Nyphadora Binds The Blade

"This...is for Istvan."

Dylerun, from underneath his coat, would pull a sword, sheathed. It would be placed on a nearby workshop table with a heavy dull thud, before Dylerun stepped back. Glasses would be snapped out of his pocket and put on as he stepped forward again, pulling the sword a quarter inch out of the leather-wrapped adamantine scabbard to reveal a pitch black blade, dark as the night sky.

"Istv- Sorry. The Vindicator and I have been working on something. A Tyrium blade, the likes Agartha ain't seen yet. Or anyone else. It'll be powerful, strongest thing I've made since I got here, leastways. Simple enough, he needs you to enchant it with runes. The particulars...I'll leave to him."

He would tap the blade, a cold fog seeming to roll off of it before he quickly sheathed it with a quiet snrk. "Adamantite and orichalcum hilt, adamantine scabbard. Tyrium blade. Equal parts potent magic, and anti-magic capabilities making a...well, it ain't exactly a mantlepiece. I know you're a fae, and your magics strong, so..."

"Think you can handle it?"
(Dylerun Grauhimmel)

Drew Idd has entered the room.

What an ambitious project- Taking Tyrium, of all things, and attempting to make a blade out of it. The weight alone should have made most reconsider, not to mention the anti-magic properties the metal adorned.

But it wasn't something that hadn't been done before either. The Fae was well aware of the existence of Cold Iron, however her knowledge within the subject was... Limited to say the least! Most of it would have to have been done based on feelings- But it was seldom she failed something which had caught her interest, at least when it came to enchanting and runescribing.

"Mm, mm... Tyrium, huh... This one can try, yes. Am almost certain it should be possible, yes? Have heard of it before- But never witnessed nor seen it. Mm, this one assumes that the Vindicator seeks the more... Refined version of Tyrium as a result, yes?"

Head would tilt, her gaze quick to shift over to Istvan, "Cold Iron, yes? Is what is desired, mm... This one can try! Am not the State Enchantress for no reason, yes?"
(Nyphadora)

"Tyrium is incredibly dangerous."

The Neries now spoke up, stepping towards the sword that was on the table with a stern expression on his face. Trying to attune to it the last time nearly made him lose it - Trying it again was hardly something he wanted to go through. But if you wanted to make a sword right, you had to push yourself.

"Perhaps not dangerous enough to be barred from use, but dangerous enough that we don't want the wrong hands getting ensorcelled by its power. I want to make sure that it reacts only to Neries magic. Tyrium can corrupt, as is the case with my species' origins... Or so the foibles say."

Slowly he'd inch closer to the tyrium blade, fingers wrapping about the hilt and the cold chill of the ore's hunger ran down his spine. His aura would begin to flare up, breaths coming out in wisps already.

He was pumping magic through it, as if to try and satiate its hunger. Just a little bit at a time, for now, as if to get the blade acquainted with Neries mana.

"Cold Iron eats and eats and eats. But if I can feed it while you work, it shouldn't effect you too much. Are you ready, Nyphadora? This will be... Quite unlike anything you've experienced before."
(Istvan Boldizsar)

"State Enchantress indeed. You're the best, and thats why we came to you."

Arms would be crossed as he listened to Istvan speak, eyes half-fluttering before closing behind his glasses. Gray eyes would open a moment later, eyeballing the angry blade before the trio. To think, they were stupid enough to give something so menacing an even more dangerous form.

One that it wanted.

"I can act a battery if need-be for both of you. This is all you, but I'm chock full right now, so if you need it don't be afraid to reach out. I can write runes, but this...this is beyond me. I can't do something like this. But I'm with this through and through, so it's the least I can do."

Jacket sleeves would be rolled up as he stepped forward, cigarette being put out on his boot before delicately dropped into his pocket. The blacksmith would try to catch Istvans eye, gray orbs giving the Neries a soft wink, before resting on the fairy.
(Dylerun Grauhimmel)

The most ideal situation would have been the Fae's own mana being eaten- Given the ludicrous amount of mana Faes possessed, there were few who could match them. But of course, she required her focus to be on point, the constant tugging on her mana would most definitely distract her from doing a decent job.

"Mm... Good. This one was going to suggest that regardless- Am not sure this one could do the work properly whilst being drained... Not to mention..." Her gaze would settle on the weapon, "If this one is to customize it to react only to the mana signature of a Neries, it was going to need the Vindicator to feed it regardless, mm."

Arms would cross, the Fae's attention momentarily settled on Dylerun, "Gehe... Compliments will get Dylerun nowhere!" A little giggle would follow, but despite that the Fae was quick to act- Dylerun would be pushed a bit away it would seem!

"But this one cannot accept such an offer, mm. Dylerun would do nothing but confuse this one, yes? At least Dylerun's mana would! Cannot have it mixed with this one's or the Vindicator's mana, mm... Would make it too difficult."

"Anywho!" The Fae would turn, quick to land next to the weapon itself, albeit at a reasonable distance!

"This one is ready now, yes!" She seemed rather excited- Perhaps too much?
(Nyphadora)

"Just brace me if I start keeling over, right Dyle?"

It's said jokingly, but already was the Neries beginning to feel the weakening chill of the blade and he hadn't even pulled it from the scabbard yet. Once Nyphadora was in position, he would slowly draw it, letting the full effect of the mana-eating effect fill the room. As soon as he does, his magic swells and surges down the length of it, eyes turning pure white as he tries his best to focus on feeding the Tyrium.

It felt like he was being stuck and hung up to bleed out. The white, flickering hunger of the Neries' signature now surrounded, albeit faintly, the entirety of the blade. He turns to the fairy with a troubled, pained smile.

His veins began to bulge about his neck.

"R-Ready when you are, Miss Nyphadora. Let's mark this bad boy." He lets out a rasping laugh, the breath from his lungs condenses into another puff, before he sucks in as much air as he can and concentrates.
(Istvan Boldizsar)

The mans brow would furrow, Dylerun about to say something before the little fae pushed him away. Instead, he would simply click his tongue, crossing his arms and taking another step back. Excitement, mixed with a brief sense of fear, would pass over his face.

"...Best of luck to the both of you, then. I'll be here.."
(Dylerun Grauhimmel)

The Tyrium Blade was drawn- Already could the young Fae, who were ironically older than both Dylerun and Istvan, feel the presence of the anti-magic properties it adorned. It was seldom she felt the fear over the excitement she usually held for enchanting, however in this case the line between the two were more blurry than usual.

A single mistake could cost them a life- More than likely Istvan's as opposed to her own.

In any case, she had to act quickly, Istvan was already in visible pain from merely holding the blade. Truly this was a suicidal idea, but alas, the man had already drawn the blade, it wasn't like she could turn around now.

Hands would clap together and a perhaps familiar light would fill the room- A blue dim, surprisingly bright yet something any were capable of staring directly into! Light yet not light? An oddity truly- But it would seem that the Fae had quite the tough time for each time she allowed the mana to flow forth, it waspartly taken by the Tyrium blade! Without Istvan feeding it, surely even the setup would have failed.

But it did not, even if only barely succeeding- No words were uttered, the Fae obviously concentrating much more than she had ever done before; failure was not an option after all!

Had Istvan been either an Energy Magi or Metal Magi, surely this would have been much easier, however he was not- Even then, a bond had to be made! Would it be capable of functioning with Neries other than Istvan? She knew not, however there was no time to make sure. The job had to finished!

The Vindicator may have felt the tugs on his mana as the Fae worked, her own perhaps being taken at some times as opposed to his, however now it was turned up a notch- Using the theory from Cold Iron, the Fae attempted at binding the magic which Istvan possessed at his very core- That which made him up- together with the metal itself and by extension, the anti-magic properties it held.

His hand(s) would burn, at least the sensation of burning would be there and no doubt his skin was turning red!

Various letters would float forth in the air itself- The blue light filling up the room clearly writing them in an even brighter light, yet still by no means sharp as ordinary light.

Seemingly, the Fae's magic would disperse- At the very least that which caused the light, for within a second everything would collapse. The runic letters crashing down upon the blade and Istvan's hand alike, more than likely leaving a few burn marks but surely not something a Cook hadn't experienced before! The worst pain would perhaps be what came.

The bonding had begun- With the enchantment placed upon the blade, the last thing to do was creating a symbiosis between the metal and Istvan himself- The Fae aiming to extend that to the Neries as a whole as opposed to a single individual.

Not much could be done by the Fae anymore however, as the rest truly laid in Istvan's hands- Would the blade "accept" him and his race, or would it deny him?

Should it succeed, then the Vindicator's pain would vanish nigh instantly- His own self would be excluded from the metal's constant tugging of mana and instead received an ever so slight bit from his surroundings.
(Nyphadora)

His eyes flutter with each paling breath, reflexively wanting to rip his hand away from the Tyrium blade. Pure Tyrium. His knuckles turn bone-white while he holds it there, trying to allow as much time for the fae to do her dirty work. He could not focus on the lights around him, instead bending every bit of his attention onto the sword.

It was a constant, all-consuming pull and it was horrifying, and when the burning would set in he welcomed the reprieve. He winces and grunts, tightening his fingers around it. Once the letters began to float, he almost let himself go, releasing each breath with difficulty - But it was not done yet. The blue light still shone down upon them, and as his eyes fluttered open once more to catch sight of the letters again. Was it almost ov--

"FUCK!" He half-yells in shock as the runes come crashing down against his hand and against the blade. His grip quakes but he dares not to let go in the midst of Nyphadora's work, biting into his lips and hissing out every breath.

It crawled and snaked through his body, up his arm and into his head where he felt the Tyrium-- Or what he assumed was the Tyrium-- To take up residence. It was a loud, dismal, painful sound. The screeching of metal against metal, the howling moan of hunger. And as more and more mana is pumped through his arm and into the blade, as the runes settle and bond against his skin and the Tyrium, he suddenly feels it.

Just.

Normal. His mana is still pumped forward, trying to light up through the runes that Nyphadora had inscribed against blade and skin, and for the most part? Other than the presence of something wholly unnatural in his head -- Which, hey, he was used to that by now! -- It was completely fine.

He tentatively raises the heavy, Tyrium sword, letting the pitch-black metal attempt to catch whatever light it could. He lets out a wracked gasp, and laughs softly.

"It's... Is it done?" He'd ask, his voice barely over a whisper.
(Istvan Boldizsar)