04-29-2022, 08:10 PM
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Zjarr Ignibus only saw the swamp as a means of getting the resources required for his Forge, sneaking into the derelict junkyard to hunt for scrap metals and other materials he could use for his blacksmithing endeavors. If it were up to him, he would never have to call this place home.
But times have indeed changed, and now he had three young, fragile bodies to look out for. That, and Flamey more or less kicked them all out of the Forge.
The family's tale began nearly five months prior upon a stormy evening. Zjarr had been brainstorming ideas for a new weapon, detailing a sketch for it in graphite as he moved frantically throughout the Ignibus Forge, muttering to himself as he searched for the materials he needed for his newest project. "Dried leather, check. Cobalt alloy...I can make that, right? Right?"
"I think someone's at the entrance," the ghostly voice of Flamey announced, breaking the demon from his trance with an exasperated huff.
"So go 'n' check it out," he responded, not turning to meet Flamey's gaze. "Pro'lly just the damn wind you're hearin'. It's called a storm, Flamey."
"I can't leave the Forge. I have my limitations." Right. Flamey, being a ghost bound to the Forge and the Forge alone, was doomed not to leave the location he was forced to inhabit indefinitely. With yet another huff, Zjarr took hold of the open bottle of whiskey that lay beside him and took a brief swig before setting it back down and trotting out towards the entrance of the cave, peering out from the stony maw. He wasn't drunk, but he sure didn't feel like dealing with strangers now. For a moment he heard nothing but torrential rainfall and the battering of wind upon the cave, and he wanted to curse Flamey for distracting him from his work. If I could beat you to a bloody pulp, I would, he thought bitterly.
And just before he turned back into the cave, he heard it — distinct, pitiful squeaks hailing from a bush that shook from the great winds nearby. Zjarr eyed the bush for a moment before hesitantly making his way over, scanning his surroundings briefly out of fear that he may be getting ambushed or otherwise deceived. When he determined that the coast was clear, he approached the bush, flattening himself towards the stony ground to get a better look at what lay underneath.
Puppies. Three of them.
The husky did nothing but stare at them, squirming and helpless. They looked to be infants, barely weaned with their eyes hardly open. Part of him wanted to eat them now, take them out of their misery while providing him with some sustenance. The Missus will be up your ass for that one, won't he? he thought in regards to Flamey, who would never let him hear the end of it if he did. So gingerly he took the three of them into his grasp and carried them into the Forge, setting them down inside the warm, dry cave. Zjarr wasn't sure if he had any milk or anything soft and easy to digest for them, but he figured that he could break down or just straight up regurgitate whatever prey he had lying around in the cave for the puppies to eat so they wouldn't die of starvation. The least he could do was provide them with some water for now, which he supplied from the small pool in the Forge within a tiny wooden bowl that he set between the pups.
The ghostly feline came down from his favored perch to investigate, eyeing the infant German shepherds curiously. "They're young. Really young," he said, his tone full of worry for them.
"No shit. Look, the storm's real fuckin' bad out. No doubt the parents might'a lost 'em. They'll come back after, I'm sure. Then we can get 'em off our hands and get back to work." Zjarr was willing to offer the puppies shelter for now in order to keep them alive. A warm cave was a hell of a lot better than laying under a bush in a huge storm, after all. He hoped that within a few days, their parents would come looking for them, and he would give them back with no hesitation and return to his duties.
A week passed by. Then another. And another. As the time moved faster and the puppies grew larger, he had lost all hope. Zjarr's desire to consume them before they got too large grew, yet Flamey pushed him away from the thought. forcing him into a more gentle, paternal role. With time, the German shepherds grew on him, and he found himself more willing to tend to them and nurture them past their current age. Flamey had even helped to name (or, he supposed, rename them?) the children: Lanyu for the sister, Christian for the larger of the brothers, and Randall for the smaller. With newfound excitement, Zjarr proclaimed them all members of the Ignibus family as his own adoptive children as well as the future employees of the Ignibus Arms Company. He could always welcome new, trusted hands to his business.
Over the course of the next few months, the bliss of raising children and future workers began to die down as the Forge posed more and more of a threat to the young pups. Flamey would be of no help to babysit the children, for his ghostly form prohibited him from tending to the pups or physically restraining them from the dangerously hot anvils and materials all throughout the cave in addition to the molten lava that was used in the crafting process. Randall had suffered the most, losing parts of his tail to the lava after an emergency amputation and beginning to lose his eyesight, forcing Zjarr to find vision-correcting goggles to better assist his boy.
"You are done here," Flamey said to Zjarr one evening in one corner of the cave while the children slept in the other. "You depart by the end of this week, you and the pups. This is no place to raise them." Rage had filled the husky, but he refused to bicker with the concerned spirit now. Instead, they made a pact to live in a place beyond the Forge, only to return for actual business matters. Flamey was ecstatic; Zjarr was less so, bitter at the prospect of abandoning his home, but ultimately understanding the reasoning. The following morning, he had told them to prepare their belongings and that they would be relocating to someplace safer. "Won't be so hot all the damn time. 'n' hey, maybe there's kids you can play with there. It'll be great," he had told them, hoping to raise their spirits. Not too long after, they were on the road, heading south from the Neutral Grounds towards the swamps.
He had brought them to the swamps of Tanglewood primarily because it was the only safe haven he could think of. The Island had changed drastically since he had last been involved directly with the clans (The Pitt? The Coalition of the Condemned? What the flying fuck were those?). While his old home in the Ascendants had long disappeared, and Snowbound had fallen right with it, Tanglewood and the Typhoon still remained of the original four — and Tanglewood just so happened to have that bountiful junkyard of theirs that a certain bounty hunter had informed him about, the one that he had visited and briefly came into contact with a mute Tangler. He wondered if the feline still lived there.
Zjarr adjusted his olive military cap and glanced over at the German shepherds once he felt the ground get softer and air a bit more humid. They were close. He could feel it. "Not much longer now, guys," he said to them, offering them a smile and wink of reassurance as they ventured past Tanglewood's borders and further into the marsh.
[member=23389]Lanyu Ignibus[/member] [member=23410]CHRISTIAN IGNIBUS[/member] [member=1]Orion[/member]
Zjarr Ignibus only saw the swamp as a means of getting the resources required for his Forge, sneaking into the derelict junkyard to hunt for scrap metals and other materials he could use for his blacksmithing endeavors. If it were up to him, he would never have to call this place home.
But times have indeed changed, and now he had three young, fragile bodies to look out for. That, and Flamey more or less kicked them all out of the Forge.
The family's tale began nearly five months prior upon a stormy evening. Zjarr had been brainstorming ideas for a new weapon, detailing a sketch for it in graphite as he moved frantically throughout the Ignibus Forge, muttering to himself as he searched for the materials he needed for his newest project. "Dried leather, check. Cobalt alloy...I can make that, right? Right?"
"I think someone's at the entrance," the ghostly voice of Flamey announced, breaking the demon from his trance with an exasperated huff.
"So go 'n' check it out," he responded, not turning to meet Flamey's gaze. "Pro'lly just the damn wind you're hearin'. It's called a storm, Flamey."
"I can't leave the Forge. I have my limitations." Right. Flamey, being a ghost bound to the Forge and the Forge alone, was doomed not to leave the location he was forced to inhabit indefinitely. With yet another huff, Zjarr took hold of the open bottle of whiskey that lay beside him and took a brief swig before setting it back down and trotting out towards the entrance of the cave, peering out from the stony maw. He wasn't drunk, but he sure didn't feel like dealing with strangers now. For a moment he heard nothing but torrential rainfall and the battering of wind upon the cave, and he wanted to curse Flamey for distracting him from his work. If I could beat you to a bloody pulp, I would, he thought bitterly.
And just before he turned back into the cave, he heard it — distinct, pitiful squeaks hailing from a bush that shook from the great winds nearby. Zjarr eyed the bush for a moment before hesitantly making his way over, scanning his surroundings briefly out of fear that he may be getting ambushed or otherwise deceived. When he determined that the coast was clear, he approached the bush, flattening himself towards the stony ground to get a better look at what lay underneath.
Puppies. Three of them.
The husky did nothing but stare at them, squirming and helpless. They looked to be infants, barely weaned with their eyes hardly open. Part of him wanted to eat them now, take them out of their misery while providing him with some sustenance. The Missus will be up your ass for that one, won't he? he thought in regards to Flamey, who would never let him hear the end of it if he did. So gingerly he took the three of them into his grasp and carried them into the Forge, setting them down inside the warm, dry cave. Zjarr wasn't sure if he had any milk or anything soft and easy to digest for them, but he figured that he could break down or just straight up regurgitate whatever prey he had lying around in the cave for the puppies to eat so they wouldn't die of starvation. The least he could do was provide them with some water for now, which he supplied from the small pool in the Forge within a tiny wooden bowl that he set between the pups.
The ghostly feline came down from his favored perch to investigate, eyeing the infant German shepherds curiously. "They're young. Really young," he said, his tone full of worry for them.
"No shit. Look, the storm's real fuckin' bad out. No doubt the parents might'a lost 'em. They'll come back after, I'm sure. Then we can get 'em off our hands and get back to work." Zjarr was willing to offer the puppies shelter for now in order to keep them alive. A warm cave was a hell of a lot better than laying under a bush in a huge storm, after all. He hoped that within a few days, their parents would come looking for them, and he would give them back with no hesitation and return to his duties.
A week passed by. Then another. And another. As the time moved faster and the puppies grew larger, he had lost all hope. Zjarr's desire to consume them before they got too large grew, yet Flamey pushed him away from the thought. forcing him into a more gentle, paternal role. With time, the German shepherds grew on him, and he found himself more willing to tend to them and nurture them past their current age. Flamey had even helped to name (or, he supposed, rename them?) the children: Lanyu for the sister, Christian for the larger of the brothers, and Randall for the smaller. With newfound excitement, Zjarr proclaimed them all members of the Ignibus family as his own adoptive children as well as the future employees of the Ignibus Arms Company. He could always welcome new, trusted hands to his business.
Over the course of the next few months, the bliss of raising children and future workers began to die down as the Forge posed more and more of a threat to the young pups. Flamey would be of no help to babysit the children, for his ghostly form prohibited him from tending to the pups or physically restraining them from the dangerously hot anvils and materials all throughout the cave in addition to the molten lava that was used in the crafting process. Randall had suffered the most, losing parts of his tail to the lava after an emergency amputation and beginning to lose his eyesight, forcing Zjarr to find vision-correcting goggles to better assist his boy.
"You are done here," Flamey said to Zjarr one evening in one corner of the cave while the children slept in the other. "You depart by the end of this week, you and the pups. This is no place to raise them." Rage had filled the husky, but he refused to bicker with the concerned spirit now. Instead, they made a pact to live in a place beyond the Forge, only to return for actual business matters. Flamey was ecstatic; Zjarr was less so, bitter at the prospect of abandoning his home, but ultimately understanding the reasoning. The following morning, he had told them to prepare their belongings and that they would be relocating to someplace safer. "Won't be so hot all the damn time. 'n' hey, maybe there's kids you can play with there. It'll be great," he had told them, hoping to raise their spirits. Not too long after, they were on the road, heading south from the Neutral Grounds towards the swamps.
He had brought them to the swamps of Tanglewood primarily because it was the only safe haven he could think of. The Island had changed drastically since he had last been involved directly with the clans (The Pitt? The Coalition of the Condemned? What the flying fuck were those?). While his old home in the Ascendants had long disappeared, and Snowbound had fallen right with it, Tanglewood and the Typhoon still remained of the original four — and Tanglewood just so happened to have that bountiful junkyard of theirs that a certain bounty hunter had informed him about, the one that he had visited and briefly came into contact with a mute Tangler. He wondered if the feline still lived there.
Zjarr adjusted his olive military cap and glanced over at the German shepherds once he felt the ground get softer and air a bit more humid. They were close. He could feel it. "Not much longer now, guys," he said to them, offering them a smile and wink of reassurance as they ventured past Tanglewood's borders and further into the marsh.
[member=23389]Lanyu Ignibus[/member] [member=23410]CHRISTIAN IGNIBUS[/member] [member=1]Orion[/member]
[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼
✰ — I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD
zjarr ignibus / tanglewood / hellcat / weapons dealer / plot
