the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
The ore has already been collected – and while the butcher could simply drop it off with the blacksmith here in the Inner Quarter and have them handle it… Something about it didn’t feel right when it came to making the portions of his cane. He wants to do Dygra proud and he wants every inch of the pieces within the cane to be made by him. So, with some guidance from the blacksmith and being the one to get his hands dirty, Astaroth is surprisingly content with the idea of possibly making himself a mess in order to create such beautiful pieces.
In fact, he’s even dressed down enough for it. A dark shirt buttoned most of the way up – not made of fine fabric given that it’s got the potential of getting singed or burnt – accompanies his willowy frame, as he lays all the pieces of ore out and organizes it, explaining to the blacksmith his thought process. Some of it crafted into bronze and some a beautiful silver. Nothing too flashy to completely detract from his usual impeccable attire, but still flashy enough to be considered his.
“All of the pieces go into their respective pots, yes? Then we melt them and pour their contents into these brilliant molds?” He’s clarifying before he starts separating them out – dark gaze glancing over to the blacksmith who nods, the very same that had made the mold between magic and quick wit once Astaroth had described what he was looking for.
Flashing the blacksmith a too sharp grin of confirmation, the butcher begins to separate out the ore into their respective pots.
In fact, he’s even dressed down enough for it. A dark shirt buttoned most of the way up – not made of fine fabric given that it’s got the potential of getting singed or burnt – accompanies his willowy frame, as he lays all the pieces of ore out and organizes it, explaining to the blacksmith his thought process. Some of it crafted into bronze and some a beautiful silver. Nothing too flashy to completely detract from his usual impeccable attire, but still flashy enough to be considered his.
“All of the pieces go into their respective pots, yes? Then we melt them and pour their contents into these brilliant molds?” He’s clarifying before he starts separating them out – dark gaze glancing over to the blacksmith who nods, the very same that had made the mold between magic and quick wit once Astaroth had described what he was looking for.
Flashing the blacksmith a too sharp grin of confirmation, the butcher begins to separate out the ore into their respective pots.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
