Cleaning on its own didn’t sound necessarily fun but there was an exception to that.  Helping dad clean up and organize the armory would be loads of fun.  Thorn wanted to be a great fighter and even if it wasn’t a lesson in fighting there were surely things he could learn just from being in the armory and helping dad get things reorganized.  If nothing else the desire to be in there and look at everything called to him.

Bright-eyed and eagerly looking to his father Thron would walk into the armory with the same level of enthusiasm that might show for any form of play.  This was exactly where he wanted to be.  His eyes swept about the armory, soaking in everything then back to his dad, “What’s first?” It was hard but, other than looking at the various armor and weapons he wasn’t touching any of them.  This was for cleaning or organizing.  Thorn kept reminding himself of that.

Someday dad would decide he was big enough to truly wield a weapon and today Thorn would prove to his dad he could be responsible around them, no matter how hard the tease.

"Thorn Carpathius"

With the advent of spring coming across Auster, it was once more time for the Hallows wolves to set about cleaning up their expansive castle home. Fortunately, this year didn't see too much mess made, thanks to the supernatural autumn that had mostly replaced winter. Since everyone hadn't been kept cooped up in the castle, it was much more manageable this year. Still, when asked how his children wanted to contribute to the pack cleanup, it came as no surprise that several of them had volunteered to clean up and organize the armory. Artorias had simply sighed with defeat. What was it about restricted spaces that pups seemed to be drawn towards like moths to a flame? Regardless, Artorias agreed, and with some trepidation he allowed his pups supervised access to the armory.

With his eldest son at his side, Artorias unlatched the armory door and pushed open the heavy oak door, permitting Thorn entry to the restricted area. The excitement in Thorn was palpable, and as much as Art tried to play the stern, attentive father, he couldn't help but smile at his boy's bubbly energy and zest for life. "We're going to begin by picking up any loose tools or materials left around and putting them away," he explained to his son. "I'm going to get things off of the workbenches. You can gather up any of the cloths and rags around the room and stow them in this bucket." Artorias dropped an empty wooden bucked in the center of the armory, then looked his son in the eye with a stern gaze. "Remember, Thorn, do not touch any of the weapons." This was the only warning the boy would get.

With his instructions given, Artorias began to move from workbench to workbench, picking up any tools left about and bringing them over to an iron chest beside the forge. He stowed the hammers, tongs, and chisels back in their respective drawers, repeating this process for each of the three workbenches in the armory. Every so often he would glance over to Thorn, both checking on his son's progress and making sure he wasn't doing anything he shouldn't be. Thorn and Dusk were his biggest troublemakers, and although Thorn was usually well behaved when not around his sister, Artorias knew what antics his boy was capable of getting up to.

"Artorias" | "Carpathian"

Thorn would prove to his dad that he’d be great at swordplay.  Even today he’d show his dad that, just not in the most fun way.  The small blue pup was determined to do whatever his dad said and do it hard.  He’d prove that dad could trust him!  The weapons that were viewable about the room tempted him but Thorn could resist.  The boy imagined how much more fun it would be if his dad was giving him his first steel sword instead of trying to try and sneakily taste the steel in his mouth only to have it taken away and a lecture given.

Maybe if he cleaned up in here well dad would trust him in the room more, putting him closer to the equipment.  Dad was going to get items off the workbenches while he grabbed rags.  Thorn scooped up the first rag closest to him, nose scrunching as the scent on it was stronger when pressed up to his nose.  It wasn’t necessarily bad it was just stronger than expected once touching his nose.  Traces of oil could still be found in its greasy nature near the corners. “It smells funny, what’s it for?” Was the oil used for making a weapon or for already made weapons?

The boy grabbed a few more cloths in his mouth, some with a scent on them and some seemingly clean. The clothes were tossed into the bucket.  Searching about the room he was determined to find any hidden cloths.  A cloth had fallen between the workbench and the wall, making Thorn twist his head about, shoving his lips to the tiny opening to try and get the hidden cloth. Jerking his head out the boy instead shoved his chest into the desk, paw squishing through.  His paw tapped the cloth, moved it a half inch, and continued trying to slowly pull it out.

"Thorn Carpathius"

Artorias watched Thorn as his small son scurried about the armory, snatching up the used cleaning cloths like his life's mission depended on it. It made the giant father chuckle with a crooked smile on his face, his eyes shining with a mirth and pride for his child. While he busied himself storing away tools into the workshop cabinets and drawers, he watched the little bolt of blue lightning dart around between his paws and underneath tables, grabbing up every rag he could find. Thorn's energy amazed and amused Artorias to no end. He had no idea what to expect when he'd first learned he was going to be a father, but every day he found himself learning a little more about himself and about the five little lives he'd helped create.

Thorn's voice piped up after a moment, declaring that the rags contained a funny smell, then asked what it was used for. Artorias chuckled and turned to look down at his inquisitive son with a lopsided smile. "That's the smell of oil," he explained to his curious child. "Oil is used to make sure the blades and woods of our weapons stay supple and ready for battle. Just like when you take a bath, a sword needs oil to make sure it can stay sharp and clean. A clean sword cuts clean, and we always want clean cuts. Remember that, Thorn." Artorias set back to putting away the last of the whetstones and when he turned back around, he spotted Thorn trying to wriggle his tiny paw through a narrow gap beside one of the workbenches. Art raised a curious brow and quietly tiptoed up behind his son, peering through the gap to see what Thorn was up to. When he spied the forgotten rag, he put two and two together and nearly laughed aloud. Oh, his diligent to a fault son...!

Doing his best to stifle a snicker, Artorias wordlessly stepped up to the workbench and slid his whole body beneath the table, then rose to allow his strength and weight to lift the workbench and widen the gap to Thorn could easily reach his prize. The father beamed while he watched his pup go for the rag, and once Thorn had procured it, he carefully lowered the workbench back down with a little flex of his dire wolf strength. "Good job, Thorn! The armory is looking much better already!" he said while looking around the room. Thorn had been an excellent help and well behaved around the weapons, so Artorias figured he could reward his son just a bit. Giving the blue-furred pup a roguish smirk, Art asked, "Would you like to help me polish some of the weapons?"

"Artorias" | "Carpathian"

The explanation of oil’s use sparked Thorn’s interest.  It was used on steel and wood?  Thorn imagined his little wooden sticks and wondered if they’d be better had he used oil on them.  Dad’s words had a more serious note at the end, serious enough that dad specifically told Thorn to remember it.  Thorn bobbed his head at dad’s words, “I’ll always cut clean, I’ll put oil on it however often I need to.”  Since it seemed serious Thorn tried to sound equally somber.  Of course, he was saying it somber but his wagging tail probably took away some of the affect.

With that he had gone to the rag stuck behind the table where he had so much trouble.  Dad was able to lift the entire table!  Thorn snatched up the oil-scented rag and pulled back as dad set down the table.  The rag was tossed in the bucket, the boy's head turning to look at his father as dad complimented him.  Even better than the compliment was the offer to polish weapons.  The boy's eyes rounded with surprised excitement.  “Really?” He’d get to polish the weapons, which meant touching the weapons, and getting to clean them just like he’d polish his own sword someday!  

“Sure, I’ll help polish all of them if you want!”  Dad had said some but was that only a few needed polishing or thinking that Thorn might get tired of doing it or something?  This may not be getting to fight with a sword but he was getting to learn how to care for his future weapon.

"Thorn Carpathius"

Artorias gave a proud smile and nod when Thorn promised he would always care for his weapons and cut cleanly. "'Atta boy, Thorn," he praised his son. A giant azure paw lifted to ruffle his boy's fluffy blue head once they had finished cleaning the armory. When he offered Thorn the special treat of helping to tend to some of their weapons, the excitement that lit up his boy's face and widened his eyes brought a raucous laughter from the dire wolf and a huge, beaming smile. "Sure! I think you've earned a bit of a reward for being so helpful, and I trust you to be careful." With a nod of his head, Artorias led Thorn over to one of the workbenches that had a couple of daggers and swords laid out on its surface waiting to be tended to. The Aegis grabbed a couple of the rags they had cleaned up and a small pot of oil, setting them down on the workbench before reaching down to scoop up Thorn and set him down on top of the table so he could reach the supplies.

"Now, first things first, we're going to do this together so you can learn and I can watch you," Artorias explained to his son. He passed a rag over to Thorn, then showed him how he dipped one end into the pot of oil so a portion of the rag was dampened and the rest was kept dry. Once Thorn had done the same, Art slid one of the daggers over to him. He would keep the larger of the swords for himself; tiny puppy paws would make better work of the shorter blades. "We want to keep all the parts of our weapons that touch our enemies or ourselves clean. Think about where you'd hold it and where you'd strike an enemy." Artorias picked up one of the swords with a free paw, holding it balanced upright with the end pressed into the workbench for stability. Then with his other paw, he picked up the oil-soaked rag and placed it carefully to the flat side of the blade and began to wipe up and down the shiny steel surface, removing any residue or grime from it.

"Use slow, careful paws when you clean a blade. It's very sharp, and not being careful can get you cut, or worse." Artorias demonstrated the wya he rubbed slow, smooth strokes up and down the blade, leaving behind a shiny trail of oil on the steel. "Don't go too close to the edges, and when you do, wipe with the flow of the metal and not against it, going from the inside out, like this." Artorias showed how he polished the sharp edges of the sword by slowly rubbing the cloth from the center of the blade out across the edges to make sure he didn't cut himself. Under his watchful gaze, the sire nodded to his child and said, "Go on, you give it a try."

"Artorias" | "Carpathian"