Portentous
(por-TEN-𝘵𝘶𝘴𝘴)
Adjective,
1. Of or being like a portent, of momentous significance. A warning, being ominous and foreboding. Usually relating to a calamity or of apocalyptic nature. Used in foreshadowing.
2. Done in a pompously or ove...
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CW: Explicit language and Wilbur's crumbling mental state!
Song: The Chain by Fleetwood Mac
I plunged the red-hot blade into the barrel of oil, hearing the satisfying sizzling sound. I held it under for a while and turned to my companion, who sat on my workbench eating a baked potato.
"Are those potatoes any good?"
"Of course they are, I grew them," Techno grunted. Always the proud one. The male produced an almost identical steaming vegetable from his basket and placed it into my outstretched hand. I hummed a thank you and took a huge bite. The cooked flesh warmed my chest and I grinned. It was good. After I'd scarfed down the rest of my meal, I removed my new blade from its quenching barrel and gently dried it off with a rag. I'd worked very hard on the hilt of this sword, so I wanted to preserve it. Along with the engravings. I ran my cloth-covered finger over the cursive words 'Libertaum aut mori'. The sword itself was an English civil-war era mortuary backsword. Very classic.
"What's that sword for? Looks pretty fancy," my pink-haired friend questioned. I placed the weapon on the tabletop whilst I went about preparing the kiln.
"It's a present," I kept my back turned to him as I fiddled with the temperature gauge. "No, I won't tell you who it's for," I added before he said anything. He raised an eyebrow at my quip. Technoblade and I didn't keep many secrets from each other. In the past week, we'd held daily conversations which frequently lasted hours. It was sort of a therapy session for both of us. Being able to divulge the darkest parts of your soul to a like-minded individual is remarkably helpful. The day after he ran in to find me crying in bed, he had even shown me his face. Wilbur had sent us to go do some hunting together. After his little fiasco from the night before, he was trying really hard to prove to me that he was alright in the head. I wasn't exactly buying it, but I thought getting some fresh air would be good for me. So Techno and I ventured into the forest and killed a few rabbits for dinner. It was peaceful. And when he pulled his mask back to wipe some sweat from his forehead, I was pleasantly surprised. He had a fairly normal face, all things considered. I'd assumed that he wore the mask to cover up some horribly disfigured face, but he is, in all honesty, very handsome. Apart from the long, thin scar running diagonally across his nose, his skin was clear and smooth. The most surprising thing about Techno's face was his eyes. His scleras were completely black, with his irises white and clear to see. He told me that, that was one of the main reasons he covers his face, along with moral reasons. Despite being a killing machine, he prefers to keep his identity fairly secret. Techno has been a lot more comfortable with showing me his face now. He'll usually set aside his mask when we have our talks, staring back at me with those dark eyes to let me know that his full attention was on me. Now those eyes were narrowed at me suspiciously.
"If it's for who I think it's for, I'm not sure if it's a good idea, Y/n," I let out an exasperated groan and placed the sword into the kiln, shutting the door tightly.
