Warbreaker Arms

[Issy]

The Warbreaker Arms forge was located just off of the main square of the Marketplace in Rhydin and had been in continuous operation for four generations. It had seen the dawn of technology, both on this plane and that in the outer realms (as folks had come to refer to space and Nexus travel), and it had seen the rise of other forms of weaponry, both magical and technological. What it had not seen, however, was a significant dip in business. The one thing this town had never experienced was a drop-off in crime or in a lull where citizens did not want to arm themselves. Swords in the home, over the hearth or a well-placed dagger on a lady were standard when one's safety in Rhydin were at stake. At the helm of this great family business was Darius Steele (his real surname was lost long ago by his grandfather who never bothered to go looking for it.) and he was as surly as his name would imply: gray shoulder-length hair, curling just at the ends; skin deeply covered in the soot and fire of his occupation; one eye permanently glossed over in a silvery cataract from a blade injury long ago; developed forearms and corded hands that one swears could tear a man in two.

But to Isuelt, he was a miracle worker. She had been patronizing The Warbreaker Arms since she'd arrived in Rhydin over a decade ago, and Darius had always seen to it that she got what she was seeking. In truth, Darius had a favorite in Isuelt. He had never worked on her Scathachian blades, as Scathachian custom would dictate, but he did aid Isuelt in procuring other weapons and even a set of bracers once. Darius had heard of the Scathachians since he was a child. Women of justice who followed a goddess of war and roamed the world looking for wrongs to right. He never thought he would ever meet one, however, until Isuelt found her way to the forge looking for a new dagger. At first Darius was so struck by the woman that he thought he'd never get past the fact that a real Scathachian, crimson sash, dual blades on her hips and all was standing at his forge. But over time, he'd come to appreciate Isuelt as a regular woman with a nose for blades and a knowledge of how they should look, balance and everything. She'd even taught him a few techniques that he'd never seen before.

So when Isuelt appeared in his doorway once again this morning, Darius had nothing but smiles for the tall woman. "Isuelt DeRomiano, as I live and breathe! It's been ages since I've seen you, please come!"

Isuelt noted his limp had become a bit more pronounced than it used to be, but all in all, it was the same ol' Darius. "It's good to see you, my friend." Isuelt's grin came easily for him.

"What brings you here? Something broken?" Darius began to wipe the grime from his hands onto a towel that was hooked on the side of his leather apron.

"Actually, Darius, I was hoping you could make me something?" Isuelt looked at the man and canted her head a bit as she did. "A pair of blades, Greek profile I'm thinking, for me. For my belt."

Darius drew a long, slow breath as he looked to Isuelt's hips where her Scathachian blades used to hang. "You know I might bless my steel my own way, but I'm no match for the sort of blessings that you'd be used to."

"These aren't Scathachian blades, I know. Just...just a substitute. The Scathachians..." Isuelt paused. Of course Darius knew what had transpired in the last few years. Everyone did. She didn't think she had to finish that sentence.

"I know, the Scathachians here in Rhydin have gone on to other ports. They've quit the city, but as it turned out, things have been quiet." He paused and looked pointedly at Isuelt, "But I also know that not all of them left." He gave her a wink for a moment.

Isuelt's heart swelled with gratitude for the man. Her lips fought off a tremble as she smiled thankfully to him. He had never forgotten who she was or what she could do. And though others in the city still talked of her disgrace from the Scathachian Order, Darius had always been on Isuelt's side. "Thank you, my friend." Her voice could only muster a quiet response, lest it be strangled with emotion.

He regarded her for a long moment, wanted to comfort her or at least hug her. He knew how proud she'd been of her standing, of her calling, of her weapons, even. He couldn't imagine how difficult the last two years had been for her. Darius took a deep breath and shifted his feet before he waved his hand, shooing away his own emotions. "Enough of that. What are you looking to do, lass? You say Greek, do you want a blood groove, though? Tougher on the hilt? Are you looking for perfect replacements?"

The notion of copies of her blessed Scathachian swords was appealing. And if anyone in this town could do it, it was Darius. But she couldn't bring herself to ask for that; something about it felt off, felt like fraud. "I think," she began, "I think that if we could start with the idea of my old blades, but we'll change them up a bit for...for who I am now."

The grin on Darius' face lit up his entire expression. He was nearly beaming with pride. "My dear girl, I would be honored to do just that."

[Issy]

Darius was hard at work, he was pouring over Isuelt's new blades as if they were a love letter. In fact, most of the weapons that Darius created were born of that same love and respect for the material and the process. Darius was a master, there was no one in Rhydin that would claim otherwise. But this order was special to him, not just because it was for Isuelt, but because he wanted to do something for her. He felt so incredibly outraged by how she had been treated by her one time 'family' of Sisters, the very Order she swore her life to and nearly staked her mortality on every night as she patrolled this city and apprehended criminals for over a decade. Darius was infuriated at how easily this general was cast aside by the very Nation she swore to protect. True, he didn't know the entire story, but he knew as much as the average Rhydinian (who had read the Post): the Scathachians quit Rhydin en masse and they left behind one to guard the temple. He knew Janie, or Nimue, only by sight (as most Rhydinian males would!). She had come by the Warbreaker Arms only once to have some new tips set on her arrows. And while Darius appreciated Janie's obvious beauty, he still thought that Isuelt held herself as more of a warrior than Janie ever did. But Isuelt didn't follow suit with her Sisters, the women under her command. Instead, Isuelt was cast out and left behind. Darius was powerless, he didn't understand Scathachian politics or the particulars of the situation, but he felt that if he could at least attempt at giving Isuelt back something of her old self, some part of who she was, these new blades; then he would be helping her the only way he could.

Hammering away, day and night, he'd worked on Isuelt's blades. He had folded the steel over two hundred times and had lovingly created an incredible damascus pattern on the weapon. He had used more than the usual manganese, tungsten and silicon in his alloy to extend the life and hardness of the steel. He also made sure there was a subtle gutter down the middle of the blade. He knew how Isuelt liked those. Darius may not have been able to recreate the age-old workmanship and ceremonial holiness of the Scathachian smiths, but he could offer his own gifts within the metal. The guard was reverently shaped with the Scathachian style in mind, yet his was broader to provide more protection for the hands that would wield it. Instead of a gentle, flat curve, Darius' guard was upturned away from the hilt and became more tailored toward the tips. He also mixed in gold with the steel alloy here to give it a precious look, without too much softness. The pommel was strictly of Scathachian elegance: minimal and graceful in order to accommodate the sort of fighting style that Isuelt employed. Darius also added platinum to the mixture here to give it weight to match the blade. The swords would be able to be turn in any direction she chose with ease and balance. The hilt that was made of hickory, which was then wrapped in leather, as its cosmetic standards were not up to Darius' needs. He knew that hickory would be durable enough for all the punishment that Isuelt could serve out, and he made sure the leather was dyed with enough of a color that would befit her: black calfskin.

Isuelt was due to come by this afternoon to check in with Darius and give the blades a test run, he had asked her to. She said he needn't sharpen the blades, but he couldn't help it. It was the perfectionist in his nature that lent to his wanting everything to be perfect for her.

[Issy]

Standing back from the table, the forge and its heat at his back, Darius stood marveling at his own work. The twin blades gleamed in the fiery light of the Warbreaker forge, they were reclining proudly on the heavy burlap that Darius had laid down for them. The glossy sheen of newly crafted weaponry always created a tidal wave of pride to swell, but this set of swords nearly brought the grizzled man to tears. He had poured his heart into these weapons for Isuelt; he knew what they meant to her. Stripped of her Scathachian rank and membership, stripped of her beloved blades and sash. He felt that he was making up for some of the atrocity that she had suffered at the hands of her own Order. Darius had called them 'jealous' and 'haters', and he stuck to that; he was sure that Isuelt's dismissal from the Scathachian Nation was nothing more than that: a political move to appease their own short-comings.

These were things of which Darius had heard in gossip circles and in the Post long ago. He knew that Isuelt did not like to talk about them, but he felt it was his duty as a swordsmith, and as her swordsmith in particular, to present her with a new set of swords. Darius smiled at the long, sleek blades which he had made slightly narrower than Scathachian weaponry. But their strength was unmatched, even when compared to the blessed steel which Isuelt used to wield. The cross guards were shorter, he knew that Isuelt's ability to handle herself and her weapons would do well to have the freedom to swing the swords any manner she chose and without restraint. The precious metal detailing on the hilts made him especially proud; the gentle curving of the gold inlay lent an air of royalty to the weapons that the spartan Scathachian swords lacked. This was his ribbon, his icing. He wanted Isuelt to know that her efforts and her service to this city had been noticed and appreciated.

Darius had an absent smile on his features that made the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes just a bit deeper, he was never one to be vain, however. He was so lost on the beauty of his creation that he missed the quiet entrance of another beauty.

"Afternoon, master bladesmith." Isuelt's voice was low, almost secretive in the way it covered her greeting. It was as if she didn't want to disturb him from his reverie.

"Isuelt!" Darius stood up straight and smiled at the woman who inspired the swords. "I'm glad you're here. They're ready!"

"I didn't meant to disturb you. You looked like you were having a pleasant daydream." She smirked.

"Just those," he pointed to the twin blades on the table. "Aren't they beautiful?" He headed over, anxious to show off his latest masterpiece.

"I thought you were thinking of a woman with a smile like that."

"No woman is as gorgeous as this." His rough blackened hands wrapped around the leather grip. "Uh, no offense meant." Darius quickly looked to Isuelt who simply chuckled.

"None taken." Isuelt herself was a bit taken aback by the beauty of the swords. "Are those mine?"

"Yes, yes." Darius had already taken one up and turned to present it to her for final inspection. "The blade was folded and has a damascus pattern on it now, reminded me of the sea..."

He went on, but Isuelt wasn't listening. Instead she was gripping the leather on the handle. It felt incredible in her hand, almost like it was an extension of herself. She swung it as she took a step back, testing the balance. She smiled, the weight was perfection, not too heavy and not too light. It felt as if she were holding literal power in her hand; and as she looked back to Darius, he was standing there with the same daft grin on his face as he had had when she entered. He was handing her the second sword. Isuelt took it after a nod of gratitude to him and tightened her grip on both blades. Each was an incredible copy of the other, identical in such a way as to fantasize that they were god-forged. Isuelt's eyes lit up and a heat began to burn through her core. In this moment she felt more herself than she had in years. She took some space for herself and let the blades lead her on swinging arcs, slashing cuts and piercing thrusts. She noted the slimmer guards, and rotated the left first, then the right swords, watching as their blades were able to alternate their positions before her in perfected synchronicity.

When she had finally finished testing out the tactual experience with the swords, she looked to Darius. "You are indeed a master, Mister Steele. These are incredible."

Darius bowed slightly at her compliment to him. "To watch a master such as yourself prepare to use them is a treat in and of itself, Sword Master." And a deeper bow to match the gravity of his compliment to her.

Isuelt returned the bow and smiled at him. "You've outdone yourself, Darius. What do I owe you?"

He shook his head. "For you? Just the cost of the materials." Isuelt started to object but he held up a hand. "This was a labor of love, Isuelt, and I'll not hear of anything more. Please. It is my gift to one who has given us all so much."

Isuelt managed to pay Darius for what she thought was a soft price on even the materials, but again, he would have no more. And after she had left the Warbreaker Arms, she was sure she was walking a bit taller even with the extra weight of the two blades swinging from her hips. She was a little bit more herself and these days? That meant the world to her.