The roar of fire along with the striking of hammers filled the forge, Mordred sat there patiently sitting watching the two blacksmiths hammering his partner into its true shape.
It had been a week since Mordred and Uther visited and successfully convinced the blacksmiths into lending their skill.
Droola's fang laid sharpened next to him, bone white in color and to Mordred it seemed that the fang itself was excited to become Mordred's partner.
Mordred's focus returned to Ochello and Maris, their work ever continuing.
He thought back to the planning around the scythe's construction, for a good polearm one needed both flexibility and rigidness.
A paradox that had to be solved for his partner to be able to handle his physical might.
The two craftsmen after hours of discussion they finally decided on the metal that would make up the weapon's shaft.
Curonian Bronze, an unpopular alloy due to its likeness of its namesake, was known for its incredible durability and resistance to damage.
But the proper tempering of the metal took both proper timing and great patience.
Mordred focused on Maris who was working off the scythe's shaft; it had started taking its final shape.
Measuring at a little bit over nine long and two inches in diameter, Maris was just adding the final touches.
But Ochello had instead restarted an old project, his greatest dream and challenge, Ochello's magnum opus.
Trinitas, a set of the hypothetical and mythical triplate armor, the perfect combination of woolen,chain, and plate.
Ochello had wanted to create Trinitas when he first heard about the hypothetical armor since he was a boy, the idea of a suit of armor that could endure everything a warrior could ever face, even magic.
And the Young Ochello swore to himself that he would one day forge such an armor, and it would be wielded by the greatest warrior he could find.
…
Maris knew better than anyone about her father's obsession with his dream.
Every ten years or so, her father would encounter a warrior or knight that inspired him to go down that rabbit hole only for the armor to be too much for its wearer.
Either decorating the warrior's hall or study or shoved in the forger's basement, and Ochello would always enter a time of great sadness.
When she noticed how her father acted after seeing Mordred create the mithril knot, his shocked eyes gained a whimsical air and his attention seemed elsewhere as he prepped the forge.
She had hoped it was just her misunderstanding or paranoia on her part.
But no, as soon as Ochello started to measure Mordred's build including his foot size and head shape, she knew that she would have to throw another set of unused triplate into their over crowded basement.
And when the time came for Ochello to start his well practiced pitch about how Triplate armor would help any warrior reach their pinnacle.
Maris had hoped that Mordred would politely refuse to spare them all the aftermath of this farce, especially because the warrior before Mordred was his own father Uther.
But either because Mordred was being polite or he foolishly thought just like his father before him that he could bear the weight of over six hundred pounds.
Maris sighed as she finished up her work on the scythe's shaft, already preparing herself for the outcome of this endlessly repeating farce.
…
Ochello worked on the armor with a fanaticism he had not felt in a little over a decade; he was already in a trance having taken out every piece of mithril he could find for his magnum opus.
But just plain mithril would not be enough for the armor of his dreams and he already knew what metal he would use.
Scourge metal Mithril pushed to its strongest form through fire, a material known to be unbreakable.
The only metal naturally resistant to magic needing no enchantment to endure magic of every kind, even sorcery.
Of course such an incredible metal would not gain such a name as scourge metal, without having at least a few weaknesses.
The metal was impossible to sharpen due to its toughness, that combined with the fact that Scourge metal just looked terrible.
Scourge metal bears both the color and the dullness of scrap metal, with it being impossible to polish or smooth out.
And of course with mithril being a metal that is famous for its shine and beauty, knights who both wanted and could afford mithril plate armor would like it to actually look like mythril.
Due to that fact, Scourge metal's forging method has almost disappeared due to the ravages of time.
Yet Ochello continued hammering the scourge metal plate into the desired shape of the chestplate, already having turned all the other mithril plates into scourge metal.
As he continued his rhythmic hammering he turned to look at Mordred.
The towering figure sat patiently and quietly, an incredibly rare trait that he inherited from his father.
From Ochellos every other experience with creating weapons for other famous knights or legendary warriors was nothing like dealing with the Collins family.
Truly Ochello was happy that Mordred could even return, let alone seemingly return the same person that he was when that accursed demon stole him away to parts far and unknown.
When he thought back to Modred when he was just a boy, something came back to him that he hadn't thought of since his disappearance.
A magic that the boy himself had created and the trouble around his creation.
The spell was named Wickerman, as an idea it was simple using mana to boost one's physical abilities.
But for Mordred's parents, it was the culmination of their worst fears.
When Mordred reached thirteen years old, he had shown at multiple times a complete readiness to throw himself into danger no matter what.
No matter the reason or the cause, if Mordred thought it was needed he even would readily offer up his life.
Of course both Igraine and Uther were terrified by his development in their son's personality, and even worse Mordred could not see the problem with his way of thinking.
And Wickerman's one flaw was the tipping point for both of them, that while the spell was active it would come with Mordred having to set himself on fire.
When Mordred showed off this magic to his parents, the three of them disappeared for months with them only returning with the announcement of Queen Marry's pregnancy.
The reason that Ochello's thoughts turned to that buried memory is because he saw it, for a fraction of a second Mordred's hand coated in raging fire and the old man finally understood that Mordred truly had not changed in any way.
…
After three more days Mordred's partner was finished, and it was beautiful in every way.
The weight and balance was perfect, Mordred slashed the air smiling all the way.
"Yes!"
Modred said in a joyous voice, as he danced with his partner.
Maris, who watched the joyful giant had to say that the scythe had probably been the best she had ever forged in her twenty years as a blacksmith.
Even though being made of two pieces, after the blade was set it had seemingly become one as a whole.
A testament to the power that slumbered within all draconic ingredients, perhaps but Maris would happily take ownership of being the one who crafted this masterpiece.
Mordred, who had been happily swinging away with his scythe, abruptly froze mid action as he yelled.
"Wait!"
Mordred then dramatically spun around to face Maris, who had been watching Mordred admire her work.
Maris stood as she waited for Mordred to explain this sudden outburst.
"Name?"
Mari's body instantly slouched as she sighed and spoke.
"Sacris."
Mordred's eyes lit up as he mouthed the name.
"It's everything I dreamed of, thank you!"
He was enraptured, his large smile reflected on Sacris' mirror like blade.
"Heh, you haven't seen anything yet!"
Ochello exclaimed as he emerged from the forge with a victorious look on his face.
Mordred's face then became serious, for Trinitas was ready.
…
Mordred remembered when he first heard of Triplate, he was about nine years old when Ochello convinced Uther of needing it due to the appearance of a warlock who had taken control of a mighty dragon through heinous dark arts.
As the armor was being prepped on him, Mordred thought back to that day when his father was getting suited in the triplate.
It was the first and only time Mordred ever saw his father struggle, the weight even being too much for him.
And of course Uther was apologetic to Ochello, who had been certain if anyone could bear the power of triplate, it would be the strongest member of the Collin's family in over two hundred years.
But now it was his turn, it was time to see if he was worthy of the defensive might offered by Trinitas.
Mordred ever since he had first heard of triplate wished to bear its weight, he had since childhood been terrible at defense.
And saw Trinitas as a much needed allie for his desired work.
And piece by piece the armor was set onto Mordred's mighty frame, his body shuddered in anticipation.
What you would call the defining physical feature of trinitas, was how overbuilt it seemed.
Chains hung from the large pauldrons that went to his elbows, the pauldrons themselves were almost as big as a regular knight's knight's chestplate.
The chest piece is the most normal piece of the armor, except for the large molded collar that laid around Mordred's neck area.
It was not cleanly separated, instead it was rounded like a protective mound instead of a wall.
The plate leggings were surrounded by a fauld of chains that were two feet long.
The entire inner armor was lined with specially processed wool.
But the most eyecatching part of the armor was the helm.
It was seemingly designed after a furnace, with a cauldron-like shape and four rectangular vents and the bottom lined with chain mail.
And as the helm was placed over Mordred's head, Modred slowly rose fully clad in Trinitas.
Both Ochello and Maris stood there silent as they watched on as the armor clad giant slowly walked back out to the field outside the smithy.
As Mordred walked to the field outside as he grew accustomed to the weight of Trinitas, flexing his fingers in the articulated gauntlets.
After another moment or two, Mordred quickly grew sure that he could handle the strain of the triplate.
But for both Mordred and Ochello this was the bare minimum, Mordred turned to Sacris and grabbed it with gauntleted fingers.
…
Mordred stood in the middle of the field that surrounded Ochello's forge, the two crafts stood ten paces behind the armor clad giant.
"Strong Harvest!"
Mordred started with the first move, the slash created a large gust of wind.
"Grim Bulwark!"
The wind only grew stronger as Mordred spun Sacris in front of him, his voice slowly becoming excited as he continued.
"Grim Storm!"
Mordred yelled as each one of his slashes sent a compressed wave of air that destroyed the surrounding flora.
Of course Ochello and Maris had seen those three moves a number of times over the ten days he had spent with them.
But never had these moves held such power, Mordred himself seemingly winded for the first time since being here.
Mordred stood there unmoving his helm looking downward, his heavy breathing reverberated through his armor.
But soon he raised his helm up to the sky and soon started to laugh heartily.
Ochello happily joined him, the two laughed as they grasped each other's forearms in celebration.
"It's perfect!"
Mordred said in pure jubilation, as Mordred started to walk forward he stretched his arms.
"perfect, for a walk around the capital!"
After exclaiming that Mordred shot off like a race horse, leaving the laughing Ochello and the shocked Marris.
Maris stared as the trinitas clad giant jumped over their ten foot fence, and continued on his way to their capital city Dournier.
"To think one could move like that while wearing six hundred pounds of metal."
Ochello looked to his daughter as he continued to revel in the feeling of a childhood dream finally completely.
The old man then raised an eyebrow before speaking.
"One thousand pounds."
Ochello then started to walk back to the house, whistling a joyful tune for the first time in a decade.
Leaving Maris standing there alone, mouth ajar her eyes locked on the wall that mordred leaped over.