A Slippery Handle Draws First

A final crucible that had been hidden in the shadow of the shadows would rise forth beside the black anvil at Maertock's command, three handfuls of orichalchum and blue mercury alike tossed within with a firm nod and a wide, serrated smile to Duniya.

"You're damned good. I came to the right woman. Right dragon, even. Blue mercury and orichalchum are stewing in there; way I see it there's no better way to make this old friend of mine; spooky whispering tentacle thingy that it is, an extension of my will is to produce a fresh handle over the original cutlass with a handguard of the alloyed bluesteel that would both fuse with and help encase the tentacle to protect its binding to the blade."


The Captain would nod firmly at that with a long, considerate drag of his cigar. Before dredging forth the living, severed tentacle he'd acquired twenty years back with his original crew. Before violently shoving the handle of Saltspite's cutlass right through the top. Completely impaling the regenerative cephalopod extension, it would reach up about two thirds of the way of the original handle; leaving ample room for a fresh hilt and handguard that could bare the mana gem he'd gotten from the shadow games long ago with more lost friends.

"The hilt and handguard from this alloy here; as well as any wiring if that's your business. I dunno how dragons do it different from cogs beyond what I've seen today. I'll keep the tentacle in place, ensure it remains obedient until it's fused to the new handle."
(Maertock Reave)
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Maertock Reave says, "And of course, leave a large enough slot for the gem; it will tie it all together as far as power sources and dreadful nostalgia."
 Duniya watched as Maertock attached a grotesque... LIVING handguard to the weapon. That was downright disturbing, even by her standards... but to each their own.

She set out to do exactly as instructed. To finish off the weapon, a new handle handle, to promote mana conductivity and ease of use. It'd be a very dexterous, if quite heavy weapon. The first thing that was done was wrapping the handle in bluesteel, in a similar method to the sharpening of the arcanium.

Darkness was used to make the metal more malleable. Then, it was cast over the weapon's hilt and handguard as an overlay, more than anything.

Unlike the people of Achyon, she did things in the more traditional way. The divine text of the angels was all she needed to link it all together. No complex wiring or finagling technologies... merely runecraft, and an expert's touch.

"Now to fuse this tentacle permanently..."

She cast a ring of molten metal around the connection point. Unless Maertock kept it calm, it'd likely writhe around violently as it were burnt and melted to the hilt of the weapon. This organic pommel was certainly unlike anything she'd done before... but by the end of it, it was permanently stuck to its place.

Likely without any real damage.

At that, this step was complete. She had no idea if there was anything else left to do... it looked to be quite the blade as it is.
(Duniya Vartuul)
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 Maertock would not simply hold the tentacle in place with his hands as Duniya went to work. His shadowy threads were invading the mindless meat the same as he would when practicing his necrosharksy. Dominating it with his own immense mastery of deep sorcery to bow it to his whims once and for all as it was sealed into its new home.

Yet, invading its fleshy depths did not come without a cost; he felt the burning sensation Duniya manifested in the brutal frying and fusing of regenerative flesh to bluesteel. His mind was wracked with agonizing sensation as if his own nerve endings were being fried alike with the tentacle.

And yet, he would not let go. He'd suffered much already, he had not come this far to die now.

When the handle was at last permanently fused to the writhing tentacle of the depthling, Maertock would take a short time to remove the final piece of the puzzle with a soft huml his icy blue eyes baring a hint of painful nostalgia as he glanced into its glimmer.

Seeing the reflection of ghosts.

Murtock, his older brother and idol. Casting a shadow he'd always felt comfortable in, but never left.

Katja, his little sister who'd always been up to some antics one way or another. Who's blade had reaved for him loyally, and now reaved for young Mori as an inheritance.

Vesper, who could make anything but his own happiness, and disappeared in the end without a word. Exactly as he'd always planned.

Lannis and Sparkle, the inseperable duo and their tragicly intertwined fate. His death killed her in the end, but he'd saved Murtock and made a friend of mine until the day he died.

And the last ghost; a young Maertock with a careless smile ear to ear.

Dead and gone with all the rest of them.

Without another thought, Maertock would thrust the gem into its place within the handle, the resonation of pulsating shadow energy tracing along the blade as Maertock channeled his signature black surf through the reborn Dread Saltspite.

Before beginning to carve with nails of shadow, in Kerdanhelic runes, the forbidden story of Inki's death and the Deep One's birth.