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Once at the frost seas, of high warrior birth was born a boy who loved mystery. Hemera's golden touch blessed his family; he instead received the touch of Nox, and his fingers ached for Hecate's arcane gift. With each grace of rose-fingered dawn, two brothers grow so differently from one another, and before long, the younger, desire in his heart to find a place to truly belong, sails the wine-dark sea.Tales of great men, after all, begin with them starting their lives away from their fathers.He wears like a mask the name of mischief and at first dreams of settling on a place where the name means nothing to the ears it falls on. But as all of Gaia's children, he too, is suspectible to the desire to roam and see, and discover, always roaming; never settling. He pursues his beloved Arts; he learns from druids and priests and scholars how to defend without a shield, and how he can destroy with neither sword nor spear.And the Fates smile when he reaches a very particular island; one popular for nothing more different that its smithy. Great craftsmen in the world were not rare, but this one was unique, for it was said his skill rivalled that of the Smith of Gods.
Thus having said, the father of fires
To the black labours of his forge retires
Soon as he bade them blow, the bellows turned
Their iron mouths; and where the furnace burned
Resounding breathed: at once the blast expires
And twenty forges catch at once the fires
Just as the god directs, now loud, now low
They raise a tempest, or they gently blow
In hissing flames huge silver bars are rolled
And stubborn brass, and tin, and solid gold
Before, deep fixed, the eternal anvils stand
The ponderous hammer loads his better hand
His left with tongs turns the vexed metal round
And thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound
And indeed, this forge's flames feel as if they're sentient and alive, as if they were made by a breath of magic ancient and divine. People come and go, leaving their commisions to the smith and leaving, others remaining for a while, simply watching, then taking off amazed and awestruck. And the whispers come back; perhaps the nameless to them smith is indeed, somehow related, to the god of flames instead. And then the starry mistress spreads her sparkling cloak, as she always does when the time comes, and people answer to her call to return to their homes. The smith remains however, and Loki finds himself approaching the depths of this supposed god on the eyes of their surroundings.And a god of his own right this man is, even if he's covered in dust and rust, sweat and scars. His form isn't towering as a mountain as he's seen before, nor the tools surrounding him are all familiar to him. Perhaps this is why the common folk have elevated him to a godly status. Was that not what people did for things they could not understand?The godling stops his work then, a shield grandiose both in size and the detail on its golden surface. It's something unlike what he has seen in his travels or at his birthplace; it's as if it was something born out of the fiery, hidden heart of the land. Perhaps it was just that. Perhaps the smith was just a normal human who stumbled upon great knowledge, or perhaps he had his own Prometheus to grand him the gift of a flame unlike any other.
Perhaps it was more.
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait if there's something you'd like to commission something to me." the godling speaks."I'm only watching, I admit. I got the impression one could come and watch." he replies."Indeed." He seems to want to end the conversation there, maybe go back to his work."I'm Loki." he introduces himself, not sure if the other wants to know more about this strange intruder. "I'm a traveller, I.. came from the north." And then, without a second thought, he blurts, "Are you the god of fire?"The godling stares for a moment, surprised, then laughs, and it's the kind of quiet, mirthful laughter that reminds him the crackling of flame and metal. "That would be hybris to the god of fire himself." he points out. "I'm Antonius. Would you like to tell me about your travels? I'll forge something for you in exchange." A hybris that might be, Loki thinks, but perhaps the locals were right when they said Antonius' skill rivals that of Vulcanus himself.
I'd like to learn more about him. As much as I can.
Perhaps a change of plans was in order.This place has become even more interesting than it already was.