The Princess and the Blade

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon tried not to notice the sensation of the polishing rag. It wasn't that the metal felt like his literal skin, exactly. But there was something about her care of the metal that pressed through him like a warm massage. Despite himself, he felt some of his nerves beginning to relax for the first time in what felt like weeks. He knew the sense of security wasn't grounded in reality. It couldn't be. Maybe it would be okay, just for a few moments, to nestle down into this feeling.

The Ongorethan man didn't even spare her a glance as he proceeded with his work. After several minutes passed and she was still there, he spoke without breaking pace with his hammer. "Either that is not your blade, or it has not been for long," he finally spoke gruffly.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara looked at the sword and then to him. That was an odd thing to surmise. She wondered what she was doing to it that told him that. "True. Not for long. But it is mine... or maybe I belong to it. Do swords pick people?" She meant it to sound humorous or rhetorical, but when she thought about it, she couldn't decide. Who belonged to who in her relationship with Thvoros. She had to carry him around, but him being parted from her for a length of distance literally ended her life.

[Soran Nightblade]

He looked at her then. Perhaps something she'd said had gained his interest. He was an older man, perhaps 50, but the years of forgework had toughened his skin so that he looked a good deal older. "A blade does not choose anything. It can only be what it is. It is crafted for a purpose." He looked her huge, menacing sword up and down. "That blade was not crafted for you."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara bristled a little. Well, it was true, but it felt like he was implying she wasn't worthy of it. "And why would you say something like that?" she asked, tossing the rag back into the bucket. She hefted the sword in her hands. "Do I look to dainty to carry it?"

[Soran Nightblade]

He shrugged. "Yes. For your body, should be weighted for speed, not power. For the length of your arm, too big. Should be four inches shorter." He waved her away. "I am here for the delegation. No commissions."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara stretched out her arm, admiring the length of it compared to the sword. "This sword and I... are reluctantly partnered," she said. "It is mine, whether or not it fits my body type. Does it not look special to you? I heard you were a sword master of great note. Would you send such an interesting subject away without a better look?"

[Soran Nightblade]

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you want me to have one? Do you even know what will happen if I hold that sword?"

[Emora Deen]

She arched a silver brow. "No...?"

[Soran Nightblade]

He tilted his head slightly, measuring something in her expression. Finally, he held out both hands. "May I see?"

[Emora Deen]

Tenara wasn't sure now. What would happen if he touched the sword? Would something happen to Thvoros, or to the sword master? She hesitated a second longer before she placed the sword gently against his palms.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon twitched as something shifted inside his chest... wait, he didn't have a chest. The calm sensation he'd had a moment ago was gone in an instant, and every nerve he had stood at attention. *Tenara,* he asked tensely. Instead of going to Tenara, the message went to the sword master.

Soon Yeo held the sword lightly across his two hands, observing its craftsmanship. *She cannot hear. I hold the blade, for now.* He dismissed the voice that had spoken in his head like it was no surprise to him at all, and turned the weapon on its head to observe its edge. "This beveling technique is not used in Ongoreth. And this manner or alchemy," he indicated the blood stones set down the hilt, "is not used in Ighten."

"It is a well tempered blade. Only a handful in the world have the skill to craft it, and fewer still the money to pay for it." He swung the weapon a few times. His control was such that it didn't feel out of place, even in the tight quarters of the forge. He cast Tenara another long, measuring look. "So, what would Arken royalty want with such a tool, and what manner of creature have they bound inside?"

[Emora Deen]

Tenara's lips parted, hanging open just a hair with disbelief before she shook her head and righted herself. How the gods had he known Arken... "I don't know," she said, reaching to take the sword back. "If Arken is behind it, then it's never any good. But as for the creature they have bound to it, I cannot say anything to that either. He is a mystery, and a tight lipped one."

[Soran Nightblade]

He looked at the tool with interest. "It is not the first time I have beheld a spirit sword, but it is the first I've held whose energy felt so...chaotic. Also the first that possessed the ability to speak." He placed the blade in her waiting hands. "Some of the gem settings in the hilt appear damaged or missing. It's possible the binding was incomplete."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara nodded. There had been more gems. She'd melted them off in her fight with the Arken prince who'd had the blade forged. "That's likely my fault. I was an unwilling sacrifice," she said, smiling as her scarred hand curled back over the hilt. It felt right in her hands. Watching the sword master hold it had felt irritating, like sand in her eye.

*I have you again,* she said, uncertain what had passed between the two of them while the sword master had held him.

[Soran Nightblade]

Soon Yeo did that thing with his eyebrows again. "Bindings are intricate rituals. Even the smoothest ones are lucky to capture even a fraction of the bound spirit's power. It's impressive that the connection hasn't corrupted yet. Even more surprising for the being to remain sentient at all. Something else is keeping it stable."

Havitharon's alarm eased slightly as he returned back into Tenara's familiar grip, but he was officially uncomfortable. It was sinking in, that he was an object. He could be studied, wielded, damaged, and he was powerless to control it. *What does he mean, corrupted? Ask how this can be undone,* he demanded.