Work Text:
Maintenance was never a fun thing to do, it was slow, long-winded work. The entire process required meticulous care to ensure no details were missed and that was a drain on the faculties. It wasn’t even work that could be pencilled in for later. If your weapon failed, you at a crucial moment you’d have only yourself to blame. For that reason, the Scions were currently scattered around a number of tables in a Sharlayan workshop each with their equipment out in front of them.
Not all of them were here though, Y’shtola and Urianger using more aetherically aspected weapons had completed their corrections quickly and departed for a drink at the Last Stand. The more mechanically inclined of them each had a separate work bench. Thancred had disassembled his gunblade and was going over each part with a rag soaked in cleaning solution humming a jaunty tune the whole time. Bits of aetheric black powder residue stained the rag and he currently had a single eye closed staring down the removed barrel.
Alphinaud had his father’s wings laid out perfectly in front of him. A fusion of magic and machine the Sage’s wings were no easy piece to work on. The boy’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he inspected every inch trying to decide where to start first.
Alisaie was running Aether through the focus component of her staff checking that it flowed correctly and that any form of aspected aether would work. Her rapier sat on a stand waiting to be sharpened and polished.
G’raha, whilst possessing aetheric arms similar to Y’shtola and Urianger had significantly harder check to perform due to the changing nature of his equipment. He was sat crossed legged and silent, a brightly glowing sword and shield on lap as his palm lay across the surface. His eyes were closed but one could detect faint hints of aether swirling in the air around him.
Estinien was checking the edge of his lance, before committing it to a whetstone. The scraping noise came at regular intervals and the man himself bore an eerily serious gaze as if the whetstone had insulted his very heritage.
The Warrior of Light had several weapons laid out on the table, inspecting the weapons showed a number of grooves and nicks. Pathways formed over time, each one in pursual of their goals. The weapons were worn, more worn that they should have been for the time they had used them. Each one bore a battlefield worth of scars. Their blades, however, were never dull and sharpened to perfection.
Yes, maintenance was a boring task, one that gained no real love from anyone involved, but when they were together like this. It wasn’t so bad.