Forest Ford Adventures

Thump. Thump. Thump.
The ground shakes to herald the arrival of a creature of metal that breaks tree branches on his way through a unmarked forest path. High above him there is a white raven that is occasionally spotted against the thick leaves of the canopy and poisonous green mist that the warforged wades through like an uncomfortable sauna. That is to say: every sauna.
The benefit of not having lungs is not needing to breathe in. Not breathing in keeps him from giving two shiny shits about the poison that the creatures around him are breathing in. He turns to witness a bird that dives too low into the mist. It lands, chirping. Coughing. Its next hop causes it to fall down and off of the branch itself. Ford, the metallic warforge of great fist-punching and chain wielding fury, makes his way over to his first encounter: a bird. He looks down at it. "Its dead," he says, noticing the literal and figurative canary in the fog-field has perished.
With a loud, unearthly wail, the bird reanimates. It begins to mutate with longer talons. A single eye grows three times its size. Its entire body becomes paste as Ford stomps down on it like a bug. "Ok. Now its dead." He lifts up his steel foot, now caked in mutated bird bits. Ford can't make facial expressions, but inside his very soul he grimaces at the mess. Gracelessly he scrapes the muck off of his boot on the side of a tree.
Minutes pass as the towering war machine taps his chest. It was not long ago that an impromptu field surgery was performed on his core. The pain still echos like a phantom cutting into his chest. He knows something is wrong, but not what. It could be apprehension on exposing his soul to relative strangers. Yet if Jacob could not figure out the way to force his service, it is unlikely that others will. He looks upwards, checking for Nuru. When the bird is behind him, he throws his hands up, "Did they get stuck?" he asks the empty woods. He turns around, keeping pace with the general location of the subterranean party.
More minutes pass as the fog coats on his visor. It brings back memories of his time aboard a Thatcher ship. The thick mist of sea and rolling fog that would hit his visor in bygone times. Remembering how to deal with it, the large construct shakes quickly until the lens clear. His vision settles upon the wild forestry. A toad the size of a large dog hops past him. Ribbit. A thought begins to creep into Ford's mind. What if something happened to them? He dismisses it. They will be fine. Like the Thatchers were fine? They all died. Not true, some survived. The mental debate in his head continues on.
"Those were the days," says the Devil on his shoulder, "where one could sail out into the seas, capture a bunch of fiesty merchants, and throw them in the furnace."
Literally its a Devil on Ford's shoulder. Gig sits there and antagonizes Ford. Either this is a side effect of the fog getting into his core or Gig is bored. Both are plausible to Ford. "They had a choice," Ford explains.
"Oh DID they now?" Gig asks, leaning uncomfortably close to Ford's faceplate until he is rubbing his cheeks against the metal side. "What was the choice, again?"
"Fight or surrender," Ford replies, realizing that engaging with Gig was the wrong thing to do. "They were able to go on their own terms," the warforge continues, looking up to notice that Nuru is in the same area. Wonderful, he is stuck with Gig for a while longer.
"Doesn't sound like much of a choice," Gig taunts, climbing on top of Ford's head and peering down at him upside down. "What if they wanted to just not fight? Sounds like an option."
"Sounds like surrender and they made terms with that," Ford shakes his head, the Devil gripping onto the antlers like rodeo.
"Yeehhaaaww," the silver haired fiend bellows.
"Why are you here, Gig," Ford says and immediately stops. Asking Gig questions is a pointless effort, "Don't answer. You want something. Speed up to that part so I can speed up to telling you to go walk off of a cliff."
Gig mocks defeat in the form of being launched off of the rodeo-forged and tumbles forward onto the ground. He lands next to the toad, turning to face the creature and says, "Don't give me that look. You try doing better." Ribbit. Slowly standing up, the Devil dusts himself off from the ground muck. "Can't I just want to hang out with the tallest, most interesting warforge in Arhor'ha?"
"No," Ford says flatly.
Gig crosses his arms over his chest, "Good. Because he is busy right now and I had to settle with you."
"What," Ford says slowly, "Do. You. Want."
"Everything," Gig mimics back slowly, albeit with a single word so it is very hard to tell if he is mocking Ford.
"... has a price," Ford shoots back, quoting some age old wisdom.
"Good! Good one!" Gig claps happily like they are playing an insane game and that one offered three and a half blue points on the waffle quadrant variety. Ford continues to stare at the red eyed entity. At the very least, he is not bored. This makes him wonder if being distracted is the point. The snap wisdom causes him to scan the area for anything out of place. "Boo," Gig replies. Minus 2 and three quarters orange points. Fowl on the play and its clucking mad.
"There isn't anything that I want," the monotone voice starts as Gig raises his finger, "that YOU and ONLY YOU can provide me. I am not beholden to gods, kings, or whatever you are calling yourself these days, Builder."
"And those close to you," Gig's smile slowly turns towards a smirk. That is, of course, until Ford kicks Gig. Smirk-blocked. "Keep her out of our business or we'll be finding out if my Final Words can rend Devils as well as Angels."
Gig takes the hit in stride. He takes great efforts to appear as mortal as possible. It helps the sensible brains to sensible mortals. There is no point in that with Ford, so he passes through a tree as if made of ethereal mist. Like a horror comedy, the Devil's horns peak out from the other side. His head soon follows. "I have my own deal with her."
"Then that's business between you and her and I she can take care of herself. She isn't some mewling kitten in need of protection," Ford points at Gig, "got it?"
Gig laughs loudly, "Oh yeah. Hellcat is feisty. I wasn't implicating fiendishly fun on her anyway. How touching that you thought that, though. I'll let her know." A rock is thrown in his general direction. "Or not. No. Its the little alchemist kid with you. Doesn't he NEED something?"
"Not that we need it from," Ford starts and is interrupted by Gig. The Devil states, "He does. He, specifically needs my blood. Not just any Devil blood." There is an unsettling pause. "What, think I didn't know that? C'mon, THAT is what caught you off guard?"
If Ford could growl, he would. Instead it sounds like a bunch of hisses from valves, "You are lying to me."
"Nope. I'm not," Gig replies in an ironclad defense.
"We will test it with other Devil blood," Ford calls on the deal maker's bluff.
"Okay," Gig says, clearly not offended by the prod. "But look, here's the thing. He has already paid for it." There is another unsettling pause. "See, now that is what I expected to caught you off guard. Having been caught off guard before it really ruins the feel. You ruined it, Ford. It takes a lot of effort to set these things up, you know. You really have to Build up to it." He flashes a bright, toothy grin.
"What does this have to do with me," Ford says, "just give him your damned blood." Literally.
"Ah, yes, that. Well, he won't accept it from me," Gig explains.
Ford throws his hands up, "He wont accept the thing he paid for?"
"Ford. Look," Gig puts on a monocle and sits in an imaginary desk, "Devil Law is very complicated stuff. I'd be lying if I said I understood it all AND I'd be lying if I said I didn't. I'd be lying about lying about the lies. But the fact of the lies are that he is owed one good ole dollop of Gig juice. Understand."
"No," Ford says flatly, again.
"Ok, consider it this way. If I give it to him, he will probably smash it on a rock. Thats pretty embarrassing for everybody. But if you give it to him. Big, cuddly metal teddy bear that you are," Gig says, finally getting a Gig smirk in.
"Sounds like your problem," Ford says, "not mine."
"And hundreds of people that one of my little hellspawn are going psycho spore on right now," Gig offers, "but I'm sure that will be fine. Look. You win out of this too. You see the problem with your core? It isn't the crystals or the plates. Sure, don't get me wrong, those are highly fucked up, too. Get those taken care of. But Ford, I built you, I know what is wrong. And," he walks over to look all the way up to Ford, "I wouldnt trust you to trust me to be trusted by you. But the kid? The same kid who would smash my blood on a rock? Makes sense, yeah? If you endeared him to you with, I don't know, helping save a bunch of people. You picking up what I'm putting down, Ford?"
"He isn't a builder," Ford explains.
"Nope, he certainly isn't. But! One isn't far away. Someone very near and dear to Syn," Gig grins, "I hope you are not the jealous type, Ford. You are going to need her and your friends down there. Else this time? This time it won't be like a light turning off. Your soul will be trapped for eternity with this gnawing pain growing inside of you until you go mad. You'll be in a metal tomb, Ford." He knocks on the metal plates along his shin, "So is refusing me a simple delivery really in your best interest, Ford?"
"I'll consider it," Ford says, "but not until I know what you are saying isn't complete and utter bullshit."
"Tick Tock, Ford. You won't have that luxury. When you are ready, you'll know where to find the vial," Gig says with a smile. He backpedals away, hands behind his back, "And look out for that beast behind you, it looks like it wants to play."
"Not falling for it," Ford says. There is a guttural growl from a towering lizard-like creature. A primal carnosaur roars right as Gig shrugs impishly and vanishes. Ford turns around, heavy weighted chains hitting the ground. "I don't even have any meat on me, you stupid beast."