dirk learns 2 enchant

Dirk whistled to himself quietly, wondering when the fuck the rain would calm down so he could forge in peace. Staring out the window and into the stormy night sky, he wondered how much of this was his own fault. He could have dealt with John in a more civil manner, to say the least. His whistling slowed, then stopped. He sighed, watching lightning streak across the sky angrily, their blazing furily almost in direct protest to the doom and gloom of the towering stormclouds. He sighed once more, letting Hal flick through pesterchum. Anyone online? tipsyGnostalgic? gutsyGumshoe? Hell, even golgothasTerror, wherever he was. Jake... he had admittedly had a romantic interest in Jake a long time ago, but that faded once he had turned fifteen. He switched off pesterchum, and turned away from the window, folding his arms. He might as well go check on the forge after that huge fucking lightning strike; it might be gone forever. He puts on a rain-coat (an orange one mind you), and some waterproof earbuds. He tugged on the front of the plastic overcoat to make it fit better, and walks over to the door, turns the knob, and begins making his way down to the Forge.

Well shit. Exactly one of the stones of the forge is missing, and some flaming ashes have spilled out of the gap in the masonry. He sighed, and picked up one of the chainmail gloves lying around. Woven like silk, the iron wire having been woven effortlessly by this fucking beefcake. Well, not beefcake, but something close. Dirk then used the gloved hand to scoop up the ashes, and put them back into the forge where they fucking belong. Christ, someone could hurt themselves on these ever-flaming enchanted ashes. Hmm… He absentmindedly presses down on the bellows, providing the enchanted flames with more oxygen in their soggy state. Can fire even get soggy? The answer is no, but that’s unimportant right now. He kicks a stray dagger, which comes very close to slicing through his foot. “Shit! Motherfucker!” He says, bringing his knee up and looking at his shoe. The sole had been sliced clean off, god DAMN. He tore the now-useless shoe off and threw it far and high… and it landed about 200 meters down, in the ocean. “Fuck.” He muttered to himself, hoping that nobody saw that. He put his hands in his pockets and made sure to avoid stepping on any more sharp objects, and slowly made his way back inside. The school looked… pretty big from out here. The castle towered over him, and lightning once again streaked through the sky. It illuminated his wet face for a moment, with water streaming down his forehead and cheeks, like some proverbial image of what not to do when there’s a fucking thunderstorm outside. He rolled his eyes at the mental image and pushed open the birch wood door to the inside of the school, reveling in the security and warmth of the stone cold hallways. Well, in comparison, the stone cold hallways are warm and secure. He wonders once again about the enchanted ashes, and thinks of the possibilities. Enchantments could be obscenely powerful, if what he’s read is correct.
At this point, he’s sitting in the pillow pile in the library, staring seemingly into empty space. He’s got a one-handed tungsten sword, with a large ruby embedded into the end of the hilt resting in his lap. What he’s actually looking at is some ancient Greek shit he found online, apparently associated with Hephaestus. And, of course, enchanting. He dusted off the metaphorical trophy of incredible learning abilities, and began pronouncing the ancient Greek letters, getting a feel for them on his tongue. “Πολύ ζεστό , ζεστό δεκάρα , καλέστε την αστυνομία και την πυροσβεστική .” He said, and suddenly it felt like his thighs were on fire. He subsequently flipped the fuck out and threw the sword away from him. His shades fell off, and fell into his lap where the sword was. He looked away and winced, waiting for someone to scream at the probably liquefied library. God damn it, Dirk, you goofed it up again! Wait… no screaming? He turned around cautiously, and found that his once dull-grey tungsten sword was glowing white hot, and hurt to look at. He fumbled for his shades, but his bad hand wouldn’t let him do anything with the ease that he could previously. “Fuckin’ god damn motherfuckin’ Eridan.” He grumbled to himself, as he FINALLY put the shades on his nose and squinted at the sword. The blade was… like a light-bulb, actually. The tungsten in a light-bulb at least. He walked over to it cautiously, and picked it up in his left hand, swinging it around to get a feel for it. Hey, he could get used to this!