The Tempering of the Promise
The Foe-Tempered Blade[edit]
A wagon entered the Plum Blossom Retreat in the dead of the night. Canvas covered it, but there was no mistaking the outlines of three cages within. Two swarthy jokun walked beside it. Whereever the cage passed, it brought unrest through the peaceful mists of the manse. This was understandable, for the howls and groans and shrieks and singing and gibbering that came from the wagon were such that no sane man could sleep peacefully through it.
It stayed there for a single night, then moved on to the Flamebond Forge, moving swiftly along the manse highway between them. Occasionally one of the jokun would toss a rabbit, and old buzzard, or a flower under the tarp. It arrived and was recieved by Five Days Darkness in the middle of the night, joined by Seven Thousand. They inspected the cargo, clucking appreciatively, then payed the wagon driver in talents of silver.
The first cage was opened, and a screeching Fae noble leaped free of her restraints, her six inch fangs bared within an impossibly distended mouth. Fear's Umbra drew two black iron blades, clampled down on his pipe, and killed the starved beast with three ungraceful hacks to the throat. The Ravages of Time removed her fangs with a pair of iron pliers. The fangs were brought to the platform.
The nearly finished blade gleamed on the anvil and Rivers stood over it gasping and shuddering, his essence a bonfire of deep crimson and sapphire about him. He took the fang of the Raksha and began etching the scriptures requested by Nameless Ravine, sparing no pains in reproducing the text in flawless Old Realm. He whispered, "Before the gods, you struggled against creation. Taste well, fae, for you will never again mar this blade with your glamours."
The second cage was opened, and a howling Erymanthoi emerged. Four jokun restrained him while Berren squeamishly drew a ceremonial dagger and parted his arteries, draining his black blood until it filled a long trough. The trough was brought to the platform.
The trough was brought before Rivers, where the blade had been heated once more in a bath of molten salt. "Blood of our first foe, scion of Malfeas, the sword's first taste will be your life's essence." He then quenched the blade in the trough.
The third cage was opened, and twelve zombies staggered out, groaning with the burden of undeath. The jokun dispatched them in short time, dismembering them and piling them in another crucible. Serrakeen waited beneath, and with his breath he heated the bowl until its contents ignited with such force that they burned with a clean white flame.
Rivers bore the blade down to the crucible and held it in one essence shielded hand over the flame. "Finally, last of our enemies from outside the webs of fate, our nearest true nemesis, the living dead. With righteous fury this blade shall cleanse the shadowlands, but first your death-pyre will temper thee."
Thus The Promise was completed.
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1. The Promise
