Cormac accepted the jacket, albeit with a quizzical expression on his newly attained face. He hadn't expected Faetalis to gift them... Well anything beyond these new skins, and even then they felt like a boss giving their employees the company's new uniforms. A requirement for the new standards created by upper management. These jackets though, despite being much more similar to the earlier analogy in the sense that both we attire meant to appear mostly invariable from each other, felt much more personal. These felt much more like gifts. Especially with the new, specifically chosen skills attached to them.

[color=00a651]"Hmmm,"[/color] was his initial response, before pulling it on to find that, unsurprisingly, it fit like a well-tailored glove. [color=00a651]"I... appreciate it, lassy,"[/color] he told her. For anyone who didn't know Cormac, such a response might have been disheartening to hear. Most would probably expect something along the lines of, "I love it," or "Thank you so much." However, coming from the often grim and serious man, a floor guardian they had all come to know through years of daily cooperation, the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips spoke volumes over the underwhelming words he had managed to string together into an adequate response.

With Faetalis dismissing them all, Cormac would return back to his domain, The Mór Brionnú, thinking about testing out his newly gained ability given to him by the jacket, as well as get used to his new skin. Climbing down the many, many flights of stairs that led to the pipe-filled and cluttered forge gave him plenty of time to think and reflect on the day's meeting, and one thought he settled on was how glad he was to be a part of Infactorium, with its many eccentric members. Sure, they may argue or go about their tasks in very different ways, but between each of them was respect and care. No matter what hardships lay ahead for them, the giant was confident that they could weather them together.

The first item Cormac would decide to craft would be a fairly simple iron great axe, curious to see how this [Soulflame Forge] would work. Just as with everything he ever would create, the Fomorian would put his heart and soul into his work, beating away at the iron with the enthusiasm that only an old man that had mastered his craft through decades of hard work could ever show. And sure enough, with each strike, he watched the quality of his materials grow, unnaturally so, until the rough iron axe that he had begun with now shined with the caliber of the best damn steel one could possibly find.

Looking at the axehead for any imperfections to hammer out, Cormac couldn't help but spot his handsome reflection looking back at him, a warm smile on his lips that only he could ever see here in the privacy of his forge. [color=00a651]"Enjoy the beautiful face Faetalis has given you, Cormac,"[/color] the reflection would say. [color=00a651]"It doesn't change what lies beneath the surface."[/color] And like that, the smile was gone, replaced by a grim frown as the old man tried his best to ignore the intrusive, self-deprecating thoughts plaguing his mind by beating the steel axe into his anvil. After shattering it into pieces and throwing in with the rest of his scrap metal, the old man wondered why these thoughts on his usual appearance were suddenly bothering him so.