(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

uilt into the siege tower itself.
"What are you?"
The voice that thundered overhead sounded like the squeal of iron bending,
the roar of metal buckling,
"What purpose?"
I approached the edge, looking down at the forge. There, scattered about in
ancient stands and barrels were stockpiles of cruel weapons. The metal was
black as sin, and the wicked barbs and serrations of the blades looked as if
they were inspired from primal fangs and barbs, teeth and nails. Savagery
and destruction at its best. "You mean forging weapons? That's your
purpose?"
"Oh Hells, chief... this thing's a Sinker. Might not even be a namer, but it's a
Doomguard to the core."
"What's a Sinker?" I winced at the sharp sound of squealing metal as
Coaxmetal turned its head to gaze down at the two of us.
"The way the Sinkers see it, the multiverse is naturally winding down, and all
they want to do is help it along. Kinda like the Dusties, but borderline
psychotic instead of boring," Morte's eyes rolled up to look at the golem,
"Though I think they just enjoy seeing crap blown to the Abyss."
I looked over the weapons again. Some looked like they were made
makeshift from older scraps and rusted parts, but the design and the
balance with which they were propped up told of expert craftsmanship. If an
army was supplied with these weapons, it could easily crush a city, or gouge
a deep scar within a plane. "Who do you make these weapons for?"
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