EMPIRES SMP Fanfic - The Heavy Crown [Lost Empire]

[Seven] The Forging of the Sword

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Forging of the Sword

Point-Of-View: Tiger Blood Prince

LORD SCOTT RAN over the extraneous details of his great gathering whilst he and the witch carefully laid the ingredients all over the long spruce-planked table in the Church of Aeor.

"So I've borrowed a spare Netherite ingot from fWhip, our alchemist from the Grimlands," the Ruler of Rivendell started, brandishing the longsword burnished and smithed black, edges glinting with an incandescent glow from the shine of the pale moonlight outside through the open door. "Took it to the smithing table. And then," Lord Scott palmed a round, plump purple fruit and pierced the sword's tip into it gently, "Instead of travelling tirelessly to the End, I borrowed a fruit from our wizard Gem. According to the book, this must be done. Now, dearest witch," he fastened his eyes to the witch solemnly, "you've got the cauldron, ready?"

"Boiling hot on the dais, my liege," the witch said, her eyes bright. She had slept during the journey, but sadly, didn't wake up with any dreams festooned with Foretelling.

Prince Hagan looked at the elevated platform of the church: a cauldron was squirting out bubbles, smoking emanating from the water inside. The heat made the church's air swelter strongly. Below the cauldron was a campfire - turquoise-blue and crackling underneath a pile of logs.

"Perfect," said Lord Scott in his accent. "So!"

The Ruler of Rivendell gently placed the Netherite sword, tipped with the juices of the chorus fruit, on the church table, next to a scabbard he had crafted mainly for the blade itself. He motioned the witch for her duties with a wave of his hand.

The witch took the phantom membrane that Scott retrieved from atop the Crystal Cliffs. "I flew to Gem's place as quickly as a baby zombie coming to kill me. She was there, thank Aeor. And I got the fruit there while I was at it, of course." By his luck, the Ruler of the Crystal Cliffs had stayed up all night, three nights straight, trying to demolish and renovate the empire's gatehouse, summoning the phantoms of the night.

The witch held the phantom membrane out and tossed it into the bubbling cauldron.

It hissed, sending out hot sparks that hit the witch in her thin arms. Prince Hagan swore he heard a screeching phantom outside.

"Next, the hanging roots!" It was quite simple to retrieve such an item. The relationship between the Overgrown Queen and the Rivendell Lord was as strong as ever, especially with their sheep plushie business and their alliance and shared repulsion towards corruption in this time of warfare.

The witch scooped the long tendrils of browning roots on the table, and individually tossed each root into the wailing cauldron.

"Next, the bucketful of sand," Lord Scott quipped brightly.

"Can we do it?" Tiger Blood Prince raised his paw up, addressing the witch. "Since we retrieved it."

"The cauldron is yours," said the witch, passing the heavy bucket of red sand to him.

"I'll take that, my Prince, it's quite heavy," Clay said, smiling at Hagan. "Take the shards instead."

"How flattering, thank you," noted Prince Hagan, delighted at the golem's chivalry.

Hagan took one prismarine shard, twirled it around his paws, and flicked it into the cauldron.

The cauldron felt like it was having earthquakes and tidal waves all at once, by the way it shook and trembled and spilled boiling water malevolently all around the dais. Clay protectively stretched his arm out to shield Hagan. "Now, what do we do?" asked the golem.

Lord Scott held the purple-tipped Netherite sword, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and motioned forward to the massive cauldron. The flames were burning strong, licking the cauldron's bottom like it yearned to cinder it into a blackened ruin. Smoke started to perfume a malodorous scent out of it, blocking everybody's view.

Lord Scott raised the sword above his head. He held it like it was a part of his arm. The grip of his hand on the sword's hilt was tight and sure. He plunged it into the cauldron without effort and the sound of searing filled the room like a thousand angry serpents had surrounded them, marrying the arid air and the smoke.

Whatever smell emitted from the cauldron, it was becoming nauseating.

Prince Hagan unknowingly gripped Clay's hand. He could scarcely see Scott now amidst the propagating smoke of the cauldron. The searing still went on and on. Was there something they didn't follow correctly? He wore anticipating eyes. Any sort of phantasmagorical occurrence was not transpiring. Any light bleeding from the sword was not happening. It was still black as a carrier crow, being kissed fiercely by the boiling water.

"Aeor!" Lord Scott called loudly. Clay and Hagan backed away, and so did the waddling witch. Her eyes were flecked with perplexion too. "For the honor of Aeor!"

Still, nothing was happening. Prince Hagan quickly strode over to the table and searched frantically for the manuscript. He caught it near one of the prismarine shards and skimmed through it to find the page where the instructions would be found. The smoke was blocking his view so he went near the door where the moonlight could let him see clearly.

After consulting it, he discovered that their execution was flawless. This is all up to Scott now.

The church was trembling while the heat and smoke shrouded their bodies.

Light spilled from the cauldron, breaking through the dawn's cracks of light, all over the cavernous church. It felt as though it was still morning. Lord Scott's face shone bright like diamonds. He was leaning down atop the cauldron, eyes closed, sword still plunged in deep boiling waters. The Prince and the Golem backed away even further in brisk steps away from Lord Scott, and the Witch joined them in the back of the hall.

Lord Scott's knees gave way and he knelt in front of the cauldron, eyes still closed. The mouth of the cauldron then sploshed out purifying light.

Is Aeor speaking to him? At that moment, Prince Hagan saw the sword. It rose, gripped by Lord Scott's hands. It glowed like a brilliant star. The light had shrugged itself into the black surface of the Netherite sword. It cracked hard and crackled loud on its surface.

But the steel was breaking.

Wait, what? The Prince's jaw dropped in confusion.

It was breaking, and bending simultaneously. While Scott gripped hard, the steel of the sword bent and broke some pieces off, shattering them. It bent. It was forming its own shape. The sight was mesmerizing to witness. The Aeor Reborn held his sword up without stain. It turned into an antler, sharpened by light, and fully immersed now into the once-blackened steel.

The Prince noticed that the Lord's armour drank the glow too. A light so blinding that Clay had to block Hagan's view and his as well, but the Prince wanted to see. He was entranced by it, like he wouldn't ever see something as otherworldly as this. He blinked and felt like he was seeing double. Is that Scott? Or... a stag?

"Thank for Aeor," the witch muttered, hands clasped together with might. She let out half a cackle.

The smoke in the church was getting sucked by the sword's pointed tip. It swirled, thickened, and enveloped itself into a straight cloud, yielding into the sword's might as well as the spilling light.

At that moment, the cauldron acted like a spotlight, revealing the Aeor Reborn, before it went out in a flash, and Lord Scott fell to the floor on one knee, the dais driven by the tip of his blade. Antler of Aeor, the Prince called it. Everything then felt too dim like they were bathed in light for a decade. Lord Scott straight at the Prince and for a moment, the elf's eyes shivered like gold, alive like it had never been before.

Lord Scott had worn the golden antlers in his head, where it wasn't there before. "He's here," he spoke dangerously. "Everybody step back."

The Aeor Reborn held his Antler tight in front of his face as he sped down the dais and raced towards the doors of the church, racing like a stag.

Xornoth? The Prince gasped. He turned around and saw Lord Scott break through the night, and the stag leaped.