The Forging of The Promise
Preparation[edit]
Berren sat, gazing out over the lava pit through the adamant observation windows. His hands were on the controls of the crucible, carefully stirring the gold while Rivers Between Us twitched the mirrors into position. Below, in the volcano itself, The Ravages of Time was shoveling massive chunks of gold into the bowl.
"That's a lot of gold," Berren laughed ruefully. "Where'd you steal from?"
"Dead solar. No one you know."
"Oh. Hell, that was a joke. Seriously? Nevermind. Did you know that creepy godblood was snooping around the corners of this manse? This place has a lot of weird corners, by the way."
"I know, I made it. And yes, it's his job to snoop around in the corners. He's setting up wards and hunting spies. He's already annihilated two ghosts and an, ah, air elemental."
"How do you trust him? He's obviously a drug addict, and apparently part of some dark god's cult."
"How can I trust you, Berren?" Rivers twitched one of the mirrors a fraction of a degree, and the gold began vaporizing. "Are you a spy?"
"Rivers..." Berren carefully stirred the gold into the focal point of the light. "What happened to your commander? Your whole unit disappeared."
"I killed them all." Rivers manipulated the condenser into position.
"Oh." Berren stopped stirring. The gold began to solidify at the edges of the bowl in a thin crust.
"They had my sister, Berren. She won't tell me what they did." Rivers' hand began to twitch on the dials.
Berren looked at him. Seven Thousand Wonders began making little piping noises of terror as a drop of precious orichalcum dropped into the abyss. "Well, all right then. I'm a spy." He began stirring gold again, carefully breaking the crust.
"Oh."
Berren smirked as he manipulated the last chunk of gold into the focal point. "So... what do you want Lookshy to know?"
Below, Serrakeen strode through the lava flow and manipulated the second bowl into position. The Ravages of Time began shoveling from a second pile, and soon the crucible was full of what appeared to be rusty blades. Seven Thousand Wonders Unfolding gave a tiny shriek. "You're not seriously using those?"
Rivers smiled. "No flourishes for this blade. Steel and Orichalc. Simplicity will lend us speed and strength."
"But why that steel?"
"Five Days Darkness found it. It's from Mishaka. Those are the blades of fifty generals that fell fighting the Realm. Ah, that one there, the saber..." Rivers stood and leaned against the adamant. "That's my fathers sword."
"I'd have thought you'd want to keep that."
"No... it would be wasted on me." Rivers stepped back from the glass.
The Ordeal[edit]
High above the volcano, thermal vents of superheated air whipped sparks past two figures standing opposite one another on a narrow platform. Between them, atop an anvil of stone from the heart of a five mile tall mountain, was a seven foot long mold, three feet wide. The crucible of Orichalcum alloy was being lifted into position. On one side, the sorcerer took three vials and set them on the edge of the mold. From one, he removed a lock of hair and placed it in the depression, from the second, a drop of blood, and from the third he released the lid and gently wafted it over the stone. He whispered a few words over the elements of Nameless Ravine, then released the flow of alloy into the mold. Fear's Umbra's enchantments held; the mold did not melt to slag.
At a signal from Spring's Inevitable Betrayal, the two pace long sword was placed on the anvil. Twin hammers began striking the metal, and burst of sparks like rays of sunlight splashed over them. The bursts of light revealed the faces of the twin smiths in alternating flashes. Betrayal's mask of green wood was bent low over the anvil, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his long arms lashed upward and fell, again and again, binding into the sword all the dreams of a new age rising from the molten shards of the old one. Rivers lifted his arms, drenched in sweat, huffing raggedly as he tried to keep up with the god. Essence rolled off of him in sheets of blue flame, and the hammer fell with unerring precision, as though each strike was the prototype of all hammer strikes from the beginning of time. High above, Storm of Amber stood on the lip of the of the volcano and prayed for the Sun's blessing on the birth of the blade, but in the heart of the Volcano the two smiths worked unceasingly for three days straight, letting it cool for for four hours, then reheating it and working for another three days.
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1. The Promise
