A Scargrim pulls alongside his team of Bacca down the path, sweat dripping from his brow as he eases his loaded cart to a halt just outside the Armory.
He takes a moment to catch his breath, then thunders, "OY! Anyone 'ere good wich metals? Ah could use sum smarts wich how ta break sum stuff."
"Whats all this rukus then Volrog?" Ling asks as he wanders into the armory, then over to where Volrog is hammering at the peice of chain, he picks up some tongs and holds them out to him. "Shits break better when you heat it up. Let me get the forge going." He turns away and goes to gather wood for the fire, before returning it an dropping it into the fire that is dwindling, then starting to pump the bellows that cause the embers to glow a bright red.
Volrog's final blow snaps the one link, a discharge of magical energy humming in the air a moment before it fades. The angori turns his maddened eyes to Ling, snagging the tongs and nodding as the crimson veins of his bloodshot eyes start to recede.
"Yer right. Lez git it all hot an' melty forst, will make dis much easiuh. We gon' re-shape it too - me 'orns gots an idear" he exclaims with a toothy grin.
The scargrim's visage turns to get the rest of the chains and moves them onto the fire, heating them 'til they're glowing, then uses the tongs bring them back over to the metal table.
His nose crinkles as he stretches the hot chains out , reflecting on what's bothering him. "Dat Hexadus ain't no god. Gods are moighty an' strong an' face der believers an' opponents. Even da sneakie gods and da spook gods do der ting, but dey do it ta those wot are a challenge. Chain up a bunch o' little-horns and nublings what who ain't even seen der first Drengskapr? Trick da small vorhex inta' thinkin' Arimir don't like 'em 'cuz he ain't finished growin' yet? Ain't no god worthy o' followin', o' even believin' in does doz tings. An' only one thing left ta do wich da gods dat ain't worthy...", he finishes as he hoists the sledge back to begin his blows again
"And what idea is that my friend?" Ling asks as he grabs a bucket and goes over to the small well in the corner, bringing up water and carrying it over for his horned friend to dip the metal into, Nodding as Volrog goes on his rant, stern agreement on his face. "Yes, bring them down. So what are you going to make with this?" he asks, standing back a bit as the furious angori pounds into the links.
The angori heaves out his words inbetween breaths and sledgefalls, "Dem kids lost a lot of der bigger horns ta look up to, wot wich all dat fightin' and killin'. An' dey been put through bein' chained up, somethin' NO angori should evah be ag'n. Der longhorns wot dey still gots be providin' da propah angori way, but dey is shaken. I'z makin' a statement, as much tah dem as tah any gods wot see fit tryin' ta enslave anyone: Angori are free-", an enraged crushing blow of a strike comes down with his last declaration, snaping a chain link in half, sending each side shooting off to opposite walls of the armory, "-an' we'z gonna make pendants outta each o' deez broken links, an' give 'em to da kids, ta cast away any doubt an' remind them dat they'll nevah 'ave shackles dat can bind 'em down wot can't be broke."
After the whispering wind was the only reply he got, Volrog shrugs, lifts part of the encumbering contents of the cart and proceeds into the armory, kicking the creaking door for good measure in his typical scargrim entrance. After a couple trips of dropping his metal burden off beside a metal table and sizing up the place while lighting a couple torches, he picks out a sledgehammer and drags it over by the table, grinning as he psyched himself up, envisioning himself as Arimir with the hammmer.
Volrog lays out the first piece across the table, a chain of Hexadus that bound some of the Angori children to the ceiling in the last battle. He takes in a deep breath and exhales as he brings the sledge down on it [Ruin].
The Angori winces as the hammer impacts the chain, but snorts when he sees it dented, but not broken. "Residual enegiez ah naht, errytin' breaks wich 'nuff hits. 'Specially anytin' dat tries chain up a horn!" he declares[Rage] as he readies his sledge for a whirlwind of strikes, [Breach]ing away at the chain, causing a steady thunder to emanate out of the building