Picking up the Pieces (Closed to Red)

“I can’t even wield a sword, Vincent.”

“The sword’s not for you, numb nuts,”

“Then why am I here,”

“Because I keep you fed and clothed and let you use that nice house in Corone, that’s why.”

The arctic gale whipped ferociously at their backs as the two stood at the entrance to an icy cave. Their journey brought them through mountain passes to the top of the world in their search for arguably the strongest artifact known to their shadowy organization. It had taken months of grueling hiking through the frigid terrain of Salvar, not to mention the weeks spent perusing ancient tomes searching for its location.

Half a year was leading up to this very moment.

“Is that…” John muttered. The cave itself was quite ordinary, a simple hole in the mountainside. For all that was rumored to be inside it, the cave was exceedingly nondescript. The two spent several moments knocking loose snow from the coats that covered every inch of their form, obscuring their faces and features, aside from the shiny metallic arms jutting from the larger of the two.

“Yes that is…” Vince replied raising an eyebrow.

Before them, not five feet away, stood their prize. The most ordinary looking sword either of them had ever seen. Barely long enough to be anything more than a shortsword, the seemingly iron blade was sunk halfway to the hilt in a large chunk of ice.

“...It’s made of...iron?” John mused. Normally swords of legendary status were made of sterner stuff.

“Looks can...be deceiving?” Vince replied cocking his head to the side. Clearly someone from long ago was laughing in their grave, for they had pulled quite the clever prank.

“I walked halfway across the world for something I could have made in two days, Vince,” John said, grinding the words out between his teeth more than anything.

“Maybe there is some sort of illusion on it? To prevent thieves from mistakenly stealing it? Surely once we pull it out we will see its true form.” The scholar hoped he was right as he carefully tread across the icy floor. He took each step with extreme caution, not wanting to set off any traps. After what felt like an eternity he was finally standing over the blade.

Gritting his teeth, the scholar brought his gloved hands to his mouth, pulling each glove off with his teeth as he rubbed his clammy digits together in some vain attempt to create heat. Looking back at his companion, the Emperor flashed a timid thumbs up as he grasped the handle with both hands and took a deep breath.
“BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL!” he roared, pulling with all of his might.

SNAP

The scholar fell flat on his ass, staring at the shattered remains of the blade in his hands with horror. Before him half the blade remained buried in ice, whilst the other half had snapped off in his hands.

“It fucking…” the two muttered in unison.

“By the goddamn Thayne, Vince!” John yelled. “You dragged me out here in a country I’ve been banished from, into the freezing cold for weeks!” John’s armor grew a sword that appeared to look like the one that had broken. “I CAN FUCKING PULL THESE OUT OF MY ASS!”

The scholar looked incredibly flustered as he watched his companion storm out into the arctic hell they had just escaped.

“Come back! I need you to dig out the other half, we clearly have some work to do.”

John’s grumbling was indecipherable as he walked back into the cave, a sledgehammer replacing the sword in his armored hands.

The Hierarchy had called one of its rare meetings, where every member that was currently at the house of Cards was gathered around a rather non descript table in what would be the equivalent to their common room. The three main arcana presided closest to the table, with the rest of the attending members awkwardly clustered around peering over their shoulders.

Alyssa Snow, the Empress, did not seem incredibly amused as she stared at the broken legacy of their organization before her, her eyebrows furrowed in thought behind a curtain of platinum hair. Ioder, the Judgement card, seemed equally miffed, his form shifting between several blonde haired visages, each bearing a scowl.

"Seriously?" Logan asked, lifting an eyebrow in the direction of Vince. Logan grabbed a piece of the sword and eyed it before tossing it back on to the table where it clanged against the other fragments.

"Take it easy, Logan," Vince said, looking down to reorganize the pieces of the sword. When he looked back up, Logan was just disappearing through the doorway out into the hall, shaking his head and muttering.

“It’s not even good iron, Vincent,” John said, gesturing toward the remains of the blade on the table. Alyssa Snow nodded. Vincent looked distinctively glum as the leader of the Heirarchy attempted to come up with an argument.

“I’m telling you guys, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure here!” He exclaimed, standing up and grasping the hilt of the sword, broken halfway up. He looked at the dull metal expectantly, as if it would suddenly reforge itself at any moment and prove how right he was.

Alyssa piped up. “Vince, does it really seem like the Emperor’s Sword would be in a random cave in Salvar?”

Vince’s eyes widened as he stared at the sword’s edge. “Ha! tell me this, if it’s a long forgotten piece of trash iron, then why isn’t it rusted? Eh?” He gesticulated wildly at the pieces on the table with the broken half in hand. “And why,” he continued, tracing a finger on the edge, pulling back a finger marred by crimson, “is it still sharp?”

“Likely just an enchantment,” came a voice from the peanut gallery.

“Yeah, but why put an enchantment on a terrible blade? Unless,” Vince wagged a finger at the assembly, “Unless, it’s not iron at all?”

“Yes Vincent, you’ve found an Adamantium sword at the end of the world and broke it in half with your incredible might.” Rayleigh piped in from behind Alyssa. She seemed to still be rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she spoke.

“I just want to know why the only return on this investment is two pounds of scrap iron,” Joseph called out, dragging himself through the open doorway.

“You hush now, we’ll discuss the Hierarchy’s bottom line behind closed doors my good man.” Vincent quipped back at his business partner. “Right now we need to know how to restore this blade to its former glory.”

Joseph muttered something about it being pretty bottomed out already before pouring himself into an open chair. “How do you intend to do that? We’re still hurting from our last investment in trying to breed cotton that could grow in Salvar. We’re not made of money right now.”

The group muttered in agreement, wondering why the hell the two thought that would have been a good idea, or why they would risk the finances on a shared inside joke noone else understood.

Alyssa rolled her eyes slightly. “Well, if it was the legendary blade, and I stress the if, and if it was hidden away in that cave, and if Vince did break the Emperor’s Sword, then the first step would be figuring out what the sword’s actually made of, before we try anything with it.”

Vincent perked up, drawing his sapphire eyes from the ruined blade to his companions, a wicked grin playing across his pale lips. He adjusted his robe for a moment, and with a flourish of both his hands he pulled two canes out of a flash of blue sparks. Slamming them down on the table he reached into the air and withdrew an orb from the same blue sparks as well.

“We can rebuild it, we have the technology…”

The room was silent for several moments, all eyes staring incredulously at the Emperor.

“What is that supposed to mean exactly?” John grunted, opening his mouth for the second time the entire meeting.

Vince turned to address the growing number of people. “Clearly we have been made fools; I read my father’s own writings about the location of this blade. This must be some incredibly fucked up idea of a joke our forbearers had.” He paused and adopted a sickening falsetto. “Oh let’s fuck with the next guys and talk about how fucking badass the Emperor’s sword is and hide this peice of shit at the end of the world for them to look for it?”

He slammed his fist down on the table loudly. “Well jokes on them! We’re going to take this piece of shit and reforge to be so badass they’d wish they had this fucker!” The room was dead silent.

“That’s all fine and dandy Vinnie.” Ioder growled, taking the form of a wizened old man. “But how do you expect to do that? We might be smart, but we’re not Thaynes here.”

“Iron only goes so far,” John mused, tapping his newly-lit cigar.

“We’re the greatest minds in all of the land when it comes to magic, magicite, and machinery. I’m sure we can find a way to melt down these canes into workable damascus while keeping their enchantments intact. We’ll add in the old sword for shits and giggles, but it’ll be more for aesthetic purposes.”

John puffed his cigar thoughtfully for a moment as he pondered the mad scholar’s plan. “That is a ridiculous idea.”

“Are you saying you’re too bad a smith to do it?” Vince jabbed raising an eyebrow,

“I can’t turn iron into adamantine, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m only asking for Damascus.”

“With impurities.”

“With...embellishments.”

John looked the pieces over again with an appraising glare, moving to the front of the crowd “I can do it, but that doesn’t make it a good idea.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well my friend...quite a few tricks indeed…”

Three days later…

“So when do we get around to actually forging this thing?” John grunted glaring at the papers before him.

“The moment you can etch those runes flawlessly…” Vincent replied yawning.

John’s thumb grew a sharp spike. “I can do it,” he said flatly. He also pointed at the three foot square iron plate that he’d been etching for the last hour. It was covered in runes of varying size and shape, all attempts to make the best use of the space available on the blade.

Vince scoffed “Your last attempt at High elven runes looked like an orcish cave painting, not the oldest and most sophisticated language of magic known to this world.”

John pointed once again at the plate behind him, his glare more annoyed than genuinely angry. One could rarely be genuinely angry with Vince anyway, something about his demeanor made his sharpest insults come off as mere jests.

“Try it again, but this time pretend you’re a pretty little elf practicing her calligraphy before her wedding so she can woo her husband with pretty words before she gets fucked on her wedding night.” he paused for a moment. “Do I need to go get the dress again?”

John’s near-eight foot hulking mass shifted to turn around and look at Vincent.

“Logan will die.”

“Yes, yes, and you’ll have plenty of time to make him scream ‘uncle’ later, but now let’s see some crisp lines, eh?”

John lifted the plate again. It likely weighed close to a hundred pounds, and he lifted it like so much cloth. He set it on his lap, grabbing the jeweler's loupe from the table next to him and seated it in his eye before going to work on them again.

John spoke after a few moments of silence. “The sword’s actually not iron, you know, I couldn’t absorb it with my armor.”

“I’m well aware of that, but you can be damn sure there was no way for me to convince the others of that when there’s no actual discernable proof.” He stretched in the sofa hae was lounging in and kicked his feet lazily. “The only thing my studies indicate is that it’s a type of metal that cannot be recreated without an exceptional amount of Tap magic, similar to Adamantium, but without the incredible stregnth. They call it...Chameleum”

“Then what makes you think I can forge it?”

“I bet you could forge adamantium if you put your mind to it and had the right tools.”

John held a hand up, morphing his armor from a hammer, to a wedge, to a pick. “I have the tools,” he said, “The method, however,” He stopped, mouth open as he finished a sigil, “is a little harder to come by.”

“You’d need the Unified tap, or...something just as strong…” the scholar mused.

John turned to the scholar and tossed him the metal slab, inscribed with a row of perfect runes. “Then why the damascus?”

Vincent grinned, snatching the impossibly heavy piece of iron with one hand, not even rising from his seat. He turned an eager eye over the runes and nodded. “Better, but show me you can do it more than once eh? We only get one fucking shot.” He lobbed it back effortlessly at the giant.

John’s eyebrow raised in surprise as the chunk of iron clanged against his metallic hand. He turned his attention to the backside of it, which was free of any markings. He set about carving another rune as he spoke. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Hmm?” Vincent asked feigning ignorance. “Oh, why Damascus? It’s less about the damascus and more about what’s ON those pieces my friend...”

John had little appreciation for wordplay. “Which is what?”

The scholar chuckled, “You’ll see, it’s all part of the plan my friend. Just channel your inner maiden and let's get you fluent in elvish engravings…”

“Are these acceptable?”

PLONK

The massive iron tablet slammed down on the table before Vincent, looking like a time lapse of an elven toddler learning to write. At the top the symbols were crude and jagged, Yet the lower down on the massive slab they became more fluent, with hints of actual grace and talent behind them. Vince eyed the last few lines in particular, all fantastic examples of elvish engraving capable to rivaling some of the most skilled enchanters.

He chewed his lips slightly as he contemplated his answer. “Yes, now go warm up the forge while I make sure I have my part down pat.”

John turned his head as he walked around the table. “And just what would that be?”

“Mostly chanting and shit. I also need to make sure that the...catalyst I have is exactly what I think it is before we try to use it.”

“I need to know what you’re doing because I’m mixing metals. I need to make sure it doesn’t explode when I hammer it.” The scholar paused for a moment.

“It shouldn’t...if we do this right. Make sure you have plenty of safety equipment at hand, and maybe a bucket of water to put out fire.”

John scowled mightily, but sighed after a few moments, standing up. “Let’s get those pieces then.”

Vincent made his way from the common room they had been sitting in to his own room just several doors down. He paused before the oaken portal and pulled out a simple key and unlocked it. He stepped into the borderline bare room and slammed the door shut behind him. He quickly worked several latches, sealing the door shut behind him. He eyed the door distrustfully and then went to work. He crossed the room to an almost empty bed, barely dressed with sheets and a blanket.

Carefully seizing the frame, he lifted the entire bed up onto its side and eyed the underside of the box spring. He quickly found an almost hidden seam and tore it open, fishing out a silken pouch before setting the bed down and sitting on top of it. He held an open palm out and dumped the contents of the silken sack into his palm.

In his hand he held a single gem, slightly smaller than a child’s clenched fist. It filled the room with a soft celestial light. The actual gem appeared similar to a chunk of the night sky, inky black but filled with a myriad of colors shining out. This chunk of raw Tap energy was the scholar’s most prized possession, and he was about to forge its energy into this new blade. He paused for a moment, and then returned it to its pouch and tucked it away into his robes before rising again. John must be getting close to ready by now, and he would need to explain the entire process multiple times.

The giant stood, making sure to stoop his head as he did so, and walked down the hall and stairs down to the forge. Upon entering, he emptied the water trough and filled it again, and kicked the small cover over the magma spigot. Out flowed a steady stream of molten rock, which flowed through channels in the forge, beginning the heating process. He sighed a little, wondering how the property in Radasanth was holding up. He didn’t like leaving Jamie all alone out there, but Logan had managed to convince him that it was for the best.

Hopefully Logan was right.

The forge, now faintly glowing, was more of a box than anything, with small openings where one could put a billet or slug of metal inside to be heated. Some were larger than others, but mostly the thing looked like a huge metal cube with holes in it.

Quite unlike a conventional forge, John thought. But, the forge had a virtually limitless supply of heat without the need for a bellows-worker.

Beside the forge stood an anvil and a worktable with hooks on the side for various tools, more or less useless since John’s armor could form to any tool he desired. A taller than normal ceiling allowed him to stand without obstruction.

John wondered absently what Vincent was getting that was so secretive as he grabbed a wire brush off the table, one of the only tools he couldn’t fashion, whether the armor or his skill limited him he did not know; and began to clean the inside of the holes and the top of the anvil. It would keep scale from forming on the sword as it shaped up. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

The door flung open to reveal Vincent carrying a large crate filled with various odd and ends. Flasks of strange liquids in vibrant colors sloshed noisily as the scholar set the box of reagents down. “You have the metal right? I got distracted gathering our reagents…” The scholar paused. “Might wanna get a mop in here too, it’s gonna get messy.”

“Reagents?” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I have the metal, but what is in those flasks?” The giant waved his hand in exasperation at an empty table. “Whatever, just set up over there and we’ll get started.” Vince chuckled and set his box of goods by the door before pulling out a small silver bowl and began to mix several of the strange liquids until he had a roughly red sludge that he quickly dipped a brush into and began to paint several runes and circles throughout the forge. John raised an eyebrow.

“What we’re going to be doing today is called Arcane Forging.” Vince explained. “The ancient Raiaerans used it to reforge weapons that had already been enchanted, often adding in other metals and stuff. The runes I’m working on right now will help keep the enchantments from exploding when we melt the metal.” he finished with a flourish, leaving John’s once immaculate forge looking like a new age art painting had vomited all over it. “What we’re going to end up doing is using the Chameleonite shards and the cane, we’re going to combine the enchantments of the two canes into a sword. There’s some circumstance to it, but I’ll handle the chanting, you’ll just need to do those runes we practiced while the blade is still hot.”

John grabbed the canes and sword leaning up against the wall and slid them into a set of holes on the forge. Soon they would be red-hot, and any impurities would be burned off. He reached into his pocket, grabbing a cigar. Growing a blade from his thumb he cut the end, then lit it by pressing it against the red-hot forge. He gave a few puffs before turning again to Vincent, speaking through his bite on the cigar. The room was growing hot, so the giant grew his armor out more, until only his head was uncovered. He thanked whatever gods there were for his comfort.

“So how are we doing this, then?” The scholar stretched and then flashed John a thumbs up.

“Super simple! You do your usual forging routine, and all the while I’ll be over here channeling this!” The scholar revealed his majestic gem from his robe, “Into the blade to strengthen it and power the Chamelonite.”

“No...strange...things I need to do after or during?”

“You just gotta etch those Runes we practiced while the blade is still red hot!”

John’s response was the slide of liquid metal up and over his head, mouth and eyes included. He spoke, his voice deeper but still clear.

“I can do that.”

After a few moments, the metal was ready. John took his shirt off, then grabbed both canes. He would need to forge them into a single piece before he began anything else. After grabbing them, He held the two ends in one hand and squeezed mightily. His other hand reached to the other end of the canes and twisted slowly, gradually spiraling the two canes. Hopefully the enchantments would not mix violently. He continued to twist, and slowly the spiral tightened, sparks flying off of the glowing metal, making John appear more golem forge-worker than resident strength arcana. Finished with the twisting, he spoke quickly.

“Vincent, tongs,” the armored giant laid the canes on his anvil, making fists with his hands, forming flat plates at the bottom of them. The scholar quickly obliged, fetching the tools as he began to chant an ancient incantation.

“Turn it as I strike,” he continued, knowing that Vincent would understand. The scholar took hold of the metal with the tongs and sat patiently waiting for the first strike.

John raised a hand and brought it down, the clang of metals reverberating off the stone walls of the forge. Vince immediately turned the molten rod and moved the tongs free for the next strike. It came quickly as John moved into a rhythm, pounding with each hand on the metal, welding the two pieces together. After a few moments of deafening clangs, John shouted at Vincent amidst the noise.

“Wedge!” He yelled as he brought his hands together, a shaft growing out of it and ending in a hammer, a massive sledge. Damascus was hard to form, hard to fold, and he would needs as much force as he could muster. The scholar did as he was told, mindlessly following each command as his focus was directed on his chant. Behind them the crystal he had set in a circle of runes was beginning to glow, sending celestial light dancing around the room. John absently noticed the glowing, but knew his focus needed to be elsewhere. The wedge found its way to the middle of the piece of Damascus just as John began to swing downward, striking and sending sparks bouncing off the metal. A divot formed, and John swung again, forming a deeper crevice amid a shower of sparks. Vince seemed to understand, and shifted the metal until the divot hung just over the edge of the anvil. the giant swung again and struck the end of the piece downwards, bending it over itself as the Emperor turned it over so he could weld the seam with more strikes.

Eventually, it was folded another time, and then once more to ensure consistency in the mixture of metals. It was time to add the sword pieces.

Meanwhile Vincent’s blue eyes had begun to crackle a soft teal as his voice trembled with power. The very air in the room began to hum as John introduced the silver metal. The gem behind them began to crackle with with much greater intensity. Soon sparks began to fly around the forge unbidden by John’s hammer. The pieces glowed with a color not of the forge, and John assumed some strange magic was at work in the metal.

Either way, it wasn’t going to be a sword until it got pounded.

John raised his sledge again, bringing it down on the pieces, which were placed strategically around the outside. The Damascus core would retain flexibility, and the cutting edge would be the strange metal. He swung downwards, and a light like daylight flashed in the room for a split second and thunder crashed in the deep of the House of Cards.

The armor on John’s eyes thickened, and he brought his hammer up again with both hands, bringing it to bear again, fusing the metal while Vincent fused the magic. The flash and thunder again, and Vincent turned the ingot, which was shaping up into a sword-shaped billet. As he struck again, an angle into an edge formed, and John switched to smaller hammers. As he knocked bumps out, the sword began to take better shape, and as it did, a most curious thing occurred.

The metal adopted a glow all its own, a deep crimson that could not have been the heat. The glow grew as the sword grew more finished, and as John made the final taps of the inscription Vince had spent hours drilling into his head, the glow disappeared, leaving the sword the same color as the iron anvil it rested on. Vincent and John looked at each other for a moment. Vincent finished his chant and turned to see a pile of white dust where the gem had once sat

“That’s all that’s in the book,” Vincent said as John returned his gaze to the sword, and his armor receded from his hand and he held it out over the sword. His fingers brushed it, and it felt cool to the touch, even though there was still a glowing forge not five feet away. He clasped it by the blade and looked at Vincent questioningly.

“Hey, I never done any of this before today, don’t ask me,”

John dropped it in the trough of water out of habit. He kicked the door closed on the forge, stopping the flow of magma through it. Now the sharpening.

The giant reached down and grabbed the sword, pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Wooden box on that shelf, got the stones in it,” He said, spitting the cigar out of his mouth, finally spent.

John sat on the bench closest to the trough of water and laid a long sharpening stone on it. He cupped water in a hand as the armor receded from his head and hands, placing a handful on his neck to cool him, and a second on the stone. A practiced and dextrous hand eyed the blade’s angles, and flipped it over, holding it at the angle carefully as he moved the blade up and down, making sure to keep a light touch, letting the stone do all the work.

John continued his polishing with an intense focus, making sure to keep the stone wet as he removed the first rough layer and added an edge to the sword. As the layer of sooty metal came off, a dark blue color emerged, deeper and lighter in the pattern of the Damascus grain. Soon the blued damascus gained a matte finish from hilt to tip, and not long after that, it was mirrored.

The giant held his creation up in the light of the torches in the room, critically eyeing the metal. An imperfection anywhere, and the blade would fail. Seeing no such aberrations, John laid the sword down again in place of the sharpening stone to get a strip of leather and wood, as well as a metal pommel. He brought out a brush as well, and wiped the debris from the engraved channels of the inscription. The two sides of the hilt were attached, and the giant took a quick hand to wrapping it in supple leather. It would need breaking in, but would definitely reward consistent use with comfort.

Looking the sword over one more time, John resisted the urge to look at Vincent who was grinning and staring at the sword, looking like a small child in a candy store..

John grasped the sword at the hilt, and his armor flowed like quicksilver from his hand, coating the hilt of the sword up to the middle of the blade before John could even think. The metal remained for a split second before rebounding back into his hand. He raised an eyebrow at Vincent.

“Why did you...cover it in your armor just then? Was that some cool polishing technique you’ve learned to do?” The scholar reached out, prompting the giant to pass the blade to him.

John handed the sword over quickly. “No, it was like....It went on its own or something,” he finished, looking the sword over. It was strange, the armor had been hard to handle before, but never had it act on its own. John tried to dismiss the issue from his mind, gesturing at the sword.

“I can fill the inscription with gold, if you like, it would slice cleaner with those ridges filled, and it would likely look better.” Vince pondered for a moment and nodded.

“That’d be nice, give me a moment to finish out the coating it first.” The scholar set the blade down and began paint a light layer of the red mixture into it, muttering under his breath. After several minutes he rose to his feet and handed the sword back to John. “There we go! That should keep the Tap energy that’s fueling the new enchantment in even if the inscription gets scratched.”

“Good, grab my kit, there’s a crucible and chisel on the shelf there.”

After a few minutes of heating, pouring, cooling and polishing, the sword sat on John’s anvil, blue damascus accented by an inscription of gold.

The giant began to feel the ache in his bones as he stretched a little as Vincent grabbed the sword again. John raised an eyebrow at the scholar, growing a longsword from his right hand. The edge of his mouth tugged upwards a tiny bit.

“Let’s test it out, just to be sure.”

The entire Hierarchy assembled once more, this time in the large cavern they used for training. The entire area glowed softly with bioluminescent moss as they stood, wondering why Vincent had once again called them together. Before them John and Vince stood silently, caked in sweat and soot. When it became clear that everyone was present, Vincent began.

“So about three days ago I returned from a mission with rather grave news. The Emperor’s sword had been broken upon retrieval. Many of us were very upset, yet I had promised that we could repair this ancient symbol of the Hierarchy.” Many of the members of the group began to mutter at this statement. Clearly Vincent was leading to something here.

“You did, yet I don’t see a sword in your hands Vince.” Logan Mccloud spoke, arms crossed. “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to turn it invisible have you?”

Joseph’s voice emerged from the back as a murmur as he scribbled a note.

“Lost, 2 damascus canes, value……” he continued as he left.

“Oi get back here.” Vince growled snapping his fingers. In a burst of blue sparks Vincent pulled the blade the two had slaved over into existence. “I was being all flashy with my reveal!”

Joseph returned to the room like an annoyed child.

“Behold! The fruit of John and I’s intense labour. We have studied and slaved over this blade for the past three days! Resurrecting a lost art of Smithing not seen since the war of the Tap!” Vince flourished the blade, taking a test swing with the cobalt colored blade. “This blade is the epitome of what the Tarot stands for! Research and implementation of lost magical practices!” He yet took another swing, cleaving through the air. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“That’s all fine and well Vince.” Logan interjected. “But while you may have made a pretty blade with old techniques, surely it can’t be as strong as-” Vincent swiped downward with blade, sending a cascade of blue sparks flying as a crescent slice of lightning shot from the blade and trailed down the entirety of the football sized training arena. At the end, where a lone barrel stood, erupted a small fire as the shockwave sliced it in half and ignited it at the same time.

“I rest my case gentlemen!” Vince murmured as a grin spread across his lips.

The crowd stood stunned for a second before beginning to mutter to themselves a bit. It seemed like anyone who had been voicing their doubts about the blade had been silenced. Vince showed off the power of the blade a few more times, letting loose blades of lightning that could travel across the cavern and cleave through anything the sword could. Eventually the crowd died down to just the Giant and the Scholar once more, both eager to make sure the blade was performing to their standards.

“It’s a fine blade Vincent.” John muttered stretching. “I’m surprised we made this work as well as it did.”

“Yeah…” Vince trailed off, absently eyeing the inscription of the blade. “To be fair, I had my reservations on our success as well. But I’m glad this worked out like it did…” The giant found his eyes also resting on the runes he had carved into the blade.

“What does it say?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“With the wisdom of sages, and the strength of kings, I will guard the light”

The two stood there in silence.

“Just as I am the hierarchy’s shield, you are its blade eh?” John mused turning away.

“I must be extra vigilant until we have found all of our cards my friend.” Vincent snapped his fingers and the blade disappeared into a burst of teal. “Let’s call it a day, you must be tired from all of that work.”

“Indeed, goodnight Vincent.”

“Goodnight John.”

Thread Complete!
Spoils request: The Blade of the Emperor:

This Damascus longsword has been crafted at the cost of Vincent's Zap Cane and Cain Cane using an ancient process known as arcane forging. Their two enchantments have been combined into one hybrid enchantment. Every time the sword is blocked or swung it stores kinetic energy into the blade. The energy can be released in the form of a lightning slash, sending a wave of slicing lightning energy from the tip of the blade in a wave. It still cuts as if the blade was slicing, and can zap and burn causing mild burns and stuns. This release can be performed every five or so swings, for a max of five times a day. The golden inscription on the blade crackles a light teal when it's ready to be released, offering as a warning sign. This "wave" of energy decays rapidly, only going about 50 feet before losing it's ability to cut.

Thread Title: Picking Up The Pieces
Judgement Type: Workshop Submission

Rewards:

Cards of Fate receives:
835 EXP
95 GP

Redford receives:
650 EXP
65 GP

Spoils:
Seeing as these spoils are very complicated they will be transferred in a request over to the Bazaar. A thread will open shortly. ]
Note: As gained in a thread, this spoils as detailed in the post above is due a 5% discount.

EXP & GP Added.

SPOILS NOT AWARDED. PENDING THREAD IN THE BAZAAR.