Shaping Steel (closed to Aurelianus) (Mature)

[Skie and Avery]

The Chosen were much better at extraction than Avery would have guessed. He was sure there would be a fight, given that they also needed to transport the monster that had been created. Yet before he knew it a back way out of the inn was created, silently, and they were whisked away through Concordia. The moonlight filtered through the boughs ahead but they moved untouched, slipping through the shadows as easily as spectres. The demon king was only too aware of how clumsy his steps were, each footfall an obvious sound while the movements of his new friends were nothing that could be discerned from a breeze rattling the bushes.

The camp itself was even more efficient, far from the road and cradled in a copse of trees. At the edge, just out of reach of the warmth of the fire, the creature sat. She, if Avery could even be sure it remained a she, kept close to the trunk of an old oak, the heavy branches shading her from any moonlight. Plumes of hot breath billowed in the chill air, from more than just the gaping face the tiefling had created. Those that had escorted them were not the coddling kind, and Avery found himself staring down his gift from a distance, unfettered by any questions. Here and there he caught the gaze of one or two of his playmates, the low throb of hunger sated but building again dancing in their eyes. Ignoring it, he went to her.

It was unnerving approaching a being with no eyes. Somehow the maw of teeth and slithering tongue bothered him more than Gimmel had. As his steps brought him closer, it was apparent that he wasn’t the only one bothered. Even though it couldn’t see him, it knew. The body that bore it as a steed tensed, the arms that had once been so useless against his attacks hugged close, shoulders slumping. Even to Avery, unaccustomed as he was to it, the fear was palpable.

As he’d seen Aurelius do, Avery reached up. Before he could offer his hand to his gift, it struck. From fear to fight, an arm swung out. The blades glinted in the dim light, and as a wrist smacked his, throwing his arm to the side. Something sharp and pointed caught his skin. Avery hissed and moved back, the hackles on his neck rising as he cradled the wound to his chest. Small as it was, it was more insult than injury. Somehow he felt someone watching from the trees. It wouldn’t do to be rejected by his gift. Test or not, failing before the eyes of the demon who held what he so desperately sought wasn’t an option.

“Now now,” he cooed. A green gaze danced as it watched the beast shudder and snap. The demon king could at least understand her fear. He himself was overwhelmed, changed within as surely as she had been without. Something quivered in his chest, something between fear and excitement. He would need to steady it before he could move.

Holding out his bleeding arm once more, gently stepping forward. “I won’t hurt you.” Uncertainty hung in the air and he held up both hands in a placating motion. “I suspect you won’t be hurt ever again.” Laughter tickled the back of his mind but he held it in. The creature needed his sarcasm reigned, if ever it would accept him.

Pheremones were a tricky thing, he thought. If he allowed the wind to take his scent, it would waft into the camp and attract spectators at the most benign. No, he needed something more direct, something with more finesse. Avery took another step, watching as the masculine arms and legs that held up the girl’s body shifted and crouched as if it were a dog going low before an attack. Smiling, the demon king held his breath. It wasn’t necessary, but the feeling of holding in his scent even as he felt his body warming to create it was a lot like holding a breath in his lungs for a deep dive. It was a burn, and pressure, and he knew the release would be as satisfying.

He felt hot, hot enough to sweat, droplets glistening on his forehead. Finally he knew he was ready. The spit in his mouth was too sweet, almost enough to gag on, and his head felt as if it would float away. The soft grass beneath his bare feet was spiraling away as he closed the gap between the two, the sound that came from the monstrosity barely registering in his mind. Teeth were against her neck, and he felt her stiffen beneath him. His kiss was slow, deliberate, and it was with great care that he let his teeth break flesh. Just before he was thrown off, needles and blades nicking him as he went, his tongue probed into the small cut, a string of saliva dripping down her skin.

Both bodies, as one, shuddered. For a moment, with his lips pressed against warm skin, one of the beasts heartbeats pounding beneath his mouth, he’d had doubts about his plan. Now, the quiver of the monster and the movement from beneath the masculine body let him know that he had triumphed. Oh how useful this skill would be, he gleefully thought as he waited as a flush spread across the weaponized woman’s flesh. After a moment, he approached her again, unafraid when he was pulled into her embrace.

“Mastemael,” he whispered delightedly in its ear, petting absently at a jaw as the tongue slithered out and curled around his neck. “Oh how beautiful you are, oh how you will be revered.” He was somewhat sure of his promises. After all, if the Beauty weren’t moved by him when he returned with this, and with the power he could glean from new alliances, they were not paying enough attention.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius waited quietly, puffing away on his roll-up while his Faithful made a hasty exit from the inn.

The corpses in the hearth still crackled but the flames had all but died now, leaving just the greasy remnants of smoke clinging to the tiefling's palate. It set his mouth to watering, stomach grumbling at the smell of charred meat. The lack of light didn't concern him - he'd grown up in dark alleyways, practically nocturnal and with the advantage of his Infernally-heightened senses. Anti-peak was the best time to part drunk bubbers from their jink.. and their blood, if push came to shove. The young Hive ganger had made himself a comfortable living back then, penning sods in the dead-book without a second thought. Considering what he was about to do, Aurelianus mused that not much had changed since then.

A minute ticked by, marked only by the occasional groan or shifting from those unfortunate enough to still be alive from Avery's visit.

Cigarette held loosely between two fingers, the half-devil finally decided he'd given his followers and their new friend enough time to get clear before he crossed the corpse-strewn room and stole a glance out of the windows. Unstrapping the razor-gauntlet from his hand, Aurelius marked the painful glare of half-a-dozen torches making their way cautiously through Larkwood. A dark smile teased the corners of his scarred lips. This was going to be easier than he thought. He dropped his taloned glove beside his bag and with the waterskin from within, he rinsed as much of the gore and grime off himself as he could. There were still clumps of congealed blood here and there but he didn't concern himself with them.

His roll-up dangling from the corner of his mouth, the half-breed watched patiently as the newcomers paused beside each building. A pair would enter and emerge a few moments later with a grim shake of the head and a few muttered words to their companions. They were unaware of the horned killer's eyes on them; nor had they noticed Junior flitting above them in the night sky, or the multi-limbed Luc as he silently crawled across the rooftops behind them like a malignant spider.

When the group of interlopers had got close enough, finally entering the small square with the blood-fountain and spreading out in a loose defensive perimeter, the warlock stubbed out his cigarette and sauntered out the front door of the inn.

Before his snake-like eyes had adjusted to the harsh light from the torches, his ears marked the nocking of arrows to bows and the rasp of steel on scabbards as weapons were drawn.

"Stop where you are and identify yourself!" came the barked command.

Shielding his eyes (and his inhuman features) from casual scrutiny, Aurelius counted off his playthings from the information his senses were feeding him. Seven in total; all of them wore the scarlet gambesons of the Coronian Armed Forces. Slowly, feigning surprise, the warlock lowered his hand and got a good look at them. Two elven archers stood at the furthest side of the circle - some stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason, he smirked to himself - but between himself and them was a handful of other soldiers. The two closest to him had spears levelled and their stances told him they were proficient in their use. Three others stood at the ready, weapons drawn, but all of the soldiers looked to the broad-shouldered giant who had shouted.

Aurelianus could smell the Orc-blood in him without much difficulty, breathing deep and savouring the burn of the crisp air in his lungs. The giant reached up to remove the visored helmet covering his features and the tiefling almost dared to hope he had happened across Otto Bastum once again. His fingers twitched, ready to leap for the blades sheathed at the small of his back - it had been too long since he had laid eyes on the Orc Corporal who had made an effort to pike up the tiefling's plans where and whenever possible.

Disappointment reigned when the helmet came away; it wasn't Bastum. Just another pikin' tusker, Aurelianus thought sourly.

"Just passin' through, cutter. Popped in to town for a drink, I'll just be on m--"

"Fuck me, he's Haidian!" one of the men snapped, a lean human with a crow's bill clasped in his white-knuckled fists.

A palpable wave of tension went through the Coronians, and the weapons all raised that little bit higher towards the tiefling. He sighed, audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his slender fingers. This wasn't the first time an accusation like that had been thrown his way - apparently the local demons hadn't endeared themselves to the world at large and many still wore distrust and outright hostility towards anything even vaguely demonic on their sleeves.

"I said identify yourself," the Orc repeated, signalling with the morningstar in his boulder-like fist for the two spearmen to approach the apparent demon in their midst.

"Name's Martin," he lied effortlessly, all the while counting down the spearmen's steps in his head. "Martin Bastum."

His eyes slid over them and he could see the sneers on their faces as they saw more of his inhuman features the closer they got.

"What's your business here? Where are the people of Larkwood?"

"Like I said, was passin' through for a drink chief. Mate of mine was visiting this anthill, we decided to paint the town red," he grinned with a flippant shrug. The blades and hooks on his segmented armour glinted in the torchlight. "But my mate's a messy drinker, jig? Persuasive bastard though, got everyone involved - 'alf the town's in there recoverin'," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the inn.

One of the spearmen flicked a glance to his commanding officer and the Orc simply thrust his chin towards the building. Eyeing Aurelius disdainfully, he brought his spear up and started towards the front door, nose wrinkling with the first hints of the charnel house reek from within.

The Orc turned his gaze back to the tiefling.

"Take him, Sutt," he growled to the soldier with the crow's bill. "We'll question him back at the barracks."

With a nod, the gaunt-looking soldier took a set of manacles from his belt and, with the second spearman as back-up, closed in on the half-demon.

"This'll go a lot easier if you just come along quietly, Haidian," Sutt growled, sliding the hooked weapon through a loop on his belt as he opened the black-iron bracelets. "We just want to ta--"

The panicked shout from inside the inn interrupted the attempt at persuasion, and every eye snapped towards the door as the spearman emerged, vomit in his beard and white as a fish-belly.

Every eye, that is, except for Aurelianus'.

With a grim chuckle under his breath, the tiefling drew the viciously serrated Baatorian blades from their sheaths and began his fun.

***

It didn't take long.

The Faithful patrolling the edges of the camp sounded the alert to everyone else, and as the tiefling stalked past his followers he was greeted fondly. Junior flapped down from a branch overhead, dislodging a flurry of snow and landing on the warlock's shoulder - Aurelius pet the familiar gently, letting it nuzzle into him for warmth. Gimmel was at his right hand in a heartbeat, whispering and nodding towards the fringe of the camp. Waving his Faithful away, Aurelianus walked over to Avery and the flesh-thing. He took a seat against one of the frost-coated trees, squirming until his bladed attire had gouged a comfortable niche, and lit another cigarette. A smile still teased his mouth and as Avery's emerald eyes danced over his new friend he saw the damage written all over the half-demon's body.

New gouges marred the black leather adorning his frame, matching the shallow gashes and cuts up and down Aurelius' arms. His inky blood dribbled down his alabaster skin but the tiefling barely seemed to notice. There was a bruise starting to darken the half-demon's cheek and a dozen other little wounds and scrapes had been collected since Averymiel had last seen the warlock. But the most obvious addition to his attire were the six raw and bloody scalps tied to his belt.

He didn't say anything about them, just smiled at the incubus and blew streams of smoke into the chilly air.

"I 'ear you're gettin' on with your new toy," he said finally, nodding at the grotesque creature as its serpentine tongue wound around the incubus' neck. It kept close to Avery now, face peeling back to bare needle-like fangs in adoration.

"'at's good, cutter. You 'ave fun with 'er," he smiled, sucking another lungful of smoke and leaning his head back against the rough bark. His quills scraped against the tree, piercings jingling melodically as he closed his eyes, catching his breath and relaxing. It wouldn't be long before the Faithful packed up camp and moved out; the CAF wouldn't be long in missing their patrol and Aurelius had no intention of still being near Larkwood when they came across the survivor he lad left sutured into the living carpet that was once Larkwood's inhabitants.

The man had been left broken, and even with the little time he had spent toying with Sutt, Aurelius had made sure there was one name he could remember with crystal clarity.

Martin Bastum.

It was a message for an old friend. It was a taunt. And it was a promise.

The rest of his cigarette's short life was spent quietly savouring what had proven to be an exceptionally satisfying fight. He could feel the blood of the poor sods getting stickier on his skin; could smell his own sweat after the exertion of the slaughter, tinged with a shock of adrenaline. A plethora of sensory delights to lose himself in, but as Gimmel approached and cleared his throat, the tiefling was forced to stir himself from his reverie. He nodded to the words the blind assassin didn't even have to say aloud.

"I know, cutter, I know."

Dragging himself to his feet, Aurelius put his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. Without hesitation, the fleshcrafted menagerie gathered around him, all eyes (more than one pair on each person in some cases) focussed on him.

"Right, ten minutes and we're movin'. Pack it up and get it goin'," he barked.

The assembly moved to it straight away and the tiefling turned back to the naked, winged beauty.

"We're 'eadin' back 'ome cutter. Salvar-bound. If you want to continue what we started back there, then grab your shit and come with us."

His smile was like an open wound.

"I've still got some sights to show you, me old son."

[Skie and Avery]

The Beauty were a race built of lust, demons from Concordia that had preyed on Coronian fantasy and desire for more years than anyone had memory anymore. Yet, just within the doors of the House of Sin, Avery and his entourage felt out of their depth. They were tide pool children who had waded into a vast ocean and found things dark, exotic, terrifying, beautiful, and wondrous all at once.

They lingered in each room. They watched a man wound tight with barbed wire, screaming as ruts dug into his flesh, marveling that through the pain his arousal only grew more apparent until the throbbing staff erupted onto a giggling elf girl. Avery had to keep one of his demons from joining the girl in lapping up the mess. As they watched, the pheromones in their blood grew stronger, weeping out until the smell of Concordian flowers masked the smell of blood and semen in the air. They were barely halfway to the hanging office Aurelianus took his guests when the crowds were too enthralled with mindless lust to part before them. Avery stepped over legs and grinding hips, peeling grasping hands from his thighs and cock.

"Not now," he warned another of his demons now and again until finally they were ushered through the door of the office. It was empty and Avery was thankful for the moment they could rest. His guard had been groping each other before they got to the door, and he felt dizzy as well. It was a strange mix of intoxication and empowerment. He knew that if he reached out with his magic that he could have done more with an illusion than ever in his life.

Did Aurelianus know that he wasn't just offering a new skill but so much power as well? He looked back at his guard. The three demons he'd brought the Fleshcrafter were just a start. There was an army of them back home.

What he had to offer today, however, were his best. They were known to the Beauty as The Triplets. Three dark haired, dark eyed children with glittering wings and bronze skin. Their black curls framed their faces and they shared the same cherubic lips and lithe, tall physiques. Not that it mattered. They were all three adept at personal glamour and while they dropped illusions today out of respect for their host, they were the demons who had taught Avery in his youth to study his prey and find their preferences. They twisted their appearance as easily as market girls braided their hair, and though all three were men they'd enchanted under the guise of women so well that many of their victims had never been the wiser.

They were perfect for this place, the sweetest fruit basket that Avery could have laid across the dark polished wood of Drak'shal's desk.

Now one of the brothers sighed and leaned into his King, kissing Avery's neck as he relaxed. It had taken a lot of willpower to walk through the brothel without truly stopping.

"Can this be home?" he asked, his voice small and pleading.

Home? It didn't feel right. This wasn't home for them, but what little he'd seen had shown him that this was important.

"You don't pay tolls at home," Avery said. He had only just met Aurelianus Drak'shal and he already had a gift of such amazing value just outside the doors. Yet, he'd never met a man of power that didn't take as much as he gave. The demon King could merely hope the price was something he'd be all too willing to pay.

Then it was there, a spark of madness and inspiration. Power for power - that was how equals traded. The green-eyed incubus hadn't known much about his new master before, but whispers had paved the road into Salvar, rumors the cobblestones that grew into wide swaths of myth by the time they'd reached the House. Letting most of the fantasy fall away, one thing he knew about his benevolent benefactor was that he was the kind of demon that dealt in souls.

It hadn't been that long since some of Avery's most loyal had tried to rid him of his traitorous sister. While she still lived, flittering about Alerar with a lightness that belied her sins, Avery had gained information more than worth all the treasures lost in the jungles of Dheathain.

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, the smell of a cigarette filled the air. Avery's hand had moved around the boy's shoulders, casually, protectively. As he let his hands, a stain of blood still streaked across the edge of his pinky, curl into his wards' hair he smiled over to the desk. The quill-crowned dealer stood behind the chair, pulling on the cigarette as the cherry flashed bright. When he exhaled, smoke pluming from his thin nostrils, it was almost as if his golden eyes glowed.

"Well cutter, see you're makin' yourself at 'ome. So, I assume your bloods are enjoyin' the entertainment."

It was not phrased as a question. He nodded, a grin with too-sharp teeth filling his face.

"That's something we should discuss." Avery said. Without needing to wave them away, the Triplets moved back and away so that the naked king could move closer, leaning over the desk. "Your hospitality is nothing short of perfect, of course. And I intend on taking as much knowledge as you have to offer." His grin grew more predatory, self-satisfaction pouring from his pores.

"I intend to be as gracious as a guest in return, though." The delight of his plan was nearly too much. After all, with what he offered Aurelius would have no chance to ask of anything consequential. "I've heard that you collect souls." Well, mostly he'd heard that Aurelius ate souls and sometimes had sex with them. The details were murky.

A wave of a clawed hand motioned to the Triplets standing stoically by the wall. "We're born without souls, without reason to fear or hope for death. No God nor script controls us. I have an army of soulless vessels." He paused, and for a split second he wondered if he was making a grave mistake.

Of course not.

"And I have a former subject that has the power to give these demons souls. Souls that they have no use for, and with a single demand from me would be more than willing to pledge them."

The silence that hung in the room was heavier than the chains that held the office aloft, filled with promise, power, and all the darkness of a starless sky.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius had spent the past days beneath the House of Sin, sequestered away in his own private little sanctum - the pain chamber was, for once, empty of anyone but himself.

The blood-stained metalwork lay cold, the stains all congealed to patches of rusty red on the wicked blades and armatures. It was one of the only times they had been allowed to dry in his entire tenure at the House of Sin. For his Faithful, it was a grim portent of things to come. The braziers were unlit, letting the chill of the air seep through the Salvaran earth into the circular room, misting the half-devil's breath in the darkness.

Sitting on the grilled floor in the corner, Aurelianus sucked greedily on a cigarette, the glowing cherry the only source of illumination. It underlit his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, giving away the pensive mood brewing behind the tiefling's eyes. He was restless after his return, not able to focus on any of his usual pass-times - Natalia had begged him to join in the daily revelries of the House, but he had refused. The master of the House had even handed off all the duties he normally filled to his (admittedly capable) underlings. At this point, the brothel practically ran itself - he was surplus to requirements. He had withdrawn to his chamber with a bottle of whisky and a dark mood.

He replayed the events of Larkwood over and over in his mind.

The sheer bloody-minded satisfaction he had felt slaughtering the Coronian soldiers had left him elated at first, but the more he thought about it, the more the half-devil realised it had been too long since he'd actually done anything to hurt the ones who needed it most. His head swung back and forth, surveying the room. Eyes that were unhindered by the lack of light flickered with the gleam of remembered atrocities. Dozens had been through this room - less had survived the visit, but the numbers still added up.

And not a pikin' one of 'em made a soddin' difference in the long run, cutter, he thought bitterly. The whisky bottle, nearly empty after the past couple of days, was finally drained and Aurelius tossed the empty vessel aside to smash against one of his many racks of sadistic implements.

He nodded in agreement with the thought, flicking the ash from the end of his roll-up before returning it to his sneering lips.

He needed to do.. something. Aurelius didn't know what, but he recognised the coils of ennui wrapping firmly around his heart. He had spent too long lurking in his lair, spreading hedonism to the masses like a new religion. If he was honest with himself he knew he had fallen out of touch with events in the world at large. That had to change. Aurelianus Drak'shal still had a lot of strife to bring to the world and he wouldn't manage that hiding behind the walls of his pleasure-palace.

Glad we agree on that, now get your brain-box out yer arse and le--

Any further musings were interrupted by the hollow clang of an iron bell on the wall.

The warlock glared at it for a heartbeat, almost daring it to continue intruding on his thoughts.

It meant someone was in his office above. And since he had left strict instructions not to be disturbed, the half-breed knew whoever was there had a gem of a reason for dragging his attention away from bitter ruminations. At least, they really should have if they valued their appendages.

The bell kept ringing.

Snarling in irritation, he finished his cigarette and forced himself to his feet. He staggered slightly amid the creak of leather and rattle of blades against stone, probably more than a little pissed still, and pushed himself towards the door of the pain chamber.

He climbed the spiralling wrought-iron stairs, winding up from his haunt to his office far above. Halfway up he paused to light another cigarette, to help him catch his breath.

When his hobnailed boots finally alighted on the top landing, he ran a hand through his quills and took a deep breath before pushing open the subtle door worked into the back of his office. Stalking in, his serpentine eyes instantly took in the occupants of the room and he let his usual smile fall into place across his inhuman features. Avery had been exploring the House since they had arrived and even from a distance the tiefling could see the changes working under the incubus' flawless skin. He was entranced by this place and the dark wonders the warlock offered, just as he was confused by how different it was to his own experiences of the world.

The man showed promise and while Aurelius normally didn't spend time on things like this, he could smell an opportunity from a mile off. Something about Averymiel promised fun to be had further down the line.

As they exchanged pleasantries, the tiefling took his usual seat behind the knife-scarred desk, cigarette still hanging limply from the corner of his mouth. His eyes slid over the three so-called demons accompanying the one-winged murderer, taking in their innocent visages, their angelic features. Hidden far from notice, he felt a stab of white-hot anger in his chest. He had wandered the Hells. He'd wandered a lot of Hells. And despite the myriad denizens of them he had met, something about the sublime beauty and perfection of these three creatures raised his hackles. It could have simply been that they reminded him of the celestially-touched he had met over the years.

But he couldn't place his finger on what it was precisely.

Whatever it was, he could feel the weight of age as they all looked at him. He returned their gaze until Avery finally snapped his attention back to the business at hand.

"I've heard that you collect souls."

Inhaling a lungful of acrid smoke, the warlock allowed himself a soft smirk.

He knew all too well what the chant had to say about him - he knew all of the rumours; he should have, since he'd been the one to start most of them. Always paid to keep people guessing, and the less cutters that knew why he traded in such an esoteric commodity, the better. He resisted the urge to glance at the baroque mirror hanging above his fire-place. A roiling miasma of black-green smoke raged where a reflection of the room should have been, and only he knew what lay behind that. Only he knew about his vault of souls, hidden away in plain sight.

Avery kept talking, every word making the tiefling's pupils narrow to the barest hairlines in his amber pupils.

".. I have an army of soulless vessels."

If the warlock had thought this would be a pledge of martial might, he was delighted to be wrong for a change.

He could feel his black heart beating faster in his chest and his dark smile widened with every passing moment. Whatever the incubus King had tumbled to bring to the table, Aurelius could smell the excitement and self-satisfaction spreading from Avery as he built to his offer. The half-breed leaned back in his arm-chair, the abused leather groaning sadly as the blades and barbs of his armour savaged it again, content to let this play out in its own time.

"And I have a former subject that has the power to give these demons souls. Souls that they have no use for, and with a single demand from me would be more than willing to pledge them."

Silence reigned, albeit briefly, as the enormity of the opportunity Avery had just laid before him sank in. Not only was the demon lord offering him a thousand souls, but that each of them would be considered pure... no sins staining them, nothing. The vast wealth of power that promised actually staggered the tiefling's mind as he tried to decide how best to put them to use. He gave up as his ideas soared off to loftier and loftier heights.

Blowing a streamer of smoke from his mouth, Aurelianus started laughing. It started as a soft, breathy chuckle but rose quickly to become a vicious peal of laughter, his wolf-lean frame jingling with talismans and hooks as his shoulders hiked. The sound was not comforting.

Eventually, his mouth still wide in a serrated smile, Aurelius stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray and rose to his feet. Small tufts of the chair's stuffing drifted from his razored attire as he walked around to stand before his guests. The triplets stood their ground, tensing ever so slightly as Aurelianus turned his attention to their regent, but they weren't addle-coved enough to move. Looking up from beneath pierced brows, he met Avery's emerald eyes and had to hold back another fit of laughter.

Does 'e know what e's gone and given me? he thought. So far, Avery had vague rumours of what the warlock used his bartered souls for. The reality was something most would not countenance in their blackest fantasies. But in the end, comprehension was not a prerequisite - what was important is that Aurelius had just been offered exactly what he wanted. An excuse and a means to cause untold mayhem.

Let the Demon King bring his thousand souls to Aurelianus. Then.. oh, then the fun would truly start.

"Aye," he smirked, his eyes wandering to the triplet demons again, "I think that'll do just fine cutter. I'm sure I'll think of somethin' to do with 'em."

[Breaker]

Thread title: Shaping Steel
Participants: Skie and Avery and Aurelianus Drak'shal
Judgment Type: Workshop

Skie and Avery gains 1160 EXP and 95 GP
Aurelianus Drak'shal gains 1050 EXP and 95 GP

Skie and Avery pays 2 AP for the workshop.

Congratulations!