Saviour of Neither

2 - Henshaw

I walk across the room, set the stand back upright, and flip the sign on the door to 'CLOSED' before coming back to my work-desk. After staring out into space amd letting my frustration diffuse into the atmosphere (thank goodness I fireproofed those gloves), I finally bother to uncrumple the plan for his sword and read whatever notes are on there.

It's one-and-a-half hands, with an unusually thick guard. It is also much too elaborate for my liking, though I suppose that's a given for any Paladin sword. The fact that it's a longsword also surprises me; most Paladins go with an arming sword. So, three-and-a-half feet...

I take special notice of the hilt: it's elaborately carved - like any Paladin sword is - with swirls, and made of steel, naturally, but I find it interesting that a seven-pointed star is to be carved exactly where the palm would go, with the initials engraved in the centre. A seven-pointed star is both fascinating from an aesthetic and geometric view, and daunting to think about when I must sit down and laser it accurately.

I put the design away and turn to my stock of steel in a furnace, which nobody ever sees alight. With a dance of the fingers the steel rapidly turns molten, before I pick enough up to make a three-foot blade, adding Bright Yellow and Lime Green dyes to it letting it cool slightly into a soft, malleable lump of silvery goldish-brown. A few blows of a hammer later it's formed the rough shape of a sword.

Now for the magic.

My hands weave charms and spells without a sound from my mouth - whilst I know that some incompetents and other brands of magic requires verbalisation, it isn't necessary if you're gifted enough at Sapian Magic. Normally I would sharpen the blade by machine then add a simple durability charm and some sort of spirit, but today's customer is one of the highest of all nobles and I suppose a small part of me wants to impress. As time progresses, the sword is made infinitely sharp and virtually indestructible; a Soul that gives energy to the user and the blade; acid and rust resistance; and heavy protection against all the common forms of magical haywiring I can think of.

Yes, Chester Morgan still had a sheath for the sword. That's a part I don't have to worry about then.

Whilst I leave the sword to itself to cool some more, the hilt still needs to be crafted.

I don't usually stock bronze, so I simply fabricate a piece of it, before taking off my goggles and beginning the lasering process. It takes about half an hour, getting all the curves exactly right, and after scorching a hole through my table I finally get it perfect. (Again, I am trying to impress here.)

I connect the hilt and blade together with a permanent joining charm, before carefully placing the structurally completed blade on the table.

A few drops of steel melt away at the touch of my fingers. I keep forgetting to put on those gloves.

What did he say about his blade again?

"Oh yeah I nearly forgot, my last sword could make windspout thingies."

The power of eolic energy, then. I can already envision the destruction such a power could potentially leave in its wake: villages flattened, birds and humans blitzed into indistinguishable lumps of bloody flesh, unimaginable floods...

Does Chester even realise what such a sword could do?

Spells replicating the forces of nature are typically energy-draining and time-consuming; this one takes me the best part of an hour to cast, even with the clear quartz, given its rarity of usage. His magical affinity must be weather-associated to even have use for such a charm. Every Adroite has their own particular affinity, and it generally runs in families.