creation of the pillar

[03:10] Ferris Naysien says, "Also this... this is a fine sword, but."
[03:11] Ferris Naysien says, "It's so... slender."
[03:11] Ferris Naysien says, "I hate it."
[03:11] Noel Serpente asks, "You fancy that thing I told you about?"
[03:11] Ferris Naysien says, "... mmm, remind me."
[03:11] Noel Serpente says, "Y'know, before that swanky vampire lady rolled up."
[03:11] Ferris Naysien says, "Memory's fuzzy, like something on my forehead is blocking it."
[03:11] Noel Serpente says, "Huge weapon that crushes a person's entire body like a lumberjack cutting down a tree trunk."
[03:11] Myrine asks, "Huh?"
[03:11] Ferris strokes the area. The phantasm of a wound there...? "Ah - right. That thing."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[03:13] Ferris Naysien says, "I suppose I do fancy it quite some."
[03:13] Noel Serpente says, "Well then, we just got a surplus of Nyeshk and Tyrium come in..."
[03:13] Noel Serpente asks, "How about we try out the idea?"
[03:14] Ferris Naysien says, "... hm."
[03:14] Noel Serpente says, "Well, we can try other things."
[03:14] Noel Serpente says, "I think I have a ton of left over stone lying in a chest."
[03:14] Noel Serpente says, "Don't ask why."
[03:14] Ferris Naysien says, "Alright, I'll bite."
[03:14] Ferris Naysien says, "Let's work on it."
[03:17] Noel Serpente says, "Alright, let's try something. Come."
[03:17] Ferris Naysien says, "Give me a second."
[03:18] Ferris walks out with an actual pillar.
(Ferris Naysien)
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[03:19] Noel Serpente says, "Isn't this pillar."
[03:19] Noel Serpente says, "Wow."
[03:19] Ferris Naysien says, "Look."
[03:19] Ferris Naysien says, "I liked it."
[03:19] Noel Serpente says, "You know what? Sure."
[03:19] Noel Serpente says, "This'll work as a great base."
[03:19] Ferris nods once, smirking.
(Ferris Naysien)
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[03:30] Sheltered from the windy cold air would Noel and Ferris find respite within her shared space with his brother. The small nook she had carved herself for her forging and runewriting needs sits a cozy spot that bears all the necessities for her work to commence.

"There we are," Their arrival proves to be enough of a notable beginnings to long outstretching muscles. Never, for too long, does the Serpente feel inclined to pause on her work. After all, stopping her practice only wastes time. "Alright, let's see what we have to work with."

From her own supplies collected by the remainder of her sectmates, a must whiff of dusty air strides out from the chest she opens. The arrayed collection of minerals and ores glimmer upon the candlelight as her hands begin to dig deep within the collection.

Out comes an encumbering amount of blackened ore. Rich dark hues traces the curves of nyeshk finely. In one soft drop does a resounding thump emerge from the wooden table. Perhaps a few creaks as well, but it hasn't failed her yet.

"I've got these to help strengthen it and make it way more painful for blunt trauma." She returns her gaze to the Dragoon, intrigued on his preferences. "This and what you showed me is what I mostly have. This fine with you?"
(Noel Serpente)
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[03:46] There's a tinge of jealousy that arises within the drakanite when he is finally brought into the living quarters of Noel and his brother, Foster. Ferris' eyes drift through obsessively, only for him to heave out once after apt scrutiny.

"Is this your work?" Obviously, he means the decoration and general layout. "Lianne and I have really been slacking. For a Dragoon and Herald, the way we live is improper compared to this."

Perhaps he'd ask for her assistance later down the road, yet his attention returns to the matters at hand. First and foremost, the amount of onyx ore thus revealed to him. The sight alone causes the scales at the back of his nape to ruffle slightly. Eyes squint, sharp breath is taken in.

Imagine the size.

"This will..." He stutters, a rare sight. Not many times did one see Ferris interrupting himself mid sentence, much less struggle to articulate.

Perhaps he's fantasizing already.

"I believe this will suffice, yes." Robotic, willing and consciously so! He needed to keep his composure. It was just a weapon.
(Ferris Naysien)
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[03:47] Ferris Naysien says, "There's a couple of additional 'traits' we could make use of. Or features, if you will."
[03:48] Ferris Naysien says, "The forge and... my chest."
[03:54] "Yeah, well, this is what happens when you have your parents teach you something stupid and useless like interior design." Her speech grows taunting, not to Ferris, but clearly to the ones who had brought her into such a fate.

Regardless, she makes swift work in the preparations on her end. Unlike the Dragonforge, her own creation of a forge bends to her will regardless of blood.

The sweltering winds conjured by her fingertips ignite the dormant embers that sleep within the hearth. Her own tools swelter with runic sigils that practically seethe with magical energy. And all-in-all, her general knowledge of a workspace she had grown to know is by all means a useful tidbit of awareness.

"If this will suffice..." Immediately, her hand moves in for the hammer, whilst the other begins to temper and adjust the flames with her call for the winds. "Then we can begi-"

"Hold up. Your chest!?" Confusion.
(Noel Serpente)
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[04:14] Natural. Ferris is not a man who boasts culture, regardless of how much of a tome reading snob he may be. Yet, he can appreciate the dancer's knack for aesthetics more than anyone else. It goes unspoken either way, for there are more pressing matters that he rescinds to.

"My chest." He echoes. Another heave thereby occurs, Ferris reaching into his jacket and moving bluesteel aside. Thus is the sigil of the avenger - singed in to his chest by her hallowed frostfire - revealed to Noel, who is allowed sight of it foremost.

With its display alone, the mark glows a dense ocher... one that spreads throughout the wisp surging over the mark and extends over his wounded chest.

Its aura is pervasive, though rings with a similar flavor to the self asserted piety the Dragoon is known for.

"This is what I mean." He illustrates. "That wisp of mana I found at the depths of the White Wolf's temple... it's within me now.

I feel it thrumming against my ribcage every so often. I feel a tickle of voltage - or something like that - whenever it does.

Though it... yields power still, I believe." Fed off of him?

"It's just an idea regardless. Pardon my train of thought."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[04:24] Three consecutive blinks.

The humble confusion at the sights in-which she witnesses leaves the Serpente at a loss for words. The wounds she had long expected to be there may have been present, yet the marks that have taken over the remaining property she was not.

"Since when did-" She cuts her words abruptly, clearing her throat. "Y'know what, forget I asked." Frequently does she simply work with what's presented to her. A flexible mindset, befitting of that of a dancer such as herself.

"Well, if were gonna... 'use your chest' you're gonna have to take the lead on that one buddy." By all means, she was a master at the forge. But this was a little out of her ballpark. "Because the most I can work is chiseled metal and all that." Which, she does.

Into the fire goes the nyeshk. And though they were not in use of the Dragonforge, further aid from a pyromancer like Ferris can speed up the process. "Would you mind keeping the flames strong? My winds can only do so much and nyeshk needs a high heat to become workable."

Whilst she enlists his help on that department, she strides to the pillar he had carried upon him for god knows how long. Its cracked and aged being clearly seeing heavy use, yet not enough support.

A plan on further making the piece durable is then set in motion.
(Noel Serpente)
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[04:24] * You have been awarded 1 Roleplay Points! *
[04:41] There's but a soft shrug only then, Ferris shaking his head ever so quaintly at it. "We'll figure it out when it's time to use it." In truth, two barbarians like themselves would not find it intuitive to handle embedded etheric essences like such.

Thankfully, this drakanite always knew of an infallible way to get out what was inside.

They wouldn't explore it until later of course. For now, he had orders to tend to. So, by leaning over the hearth and sticking two virile and thick dragon claws within the coal filled underbelly of it, he conjures molten ire to its core... each spark of calcinating magic thereby feeding itself until the full width of the lower compartment has ignited.

The flames wage war against his skin, yet those scales have grown far too thick and tempered to be swayed or burnt any crisper. Elbows tighten, he strains some in pushing the fires until they've turned blue.

Not a comfortable thing to do.

Eyes return to her, hands still forecast into the pocket sized ifraheim he's made.

"I would not mind."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[04:50] "Lovely! Because if you did you might have had to wait at least half a week." Truly, the art of smithing was by no means as simple as the wave of a hand.

Well, at times it was, yet never a project as a whole.

Thanks to Ferris' own aid, the nyeshk becomes liquid at a faster rate as she begins her growing master plan.

"Hmmmmmmm."

The pillar has been completely sized up. Each crack and crevice is marked. "Alright, once the nyeshk has become fully liquid, we begin an incredibly tedious process."

She breathes in, as if to prepare herself for what comes next, "We fill in every gap of the pillar and coat the rest in nyeshk. Will it be heavy? Yeah. But can you imagine being crushed under that much weight? Now imagine it with the force of you arms bringing it down."

Perhaps with the presence of the materials itself the thought becomes more vivid. After all, the incredible amount of Nyeshk used forthe piece makes it clear that with how heavy this thing is, it will surely be deadly when its weight is used by the right hands.
(Noel Serpente)
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[05:03] "You're surely jesting." Unsure of the real intervals one had to wait in order to turn a smithing station ready for a proper piece, Ferris quirks a brow whilst he labors the heat of it.

Soon enough, he turns over his shoulder to quirk a brow. Was... was she not kidding?

In tandem to the threatening blue coloration of the aided fire he conjures, molten rock - nigh magmatic in essence - is thereby furbished in aid to the layering of the entire pillar.

Sure, it takes more than just a moment, which strains his circuitry just a tinge in the long run. The required amount of black metal needed in order to wrap around the piece of a building was not quite something one would fabricate in a single evening.

And here they were, ramming through it. Fitting, considering the weapon of choice was to be near a battering ram in terms of size.

"Aheaum…" For a moment, excitement blooms in his eyesight. Though he's quick to disguise it by clearing his throat then thereafter, awkwardly dismissive of his euphoria.

"I fear no burden, Noel. That won't be an issue." It sounded like a taunt, but... judging by how much punishment he was known to have taken? It was probably eerily true.

"The imagery is..." Keep it in check, man. "... acceptable."

Eager to help with whatever sensible task she kept for him... he folds arms and idles on by the dancer.

"Sounds like a real chore, however."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[05:12] By no means was this conventional smithing. But then again, this was, by no means, a conventional weapon.

The processed liquid nyeshk takes hours. And yet, this was not even the entire batch. Such was merely the initial coat. Truly, this would be a grueling process, but a process that is generally worth the make.

"Oh, no, I know you'd say nothing of this burden." Once more, her growing clairvoyance strides a flicker of bright jade upon her irises for but a moment. "In fact, I only suggested this because you're one of the only few I'd figure would be more than willing and capable of wielding such a behemoth."

"I mean, if Foster can lug around that big hunk of metal and bones, I think you'll do swimmingly." A tease of comparison. Such would not be the first she pokes upon the camaraderie of brotherhood.

Yet, at least this one would surely not result in injuries upon kin. Right?

Regardless, the beginning pour of the initial coat begins. The viscous droop of the nebulous ichor turned orange by the heat allows the murky liquid to begin coating the pillar.

The process itself takes a while. Break between pours to reheat the metal assures multiple pauses that drolls upon the hours. And yet, eventually, the pillar soon sheds its original stone make in-favor of a grander black. The same starkness that is carried by the scales of their mother.

"Well, we're getting close," Noel reminds, what with the last few pours and evening out the surface being the final few steps. "If there's a time to make use of those new tattoos... now's the time to prepare and unleash it."
(Noel Serpente)
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[05:27] There's a sharp exhale of hollow breath when Noel makes mention of Foster's weapon. It draws Ferris' eyes to turn half lidded, and hands to curl around each opposite forearm... pointed fingertips touching upon an opposite elbow each.

"Heavier." He mutters, fatidic in his wording's wake. It's as if he's just given the mantra to the entire project. "I want it to be heavier than his."

Of course he did, of fucking course he did. That single tease had caused not just a ripple within the barbaric priest's mind, but an entire high tide to rise. "Otherwise, I won't be fully content. I know it sounds unreasonable, but I want it to be. Enough so to prove not only a crushing tool, but something worth shielding my sketchier points with."

Without much more on his mind, he turns a spectator to the varnishing of magmatic metal, all whilst working to keep a steady beat on the firey averno of the hearth.

Fingers twitch, hands shaky enough to border on comparison with uninterrupted hours of heavy-lifting. Yet no bemoaning of the task.

"Are we...?" In time he'd inquire, making a short pause before remitting himself to instinct. His chest bared once more, explored faintly... it's as if he's begun to force the thin aspect of pride to wake and function.

Thump, thump, thump.

A heart full of arrogance incarnate, synonymous with the condensed mana he's chosen to partake in as per the rite.

Ceremoniously, he digs a nail into the surface of his bicep... a smaller stab wound, sufficient enough for a ritualistic endeavor, bloods a sum of his blood henceforth - it coming directly from his vessel chest.

Onto the pillar's layering, an ocher colored liquid sprays out... ichor that oscillates between maroon and a darker shade of gold. It vibrates faintly. Hallowed dragonblood; almost threatening to either burst into flames or slide back onto his wrist and return to his body.

It spreads like a varnish across it, no different than how it had occurred with Foster's weapon, yet far more poignant and with a clearer - more matured tint.

Directly from the tap.

A minor cauterization is henceforth made on his bicep, topped of with a wince of the drakanite's features. "That should..." a pause, whilst he clears ash from his peeling skin, "... do it."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[05:36] "Well, lucky you. The heavier it is, the more painful it'll probably be." At least here, the proportion of weight becomes directly tied to the damage one can do with such a weapon.

Perhaps the metal she had set aside for usage was not enough. But then again, the acquisition of them was always at a good enough flow to worry about such.

And though their most tedious job was this, it was easily the simplest.

Whence the time came to 'unleash' the true power within the Dragoon, such came a point for Noel to take the back seat for once. The normally commandeering Serpente could only provide ample aid as the suddenly ripple of veins and blood gush upon the forearm of Ferris.

The brilliance of the blood splattered upon the pillar, igniting by the flames like oil as the embers flicker upon the pillar in its hardening completion.

In moments, the main component of their creation is complete.

"Oh, no, this will definitely do it," she comments, assuring the tempering weapon to soon become a force to be reckoned with upon the hands of the Dragoon.

(Noel Serpente)
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[05:55] Downcast at the pillar, his eyes stare lost and sparse of focus. For a moment, he's silent... though words do make her untimely return when he decides that there's a potential front not quite pushed yet.

"I'm no expert." He speaks first, as a forewarning to the possible atrocity that he may speak in the forthcoming instants. "But there's likely a way to make this pillar more efficient to wield. Not from grip, but maneuverability."

Loosely inspired by the movements of a morning star, he draws the strange sword he's attained from their latest sacrifice. Its moonlike glow scrutinized briefly before the hilt is held to Noel.

"Chains." He finally claims, as if it had been thoroughly premeditated... and only doubt had brought him to not voice it prior. "Tied to one end, from which I can pull at my leisure in the event I part with the Pillar."

A pause, before he stares at his hand and retrieves the promise binding his ring finger. A fiery metal thus bestowed to the dragon dancer forthwith. "This would be my anchor to the system...

pray do not... deform it much. She would never forgive me if we were to somehow botch it."

Making risky gambles, Ferris? Perhaps.

But desperate times required desperate measures.

"Its aspect of fire is impeccable. I've invoked the odd wisp of flames in my free time, just as an experiment."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[06:08] Eyes linger upon the provided items. One she fully recognized, yet the other she could not make heads or tails of.

By all means, the weapon that they had taken from the chronomancer that had attempted to cease their ritual was as obvious as day. Its contours as vivid as whence he fell upon Michael's strike.

This surely will prove to be a suitable base for the chains of the weapons. One sullied by the hands of revenge, albeit a short-lived one.

Yet the ring... "Ah." It could have only really meant one thing. She might be short on attention, however she was not slow in catching on to context clues. "I'll be as careful as I can."

A blade bathed in bloodshed and the worthy. Surely this would be suffice as the grip of what would be a worthy weapon.

Slowly, the weapon is built down to its bases. The fractioned metal contorted and bent by the blacksmith as the ring is slowly brought into the fray for preparation.

"Allow me to turn a once great weapon into a greater piece. While I handle this, all I ask is that you allow your flames to bathe this sword and the ring while I'm workin' on it." A simple enough instruction. And easily one made more effortless as both the Mugenjin and the Carnelian Signet are forged and formed into rings upon a set of chains.
(Noel Serpente)
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[06:21] {Item} You drop Mythril Blade.
[06:21] {Item} You picked up Mythril x3.
[06:21] Noel Serpente has placed Mythril (x3) into the chest.
[06:35] "I'll be honest with you." Not like Ferris was particularly keen on deceit either way. Many of the temple's dwellers upheld that he had not once in his life told a lie, and anyone with a head above his shoulders knew better than to expect him to be anything but transparent.

"I want this sword to disappear from my sight, which is why I want you to make chains out of it." There's a pause, before he briefly folds arms and sighs with some modicum of dismay. "I couldn't bring any dignity to it after all, even against that handholder of all things. I won't miss it at all after last night."

In all truth of the matter, he had already forgotten its stupid name. Not that he could be arsed for long to keep it; for its last bearer was not particularly worthy of any note to his eyes.

Disassembled, the moonlit metal is forthwith placed over the workstation and vacantly awaits a good deal ofNaysien-blessed nurturing. One that the pride-imbued drakanite complies with, not particularly privy to shedding blood as of the last few years.

It's not quite his chest that finds the edge of his slender and sharp dragon's claw, but his wrist. The following spray is murkier... not quite as high-sped of a jet as his chest's own, yet the condensed ocher glow it bears feels just as present.

It brings a surprise to even him, who had not quite thought the whole of his frame to be the bearer of this elevating curse. Yet, wordlessly, he ignites the viscous layer of spreading ichor and watches it mellow over the entirety of what was once Mugenjin's length.

Metal tempers, almost as if a frost had overcome its surface in wake of the abrasion. A metal so pure is henceforth covered in it... a layer of innate orange armor, the darker parts oscillating towards a shade of lavender. It brings to memory the lilac tint of Lianne's eyes during her short lived possession under Naysien's will.

Perhaps a glint of his blessings had flared through with his arrogant dragon's taint.

They'd found their place in the fiery curing all the same. Soon enough, to this unreal glow, the fractioned metal finds itself hosting innate light... akin that of a torch, though unreal in rate - and with a quality that appears to suggest it may even breathe if one were poetic enough about their sightings.

Once more does a sharp cauterization find his wrist sutured.

"I'd rather not push too much more out." He finally denotes, taking a step back and letting her work once more.

"I'm not in a place nor time in which I can spare blood at leisure.

Mayhap when our enemies are all dead, I will."
(Ferris Naysien)
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[07:12] "Of course," she assured. The lingering creation already had the literal blood and sweat of the one who would soon bear its arms. She was by no means seeking to leave Ferris anemic from blood offerings.

And yet, something does strike her as a realization amidst their craft. Whence the lethargy had long lingered upon remaining within the vicinity of Foster, she felt something grander when with Ferris. The unnerving sensation that seems similar enough to detect, yet far too subtle to tell.

Odd.

However, the time was nigh of the finishing touches upon the soon to be weapon. The chains that were made up by a promise of union and a blade taken out of vengeance would soon wrap upon the oversized pillar.

The grip and hold of it becomes a weight so heavy that even Noel herself could not bear it all by herself. But then again, she was more agile than strong.

"I believe..." Two steps back are taken. The fiery gold chains wrapped upon the start midnight blacks of the pillar soon has come into fruition. "...we are golden."
(Noel Serpente)
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[07:12] Ferris Naysien says, "..."
[07:12] Ferris Naysien says, "I should strangle you with them for having said that."
[07:13] Noel Serpente says, "Oooooh, you can strangle someone with the chains. Good thinking."
[07:13] Noel Serpente says, "I wouldn't have thought of that myself actually."
[07:13] Ferris Naysien says, "Me neither, until you ran that pun by me."
[07:13] Noel Serpente says, "Progress, progress."
[07:13] Ferris Naysien says, "... good work, Noel."
[07:13] Ferris Naysien says, "It's always a joy to see you labor."