Auranosa Brandsand Forge

[Jackie Cat]

More flashing lights. The golem gestured with one extended finger.

"Supposition: he will not refuse. Conjecture: Steven Stone has an exceptionally rational motivation to accept. Suggestion: we should hear what he has to say."

The titan's holographic body turned a few degrees to face the Metagross, and extended a palm in invitation.

 

[Panoramic_Vacuum]

Wallace's nose scrunched up in puzzlement. Well, that was certainly... not an answer. Not that it held any lingering threat. But it was still unsettling in the way Registeel seemed to be so sure of itself. Like it somehow knew his best friend better than he did. But it had a point. They should hear what Steven had to say. Wallace was veeery interested in what he had to say. Pretty much since they got here, really. He shrugged, feigning indifference.

"Rational motivation my ass..." he muttered, following Registeel's lead and turning his attention to Steven, because of course he wouldn't accept, what kind of brain-dead, absurd, completely insane decision would that be when this was all over they'd both go home back to Hoenn--

Wallace's growing confidence was gone the instant he saw that stupid smile on Steven's face. Even on a Metagross, Wallace recognized it immediately. That damn expression. The smile that said not to worry, he had everything figured out. That he was going to do something brain-dead, absurd, completely insane but it was okay, he'd calculated it all out and things would turn out fine and to just trust him.
Fuck that.
"No," said Wallace, shaking his head. "No no nonono."

It was infuriating the way Steven just smiled back. "Wallace, it's okay. But Registeel is right. I'm not refusing."

"Steven, no. What could POSSIBLY be the reason--?"

At this Steven's smile faltered. He tried to maintain it, but it looked strained. "Wallace. I... I promise I'll explain it all later. But not here. Not right now."

But Wallace put his foot down. He scooted closer to Steven with every slap of his flipper. "No. Yes, here! Yes, right now! I'm not playing this game with you again. Tell. me."

Steven's eyes squeezed shut, and he turned away from Wallace. It took everything to ignore his friend's pleading. He wanted to explain. He truly did. But how did you explain that going back home together wasn't what Wallace thought it was? That the only life you had left was mere moments? Was it selfish? To be happy that here, he would have purpose again? He couldn't bear to look Wallace's way before addressing the Forge directly.

His voice wavered at first, but grew in strength with each word.

"Registeel, I accept your request, but on the condition that we be allowed to leave and complete the original mission for which we were summoned. Once that's finished, I'll return here and accept the role of Forgemaster."

 

[Jackie Cat]

Registeel waited patiently for Wallace and Steven to complete their exchange, then 'blinked' agreeably when the Metagross finally addressed it – and accepted its offer of inheritance.

"Acknowledgement: this is understood. Comradely assertion: Steven Stone is trustworthy and is therefore expected to return to this Facility once prerequisite tasks are completed. Corollary supposition: then you will not object to receiving the Mark of the Forge before you depart."

Panels in the metal surfaces within the forge opened, from which robotic appendages emerged, bearing manipulator grips, optical arrays, and other implements of artificy.

"Chagrined apology: you may experience pain or discomfort. Request/helpful recommendation: hold still."

 

[Panoramic_Vacuum]

Wallace was aghast. Steven... he... he ignored him?! Like he wasn't even here?! Like it didn't matter that he had to watch his best friend try to throw away his life again??

Registeel started to reply, and Wallace only half heard it because he started shouting over it, desperately bounding towards his friend as if the small body of a Popplio could somehow shield a Metagross from a terrible fate.

"Steven, no! Don't do this to me!"

Shouting over the hologram that was talking like it was commenting about the weather or how nice brunch was that morning. And not, y'know, asking Steven to give away his future-- his life-- to be some kind of creepy blacksmith in a cave however many miles underground in a reality where Wallace couldn't reach him.

"No! I object! He's not doing this!"

Shouting and crying and trying to get through to his thick-headed, imbecile of a friend who he couldn't bear the thought of living without. It hurt. It hurt so deeply. So vividly. Like he'd lived it before. It screamed at him. A phantom wound on his heart.

Wallace had almost reached Steven's side when the forge sprung to life. The robotic arms raised from the floor between them, cutting the pair off from one another. Wallace skidded to a terrified stop, while Steven-- for the first time-- recoiled with genuine surprise.

The arms moved before either could truly react. Deft in their precision and strength, a single clamp grasped Steven's left front leg and plucked it from the floor like it weighed nothing, swiveling it so it was held outstretched and upturned. With a hiss, a torch ignited on another arm and began to heat the bottom of a crucible lowered in from the ceiling above. It was the whine of the arcane laser powering up that finally broke Steven's bravado, and that was what jolted Wallace from his frozen stupor.

He lunged towards the arms with a cry, trying to disrupt them, stop them, break them, anything-- Only to be stopped mid-leap by the forge, carefully caught in an unheated crucible and hoisted into the air as easily as a bug scooped into a jar.

"No!" Wallace flailed desperately against the crucible walls, throwing his weight trying to tip it so that he may slip out. His rocking almost succeeded, netting him a glimpse of his friend over the crucible's lip.

"Steven!" he cried, and he knew Steven heard him this time. Red eyes flicked up to meet his own. "Please! I almost lost you once, I'm not doing this again!"

The last thing Wallace saw before the forge gently nudged him down with a heavy crucible lid was Steven's eyes widening in an ugly, ugly expression. Not fear. But the realization that for all of his careful calculations, there might have been something he missed.

 

[Jackie Cat]

With Steven's limb held rigidly in place, the rest of the Forge's mechanical arms descended to begin their work.

Metal inlay is the process of embedding pieces strips of contrasting metal into depressions in a surface, such as wood or other metals. This technique is often ornamental, with the inlay creating intricate patterns, motifs, or decorative imagery to aesthetically enhance the base object.

The ancient laser hummed and crackled as it drew channels and rivulets across the surface of Steven's body; a focused beam of red-orange light traced a careful pattern on the canvas of his skin. Sparks erupted continuously where directed energy met steel, and left behind a crisp, black icon – a glyph representing the Forge itself.

The process requires precision, first to carve a recess into the material and then to carefully fit and treat the metal to create a seamless finish.

The gantry cradling the crucible of liquid metal first lowered it, then tipped it. It flowed from its container's lip, glowing like the sun, as viscous as thick honey. Where it met the carved pathways, it flowed in, splashing over the edges. Short-lived flames scattered from the contact as the substance cooled.

As a traditional practice in some cultures, this is sometimes performed on living silicoid pokémon – similar to the mammalian practice of tattoing exposed skin using needles and ink. This may be done as part of a coming of age ritual, to mark an individual with personal motifs, or to display allegiance to a faction, religious order, or master.

Another manipulator pushed through to apply itself to the task. This one buzzed and whined, a rotary grinder to sand down the excess metal, and create a perfectly smooth finish with machine precision.

It is less common than electroplating, etching, and other forms of silicoid bodily decoration, due to the process being considerably more painful.

Finally, the arms emitted a thrumming line of light that plowed across the surface of Steven's arm, before blinking green.

"Glyph verified. Forgemaster-elect confirmed. Welcome, Steven Stone."