A smile briefly curled on Cera's face as a familiar young, dark form soared his way on the low wind currents. Rhoa. He held an odd bond with the youth, an understanding that had bound them together in a sort of brotherhood that stemmed in acknowledgement of abandonment, father problems, and issues that plagued their own self-conscious states. Smile faltered at the crash landing that sprayed sand and dust everywhere, irritation rising in a sharp stab. It was far from just obnoxious, it was horribly disruptive and blatantly rude. Cera blinked and coughed harshly against the dust that sprang up, eyes watering and skin pelted with the loose top layer of sand that Rhoa had kicked up. A sudden scream that pierced the air, and Cera winced, ears folding to half-mast hovering above his mane as it shredded through his ears. What the hell? Ilaria hissed at the intrusive sound, the odd lingo he'd used that set Cera on edge. It was bellowed practically in his face, and Cera's face soured, eyes wary. What was going on with the child? Where was the quiet, respectful colt he'd known?

Still, Cera met the proffered maw, bumping happily and in warm greeting. "It is good to see you, Rhoa," the Prince welcomed kindly, trying to put the previous actions out of his mind. Perhaps it was just a one off? The Golden Prince hoped it was, at least. Another warrior arrived shortly, right before Rhoa began to speak, announcing his name and rank in a gruff manner that Cera recognized and appreciated in his dealings with Gaucho. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Einarr," Cera said formally, bowing his head. It was only right to respect the soldiers of the land, for Cera would be right there with them were it not for the rank he already excelled in. Coming from a family of Generals, the respect was inherent, and Cera would bleed right beside Einarr in the event of an invasion regardless of his rank.

"Yes," was all Cera could say in response to Einarr's question before Rhoa was clammering in his ears again, not as loud as he had been initially but still frustratingly apparent. At first, Cera had no qualms with his words, even noting the appearance of a wingless mare as she approached in the distant part of his mind. Until foul words began to spew themselves from the youth's mouth, vile and derogatory. And in the presence of a mare!

Now, Cera did not often have a temper. He had patience that was longer than the length of Helovia most days, it was why he had been made a Diviner once. But what Cera did not stand for was the disgusting behavior Rhoa was displaying, his blatant disrespect and objectification of women with the words he employed. "SILENCE!" the Prince roared, storming towards the boy and snapping his teeth as if to grab for one of his ears and take hold, teach him a lesson about manners and respect. Wings flared wide, buffeting the fires at his side, using his full height to loom over the young prince of the sands. But there was a reason Cera held that title in more than just blood, but in name. It was clear this child was not deserving of it.

"You think that impaling a random equine is fun? Do you think this is a game, boy?!" it roared from his throat, a lion unleashed from the lamb Cera had always embodied. "Those people you dream of hurting? They have families, and dreams, no matter how black their souls or their desires! You are but a babe and yet you dream of killing! And you speak such vile words in the presence of a lady!" Cera crowded close into Rhoa's face, teeth bared and eyes aflame with rage. It was stupid, idiotic in a way Cera despised, to love and crave war and blood. Rhoa knew nothing about the truth of the world, the pain and despair and loss that came with battle.

"You will sit your ass by that fire and wait and think about what you've said, because war is cruel and horrible and painful, and this armor is to keep you alive! Not to enable you to kill bitches," Cera spat venomously. "And if you ever use that word around me again, I will drag your ass to the arena and I will beat some respect for females into you!" Heaving with the fury of his words, Cera stormed away from Rhoa and took a quick moment to gather himself, Maren's words soft and kind at his side in their sincere questing, questioning.

Smiling tightly, he turned to the beautiful lass, finally noticing the wings behind her ears. "I am sorry, miss," he said softly, wings coming to a close at his sides, not desiring to intimidate her. "I do not like yelling in the presence of others, much less a lady I do not know. Nevertheless I would be happy to craft you something, do you have any designs in mind while I aid Einarr with his?" As he spoke he wandered back towards the warrior, his eyes still on Maren until the question was properly free of his lips, dragging the metal to his side with a mere thought and eyeing the stallion's body moments later. Setting to work, he began to drag the chunks up, throwing them into the fire and molding them, cooling them before he allowed the pieces to touch Einarr's skin as he crafted right around the stallion. It would be removable in the end, but it needed to fit perfectly, and Cera allotted no mistakes in his craft.

His flanks were mildly sweaty by the time he was done, glancing over the metal with a critical eye. "Is it to your liking?" he queried softly, a little bit breathless with the exertion of the crafting.

@[Rhoa] && @[Einarr] && @[Maren]

Rhoa and Maren can post, then Cera will get to them (I have to clarify something before I do all three immediately). Einarr, please describe what Cera made in your answer post, and then post to updates please!

Though Cera's anger ran hot as the flames that soaked and danced along his flanks, it was also as tempered and finely edged as the metal with which he worked. His blows upon Rhoa were short and concise, rare in their execution but brutal nonetheless. Though he held no regret for placing the foolish child in his place, he murmured his apologies towards Maren's feathered ears nonetheless. Mares were no lower than stallions, as Rhoa seemed to believe. Cera held a great, abiding respect for Megaera, and Ampere, and any other mare who broke free of the stereotype that they were to be forcibly complacent and quiet. Still he did not like to shout in the face or presence of a lady, but he also did not approve of doing so in front of children. He only hoped Maren would understand his regret for what it was, not as he belittling her.

"It is my pleasure, miss Maren," the Prince assured her, eyes warming once more with the reminder that he had a job and a purpose, people who relied on him and appreciated his efforts for what they were. Where Einarr had lent Cera little in terms of restrictions, preferences, and desires, Maren was concise in her description of what she wanted from the finished product. Cera was already sketching a blueprint in his mind, almost delighted by her lack of wings in that moment. All the beautiful skin and canvas that it allowed him! Of course he would not dare to speak that aloud, for fear of insulting her or causing her emotional harm. What if she was genetically meant for the wings she was clearly not gifted? Cera would not be able to bear that agony of harming her.

"Hold still please," was his only request, given with a smile and warm eyes that asked of her to trust him. No harm would befall her beside his fires, not while he worked metal just inches from her skin. And so he set to work, letting sweat drench him and foam bead and fleck on his skin. It was worth the strain, the feeling almost like soreness that spread throughout his muscles with the use of the magic. He lifted the pieces delicately, always verbally announcing whenever he would let it touch Maren's skin rather than seeing if it was the right size. Though he was sad that no leather was readily available, the metal chains worked their magic nonetheless. And if Maren's was perhaps a little more beautiful, well...Cera simply liked armor for mares. But he did add a few little details - roses and vines, little flowers in the metal. She inspired him, and he took the muse for what it was and happily utilized it. Stepping back, he huffed out a few breaths and grinned proudly at the final product that sat gleaming upon her frame.

"Is it suitable? I hope you don't mind my liberties." He could always smooth them away, but he'd be sorrowful to see them go nonetheless. Then he quietly eyed her halo, and his tongue reluctantly moved to ask her for a favor. "Do you happen to have magic with any derivative of fire in it? I have a quest, and I'm loathe to ask anyone for help much less after I made something for them, but my reluctance has not helped me in my tasks so far..." he mumbled quietly, hoping she'd spare him the agony he felt to be asking something he considered so selfish.

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@[Maren] - Cera inscribed flowers (particularly roses in some spots) into the armor, if you want to include that! Just post to updates with the description of your armor :) so sorry for the wait dear! Also Maren has active Fire x Water magic, and Cera is on a quest to collect any magic with Fire in it, so he asked ;D

In a way he found her beautiful, intricate, as all others she encountered surely did. Perhaps in another place, another time, he would comment upon it. For what little experience with the fairer sex the Prince had, his golden heart generally made up for it, shedding light and compliments down upon those around him. Yet when she stood there before the flames, a request on her lips and a blueprint in her mind, anything that could be chalked up as physical attractiveness and aesthetic disappeared. Maren became a mannequin, a doll which he had to clothe, shape, adorn. She was warm and pliable, little threads of tension running in the seams of her stripes.

The Prince was as gentle as he could be, something outside of his almost fervent desire to create recognizing her discomfort and amplifying his own already careful mannerisms to suit her. The metal was beautiful against her frame, and though Cera was not one for arrogance or negative pride, he found it attractive as it lay against her skin in custom fit precision. Accenting the crests and valleys of her body, even as it covered the stripes that lent her the exoticism that undoubtedly drew others to her in fascination.

When he finally removed himself from the headspace he often fell into when manipulating the metals of the earth, he was able to freely call it endearing, the way she shuffled her little wings away in order to enhance her peripheral vision. Cera dare not call them cute to her face for fear of insulting her, but if one day he could firmly call her a friend, then perhaps he would inform her. Or tease her kindly, whichever came first. She seemed the type he desired to befriend, at the least. Ilaria huffed fondly from her little rock by the fire, auburn eyes agleam with amusement. Everyone is your friend type, Cera. Cera huffed a little laugh while Maren inspected her armor, turning and lolling his tongue out playfully at the red panda.

Heart seemed to glow at her praise, her saucy little wink, and Cera laughed more freely for the effort. He returned it with one of his own, paired with words that sprang in teasing jest to his lips. "It is only the greatest because you are the one to wear it," he assured, emeralds gleaming like the gems they resembled in the fine curves of his face. It was nice to joke and play, especially after the mild dramatic moment with Rhoa. Though crafting always lifted his heart, the Golden Prince loved to socialize, and he seemed to glow from within at her simple interaction with him. Truly deserving of the name he'd somehow been awarded.

"You'll dazzle them even as you're being protected," Cera hummed pleasantly, eyes dancing in little flames reminiscent to the ones warming his skin. But she was made of softer things, though something in her eyes glinted like gleaming, polished silver - the blade of an ornate dagger, beautiful but still capable of so much more. And instead of flames, mists began to coil round them, as if wrapping him in a tender caress. Cera's smile illuminated beyond all, and as the clouds seemed to be sucked into one of the amulets, he directed the full intensity of his countenance to the mare before him. "Thank you," he breathed, exhilarated.