“I cannot accept this. The spear you'd gifted me with is already such a treasure.” Jura shook her head at the offered gift, blushing wildly again. A skillbook, something she'd only heard of in passing, an anchoring rune, and a greater monster essence. Each of them worth more than she was by a considerable margin. “I appreciate your consideration, but it would inappropriate to accept more unearned charity until our... Arrangement is finalized.”

“What do you mean?” Tyr asked. “I bought something for everyone, not just you. You said that you could use beast magic, right? Doesn't that mean you can tame magical beasts?”

“I can summon and enter contracts with them.” She looked conflicted. Caught between her greed for such highly prized items and her nervousness for being presented with such a bounty. “Not tame them, you don't tame great spirits. But I've never tried it before. I've no idea what will happen if I try to summon something from a greater essence. Not even my chieftain had something like this...”

“In any case.” Tyr said. “It's not charity. Consider it employment appropriate equipment, since you insist that you work for me.”

He gave Yana the gravity magic and Arcane Theorum, but only after memorizing the second textbook himself by flipping through the pages. Most of it he didn't understand, but he wasn't likely to forget it either. Eventually, it might be useful knowledge. She had a talent for the gravity magic, and was aware of that. Perhaps she'd never been something like an archmage, but her pendulum with the aid of that magic in particular might become a wicked thing. Or, more wicked. At least she wouldn't have to remain vulnerable and in awkward positions while trying to swing it around.

His second copy of Lightning Style Swordsmanship went to Benny. Tyr had seen how effective and vicious it was when he'd been totally outclassed by Kael in the academy arena. Granted, his was known as 'thunder style' if he remembered it correctly, but it was a derivative of some kind. The movements and forms were very similar.

A form of fighting that as the name might imply, was predicated on quick and efficient – lightning fast strikes. Putting all of ones power into a few purposeful blows. He wasn't sure how useful it was for him, but it was cheap enough to purchase without too much thought. Kael's had been so impressive. Tyr liked running around a lot when fighting, moving and rolling and flailing about sometimes without much thought to it. Lightning was the complete opposite of that. But it'd work with the blade song, so it was worth a shot.

For the others, they were harder to shop for. All of them understood. Abe and Girshan were already trained, about as close to a 'battle mage' as you could get. In Girshan's case, for someone not overly reliant on magic and not incredibly strong it in either. In Abe's, for a telurian. There hadn't been much there that might interest them. Most of it was designed for humans specifically. He gave them both a mana stone each. A fist sized hunk of blue cobalt looking stone. Glassy and rigid in places, but mostly planed out. It was as close to 'go buy something for yourself' as he could get. Kirk refused his gift outright, even when pushed to accept it. Evidently, the maxxid did not give or accept gifts unless they had an immediate use – and paid for everything by some method or another. The other members of Benny's team didn't get anything. But none of them seemed to mind. They'd all received a stipend and been paid by Tyr himself, and that was enough.

As for Xavier, he was the easiest to gift something. His powers were predicated on consumption. Tyr would give him any manatite of his choosing. Eager to see what kind of effect rare metals like mithril or blue steel would have on his allomancy. Finding an open forge was easy. With his status as a class 2, and a gold ranked adventurer no less, flashing his credentials as a runesmith trained at the Amistad Red Dragon Academy made him look like a saint arriving in their time of need. He felt bad for lying, though he technically hadn't. They just assumed he meant 'graduated', and his file said the same. Still... It made him feel unclean. To make up for it, he purchased meals for the forge staff and nigh forced Hogan to help with the backlog of work.

The dwarf grumbled plenty, but he couldn't stop some exuberance from entering his gaze when Tyr forewent the more mundane forging implements and pulled out his brand new portable dimensional forge. Somewhat similar to the campfire spit and automatic folding tents lost in the mess of his ring, with it's own mana flame, anvil, and generator. As a mage himself, charging a mana stone was as easy as putting a hand to it, but he supposed more features were better than the alternative.

It felt odd. Adventurers were impossibly diverse. In academic terms, Girshan was not a mage, not even close, and neither was Abe. But in terms of what they could actually do in a fight, they were far more useful than mages. Tyr felt at this point that he was the same, no longer thinking the term of 'mage' as so alien to what he was.

In any case...

Day and night they worked. First, the deal was to take up the testing courtyard flanking the forge hall, a squat building in the industrial quarter. Bordering the street dedicated to amenities, Tyr saw familiar faces quite often. Some he knew by name, most he did not. Girshan, Abe, and the others stopped by. Sometimes to watch as he and Hogan tended to armor and weapons alike with trained precision. Tyr lacked the finesse necessary to work with bows, but he could handle a staff just fine. Repairing the runes and letting Hogan ignite them to reduce the risk of a difficult to explain explosion.

It caused a bit of a disconnect with those who knew him. Tyr would stand for hours, carefully administering to weapons far beyond the attention they would normally get. Calm in the face and serene in composure, working near non-stop. He always seemed to like it...

“You're not so bad at this.” Hogan chuckled over a pint. They'd had ale and meals delivered, foregoing the typical hourly wage. All to save them the trip of doing it themselves, and Tyr would foot the bill for Hogan's services out of his own pocket and neither collected any commission for it. They paid for the materials, but his labor was free for the time being. For a common adventurer, fifty silver per repair and five gold per augment was a vast sum. The discounted association rate in the city was a bit less than anywhere else. To Tyr, it was a pittance. He was stingy, but ultimately opted to see the money converted into food, services, or materials. If they brought him the necessary materials, or bought him a meal, he wouldn't charge them beyond that. Most of the 'cost' associated with the work was labor and time predicated, with the materials warehouse right across the street beside the marketplace it was more than a bargain. “You're a good man, doing all this for free. They'll love you for it.”

“And the other artisans probably hate me for it. In one hand and out the other.” Tyr replied. But truthfully, they didn't seem to mind, either. Most of them were apprentice grade smiths, some of the augments and rune repairs were beyond them. Tyr was giving them back some time to spend with their families, already paid enough for their time as they were. Overtime was a luxury that most neither wanted nor needed to continue living well with their impressive benefits as official association laborers. “And I'm not doing this for free.” Tyr said. “Look at how much refined steel they've handed over. I'll never run out of the stuff, at this rate.”

“But it's just common steel.” Hogan frowned. “That stuff is pennies on the dollar compared to what you could be charging. Should've asked for silver, or at least some rarer wood. Bloodstone is common in this region, fairly useful for stoking a flame. Toxic, though. Gotta wear a mask or you humans will end up all lumpy. What are you going to do with all of it?”

“Forge with it.” Tyr replied.

“Alloy it with silver, or nickel?” Hogan raised an eyebrow.

“Nope.” Tyr shook his head. “You'll see. I've been thinking about this a lot lately.”

He had so much information pertaining to alien alloys that his head was fit to burst. Things that didn't exist in this world, but could given that he made a close approximation of their makeup. Most of them were some blend of steel or another. In particular, there was a bizarre knife – long with little ripples on the surface of the metal. Something like Assyrian steel, but it was blued and striped like the flank of one of the steeds from Agoron with their strange patterns and fanged snouts. Assyrian steel held an edge like no other. An answer for the impure surface-level pig iron in a land where mines and mountains were relatively rare. They'd developed around it, and Tyr would do the same, taking inspiration from their famed artisans.

He pulled and plied at the ingots until they were long, malleable ropes of cherry red metal. Just before they turned white hot. Turning them on one another, again and again. Beating layer after layer into the steel. It was already refined, so hypothetically, his should be even better. To be safe, he added elemental oil. Sky oil, they called it. The stuff mage staffs were tempered with to conduct electricity better without a backlash, and less need for expensive conduit runes. Throughout the process, he added more powdered charcoal to raise the carbon content. Dropping a bit of oil into each fold with a satisfying hiss as the scorching metal sucked the moisture from it.

Hours of turning, beating, and turning again. All with that hammer he'd most conveniently forgotten to return to Abaddon upon his quick escape from his homeland. Hogan would watch on his breaks, offering a few pointers but otherwise remaining silent. Tyr was going far and beyond what a normal smith would do. Purifying the steel too much. It was expensive, time consuming, and inefficient when he could just use silver to achieve the same effect. But there had to be some method to the madness. Tyr was a bit clumsy and didn't have the hands of a true expert in the realm of smithing, but he worked with runes quite well. Sometimes, time and effort could more than make up for talent.

When he was satisfied with the infusion of elemental oil into the metal, he added a paste. Rubbing it into the metal bare handed, much to the shock of those observing. His fingers would come back blackened and scarred, and he'd douse them in water and continue without much more than a momentary wince. Shavings of blue steel and powered mana crystals mixed with a tar made from water and the pulverized remains of a long black horn he'd taken from his ring. Maybe not a horn, but a talon or a claw. A big one, though, several feet long – wicked and bladed. When Hogan asked about it, Tyr said it had 'fallen off a friend'. The boy was a loon, but his work ethic at least was something to admire.

Time passed and so did the others. Eighteen hours of labor for naught but six ingots of shimmering steel, rough and blued with a visible crystalline structure present within the metal. Even before the acid bath and polishing.

“This should be enough.” Tyr sighed, resting his tired arms, still feeling the thumping of driving the layered metal together with the additives in between. Fusion welding sheets into one cohesive mass before beating them down again to a uniform brick, no gaps or air bubbles inside. And this was just to cast the ingots. Too much work for that, Hogan thought. But dwarves prided themselves on perfection so he couldn't begrudge the man for trying his best. There was a reason they called it Hogan Fried, because his clan too cared about achieving the best possible result with no heed to the time or cost.

“Enough for what?” Hogan asked. “A sword? Axe head? It's not much, given the time, but its quite a lot for one weapon.”

“Yeah, I'll have some leftovers. I've got a fine enough weapon as is.” Tyr said. “I was thinking about a pair of boots.” Something that could be riveted onto his armor, or strapped over it, but he wasn't so sure. The long steel shins of the built-in boots were quite bulky, considering. The spellbreakers were well enough, considering his mothers now destroyed armor returned to him by the others would shift to fit them. His new armor didn't, but the chain gauntlets and vambrace would fit inside, albeit snugly. He was counting on something else, instead. The gluttony rune, and the change rune. Thus began his next project. Carefully fitting it into a predetermined and open slot on the armor he'd earned from his misadventures in the tower installation.

Contrary to expectation, it was insanely easy. Whatever blackened metal comprised the armor seemed destined to aid him in his task. Just one rune, that's all it need. And when he finished it, something seemed to click within his mind. Donning it, Hogan took a step back off his stool and stared at him in shock. “Well... That's certainly something...”

Little more than a thought was needed to change between the scraps of his mothers armor that he fed to the ensemble. The boots he'd crafted replacing those on the set as if they'd been there all along. Surrounding his body with but a thought before it all became part of the suddenly repaired bracelet once again at home on his wrist. Finally repaired... Once he finished the rune, it had latched onto the items around it and assimilated them. Making them part of its construction. Furthermore, he could change between the two appearances of the armor at will. Even edit them slightly in his minds eye to give more coverage about the chest. Mixing and matching the pieces. Tyr had always loved his mothers armor, aesthetically. But ultimately it was like a vessel, ready for power to be given to it as if it had possessed something greater in the past. Now, the two sets of armor had combined. Appearance interchangeable and the protection greater than the sum of its parts. With the boots added, it was all the more impressive.

So as not to over-complicate things, Tyr would've said that the suit of armor he'd gained from the trials were able to assimilate others. Change at will, and benefit from the addition, but only from things that would benefit it.

Just out of curiosity, he pointed the rod present on the tablet at the armor. It was dark, now. The middle of the night. All of the other forgers had gone home, with only Hogan remaining behind. His kind could easily stay awake for days if they so chose. Or sleep for a week if that was what they needed to do. Their alien metabolism giving them preternatural focus and endurance by right of blood. Something that had taken Tyr months and years to learn, they were just born with it.

Artifact: [(Skinsuit) Unnamed]

Rank: Gold(?) Unknown (growth) Class-?? Artifact

Contractual obligations leave the identity and heritage of this armor and its like as confidential artifacts. A skin suit heavily modified and soulbound to a single user. It has lost most of it's power (based on mana channel density), but open rune slots indicate that it can be tweaked and refit without risk of disrupting base functionality.

Made by an unknown craftsman, this is a semi-dimensional artifact cast near entirely from the prized white mithril. Soulbound. When bound, cannot be worn by anyone else unless the previous user has been killed. Many of the runes present are unknown, and a secondary armor signature renders us unable to study it further. Conclusion: No contribution points can be rewarded for this discovery. Due to it's soulbound nature, this item is not of more than a passing interest to the association.

Effect: Armor is cast from white mithril. User should experience no interference with the use of mana seen in armor cast of most terrestrial metals. It is set with an unknown astral fractal design, what was once called 'proto runes' before being replaced by the current runic language. Estimations are that it possesses mass displacement and several emergency life support systems. Purpose unclear.

Effect: This artifact was subjected to a gluttony and change runic synergy. As this synergy came from an inhuman language – conclusion is unclear. However, the dominant suit of armor is the original, cast from white mithril. All darksteel composite used in the construction of the other variant have been absorbed and used to enhance its structure. Bizarrely, regardless of form, 0.01% darksteel cannot be detected. The armor is almost universally composed of white mithril. Curious.

*All runes on the base harness are passive. No release runes. However, an infusion conduit platform has been absorbed and adopted in a mana matrix from the waist down. From the knee down in particular, the slot dedicated to greaves has been tweaked and retained its original structure. It will, presumably, improve with the rest of the armor. Considering the mana circulation far above the norm, it is very possible that this armor was at least at the diamond rating at some point or another. Unclear. Power decays over time in soulbound objects if left overlong (to a certain degree). This includes when held in a dimensional storage space, on a scale more vast than the average human life.

*Unquantifiable effects:

-Gluttony

-Change

-Unnamed Wind Magic Infusion Matrix

-Mass Displacement

-Skin-suit, sub-dimensional artifact

-Modular armor: 12 slots remaining

*Please visit Navi in Aurora for more information regarding this artifact. If conclusions are met regarding its purpose, rewards may be given. As an aside, we at the adventurers association would be willing to offer you thirty thousand gold for the dismantling of this artifact for the white mithril inside. Permission from a living primus is required for trade of this material, however.

*You can name this artifact.

Tyr stood in place, flexing the gauntlets of the armor and thinking to himself. Wondering if he could, or should, add the spellbreakers to that. Unfortunately, or perhaps not, the decision was made for him. It melded into the form of the gauntlets and vambrace, changing their appearance very little. And yet he could sense that they were still there. It was like the suit of armor was a body sheathing illusion and if it was broken, he'd look quite different. And if he had need of detaching a piece, as with the gauntlets and boots – they'd slip free of their own accord. Only the other suit of armor seemed lost. Just another appearance he could adopt if he wanted to, morphing back and forth between the two.

Hogan appreciated the lines of the armor. Signe's battle gear. A vicious suit of silvered steel that captured just the right amount of violence and just the right amount of valor. Like that worn by a knight, but more at home on a battlefield than the dueling yards. The wicked single horn sprouting vertically from the ridge over the eye slits and the hard, thin crease between nasal and cheek guards. Not much more than a quarter inch of a gap for air. It wasn't the most impressive artifact, but it was a skin suit – an incredibly rare type of battle gear that would cost thousands of gold. Vaguely dwarven in appearance, he had to give respect where it was deserved. The steel blue tone of the tabard cloth and the high horse tail of the same color jutting from the back of the helmet evoked a sense of majesty. Like a lion. While it fit Tyr perfectly, it appeared a set made for a woman. Only after alterations was a real breastplate fit into it between the tabard and leather backed chain beneath.

“It's beautiful. You didn't make it, though.” Hogan nodded in appreciation. Dwarves were fanciful by nature, but they were great appreciators of everything. They loved the world, each other, and most of the other races throughout the land. They loved war, too, and yet they loved peace and building friendships. A race of contradiction. Hogan loved art. Food, and art. Those were his twin passions, preferably at the same time. But any of his clan-born kin would appreciate a nice suit of battle gear.

“I didn't.” Tyr answered. Settling into the armor and satisfied with the state of it. He didn't have the energy to add more, and something told him it wouldn't allow him to. It needed time to settle, learn, and absorb that which was given. Even as he thought this, he could feel runes patterning the creases of the metal. Gluttony, indeed. It seemed to be digesting the magic of the other set of armor and adopting its runes. Thankfully, Hogan couldn't see that. It was... Concerning. Living artifacts were cursed artifacts, and they were illegal the world over. “It was my mothers.”

“What's it's name?” Hogan asked. “Every good artifact has to have a name. You humans like to name your arms, but your armor... Not so much. Piece like this... Nay, art like this... Whoever made it, I think they'd want it to have a name.”

“Victory.” Tyr replied, nearly choking on the words, overcome with a fierceness of emotion he'd only felt a handful of times in his entire life. He'd though the armor lost, one of the last remnants of her legacy, but through dumb luck he was back in it again and it was stronger than ever. “My mother's name was Signe. It seems appropriate for me to name it after her.”

“Aye, lad.” Hogan nodded in appreciation. “A beautiful name for what must've been a beautiful woman.” He patted Tyr on the shoulder in a fatherly sort of way. Both silent as they headed for home to get some well earned shut-eye. Even when he slept, he refused to remove the comforting embrace of the armor.