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

[brave_kreyu]

Even before the Combine came, Shephard's world had few places left that had never known the touch of men. This forest has no name, for no tribe of wanderers has ever dared to settle here, to harvest the mighty oaks that tower far above his head.

It is nearly noon on Midsummer's day, but little light reaches Shephard and Kreyu down here on the forest floor. The only thing of note in the clearing is a large ring of mushrooms, a formation sometimes called a faerie ring.

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[brave_kreyu]

Duir is hard at work almost before he can finish the command, lunging at the boar's heels. His jaws rip only a shallow gash in the enormous sow's hind legs, but it causes her to squeal in pain and rage and turn her back to Shephard.

Duir leaps back, only just avoiding being gutted by her tusks as she tosses her head in an attempt to gore him.

[hecu_marine]

If he had two knives Shephard would throw one, but what he's got is a sword and a sharp bit of stone and neither of them is balanced for throwing. The shield would be better for throwing, frankly.

On the other hand, a pig that's trying to gore is a pig that's quartering away from him. That means that a man who's lived most of his life by having a fast hand and eye can dart up to her and thrust the bronze blade between two of the ribs. It won't reach the lungs, not if he wants it back before she turns- but a wound's a wound, especially that close to the spine.

[brave_kreyu]

The sow screams in agony as the blade of Achilles slides between her ribs. She wheels on her tormenter, but she's slower than she was before. Even so, he'd best move quickly if he doesn't want her to rip his leg open with those tusks.

Duir leaps in again, aiming for the sow's underbelly and drawing blood. The sow starts to turn again, unable to decide which of them to gore horribly first.

[hecu_marine]

He's already missing an arm. He doesn't need to be missing a leg, or a chance to contribute to the gene pool.

But he doesn't like to miss an opportunity, and the monstrous pig is unsteady on her feet, so rather than flinch away he shoves with his shield-arm, hard as he can, aiming to force her off her feet for a proper strike.

[brave_kreyu]

Between the dog's attack and his shove with the shield, the sow goes over sideways with an outraged squeal. For a few precious moments, her belly is exposed and she's off of her feet.

Time to end this.

[hecu_marine]

Achilles' sword was forged with the intent of a demigod stabbing an ordinary man to death through a massive bronze and leather breastplate, then stalking off to do it over and over again.

The positions are a bit reversed, with the figure of legend and myth bearing in-born armor of bone and hide; but in the end it's all the same. In the hands of a man who's cut more beasts down for skin and meat than he can even begin to remember, the sword knows exactly where it has to go.

[brave_kreyu]

The sword slides home and the boar still struggles, trying to gore him even in her death throes.

But she is too weak for her tusks to find their mark and she struggles less and less until at last the life goes out of her.

[hecu_marine]

Shephard's just gonna pant for a while, because that was hard and nerve-wracking. Also, he's only really got one hand to lean against his own knees with; the other arm isn't good for bracing himself right now. Then he's gonna look up.

"Duir? Duir, boy, you okay?"

[brave_kreyu]

Duir wuffs reassuringly and moves near Shephard to allow the man to brace himself with Duir's bulk.

[hecu_marine]

"Oh, good," says Shephard, and exhales soundly as he leans against the dog.

After a while he adds, "Gon' have to skin that fucker in a minute. You want any of the offal, boy?"

He's aware that legendary animals' blood and hearts apparently have legendary properties- it happened with that salmon- but, shit. The dog earned it. All Shephard's here for is a hand- and maybe a tusk if the Master Smith doesn't need them all.

[brave_kreyu]

The way that Duir perks up at the offer and starts wagging his tail is probably a yes.

[hecu_marine]

Shephard smiles crookedly and wipes the sword on the pig's hide. This isn't a sword's job, this is a knife's, and flint knives've cut elephant hide before. If the stone can do it, that's what he'll use, and if not... well, Achilles isn't here to stop him.

[brave_kreyu]

The knife will work well enough.

It's a messy business, butchering a boar this size, but he'll manage it by the time the sun gets low in the sky.

[hecu_marine]

It's probably worse what with the one arm and all. But, hell, he'll do what he can, and then he'll make sure the dog gets whatever offal it wants, and then the hide and the tusks are coming with him. The beasts of the forest are just going to have to be content with the pork. There's no way he's going to take even the slightest chance of consuming part of the animal; this was a kill for someone else, and they're going to get what they asked for.

"Ready when you are, Duir. Let's git a move on."

[brave_kreyu]

Duir is full of offal, so he's happy to get a move on and lead the human back to the home of the Master Smith.

Dinner and a large bucket of water, soap, and some cloth for washing with will be waiting for him when he gets there.

The Smith and Kreyu both greet him with a smile. "You have done well, warrior," he begins, "and earned your boon from me."

[hecu_marine]

"Thank you kindly, sir," says Shephard, and lays the bundle of skin and tusks down at the Smith's feet. "Sure do 'preciate it."

That sounded like there was more coming, though, so he's going to wait a moment to see what else needs to be said.

[brave_kreyu]

"Rest awhile and replenish your strength," he continues. "There is water drawn for washing and a hot meal waiting."

He turns to Kreyu. "I am afraid I must ask you to depart for a time, Shadow Spinner. A work such as I will attempt is a delicate thing when it is being made, and your innate magic may disrupt its structure."

Kreyu nods, "I had wondered if that might be so."

He nods. "My brother has offered his hospitality and wishes to speak with you." He smiles. "It may be just as well that he has offered you his hospitality. I have no doubt that I can forge the boon, but binding it to living flesh will likely take my brother's touch as well as my own craft."

[hecu_marine]

Shephard's busy washing as best he can, and trying not to look too much like he's got his ears perked up. Eavesdropping is bad form, but sometimes it's the only way to get information. And anyway, who knows if he might get asked a question before he gets to eat and rest?

[brave_kreyu]

He won't have to eavesdrop long, as Kreyu will come over and explain what she and the Smith were discussing.

"I must leave you here for a time, so that my innate magic will not disrupt his crafting. I would ask that you do what he asks of you, as those things will aid in the making of your arm."

She smiles. "His brother is a healer, and I suspect he will be helping get your arm attached once it is finished."

[hecu_marine]

"All right," says Shephard, "I c'n live with that. He need anything else from me in the meantime?"

[brave_kreyu]

"I do not think so," Kreyu replies with a shake of her head.

She grins. "Hopefully, I will see you again soon, and with your new arm."

Once Shephard has washed up and he and the Smith have eaten, the Smith beckons him over to a worktable. On the table is a small, very sharp knife and a small bronze disk.

"These are the means of an old ritual, one that reveals secrets in the blood. If you would make a small cut and shed a few drops of blood on the disk there, it will give me a better idea of how the dweomers must intertwine in your hand."

[hecu_marine]

Shephard nods and picks up the knife. "Just for the record?" he says. "I already know there's some nasty habits in my family tree. Grandma Lundberg told me 'bout most of 'em years ago."

He's not really sure what other secrets there might be in his blood- he's got secrets, sure, but they're things like being afraid of the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. He's already come clean about Black Mesa to everyone concerned, so those blood secrets are long since gone...

Well, it doesn't matter. He's just gonna... there's a spot on the back of his right forearm that ought to be okay for drawing the blood. That'll heal up quick enough.

[brave_kreyu]

As the blood drips onto the bronze disk it twists and flows into symbols that are meaningless to Shephard.

"Well now, that's interesting," the Smith remarks, peering at the patterns. "You've seers blood in you, but the blood is thin and weak."

His finger moves down, tracing another symbol. "And you carry the names of your brothers and sisters who are gone, for you are the first and the last."

[hecu_marine]

The first part doesn't really ring any bells for Shephard. He's from a big family, from a long line of big families. Saying somebody further back up the tree had some kind of talent in the blood is like saying the family's related to a dead President or the English royal family- interesting, but what difference does it make?

The second part, though-

"Only," he says firmly. "Not last. I ain't never gonna be the last, sir. Only."

[brave_kreyu]

"Only, then. Though I think not for long," he remarks as he starts to measure Shephard's arm.

"Would you tell me your story as I work?"

Many things will go into this working: silver, stardust, the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, the footfalls of a cat...but the part that will make it HIS is the tale of Shephard's life woven into the metal.

Somehow, there is time enough before sunrise for Shephard to tell his whole life's story as the Smith shapes the metal that will be his hand. (It is only when the work is done that the Marine will feel utterly exhausted, drained. Has he been talking for hours, days, weeks? It is impossible to say.)

When the tale ends, the hand and arm sit upon the table in gleaming silver. It looks like nothing more and nothing less than his old arm rendered silver. There are no seams, no joints, no sign of how the thing was made....

The Smith speaks once more. "All that remains to be done is the binding of the work to your flesh."