what he already had or replace what might be damaged. So he keeps himself from offering something foolish.]

If there's other smiths about, you might find the place of use. [And then he lingers after that, unsure if more should be said. And so stupidly he can be heard lingering. Breathing.

And then it cuts out.]

[Afterwards, Gendry resumes his work at the forge, where he has discarded his shirt and set himself to the first steps of his new helmet.]

(ooc: prose and brackets are both welcome.)

Comments

Video

[unclebob]

How skilled are you in working with metal?

[The reason the cyborg asks is quite obvious. He's got a hole punched right through his chest and going out the back. It's simple enough patch job, if only the Terminator had the right tools and two good arms to work with. Since he has neither, he might as well keep his options open.]

Video

[bullhorned]

[A reason that eludes Gendry entirely. But at least this sounds like a man who has business asking Gendry about these sort of things. A man. Not soft women and their mysterious highborn ways.]

I've worked with it most my life. I've made tools, knives, helmets, and more. I know my business.

[unclebob]

Could you fix something like this?

[He pans the locket down to the hole. It's pretty wide across, maybe about eight or nine inches, looking much like a stab wound would on a normal man. Sunlight shines right through it, showing how it runs all the way from front to back.]

[bullhorned]

[Gendry balks. he hadn't been looking at the locket until prompted. Now that he does, he sees a sickening collection of broken and shorn metal and a disturbing frame of what seems like human flesh. It is beyond anything he could imagine. He's stunned.]

... seven hells. What is all that?

[unclebob]

I was in a fight. My opponent tried to terminate me. [He turns the locket back towards his face. There's the first genuine smile on his face that the Terminator's given since arriving in this place. His torn-up flesh turns it into something ghoulish.] He did not succeed.

[bullhorned]

[Still, Gendry is stunned. When he does regain his wits, he barely even takes not of him having an opponent or the odd idea of termination.]

... you've got metal inside you. How?

[unclebob]

[Hmmm, how best to explain it? The technical definition probably isn't going to work. Best to dumb it down.]

I am a machine. A Terminator. Organic covering outside, metal inside.

[bullhorned]

[The only part of that he understood was 'metal inside', which he'd already known. He grimaces.]

... and you need more metal for your insides?

[unclebob]

Yes. [It's a simple enough patch job, aside from the fact it's being done on someone living.] Can you do it?

[bullhorned]

[No. Of course he couldn't. He could not begin to comprehend what he was looking at.

And yet...]

I'd have to take a look at it closer. See what it is what shape and size it ought to be. And what sort of... working bits you'll need.

[unclebob]

[The answer is enough to satisfy the Terminator for now.]

When I am able to leave the Station, I will come find you.

[bullhorned]

Station? Where's that?

[Gendry had a map. He was shown the map. It was interesting and well drawn. But it also had words that were of utterly no use to a bastard boy who never learned his letters.]

[unclebob]

[The Terminator pauses, internally calculating the route and distance he'd seen on the map.]

It is northeast of Caer Glaem. Time to travel from one place to the other should take no longer than one month.

[bullhorned]

Why aren't you here at the palace like the rest?

[unclebob]

I cannot leave the Station. Magic interferes with my systems.

[bullhorned]

Your systems? Can't you just leave those there? [He doesn't know what a system is, but whatever it is, it couldn't be that important.]

[unclebob]

No.

[He's not very good with similes, but he'll try to compare and explain as best he can.]

My systems are like what vital organs are for humans. Surviving without them is not an option.

[bullhorned]

... so why would the fairy folk bother to bring you if you can't even go anywhere? [It struck him as being incredibly stupid.]

[unclebob]

For the same reason they brought everyone else. We all have a purpose to fulfill in the coming war.

[He's always been a fighter, even if this battlefield is completely different than what he's used to.]

[bullhorned]

For these shards in our chests. [He curses under his breath.] If you're made of metal, can't you just take your own out?

[unclebob]

Why would I?

[He hadn't even thought of the Shard floating around his insides. Taking it out would technically be possible, but it didn't seem like a logical course of action to his mind.]

[bullhorned]

So they wouldn't need you no more. They'd send you off where you came from.

[unclebob]

I can't go back to my world.

[There's a flicker of something sad in his eyes, there and then gone again just as quickly.]

I would put people there in danger.

[bullhorned]

You would? Why's that?

[unclebob]

There's something I possess.

[He doesn't bother with explanation of the chip, assuming it would probably go over Gendry's head.]

It could be used to end the world.