A Butcher's Burden

The Captain would lay his blade upon the anvil with his own arm at that, seeming to welcome the intense flame of the reforging process regardless of the likely injury to his person. It was his blade now; he should bare the cost of its manifestation anew.

"The first layer must produce an incredibly dense, brutal cleave of nyeshk surrounding the ancient mithril of the original cutlass. If the sword isn't heavy, it isn't a real chopper of limbs at the end of the day. Might still be a cutlass, but it's gotta have heft!"

Maertock would gesture the crucible of alloyed, true black nyeshk over the anvil; readyto assist Duniya in her efforts with the first layer.

"We'll handle the arcanium afterwards."
(Maertock Reave)
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[23:39] Duniya nodded to him. He seemed to know what he wanted, which was much appreciated in terms of constructing the weapon. She did not complete most of these projects because the creators expected her to come up with her own inspiration for weapons of their design.

It warmed her heart to do something that would actually matter more than just as a tool... and a sign of that was when the owner would know exactly what they wanted. Just as Orodyn did for Longinus. Just as she herself did with the Rising Wyrm's Revolution.

A project that lacked ambition was not worth undertaking. Most Artificing masters would take any project they could get their hands on, but not she.

"You know what you want. Good."

An expression of her satisfaction with him as an order.

As he pushed his arm through some flame to place his blade upon the anvil, he'd find it did not harm him as much as he might expect. She was such a master of manipulating flames that she could curve its heat at will.

Such a reaction time, too... despite his non-hesitance, she enabled him to reach through safely.

Duniya's flames melted the nyeshk-arcanium alloy with ease already, now was a matter of fusing it to the old blade.

"Let's make this thing heavy and durable, then."

The opposite objective of her last project... now over a decade ago.

Without much delay, the alloy was spilt into a mold formed of blackness, containing it in a particular shape around the weapon. The sizzle of near-instantaneous cooling was heard, as she utilized the occult as a second hand for shaping the base of the blade as it were hardening and cooling.

A massive chunk of metal, attached to a hilt that was quickly burning away and being destroyed by the process.

Very rough looking, as of now.
(Duniya Vartuul)
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Maertock would click his rows of serrated teeth with nothing less than hunger, the shadow shark's icy blue eyes as his shadows flowed forth in the living forge to aid Duniya's work in practically necromancing Saltspite's old cutlass to new, brutal heights.

The reaver lord of the south coast knew better than anyone that his generation was disappearing day by day. He'd always worked best from the shadows; but even in old age his swordsmanship would not wither. Perhaps he'd held himself back at the end of the day by using this cutlass for over a decade without any improvement.

But this was the cutlass that had personally slain the kraken. It had been won with with his tricorn hat by right of reaving, and it was a symbolic part of his own evolution as a shark and dark sorcerer alike. In reviving its former glory and ascending it past its former limits, the blade would be the scourge of the coasts long after Maertock's age had passed.

He'd make sure of it; curses were convenient like that.

He'd notice too Duniya's masterful work in controlling the intensity of her flames as the mold of sifting, compressing shadows worked hand in hand with her talented gestures. A reminder to him that for all their similarities, there was a stark difference between the two at the end of the day. Duniya had followed her natural inclination to flame, become its master in turn.

Maertock was a novice at water magic on a good day; he'd forsworn the ways of New Atlantis and his people for his own cut of destiny.

And he'd become a helluva shadowmancer and necrosharkster for it.

"Heavy and durable; easy to chop limbs to pieces isn't it? The outer layer will ensure that with its razor sharpness; but that comes soon enough."

As the cleaver was drawn forth with expertise; tiny tendrils of shadow would idly sift and swerve the flowing block of molten metal that lined the blade as black fog would swallow the cleave entirely. The sound of steaming heat would emanate, but none rose from the darkness of Maertock's abyssal magic.

The cleaver remained when all was done; the second crucible of shadow appearing beside Duniya as the brutal work in progress of as dread cutlass was laid down flat upon the black anvil.

"Now comes the ashen arcanium, lightly hardened by the smallest measure of dread nyeshk. Careful work, this; just mashing metal together is amateur practice. Only in ratios can true art be manifested."

Poetry, or a representation of the dichotomy between the pair in their cursed work.

"Now, the second coat. This will be a cutlass as sharp as a razor; hammer it keen and sharp directly over the cleaver if you'd be so kind. It's shape and weight will be augmented and evolved by the glintless, darksilver edge to come."

The arcanium was ready for Duniya to forge; the blade of Dread Saltspite would be born.

"There's now mold for this part; I'll let you handle it by eye."

(Maertock Reave)
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Duniya nodded to him.

"I do not need your advice on how to forge a masterpiece of a blade."

A simple statement of fact, though not one said in too bitter of a context. He was not even a blacksmith, let alone a master artificer as she was. But of course, she knew that it was delicate work, placing arcanium over Nyeshk was the basis in which her weapon was forged.

At least, before the great Red God's scales were placed upon it as well.

"Do not panic by what you are about to see. I am not some big brute that needs a hammer to shape metal... you should know that just by looking at me."

A torrent of darkness overlapped the arcanium and forcibly shaped it, as it washed the metal over the blade without using a traditional method. It was like the divine metal was being torn asunder by the sheer force of her occult's power.

Brutal and sinful of a method, but it showed that her domain over darkness was nearly as great as that which she had over flame.

It was not long before the second coat of metal was applied to the blade in a perfect balance to the black Nyeshk lying at its core. Even this, in its own right, was about to become a weapon worth wielding. Of course, there were still a few steps to go.

The blade was sharp on the end, just as requested. Combined in just the manner specified.

"Very well... this is to your liking, I hope."
(Duniya Vartuul)
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Maertock would cackle at that. Ever the spunky one, that Duniya.

"Even better; that you did not need it ensured it was a true gift."

The Captain of the Deep Company watched the process with no small amount of awe and interest; he was no artificer as she said after all. Still, the aggressive, nay predatory nature in which the metal of divinity was abused into a new, accursed shape brought a jittery tingle to the back of the shadow shark's spine.

"Why panic in the presence of beautiful art. This is as much a ceremony and the creation of a symbol as it is a refinement of an ancient blade I stole from a skeleton."

The shadow shark watched the masterful interweaval of the arcanium to the two layeed blade. The ancient core, the nyeshk cleave, and the elegant arcanic coating that would offer forth the dreadful razor worthy of passing down to his heirs.

The length of the blade was presented forth when Duniya's process was complete, a massive cutlass fitting for a seven foot shadow shark already. Yet, there work was not done; a truly legendary blade required a bit more spunk.