IC: Reforging
tink tink tink
For hours on end, that was his only companion in the darkness. He could see nothing, having doused every flame and ensured that no sun shone over his Hollow, and worked his craft in absolute darkness. The furnace even produced a black flame, the blade when heated seemed to suck in the light around it.
tink tink tink hisssssssssss
Wiping sweat from his brow, Toil pants softly. This was the longest part, the hardest part of the craft. Until now it had all been physical strength which was required, a strength Toil sadly lacked. Hammering the metal, heating and cooling over and over for more hours than he could recall, Toil's body ached in places normal bodies were not meant to ache. Yet this was all easy, all simple. The real hard part became the magic, which he would have to add neck.
tink tink tink hissssssssss
Pulling the blade from the water once more, he lays the metal back onto the furnace. Feeling the heat beat form the dark flames, he begins to sweat profusely. Summoning his courage, he reaches into his sack. He begins to pull items from it, placing them on the hollow of the blade. Thrusting his hands into the fire time and time again, he winces as he feels his flesh blackening and burning, the smell of cooked meat to his nose. Each time he thrusts his hands in, he seems to speak aloud to only his own ears what he has added.
"The first rays of dawn, so it may know hope."
"Blood of the enemy, so it may thirst."
"Platinum, so it may remain pure."
"Blood of the hero, so it may know its path."
"Blood of the creator, so it may know sacrifice."
As he with draws his burned hands, he steels his resolve. Grabbing the blade from the flames once more, he sets it within the hilt and begins to hammer. Every ounce of pain, almost enough to make him faint, he used to fuel his strikes. As each hammer blow fell, sparks of light rose up as if to defy the darkness. Toil hammers, slamming the mallet down over and over for hours before stopping from sheer exhaustion. Dipping his own hands into the water, and knowing he taints its purity with his blood, he looks at his finished work. Wrapping his hands around the hilt, he holds it aloft, gazing with unseeing eyes. "You who was forged in the darkness, when all hope has seemed lost for a new day. What say you then, to the endless night?" The most critical part...that which would define if he were to succeed or fail.
The blade begins to hum, like the soft thrum of a new day. From deep within it's core, it starts to glow a ruby red and gold. As if the dawn itself was rising from within the blade, it began to glow brighter and bright like the sun. Banishing the darkness from the workshop, it illuminates every corner of small space. Its light is reflected in the tears on Toils face, shimmering and sparkling as he admires his creation.
"You...are ready."
For hours on end, that was his only companion in the darkness. He could see nothing, having doused every flame and ensured that no sun shone over his Hollow, and worked his craft in absolute darkness. The furnace even produced a black flame, the blade when heated seemed to suck in the light around it.
tink tink tink hisssssssssss
Wiping sweat from his brow, Toil pants softly. This was the longest part, the hardest part of the craft. Until now it had all been physical strength which was required, a strength Toil sadly lacked. Hammering the metal, heating and cooling over and over for more hours than he could recall, Toil's body ached in places normal bodies were not meant to ache. Yet this was all easy, all simple. The real hard part became the magic, which he would have to add neck.
tink tink tink hissssssssss
Pulling the blade from the water once more, he lays the metal back onto the furnace. Feeling the heat beat form the dark flames, he begins to sweat profusely. Summoning his courage, he reaches into his sack. He begins to pull items from it, placing them on the hollow of the blade. Thrusting his hands into the fire time and time again, he winces as he feels his flesh blackening and burning, the smell of cooked meat to his nose. Each time he thrusts his hands in, he seems to speak aloud to only his own ears what he has added.
"The first rays of dawn, so it may know hope."
"Blood of the enemy, so it may thirst."
"Platinum, so it may remain pure."
"Blood of the hero, so it may know its path."
"Blood of the creator, so it may know sacrifice."
As he with draws his burned hands, he steels his resolve. Grabbing the blade from the flames once more, he sets it within the hilt and begins to hammer. Every ounce of pain, almost enough to make him faint, he used to fuel his strikes. As each hammer blow fell, sparks of light rose up as if to defy the darkness. Toil hammers, slamming the mallet down over and over for hours before stopping from sheer exhaustion. Dipping his own hands into the water, and knowing he taints its purity with his blood, he looks at his finished work. Wrapping his hands around the hilt, he holds it aloft, gazing with unseeing eyes. "You who was forged in the darkness, when all hope has seemed lost for a new day. What say you then, to the endless night?" The most critical part...that which would define if he were to succeed or fail.
The blade begins to hum, like the soft thrum of a new day. From deep within it's core, it starts to glow a ruby red and gold. As if the dawn itself was rising from within the blade, it began to glow brighter and bright like the sun. Banishing the darkness from the workshop, it illuminates every corner of small space. Its light is reflected in the tears on Toils face, shimmering and sparkling as he admires his creation.
"You...are ready."