Adam Smasher, Level 1 Adventurer, Hestia Familia

"A clean sever, immediate staunching, followed by several low grade healing potions." Blueboy analyzed, leaning over his exposed stump at his employer's insistence, poking and prodding at the wound and its surrounding tissues with delicate fingers. Said employer currently hovering over the process and fretting about like some sort of malfunctioning drone. Blueboy sighed and leaned back, resting his hands on his thighs and pulling a face. "It's downright professional, probably the best work you could do in the field. If you still had the arm, we'd be able to re-attach it, it's fresh and clean enough. You said you left it in the Dungeon?"

"It's a red smear." Adam corrected with a grumble and glare. Of course it was professional, it was his fucking work. Waiting for Blueboy to finish his evaluations. Scrappy had left to his guild meeting with Guildmeat, and the rest of the brats were attending this little house-party, watching their employer fuss over nothing. "Nothing left to reattach."

Blueboy nodded in a vaguely tired manner. "Then nothing for it but to get a replacement. I can give-" He cut himself off as Adam's glare redoubled, before correcting himself. "-recommend some potions to help scar the region over quickly, but other than bandaging and daily cleaning, there's not much more to be done."

"There's no magic that can regenerate his arm?!" His employer asked desperately. "Like some kind of super-spell or something?"

"None up for sale, at least." Blueboy replied, causing Dogmeat to look away with a frown. "Maybe there's an Adventurer with a healing spell that can do that, but that would require finding one first, negotiating with their god, and having enough budget to actually afford whatever price they demand."

"The Egyptians probably have healers that can give a new arm." Cyclops spoke from her place on a nearby sofa, a small frown on her face. "What with Osiris' weird obsession with grafting necro-bits onto things."

Tatertits turned a disgusted look towards Cyclops. "We're not giving my delinquent a zombie-arm, that's gross."

"You know… I might have an adventurer in my familia with a healing spell that can do that. I would have to ask, but-" The gray-haired woman with a turtleneck sweater began, smiling as she raised a glass of tea to her lips.

"No." Adam cut off the gray-haired woman with a frown and a raised finger. He ignored the sudden look of anger on Tatertits' face, as well as her attempt to shake him around. "Take your handouts and fuck off. I don't need your magic bullshit, especially not when it means downgrading again."

Rather than being offended, the gray-haired woman leaned back slightly, smiling and sipping her tea. Tatertits replied with an irritated glare and hands on his still-whole right arm. "What do you mean, downgrade? It's your arm, stupid, you need that!"

"Wrong." Adam countered by flicking her on the forehead, causing her to stagger back with a pinched face. "What I need is a new manipulator. I'm already in the market for one, no reason to just replace and not upgrade."

"A cool ninja-arm!" Bunnybrat declared, waving her arms excitedly as she did so, rocking back and forth from her position on the floor. "Boss was talking about it on the way back! He's going to put cool weapons in his new arm!"

"...A what?" Tatertits replied with an unimpressed face and flat voice, turning mechanically to look at Bunnybrat. Bunnybrat was now joined by Foxbrat, waving their arms around as if unsheathing weapons from them and throwing shuriken.

"O-oh?" Cyclops responded, a sudden invigoration overtaking her formerly polite and cool demeanor. She coughed once into her fist, collecting herself before continuing. "Ah… That's an interesting idea, what did you have in mind, Smasher-san?"

He held up the stump in front of him for reference, using his other hand to help articulate his points. "First thing to get is an interchangeable mounting, more options for what to put on the hand without the need for full replacement and quicker parts-replacement, both essential for maintaining consistently high levels of performance."

"Interchangeable mounting? Do you mean like a pommel?" Spearmint asked, her own glass of tea refilled by Halfbrat, who had quite the serious expression on her face as she poured.

"That counterweight-bit you screw on the end?" He asked for clarification, twisting his right hand as if he was twisting something on. Spearmint nodded, making him grunt and nod in reply. "Something like that, a twist-lock system should be easy to do. Then I can swap out the lower forearm as I need to. A standard manipulator to replace day-to-day usage, then a few weapon-arms, then a few utility arms. Spares in case any of them break on me. Ideally I'd be able to commission at least two functions into each limb, but I don't know how competent the smiths here are."

"Yeah you got me beat already." Shortstack called out with furrowed brows. "I don't know how to make prosthetics at all, I'm a traditional gal, hammers are more my speed."

"I've never even heard of something like that." Blueboy leaned back with a frown. "Is that common practice where you're from?"

"Common fucking sense, more like it. You already need a mounting to put the limb on, no reason to not make that mounting compatible with future limbs. Everyone who knew what they were doing got a quick-change mount, the only reason you wouldn't is to fit more in each limb or because you don't know what you're doing."

"Adam." Tatertits responded with a sad look on her face. "I don't know if we can even find someone who knows how to make these kinds of prosthetics, the most I've ever seen in Orario are the normal kinds."

Adam snorted, waving her off. "Dogmeat over there has an arm on par with a 'level four' with more than enough space left over to mount three hardpoints on the exterior. She can clearly control it with a mind-machine interface, and not just mechanical flex. There's at least one fucker here who can make what I want." He air-quoted the words 'level four'.

"For ninety-nine million." Dogmeat growled out, tail swishing and eyes glaring. "Ninety-nine million valis in debt, something we're barely making a dent in, for a heavy metal arm that's too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter."

There was a great deal of coughing, noise, and other small stunned reactions to the price quoted by the angry Dogmeat.

"Thirty three days." Adam countered with eyes flat and brows raised, making Dogmeat go still. "Killing at our current pace earns us three million a day, divided across the participants. It'll only get faster as the brats get better at murder. I can push that to four million if I wanted to, I have the time, missing an arm isn't going to slow me down, and healing potions are cheap. At worst I could pay off a debt like that in two months."

He leaned back and raised his hands in a shrug, ignoring the lack of his left lower arm. "Besides that. I don't need a 'level four' arm right now. I need a 'level one' arm and a solid foundation for future upgrades."

There was quiet for a time, before the gray-haired woman spoke with curious eyes and a gentle smile. "Airmid Teasanare, the Dea Saint, is the prosthesis-maker of the Dian Cecht familia. Her developmental ability, Mystery, allows her to create these wondrous limbs. It does not include the manufacture of arms or armor by itself, you require a Smith for such."

Adam considered that for a moment, before frowning. He had several complaints. "Why the fuck is it called Mystery?"

"Pardon?" The gray-haired… No. She needed a nickname. Turtleneck, gray hair… Granny it is. "The developmental ability?"

"Yes."

"It is called Mystery because it allows the user to enact miracles." Granny responded.

Adam rolled his eyes. "That's retarded. Moving on, you need 'Smith' to make enchanted weapons and 'Mystery' to make proper limbs, so you need both to make a weapon-limb I assume?"

"Well… Practically speaking, yes. The truth is more muddy than such simple statements." Granny responded, twirling a lock of hair. "Unfortunately, those that have Mystery within the bounds of Orario can be numbered on a single hand, I know of none that have both Mystery and Smith."

Adam narrowed his eyes at Granny. She seemed to be telling the truth, unfortunately. That meant he would need to track down external experts and put in a custom order. He hated mail-order chrome, but it was better than nothing.

Cyclops coughed into her hand, drawing attention to herself. "It's true that normally one needs both mystery and smith to make something like this, but… that's not actually a hard-requirement. It's simply a set of skills and knowledge that most don't have, the Falna simply fills in the gaps with the appropriate wisdom."

Adam raised a brow.

"Wait, what?" Shortstack replied, sitting up and turning towards Cyclops with wide eyes. "You mean mortals don't need the crafting abilities to make enchanted items? I thought that was a rule or something?"

"No it's… Think of it as a locked door, but rather than being locked with a key, it is locked with a puzzle. You must complete the puzzle to unlock the door." Cyclops began with a metaphor for something that really didn't need a metaphor to understand. "The crafting abilities granted by the Falna solve a portion of these puzzles for you, but you can always solve the puzzles yourself and open the door anyways."

Skill chips, then. Easy enough to understand.

"Many of the most legendary items predate the Falna, and were wrought by mortal smiths. If they didn't have a Falna, but they were able to make these wonders regardless, it should indicate that a Falna is ultimately not required, should it not?" Granny responded, instantly bringing eyes to her once more. "The Falna supports your development, facilitates your power, but it was never truly necessary. It only helps."

"That's how you were able to make that sword, even with your divinity sealed!" Shortstack declared, a realization coming to her. "It's not because you're a goddess, it's because you're you!"

Cyclops gave a sheepish chuckle at that, rubbing the back of her neck. "It's not often that anyone actually realizes that, even if we had to tell you outright I suppose." Turning her head, she turned to stare at him briefly, before coughing into her fist again and looking away. "A-anyways, t-these are some pretty interesting ideas for combat-prosthetics, it would be a shame if they couldn't be realized because of something petty like a drought of experts…"

Tatertits half-crawled, half-dashed her way over to Cyclops, a desperate gleam in her eye. She was stopped short by him grabbing her collar, leaving her fumbling and reaching forwards. "Hep-sama! Hep-sama! Are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you going to help my stubborn, hard-headed, reckless, stubborn delinquent get a new arm?"

"You said stubborn twice." He pointed out.

"You deserve it!" She growled back at him, vainly struggling against his hold on her collar.

He turned a gaze back towards Cyclops, raising a brow and waiting for her to continue. She held back a chuckle at the comedy routine his employer was performing, before continuing. "I can definitely make what you want, I'm the goddess of the forge, after all."

"What's your price?" Adam grunted in reply, asking the most pertinent question.

"Just a condition, really." Cyclops responded, leaning back on her seat. "I'm not going to build a weapon that outpaces the wielder, you'll never grow if you get carried to the finish line. You're level one right now? That means level one arms."

Annoying, but the price was going to probably restrict his purchases anyways. The flexibility was worth more than the raw strength. He grunted in acceptance.

"With that said… I certainly don't mind helping to put something together tomorrow, although I may need a helping hand from a proper healer with the medical side of things. It's not my expertise."

"It's a date." He grunted out, leaning back in his seat. Cyclops' face immediately flushed, something that Tatertits picked up on, turning and half-tackling his seated form.

"Stop flirting with my friends, you delinquent!"

"Two things, Tatertits."

"T-tatertits?" Cyclops softly whispered, causing Tatertits to violently flinch.

"First, I flirt as I please." Adam continued as if uninterrupted picking Tatertits off his side like a leech. "Second, that wasn't flirting."

"You called it a date!" Tatertits responded, dangling from his grip for a few moments before he dropped her on the couch.

"That wasn't flirting, this is flirting." Adam turned from his suddenly very-nervous employer and turned to his suddenly very-nervous target. "Oi, woman, do you prefer bars or restaurants?"

"I-uh-um, b-bars?" Cyclops stuttered out uncertainly, leaning back, looking to the side, and twirling a lock with one finger. The excessive red on her face told him all he needed to know.

"Wear something cute tomorrow, we're going out and I want you at your best while hanging off my new arm." He growled out a demand, reaching up to pat his left bicep.

"T-that's awful! That's the worst flirting I've ever heard!" Tatertits cried out from beside him. "All you did was growl and glare at her while making demands!"

"O-okay…" Cyclops mumbled in reply. Granny and Shortstack began to laugh.

"It worked?!" Dogmeat.

"As expected of Big Boss!" Foxbrat.

"Hephaestus-sama is weak to direct attacks!" Bunnybrat.

"Gah! Don't tease my friend just to spite me! Don't pull her into this!" Tatertits smacked at his shoulder and side.

Adam decided to ignore it, standing up from his chair and moving to the backdoor, opening it and stepping into the cool evening air. The shadows of the buildings around left this section of the property well-chilled, something that numbed the whimpering in his meat and eased the building headache.

He walked on, moving towards his spot by the well and leaned back, closing his eyes. The conversation from inside was muted here, even shortstack's forge quiet with her absence. In the distance, the sounds of the city drifted over to him, mostly dampened by walls of stone.

He made a note to commission some proper walls for their property, to seal it off from the street instead of leaving the two alleyways on either side open.

The door opened, and heavy steps emerged. Not a single person in his corp had steps that heavy.

His eyes opened, and his glare met the placid eyes of the tanned bodyguard. Eyes and hair the color of dull rust, bound with muscle and wearing simple, rugged clothing. Much to his annoyance, this was the first person Adam had met that was taller than him here. Almost seven feet compared to his six and a half.

His glare was the quickest and easiest way to communicate his annoyance.

Bodyguard held the gaze evenly, moving forwards and over to the pile of rock-rubble, sitting down and facing towards him.

"Ottar." Bodyguard rumbled at him.

Adam kept his glare up. "Adam."

The bodyguard nodded, letting the quiet of the backyard marinate briefly, then speaking again. "I was watching your encounter with the Minotaur Stampede."

His glare narrowed into a razor's edge. "How."

"Magic." The smartass responded, giving nothing away. "They were not enough to truly challenge you. Even alone, you would have overcame them. No, alone you would have been less injured than you are now. That manner of strength has little to do with the grace of a goddess."

"You come out here to suck my dick or do you have a point?"

"I am not homosexual, no." He nodded. "You are a champion, despite your age. A champion that has slain a great many men, and a great many things that are not men."

Sharp eyes on this one, weren't there?

"All men have a reason to seek strength. Love, revenge, obsession, and more. What is your reason?" Bodyguard maintained his monotone, even as his eyes sharpened and focused upon him.

Adam stared for a few moments, before snorting. "That's it? Why get stronger? That's a stupid question."

He raised a finger. "Because I'm Adam fucking Smasher, greatest goddamn murderer who has ever lived."

"This meat just needs to catch up with me."