FINAL PORTIONS For Sord

Battles experienced, and the magical energies of the world are filled within the blade; the instrument considered no better than chunks of steel, and arcanium bonded together --it's deep red-purpelish hue shining through even now, the outer appearance of it a corrupted mess.

This nameless instrument is deposited, upon anvil once more. It a necessity that it is completed; the stone box that held Tyrium is retrieved, and place near to him, and it. The smith-  dons the gloves of volcanic creation - flesh protected against the ore, and it's sapping effects.


It's seal is broken, the Tyrium released; deep blue metals are seen, and quickly grasped. The raw potency of that possessed is felt even with safety- the sapping effects of mana are experienced even as attempts to heat, and work it begin immediately.

Acceleration.

The effects of chrono distortion; rapidly working upon it as it's natural affinity for absortipn serve to work against. With a calm hand, and a planned tactic, there is a grab for hammer- Sword shifted upward slightly, the metal taking precedence, and so directly infront of him.

He stands ready to strike as both fire, and meta-physical magics are set to work simulataneously; fire slowly degrading it's form, while latter deteriorates natural physical defense, and aids in downfall.
(Hendrix Este)
Precision



It isn't weighted highly this time. Rash, and unrefinied, nor controlled strikes echo out this time. The Anvil shaking with each one delivered; Tyrium is worked, smoothed, and otherwise forced to bend to desired goals, and shape. Magical resistances is continuously done awya with -- the Smith applying all of the force that he could muster to succeed.

Efforts that are not to be slighted; a meldable shape remaining in the end as time is cutdown, efforts halved due to expertise, and there lies infront of him something similar to steel, and arcanium worked prior. It being unrecognizable; flecks of purple, and deep blue fused together, and a queer discoloration present in it.

There a glow- the magic absorbed constantly; fed into it, and regarded as sustenance for this parasitic metal. It's exposure leaves him taxed, ragged breath not due to physical exertion, but spiritual, and mental strain brought upon by proximity. Such is the case with this particular metal, a dangerous, and unpredictable ore he had retrieved; the gift of Haleakala used in means not before considered.
(Hendrix Este)
Embedding



A new step. With the Tyrium worked, and the blade nearing completion- there lay something he had pondered. An idea that might truly make the final product his, and his alone. The impression of his personal magic was indeed evident upon the blade, but to truly capitalize on it.

The magic of the earth, the blazing roar of fires left unchecked; fused together to emulate the effect of primordial, and ancient power in the form of volcanic, and archaic magma, and the ire of millennia passed in such eras.

Two things are retrieved.

Gift to prove relations from Tilandre- the Eye of Inki. Alongside it, a prize rearded long ago from defense of Nostvale alongside his mother; an orb that housed the power of his respective magics -- the energy of a dormant Volcano present within it.

With mineral, and orb; the size of his hands, no bigger, and yet both possessing immeasurable power even when used out of unison. The clear surface of Inki is regarded against the deep orange of Orb; to consist of each other was the plan, and when the blade is regarded alongside Tyrium. . .
(Hendrix Este)
Breaking Down



Three separate components. Useless without each other, but powerful when combined. Hands move suddenly, Inki pressed into the palm of hand, and the crushing force that might rival that of even a Kaor momentarily is utilized; magical proficiency clearly allowing it -- it's surface is damaged, and the shattering noise that echoes is evident.

Following: The orb of magma -- mana runs into it; fueling, and undoing the 'locks' upon it. It's innate powers activating, and at the pinnacle of them-

Thrusted downward are both of these now activate, or 'ruined' materials; activating, and bolstering effects of Inki bond, and join alongside magma orb. It's magic suddenly growing, and as they lie in the workable form of Tyrium- the blue, and purple suddenly to be assaulted by the black, and orange surface of magical secretion of lava running friendly.

Dying it in it's effects; fires sink in- characteristics are adopted, and something... 'new' is borne.

A hand extends to grab blade, lifted, and raised - placed down atop Tyrium. The final, and most 'outer' portion of the blade is what it rests upon now. Sinking slightly into it; the surface absorbing it in some way; magma having in some way bonded, and now aiding in the quick, and now eased process of communion between opposing materials.
(Hendrix Este)
Tension



The hammer wielded, and the method of folding utilized in-between processes; Inki-infused orb absorbed into Tyrium, and that blue, and purple paste of course changed from it.

The residing form of Arcanium, and Steel are last seen 'bonding' with it; the encroaching essences, and form of Tyrium taking in, and that sheen of purple-crimson now bears some remnants of blue in it alongside the former! To give his active aid; cosmic mana, is utilized -- fueling the particular material of Arcanium that is to be considered a 'blessed' version of the already powerful material now enhanced by Belial's mana.

Not to lose out in a battle of supremancy, the metal is to contest Tyrium; combatting, and constantly fighting for claim of superiority as though they were both alive. The two near-parasitic forms clash, and the deafening blows, and thuds of hammer ring out on occasion to 'beat back' any influence greater than what was required, or desired.

Continuous is this process, the selectivity in which his works, evident. Heat boiling down, and over; a blade turned on it's side, and again - beaten, and mixed in together are the THREE materials now; steel as the inner core- stability through it as a stable, and flexible material. Gore Arcanium as the 'middle'; expressing power, and a rough density without a loss of sharpeness once refined, and folded over the course of hours, and days -- it bringing up the attack portion, and potential of weapon as it remains dyed, and bathed deliberately in lunar, magma, and raw magic to bring out it's most impressive of qualities.

Tyrium to make up the outer, and final portion of the nameless blade; blessed with inki-infused elemental orbs, and it's own draining capabilities are singled out as it remains beaten into it's previously worked shaped. The roughest of the three, and it to formed not just the outer exterior, but to meld in, and seep into the center, and middle portions only slightly; filling 'gaps' in the blade, and thus creating connectors for those 'chinks in armor' that might exist.

Pockets of otherwise once intentional spaces for this moment. Now filled, and with the 'final' touches; magic still infused with each blow of the hammer as it is brought down in a rhythmic manner now. The blessings of Belial. The fire of Pyromancer. The impact of the earth, and the hastening of Time. Separate effects that are all imprinted upon it's surface, and the strongest of each characteristics left to shine through.

This is to be the make-up of this blade. The culmination of years of experience, growth, materials obtained, and trials faced; not just his own, but of comrades, and friends -- pitted against adversity, and from it coming loss in some cases.

The final product was to be this. A new 'strength' to be considered, and wielded; borne of parasite, lunar gift, and mundane steel -- a blade that still posessed no name of course, but considering affiliation, and the desire of many that existed as cultist. . .

This was a blade that had a purpose besides just granting power. Besides just slaying enemies; a goal in mind- a clear, and complete one -- the unsealing of a God. From their prison Belial to come, the goal they all worked for, what he in some way- worked for.

Here on this plane, and all to remain being loyal followers, and. . .

A Empty Moon.
(Hendrix Este)