488/Faith Reforged

Faith Reforged
Date of Scene:	24 August 2014
Location:	Hundred Forged Fire Manse
Synopsis:	What was broken is now whole again.
Thanks to:	Special thanks to Homura's player for spoofing Rampart, and to Snake's player for reprising Dovahkiin Elen, and Rhapsody<3
Cast of Characters:	Unyielding Rampart, 231, Dovahkiin Elen, 325, 395

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Amalthea (395) has posed:
    This is something that has been put off for far too long. And now finally it is happening.
    Amalthea has summoned three of the most knowledgable smiths she knows to the deepest, hottest, part of her Manse, where the heat is near intolerable and lava flows freely around what has been set up almost reverently to be a smith's station.
    The unicorn is here, in her full armor. Though she clasps her blade and scabbard in hand rather than at her belt. Slowly, almost reverently, she draws the broken blade, Faith, from its sheath...
    And sets it down on the anvil.
    "I've called the three of you here to do what I've put off for too long. I ask you to spare none of your skill. Restore my Faith to what she once was."

Rhapsody (325) has posed:
    Three smiths, but one brought along his +1. When Rhapsody got the message that Faith needed to be reforged, telling Ryxinel was a sipmle afair. At first he got nervous, but then he got excited, grabbed every took he could possibly think of, and then the two of them, (but probably all 3) departed for the Manse. This was the first time any of them had been so deep into Amalthea's home, but for Ryxinel, a forge such as this was incredible, to say the least. The Mizzium would be very easy to work with such heat.

    Rhapsody, for her part, is off to one side. The way she looks, and even moves, betrays how exausted she is from Jeannette's training. Ryxinel, however, looks at Faith with a reverence that at least Amalthea could understand.

    Ryxinel takes this moment to ask a question, "I have more than enough Mizzium for the task, Amalthea. The question is, as the blade is reforged, are their any changes to be made? Blade, hilt, pommel. Weight, balance, this is your only chance to make a change."

Dovahkiin Elen (Dovahkiin Elen) has posed:
    Any Nord can tolerate the cold. Few, on the other hand, can truly tolerate the heat. Most of those who are? Are blacksmiths. A scant few, would call themselves dragon hunters.

    There is but one in all of Skyrim who is both. And she is by far the finest smith in her land.

    In most journeys out into the Multiverse, the Dovahkiin might bring her full dragonplate. It is indeed extremely rare that she does not. However, this is a rare occasion. She's been asked to lend her hammer to the recreation of a blade of legend. To the blade of a good friend, and of a being of myth herself. And so the Dragonborn has come with only her smith's tools, in a comfortable and loose-fit set of clothes, with a stout and sturdy leather apron, scorched here and there with the marks of one who spends long at the forge.

    "For any other blade, and for any other swordswoman, I'd charge a fair large price for such a difficult work," Elen Redgrip responds, thumbs hooked in her belt. "But for you, Amalthea, and for your blade there, I'll not accept even a single coin." She has never touched Mizzium before tonight. But that doesn't seem to bother her one bit. She's a fast learner, after all.

Material-L (Unyielding Rampart) has posed:
    Rampart arrives when summoned, especially within his own realm. It would be rather harsh of him to ignore such a request, besides.

    He is not accompanied-- the guards would frown if they knew he was off to play blacksmith. Nor has he brought any materials, because everything will be within the Manse itself.

    When he does arrive, it is with a huge grin, and the golden light of his Caste Mark on his forehead, already blazing like a small sun and somehow illuminating the forge area more than the lava itself does.

    "Amalthea! And friends! Well, what a splendid setup you've done. This isn't quite like my personal forge but mine doesn't have the lava thing going on."

    He asides, with a grin to Elen: "Lady Redgrip. Ever a pleasure."
    He'd kiss her hand but she'd punch him.
    Lessons were learned in the past.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    Thus the artisans are gathered and... Amalthea gets the hell out of their way. A step back and a proper bow, and silver lips tug into the beginnings of a smile. "I know she's in good hands with you lot. Between the 'ordinary' blacksmith king of the province of swords, the finest smith of the northm and the scions of Izzet..." A sigh and the unicorn's lone eye casts a glance once more to the broken blade.
    "Only whatever changes you three deem fit to give her, together. Never has a sword felt as fine in my hand as that one- even when broken. She's not failed me yet and when you're done I know she never will ever."

Rhapsody (325) has posed:
    Ryxinel gives a nod toward Amalthea, "I will consider any and all options either of you suggest and will offer my advice." The son if Mizzet slips up to the blade to have a look, setting down a few ingots of the silvery metal that the blade was made from. "As i'm certain neither of you have worked Mizzium before, I will offer a brief summary of it. It is, simply put, an extremely complex alloy my father created. It is very easy to work with once it reaches proper temperature, however, it's also very -resistant- to having its temperature change. To get started, there's one simple thing to do,". An ingot is taken, it's set to the fire, but the only thing that gets it to glow from the heat is a long, steady, gout of dragonsfire from Ryxinel. Once it achieves it's glow, he waves for the other two, "Lets get started, shall we?"

Material-L (Unyielding Rampart) has posed:
    "I'd think the ordinary gig has been up for a while," Rampart says with a smile; in the absolutely incredible event the blazing Caste Mark were not a tell, his confirmation should do. He hasn't really tried to hide it much anymore, probably because he took a slightly more active role in the provice lately, and everyone knows it takes a Solar to sit on that throne.

    "Well then! Allow me to prepare our workshop while you prepare the metal and guide us," he says, before outstretching his arms. His Essence flares out, coating the entire room and projecting his being out. The Anima Flare shifts the room, superimposing another landscape altogether. Rivers of golden magma flow all around, with islands filled with half-forged weapons of all kinds where you would want to be standing, if this were a real physical effect (which it isn't!). Every movement within this world echoes like a hammer on an anvil, the loud fires of a forge constantly filling the background. The great forge of the Daystar itself.

    More importantly, all blacksmithing tools in the area, including the anvil, now shine a glistening gold, their effectiveness magnified a thousandfold, without changing how they feel when held. Rampart himself has produced a simple blacksmith's hammer of no distinction.

Dovahkiin Elen (Dovahkiin Elen) has posed:
    Elen can only reply with a grin to Amalthea, before turning to watch Ryxinel's demonstration - watch, and listen. As he waves them in to start, the Nord tugs the smith's hammer from her belt, spins it around her hand with surprising dexterity, and then grabs it with a firm grip. "Aye, the anvil calls." Her grin is even wider as Rampart lays his power out and gives them a more mythically potent workspace.

    It takes only one swing of the hammer before Elen has a feel for the material, and a second for her to be sure of herself. By the third she might as well have been working it for weeks. She learns quickly, and every fall of the hammer lands on glowing Mizzium with surety and firmness. She's quick to suggest a slight lengthening of the blade here, an extra quarter-inch of thickness there, using her own knowledge of Amalthea's style - not far at all from her own, save for choice in weapon - and expertise in combat to suggest a shape that should suit her perfectly.

    But her real talent comes out in the finishing, the refining. In the shaping of the fuller, in the straightening and sharpening of the blade. Though she has no supernatural talent, her hammer falls in ways that most smiths wouldn't even grasp. Little changes in the temper, tiny imperfections that a lesser smith might not even notice. She is but a mortal woman, but her refinements alone could take a blade from common steel to the kind of sword tales are told about.

    And all the while, when her mouth isn't otherwise occupied with suggestions or good-natured banter, she sings a song to the beat of her hammer.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    As serious as the request, undertaking, and moment is, the old knight can't help but grin at the Hero King of Luanjian, granting the blessings of the Dawn unto the chamber, rendering the forge like the very center of the furnace of the daystar, "I suppose it has, huh. Suppose it has."
    Where most would turn their gaze away from the blazing heated metal, Amalthea watches. Every blow of the hammer, every strike on the near molten hot blade, each and every addition or adjustment the three could possibly make with the keen insight of crafters of legends.
    It is not long before another legend is born- forged to perfection to the almost musical beat of Nord song and exhoing hammer beats, before the blade is complete. Still a hot and angry red, and yet with every clang that works it, it resounds as if singing a joyous and ringing song of rebirth.

Rhapsody (325) has posed:
    Considering he's a RED dragon, it's Ryxinel that hefts the blade from the forge, giving a glance over on one side, the other, "Step back," he suggests before taking a step away. Yes, he's holding the entire thing, and then a moment later the whole thing is submerged into a barrel of something that the dragon had brought with him. "This will lock the shape. The fact this blade was broken before is impressive, it will be far harder to do it again. Something I discovered since I began working the material," he says in a content tone. Once the blade is liften again, Ryxinel spins it once, swings it to remove the remaining liquid, then turns it to offer to either of the other smiths, hilt first. It would be safe to hold, "For your inspection,".

Material-L (Unyielding Rampart) has posed:
    "There is one change I will suggest; as the owner of the Manse, you must be able to use its Hearthstone, Amalthea. We need to include a socket, either at the base of the blade or in the guard," Rampart says, amidst following, carefully, instructions and movements to forge Mizzium. He learns quickly, too, so there's no risk of him screwing it up, so long as Ryxinel is providing guidance.

    A bland sword with a socket within the blade is produced and set to the side, so the other two can get a glance. It's probably no different from other things they might have seen before. It just needs to be a socket of a certain size, spiritually connected to the blade so that the wielder can tap into whatever is inserted inside. They have likely forged weapons with similar if not identical principles before.

    He does inspect the sword once it's ready, ever grinning. "If not the metal, then the fact it was us three reforging it should make it all but invulnerable to harm. Should a beast be unfortunate enough to swallow this it would certainly cut its way right back out."

Dovahkiin Elen (Dovahkiin Elen) has posed:
    When Rampart is done with the blade, Elen takes it and gives it a critical eye, along the blade, down the channel in the middle, and even the hearthstone socket. She takes a firm grip on the handle and whirls it about herself, testing the balance with a flourish and then a swing. Her skill with a sword is nowhere near what she can do with an axe, but she's still beyond most men by a fair stretch, and skilled enough to smile broadly when she turns the blade around and holds it out, one palm under the blade and the other under the grip, to Amalthea.

    "I can say without boast that I've never put hammer to a finer blade nor stood among finer smiths. This is a blade to shape realms and carve legends, the kind of blade that lasts in legend for thousands and thousands of years. I should be sore surprised if a finer blade ever leaves my forge in my lifetime. But that's to be expected with a dragon and a prince of the sun standing with me," she adds with a grin. "Take up your sword again, Amalthea. Let's see 'er sing for you."

Ellestaria (231) has posed:
    Ellestaria /is/ here, just staying out of the way and watching. Forging is not her forte, not by far. Now that it looks like the blade is nearing completion, she'll finally stand up, brushing her hair back with a deep breath. In her typical tsundere manner, the only thing she says is, "It's about time."

    Rampart and Elen and Amalthea probably know Lest well enough to read her real meaning there, though Rhapsody might not be able to. It's the closest she'll get to clapping and hugging in public.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    It's done.
    The blade that broke in Annu, and still pierced The Emperor's heart, even when shattered, is now, once again, whole.
    And once the three have finished their inspections and deemed it worthy with their crafter's eyes and hands, when the restored sword is presented to her, Amalthea gently and gingerly grasps it with the respect and care, and reverence of cradling something treasured, finally returned from being so long gone. With a delicate care, she inserts the Manse's hearthstone; a cloudy white gem with subtle black streaks, and she draws a slow breath. Though she pauses, sparing a glance to Ellestaria, the faintest hint of a glimmer in her eye as silver lips tug into a small smile. A breath, and she spends a beat longer the tip of her horn touching lightly to the blade.
    "How I've missed you." Whispered softly, before her grip firms around the hilt.
    In her hand, Faith flashes like lightning, a plume of righteous and furious blue-steel singing as it cuts the air, in the might heave of a twirling strike, every ounce of the old knight's strength poured into a sudden lashing cut against the anvil. For a time nothing happens. A span of seconds pass in silence.
    Before the anvil realizes it has been slashed; one half slowly sliding off the other in a frighteningly neat and clean cut.

Material-L (Unyielding Rampart) has posed:
    Well then! That's a good thing done.

    Rampart would turn off the light show but explicitely cannot, it lasts an entire scene. You'll have to suffer the overly obnoxious golden light and miniature sun until he leaves.

    "Lady Ellestaria! Your tail is beautiful as ever," he cracks towards the woman who had been waiting this entire time, giving her a thumb up. Then he inspects the cut of the anvil, obviously satisfied.

    "I don't think we could have done better. A holy blade for a holy knight. May it let you save even more lives than you already have, and protect all that you hold dear."

Rhapsody (325) has posed:
    "It's always suited you," Rhapsody muses from where she had been sitting. Now, she had actually gotten back onto her feet to give her brother a assuring pat on the shoulder, "And he'd be proud, I promise you that,". It gets Ryxinel to give a small smile, a nod, but little else. Both Mizzet's seem surprised by the destruction of the Anvil.

    "Well, maybe I'll send a new Anvil for a gift this holiday," Ryxinel muses before gathering up the materials he'd brought, only to send them off with a spell. "Amalthea, if you need anything else, the dragonsforge is still available at your request." A pause. "If he were still here, I imagine he'd insist on repairing your eye.." Ryxinel wouldn't know what happened there. It's actually doubtful Rhapsody knows either.