Sanguinary Mitten - Planning and Alloying

Task would rise to the peaks of Theria with his little sister in tow, a bulging sack of clanking metal coaxed over his shoulder in the bundle of a worn, navy cotton city watchman's cloak. Taken from Caelus' body with the jeweled hilt of an energy blade and one of the final ingredients he required, precious arcanium.

Above the great heights of Theria, they would find themselves upon the rightmost ruined tower, the place where Dun had first truly decided to make Theria his home, with that solemn chat with that bright girl who'd accepted a clown's wisdom. Yet, in the depths of hearty stonework and latticing, a forgework was assembled with a burning, hearty, and night ethereal flame amongst the howling gales of the dark night.

Though Vanamir had her own tools, the anvil of Lumi Fenrir, three nyeshk crucibles, and a blue flamed furnace sat ambiently coiled. Everything they required to assembled the noble mitten of the circus had at last coalesced.

"Welcome to the tower. Lumi and I'd been working on plans to make a forge bound to the spirit realm, but recent troubles have naturally kept us occupied, and that project barely off the ground. Yet, the forge part of that assembly is complete, and so we can abuse this fine night, the cold wintry, certainly free winds, to make a masterwork that will enter the annals of Theria as a hand like no other."

He'd acquired everything he could ever want, even if it had cost him most of his body. A rare assortment of materials from countless dangerous encounters, nearly dying and watching his fellows perish numerous times while sustaining more wounds than most men would willingly bare. Yet, the one armed pugilist regretted nothing of these ventures, they were what made him the man he was today.

"I call it the...."Sanguinary Mitten", joke you see? It will not be a light touch, oh no no. You see my dear little sister, I have been doing foolish things professionally for decades, and have a treasure hoard few could match. Though I have only one arm, I can still punch with my right, and so rather than a pair of gauntlets, I will make the sort that makes punches....even punchier. That's the punch line, ohohohoho!"

The clown prince of Theria would idly gesture with his hands to Vanamir, clicking his teeth together with cheer as he enjoyed his family visit amongst the forge to a fair degree. He was getting old, there was no doubt, something to keep his edge in the last years of his prime as a monument to all his achievements and sins didn't sound half bad at all.

A reward, and a punishment. A noble mantle, much like a clown.

"You see, this is no ordinary gauntlet. It's spiked knuckles will be forged of an alloy, that of a cold iron ingot from sentient sludge, and a node of soul steel I acquired, one of three. Together, it will retain and enhance the qualities of cold iron that have endeared it to me, that which aided in my mastery of energy magic in truth."

The clown would begin to juggle the cold iron ingot, controlling the flickering soul steel with his energy magic as seamlessly as if it was clay.

"By binding soul steel to it, I can aid in the forging process through my manipulations with mana. That way, through our combined efforts, it will be internally and externally reinforced. Cold iron naturally absorbs mana from people, which is usually a no no. But if you bind it to a complex series of circuitry that binds itself to your own, well well well....it can enhance one's output I reckon. brings us to the second part."

The warlord of Theria would toss the ingot and the first node of soul steel into the first crucible, gesturing to the second with an idle nod.

"The second alloy will be that of the gauntlet itself, A mighty, pugilistic instrument of brutish and heavy design. We'll have a lot of metal to work with, but it should be sturdy enough to absorb and redirect energy into ferocious blows."

The clown would remove a series of materials from his bag, allowing his little sister to see them clearly before tossing them into the second crucible. Two ingots of arcanium that overflowed with raw energy and mana, a node of ethereal ghost mithril from his brief vacation to Helheim, and another node of soulsteel to the smelter to be.

After a light pause, he'd remove Laevateinn’s Hilt with a sigh, frowning as he recalled Caelus' fearlessness as he perished to the beast of blood. He would be remembered, and his contributions to the gauntlet with his death would be a service to the legends this gauntlet bore.

Glancing at the mana gem that powered the hilt, the one armed warlord would harden and blacken his thumb with condensed mana before forcefully popping it out, breaking a nail with difficulty as the hilt was freed of its power source. With a grimace, he'd toss the enhanted hilt into the second crucible as well, ensuring its metal too would serve the grand mitten.

(Task)
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 "Now, if there was nothing connection the cold iron knuckles to the mittens, or the mittens to the bearer and its mana circuitry, it would just be a fancy bludgeon. That is where the wiring comes in my dear sister, the barbed sort that puncture deep into they that bares the mitten, a wiring composed of accursed, powerful substances more than fit to channel the energy stolen and redirected by the cold iron."

The clown would remove the final assortment of the raw ingredients, puffing away thoughtfully on his corncob pipe as he engaged in the focused endeavor with a light click of his teeth. First, the beating heart of living blood copper from the foul beast that had contributed to Caelus' doom. An ideal channel for ethereal energies, for what is life if not animation. Another node of soul steel, the metal of spirit, and ghost mithril, that of the boundary between life and death, were both added to the final third crucible with light clanks and nods.

An energy magi at the their core derived their strength from stringing the line between life and death, for the closer they got to the spirit realm, the more powerful they became. All the metals that would fomr the wiring that would carve deep into his flesh, that would wind and power the great mitten for the glory of Theria, it perfectly represented the necessary sacrifices at hand.

"The wiring will be the final alloy. Soul steel, ghost mithril, and that accursed, beating heart of blood iron. Ought to have a nice kick, this thing is bound to be minutely sentient in a cursed manner when we fully assemble it. First things first though, we need the alloys melted. You work, I will assist."
(Task)
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 It had been quite some time since the woman had truly explored the peaks of Theria, not since she was a young adult. So, slowly her arcanium boots trudged through the snow until she arrived at the rather strange ruined tower that resided at the highest point of Theria.

"I see."

A simple response to the initial statement that flowed from the Warlord's mouth. A forge involving the spirit realm seemed rather nifty, but likely it would never be completed. Not in this lifetime anyways, but something would be created today.

The Sanguinary Mittens.

A simple snicker escaped from the woman's lips, as she slowly shook her head back, and forth. "That's a terrible joke. So of course, I love it." After that, she'd fall silent, simply soaking in all the information that spewed out of her eldest brother's lips. All while offering the occasional nod of her head.

"I'll need your assistance with the soul steel. As I'm sure you're aware of at this point, energy makes it far more mailable. Everything else? You can probably leave to me."

A simple nod follows, as the woman made her way over to each of the crucibles, glancing down into each of them. Those blue eyes of her studying the crucibles intently as those blue flames did their work melting away at the ores.

"Alloy me to help."

A snicker escaped from her lips, spurned on by her bad pun as her body burst forth in the crimson light of her star Vrona. A quiet hum escaped from her lips, as the light from her star spread across each of the cruibles, adding to their heat, and amplifying it.

"Aaaand…" Her voice trailed off a bit, as those now crimson eyes darted over towards Task, flashing him a mischievous grin. "We should be good to go. The knuckles are first step..."The light of her star began to spread away from the crucible until it rested solely on the woman.

"Right?"
(Vanamir Queen)
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Task would nod lightly as his energy flowed through the churning, ethereal flamed crucibles, each of the three ichorous alloys melting into one as the master energy magi idly did his best to weave the soul steel into the ores, to reinforce and amplify their properties for the tasks they would serve.

The wiring's crucible would seem filled with almost boiling, ichorous blood, the warmth of dark, unnatural life emanating from its form. The gauntlet's raw material was of glinting, rainbowy green, the energized arcanium interweaving with the soul steel, the enchanted metal of the hilt, and the ghost mithril into a metal that represented an energy magi's connection to the spirit realm to a cue. Green riveted with swirls of energy that sparked even now in molten form.

Then at last, the first and hardest of the alloys to manipulate. A purplish ore that melded slowly, but steadily with the heat of the energy furnace. The cold iron and soul steel bonded into what would form the brute amplifiers and barbed knuckles of the singular, large mitten, that which would make each and every strike memorable for the recipient.

With a raise of his palm as he sparked with ethereal mana, the cold iron and soul steel already bonded to him from his meditations would sear and converge, at last forming the alloy required for the process to begin.

"Yes, the knuckles first. It must be a heavy band of metal that can be mounted upon the mitten proper before we temper it in the leviathan oil. Barbs ideally, best for absorbing and redirecting mana flow for purposes of ultra violence. The metal is ready, the soul steel melded for the necessary forgework. I'll work from within while you hammer from the outside."


(Task)
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