brave_kreyu | OOM: Elysium or Shephard's quest for an arm.

Kreyu hmms an affirmative and yanks the other fang out of the skull of the largest basilisk. They're the size of his hand and oddly smooth.

"There are two more whose fangs are nearly as large as these," she remarks, wading through the pile of dead basilisks. "Will 5 more suffice for your troll friends?"

"They'd fuckin' shit themselves over five," says Shephard. "That'll do just fine. 'scuse me, I'mma go fix my shirt'n git some of this blood'n shit offa me while you're doin' that, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Kreyu replies, ripping yet another fang out of a basilisk skull. Crap, she's got one hell of a grip.

Nothing tries to eat his face while he's cleaning up.

Good. That would be awkward.

When he returns he says, "I got to say, Kreyu, I owe you a fuckload for all of this. I ain't real sure how I'm even gon' start payin' you back for what you done so far, let alone the hand."

"It is not a matter of debt," Kreyu replies as she yanks the last fang free from its resting place.

"My brothers would say that I have tried to make all of humanity my brood, and that is....not entirely inaccurate."

"I have taken much from the years I have lived amongst humans, more than I could ever hope to repay." Old sorrow edges into her expression. "I do what I can for humanity, as all too often I am helpless in the face of their mortality."

Shephard thinks about this a while, and eventually nods. "Suppose that makes sense," he murmurs. He does, after all, remember Priam. "Still and all, I got to say- I appreciate all you've done so far. Even if everything else goes to shit. Wanted you to know that."

"You are most welcome," Kreyu replies with a small smile. The fangs are wrapped up and handed to Shephard.

"The path from here spirals up and out. From the feel of things, I believe we are close to the dwelling of the Master Smith."

Shephard knots what's left of his undershirt around them and tucks them away as best he can. "All righty, then," he says. "Let's go'n see the man about- shit. Is it a man? What'm I s'posed to call this Master Smith, anyways?"

"'Sir' would work as well as anything," Kreyu replies as they start their climb. "Natives of Elysium are wary of giving their names to mortals and thus favor titles when dealing with them."

"He is one of the Daea, which would make him fae," she explains. "He looks human, though no mortal has ever had irises that change color as his do."

"Sir's fine," says Shephard. "I c'n live with 'sir'."

It's kind of a reflex, considering.

"Anything I ought to know not to do or say around him?"

Kreyu shakes her head. "So long as you are polite, things should go well. The Smith is no high born Daea with their urges to borrow the elaborate manners of human courts."

They emerge into an oak forest in autumn. In the air, they can hear the baying of hunting hounds that have scented their quarry.

"Good," says Shephard, "because as far as that goes, I'd be dead fuckin' meat."

He pauses to listen to the sound of the hounds, and smiles a little. Not that he doesn't love Mrs. Wilson and her brood, but they're just not the same.

Kreyu catches his smile. "We may meet them on the path, or their kin."

This part of their journey is uneventful, and at long last they arrive at the home and forge of the Master Smith.

It doesn't look like much from the outside, just a house built of field stone and roofed with thatch. Milk white boar hounds with red eyes and ears lie in various states of doggy sprawl under the eaves of the building, faerie hounds.

The largest dog lifts his head to look at them, yawns, then stands up, stretching. He shakes himself a bit and trots over to the door, pushing it open with his shoulder. He walks on through the doorway with the takka takka noise of dog claws on stone.

Shephard glances sidelong at Kreyu. "That an invitation?" he murmurs. "Or is he goin' to tell the Master Smith he's got company?"

"Both, I think. Were we not expected, I believe the dogs would have been far less cordial."

Inside, the smithy is much bigger than it ought to be, with delicately carved wooden beams reaching high above their heads. Arranged along the walls are works of wonder fit to give the most jaded eye pause. Here a necklace made of pure sunlight, there a helm of smoke and shadow. Birds and beasts made of metal so realistic that they could almost spring to life at any moment perch upon the eaves.

And there, the ur-sword. The blade that all great craftsman will aspire to in their heart of hearts and never quite achieve.

Shephard lets out a long, low whistle at the sight.

"Well, I'll be damned. Ain't that somethin'."

"It must abide here a while longer," a male voice says from behind him as he looks upon the sword. "The man with the will and strength of spirit to draw it forth from stone is not yet born."

The Master Smith is not a particularly impressive figure, although pounding metal with a hammer day in and day out WILL give you arm muscles. He nods his head in greeting. "I had wondered when you might arrive. Water and fire can show the Wise things that have not yet come to pass, but they care not at all for the turning of the years."

"And I pity the other guy when he finally is," Shephard mutters. He, for one, does not want to be anywhere near the wrong end of that sword.

Then he coughs, and draws himself up a little straighter. He's far from impressive right now himself, what with the infirmary recovery time in his immediate past. And the fact that even healed up by bug juice that stump of his still hurts like hell doesn't do his appearance any favors either. But he'll be damned if he lets that show any more than he absolutely has to. "I'll take your word for it, sir," he says. "That ain't my field, not by a long shot. I'm hopin' you'll be able to help me, regardless."

The master smith smiles at the muttered comment. "I believe we may come to an accord," he replies with a nod. "But you have had a long journey and done battle besides, I would be a poor host indeed were I to neglect the duties of hospitality."

"Please, come rest at my table and break bread with me." Kreyu relaxes at that, put more at ease. There are RULES about hospitality among supernatural beings. Anything trying to attack them now would bring the wrath of ALL of Faerie on their heads.

It's more than bread, as it happens. Venison stew, salt, and mead accompany the fresh bread. The dog that opened the door earlier looks up from his place near the hearth with the hopeful expression of dogs everywhere when there may be FOOD.

"Whatever you say, sir," says Shephard, and, "Thank you."

The whole lot of it smells good, and Shephard- no offense to Kreyu's rabbits this morning- is hungry. He does, however, glance hearthward first. "Is it okay if I give him some of mine, sir?" he asks. "Been a while since I've seen a proper dog, 'n they remind me of home growin' up."

You don't hunt on another man's property without asking him first, and you don't screw around with another man's dog without asking the rules. What's okay by some owners is forbidden as hell by others.

"You may," the Smith replies with a nod. "I'm sure Duir will gladly take it as his due." Duir's tail thumps against the stone.

The food is good, really good. Their will be some polite conversation during the meal, but no business until they are finished.

"Unless I am much mistaken," he says at last, "you have sought my skill to replace what was taken from you in War."

Shephard nods, and sets aside about a third of his stew. The bread he's keeping to himself. That's damn good bread.

When it's all over he pushes his dish away some and nods. "Yes, sir," he says. "Not that there ain't plenty of ways of makin' do without what I used to have, but I'd be a fair little bit more effective of a Marine if I had two proper hands again than I would if I was just makin' do with the one."

"I can give you what you need," the smith begins, "but I must ask a task of you in return."

"There is a great sow, a giant boar, that has plagued these lands for many months. She is far more cunning than a beast ought to be and possesses malice such as I have never seen. My kin have hunted her many times, but she is wise to our ways and lies low whenever we have sought her in the hunt."

"The ruin to our crops would be ill enough, but she has taken to attacking lone travelers, even children. A fortnight past she would have slain my brother's youngest boy as he walked up the path to his father's house from the well. His hounds Coll and Beth laid down their lives to buy him time to escape the beast."

"It is my hope that one man and a dog may succeed where many have failed. Slay the beast and bring me her hide and I shall give my utmost to your task."

Well.

This is about up there with putting forward massive collateral for a loan: prove you don't need what you're asking for, and you'll get it.

Oh, well. Shephard hasn't come this far just to give up now; he nods. "Will do, sir," he says. "I got a time limit on this?"

"I would prefer the beast ended as soon as possible, but I will set no limit as to time," the Smith replies. "Duir will go with you, to help you find the beast and get you there and safely back again."

His expression is grim. "I suspect that should you wander these woods, she will find you readily enough." Yay?

Kreyu starts to protest, but the Smith shakes his head. "I know you would aid him Shadow Spinner, but it must be his skill and his courage that is tested to earn such a boon among my people."

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