The use of the mold itself likely wasn't necessary, considering both Umbras advanced art in the craft he wielded, as well as the magical metals utilized throughout the process. However, after further consideration of how they had to heat three separate metals at various intensities, Sinclairs' amateurish level of understanding would be rectified; the mold, though not inherently -needed-, was still -useful-.

Kind of like Sinclair himself, in a way, for the coming projects completion.

The Nyt'kin had awoken from his sudden and forced nap, from where he had been subjected to by thanks to sudden exhaustion - With the words he had put into the blade, the blood he gifted into it, the mana, the <I><b>-control-</I></b>... It was far too much, and he knocked out for, say, an hour or three? Give or take? It felt longer, but time could be a fickle thing. He could still <b>hear</b> the blade being worked on, with hands more dexterous and experienced than his own doing the vocation they were used to, and there was a pull within himself, a minor annoyance that he couldn't help in any truly meaningful way. He had hoped he could, but so far... Well. He only hoped the time would come to pour a little -more- of his soul into the metal, the runes, the <b>weapon</b>.

His weapon.

But when his yellow eyes fluttered awake, when his wings flapped the sleep from his body, reinvigoration danced within him, he was filled with the determination of youth. He -would- help. And if he couldn't, he would experience everything. Becoming one in the process. To become one, with the inevitable outcome... The tempering of the blade, the smoothing out of the proverbial and, perhaps literal kinks, to which Umbra had asked <I>the</I> Silvanus in assisting in. All for the sake making a blade worthy of their Company.

A blade Sinclair would need to find himself Worthy of as well, if it were indeed so grand. To which it would be, he knew... A lot to stand up for.

He hadn't heard of a dwarven language before - Though that wasn't saying much. The Batkin was unversed in the world outside the walls of Aphros, his many forays into the wilderness typically one of hunting or training, or for a rare spout of enjoyment... Or to pay his friends a visit. And as such, it was an interesting concept for him to find. Simply placing runic words down would attribute that portion of reality into it? Anchoring things down as if reflecting the meaning of the word itself...

The Adaira imagined the use for that would be both profound and pronominal in battle. If simply borrowing the language was enough to make such an amazing piece, using it directly in battle would be difficult to take arms against. Whatever it was Umbra did, Silvanus applauded; it would seem the setting of the words proscribed were successful?

The slowly greening-sword, though Sin likely would have preferred ruby or red, was coming along with far greater leaps than the youth would have imagined. And when he stated the desire to have the blade properly blessed, and its destined name, the Graveyard Keeper of Aphros' heart would skip a beat.

Gravestone...

A name etched for Sinclair himself.

Swallowing these new feelings, like watching his firstborns introduction to a world by the hands of Demigods as midwives, he nods his head. "If it pleases you, and if it's better, I can likely head to Aphros myself and snag someone with higher understanding of the art of blessing. I am an amateur at best, and as such, it would be wiser to leave that step to someone of higher standing... Though, if you feel bringing the blade over would be even more helpful, then I'll obviously subscribe to the motion", he mused smoothly, raking back his black hair from his eyes, the heat of the room layering the fibers with sweat.

"-And since I am awake. You wish to ask after the Ideals of Blood...?"

Sinclairs memory of the Blood Ideas were still fresh in his mind; Miss 'Katties' grade B artifact, which he had been allowed to sample, were now entombed and entrusted into his own beginning 'ideal'. Hiding in his Sanguine Sapphire, to which he would hold out. He couldn't 'use' this here, of course. Maybe it'll minorly boost the blade, but the items' conception was simply too recent.

It was a dark, somehow glowing gem, radiating an intense, disastrous aura of Blood Essense. There was a slithering draw to the thing, of a Hunger, of a Will which laid in its most inner sanction, brimming with a similar avarice that Umbra had displayed. Begging to be used. Abused. To Take. To siphon...

If one were to stare too deeply into the sanguinistic swirl, that very same hunger, if not defended against, would be pierced into their minds. Those without blood magics would be doubly effected, and as such, Sin kept it deep within his person, so as to not cause an issue...

But upon further inspection, if one were able to withstand that sudden Need, they could see the truth of the matter; the gem itself wasn't red. But rather, transparent and crystalic, with whatever was -inside- the thing swirling so smoothly, so swiftly, that it appeared to be stationary. The hint of the Ideal of Blood...

"I can offer that now", he admitted, putting away the constantly growing flux. "Tell me what I need to do, and I will do it; do you need to hear my thoughts on what the Ideal is...? Or do I simply impose my will upon the blade with those thoughts in mind, as I had prior with the Oaths?"