Between Art and Weaponry

Arthur turned a beastcore in his hands, feeling its weight, the way it pulsed faintly beneath his touch, like something alive. The runes carved into its surface gleamed under the dim workshop light, some whispering with latent magic, others still unfinished, waiting for the right touch to awaken them.

"You left quite the impression on the underground arena's owner." He said, voice steady despite the unnatural rumble underneath. His cyan eyes traced the etched lines, his throat glowing faintly red-orange where the blue fire coursed through him. Heat curled along his vocal cords, warping the sound subtly, making every word feel as though it carried the embers of something deeper. Even his scoff came with a low, reverberating growl.

"A fine carving knife? No, you went beyond that. Working on a beastcore this size-" He ran the thick edge of his nail over a rune, testing its depth, its precision. "That's something most rune-carvers can only dream of."