Scion Of Devastation

[*Mander]

///Sorry, could you make it a little clearer what position mauric is standing in? His arm is severed and hanging from the blade?

[*Krayt]

((Sure thing. Yes it is severed from his shoulder. Much withered away while the rest is attacthed to the blade forming the "hilt" and hanging loosly from his belly. He stands on his knees with the blade driven through his abdomen so that most of the blade have alredy been driven fully through his flesh and sticks out from his lower back. His right hand is placed behind him at his back trying to grasp the blade to pull it free the moment the demonic arm is attached to his emty shoulder socket. The tip of the blade is facing the great anvil behind them obviously he is trying to pull it out close to it so it can be wrought on it.))

[*Mander]

Azor could see that this was no time for Mauric to revel in the feel of his own flesh being dessicated. He knelt at Mauric's side and squinted at the impaled weapon, cursing under his breath in his native tongue.

"It would be a hard thing pulling the limb through ,ansei..." He stands and puts a boot to Mauric's chest, grabbing the severed arm and attempting to pull it out.

[*Selebius]

Mauric's mind is claimed by darkness, his body failing and barely he is able to stand upright, his senses starting to fail.

He barely feels the Blademaster's attempt to remove the blade and as Azor starts to pull he feels an odd resistance to it- the flesh of the arm still warm as well.

Then it is out and Mauric feels almost abandoned- a part of him has been taken away. Yet this feeling only lasts for a second as he feels the blade nearby- no longer part of him but a companion again and now his body starts to heal- the energies that nourished the blade now used to knit the warlock's flesh.

[*Krayt]

Azors words was little more than a hissing wind to his bleeding ears. The blademasters boot is all that kept him from collapsing forward. His flayed hand reaching awkwardly after it as it is pulled away. His strenght failing it fell listless dangling powerless from his right shoulder.

Feeling the sensation of loss wash over him as they was separated as a tidal wave abating for all it's intensity. How empty and hollow everything seemed, so very loney. The weak orange glow from the forge seemed more and more distant. The painful reforming of his flesh was like that of a frozen limb that was seered with pain as the flesh thawed, but this was far more intense as much of his innards had to completly reform. He could not draw breath bacause of his punctured lungs. His lips moved but without a voice.

[*Mander]

He stared down at his mentor a moment, long enough to judge that Mauric's wounds were beginning to close, then turned to carry the artifact to the great anvil. He carried it by the warlocks dismembered hand, laying it quickly upon the metal forge. Azor turned to the bladeling, his ruddy face sweating from near contact with the blade.

"And...now?"

[*Selebius]

The creature steps forward as he is adressed, looking over Mauric, then the arm.

"Now it is up to your skills to forge this into a weapon. Use the crystals, the flesh, and whatever metal, wood or other material you think is needed.

What kind of weapon it will be- sword, scythe, polearm- is up to you."

[*Krayt]

His many wounds still closing slowly as he stood on his knees holding what remained of his left shoulder with his seared right hand. His trikets only offering meek pulses of healing it took time for the hole through him to regenerate fully but the crimson rift became smaller and smaller and his speech returned to him.

"I would opt for a larger blade with the symbolism that comes with such blades. A wavy edge as the flames of ruin that forged it. A hand and a half blade." He said weakly but intensified in strenght as he spoke.

((I'll be gone for about 10 Days))

[*Mander]

Azor nodded grimly, looking down at the components for what would be his greatest work and his greatest unworking. The blademaster put his hands to the task, and the hours passed. He shaved flesh and bone from the severed limb with precise cuts of the knife, working the organic matter into a hilt adorned with leering faces. He heated a channel into the blades length, placing the slivers of godcorpse along it's center running to the bone hilt, and then reforged the material around them. Again and again he quenched the smoking blade in the boiling vitae of demon and devil, celestial and sylvan as he shaped the weapon, working fell materials into the metal, whatever the doomlord could acquire for him.

At last, Azor had finished. The air around the weapon seemed to darken, the anvil it rested on to take a shade of rust, as if by merely occupying the anvil it ate away at all around it. Azor wiped his brow, stepping back and making room for Mauric to see the weapon had been forged to his specifications.


"It will bear many names in it's time, but I would tell you my own for it; Pankrato-sword, the merciful end. May it find it's purpose."

[*Selebius]

The Bladeling assists silently- not interfering with this process nor offering any healing to Mauric his own role in this game a minor one.

It is their task, it is their time to leave a mark upon the multiverse, their time to further entropy.

When the task is done and the name is announced he steps back and inclines his head- in respect of their dedication, in respect of their work and the weapon forged, the gesture not hiding his proud smile.

They did well, the weapon will end much of creation, a worthy addition to the doomguard's arsenal.