White Wolf Mask

[18:48] It really was high time she'd made something for herself. Something truly wholly, and only for herself. Katrin checks and double checks the locks as she enters her home- no intruders for this. Not if it can be helped.

Once she's sure, only once she's positive there will be no unwelcome eyes or interruptions, she turns inward into her workspace.

Off goes the great cloak. Off goes the armor, the bow, and up roll the sleeves of her shirt.

It was time to get to work once more.
(Katrin Weiss)
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[18:50] Katrin looks over her gathered stocks of ores. There were a great deal of them, without question, of all kinds and rarities. She glances first over the most appealing to her senses.

The dark Nyeshk. The glittering gold of Orchilacum. But then she shakes her head; to wear something of that make might be a little too obvious. What other creature might stalk the wilds bedecked and gold other than the artificer herself who had a surplus of it on her teeth?

Instead her eyes turn to the mithril. Still appealing, still with its charm, but with the bright, silvery color that might be a little less linked to her.

She takes out several hunks and returns to her forging area proper with the ores in tow.
(Katrin Weiss)
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[18:53] Into the crucible all the precious mithril goes. One after the other, a total of some ten hunks of the stuff. If that was the price for secrecy, it was well worth it.

It was, at day's end, a selfish creation; a mask to hide her face wherever she tread, particularly for her less than savory dealings. All in order to keep her sorry hide intact.

The mithril bubbles, it boils, but Katrin cooks it down even longer. All the impurities burn away in the purging heat of her forge.

If only she could be so lucky...
(Katrin Weiss)
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[18:54] The mithril, liquidous now, bubbles and roils. More and more she cooks it, burning away what some might regard as precious material. Yet the more she renders it down, condenses it into its rawest form, the brighter and more brilliant it looks.

It's finally upended into a waiting mold and begins to cool.

Yet it doesn't get a chance to cool for too long. For, as she so enjoys doing, she takes the still semi-liquid bar from its casing and begins to mold it like so much clay.

Her hands, covered in porous lava stone, shape her latest creation to her liking.
(Katrin Weiss)
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[18:58] But then the question arises. What shape to take? It could be plain, as she'd made another disguise before. Drab, blank, easily blending in as well as someone in a mask might.

Yet maybe it's the human in her that opts for otherwise, that still-struggling kernel of what she once was. What she some day maybe could be again.

At first she starts with a blank mask, a simple disc. Then her hands take over and do as they will, as her crippled, black heart directs. She pinches up two pieces towards the top and pulls another section at the bottom down. Ears. A snout.

The metal was her canvas and from it she creates the likeness of a wolf's face in dazzling white mithril. Katrin gazes upon it with a sense of gentle longing as she fleshes out the little details.

Even in her disguise she could not resist the temptation to form something both familiar and chock full of bitter, dire irony.
(Katrin Weiss)