Nine Billion Names

[Grey]

Somewhere upon the beast's belly, where the scales of the back transition to the flesh of the stomach, should make for the best scale and easiest carving.
If the local prospectors are willing to let you have a share.
You can hear their work songs and the hum of their saws from here.

 

[EbonChevalier]

Drawn by the sound of song Garutik makes his way towards the soft underbelly of the beast. Hearing the song come from the throats of the butcher miners he joins them in song, hoping his melodious voice would brighten up their dull lives.

 

[Zeth]

The delicate place located and reached, Imzada would spend but a moment investigating the butcher's flow of work, looking for any meaningful pattern that would give rise to the mechanism of any familiarity. Idea of artisan solidarity was too crude for Imzada, yet despite this, the Demon Engine was loath to interrupt butcher's work. In the wake of Garutik's dance, Imzada moved forward to the (under)belly of the beast, her at times chugging and swaying motions of an occasional rogue internal pressure, ebbs and flows of local resonance, deceptively hid the dexterous intricacy with which the wannabe-automaton tried to reach the objective.

A dance of sort, although orchestrated wholly according to the rhythm of necessity. In between the almost drunken sways and near-hits with those nearby, Imzada tried to locate any of the unused saws with which she could carve out the group's due.

 

[Spiderheart]

The Dog nods in acknowledgement of her Breaker companion. "It could get sick, aye, and it could die... but it won't. Its hate burns too hot." Slowly, the rest of his form oozes out of the metal monstrosity, adopting a many-limbed, crawling aspect. It sees the hunger in Imzada's eyes, or curiosity, or perhaps an emotion that is adjacent to and yet distinct from both. Beaten Dog approves; the creature's torment is an end in itself, and the Breaker has a better grasp than their technicolor compatriot of the value of varied exposures... even if she doesn't truly understand why variety matters. "I shall be your tool, if you will it," he volunteers. "I know the carving of flesh, and will serve better than any dead material." True to its word, she lengthens her limbs into bladelike extremes before fusing their joints. "Here – what would you take of it?" Even as he asks, its jaw contorts into a better shape for ripping life from the living.