The Princess and the Blade

[Emora Deen]

Tenara nodded. "What do you mean? Corrupted? And, if I wanted to return the creature bound inside to its rightful place, how might I do that?"

[Soran Nightblade]

The man returned the sword he'd been working on back to the forge to reheat. "I am no alchemist, but to bind a soul properly, there is no margin for error. A soul tethered incorrectly, even with the smallest deviation from the correct ritual, will grow unstable over time. It is notoriously difficult to do correctly, and notoriously dangerous when a ritual goes wrong. The original body is always destroyed during the process. There is no 'rightful place' for such a spirit to return to."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara frowned, glancing at the sword. But she'd... Hadn't she given Thvoros a body somehow? Could she not permanently return him to that, somehow? It had been temporary. But if she kept... charging it... perhaps he could stay. Though, that did mean either he would have to stay in this world, or she would have to go into his... That wasn't an option. Even if she wanted to, no one who loved her would allow it.

"So you're saying he's stuck in this world, as a... sword. And, since the sword is damaged, he's likely to lose his mind? Just so we're clear." She wouldn't tell the sword master she could make Thvoros whole, even temporarily. She was more concerned about the fact she might have an insane alien man living in her head in the near future.

[Soran Nightblade]

"You seem very concerned for the Fulcrum. You wish to free it? You do not wish to use its power?" He paused, going back to something she'd said. "Did you say 'stuck in this world'? This being is not from this plane?"

Havitharon felt like maybe he already was losing his mind. He wanted to shout questions into Tenara's thoughts, but settled for listening. If he spoke now, she'd know how discomposed he was.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara wasn't sure how much to share with the man, but she needed answers. For her sake as much as Thvoros's. "He isn't of our world. I do not know the name of where he comes from, or what he is. I can see him, while others cannot. I can hear him, while others cannot. Sometimes... he is whole. And people can see and hear him, but that has only happened once. I promised hime I would help him get home. Are you saying he can't return?"

Tenara, in the back of her mind, had suspected as much. She'd been trying to mentally prepare herself for the fact she and Thvoros may be together for the rest of their lives. Maybe that is why she was working so hard, against the wishes of everyone who loved her, to justify him. To make peace with him. To befriend him. They might be bound together, in whatever this was, forever.

[Soran Nightblade]

Soon Yeo crossed his arms. Her story made no sense. "A fulcrum is merely spirit energy salvaged from the dead. There are tales of summoned beings from other planes out there, of course, but I've never heard of using such a being as a fulcrum. For one thing, nature tends to tear apart that which does not belong. Just as an incorporeal soul resists being bound to a metal form without just the right conditions. In interplanar being... something very powerful with a close bond with the target would be needed to stabilize such a being's.... existence..." He frowned at Tenara as a new theory formed. "What did you mean by 'unwilling sacrifice'?"

[Emora Deen]

Again, Tenara hesitated in how much she should share with the man. But again, decided answers were more important. Sinead had told her to speak to him. She must trust the man enough for that.

"The Arken Prince who had this sword forged plunged it into my chest, tried to sacrifice me to bring this being into the world and bind it to the sword. It did not go according to plan. He did not account for my unwillingness to die." Tenara stepped around the sword master and looked at the sheath making tools tucked into the corner. Thvoros would need a safe, warm place to rest, and it would be easier to carry him around with something other than tattered strips of cloth. "I interrupted his spell before it finished. I didn't die. Now the creature and I are tangled with the sword and we both wish to be free of it."

[Soran Nightblade]

The swordsmith had no quick response to that particular set of revelations. He pulled his sword out of the kiln and set it aside, then perched on the end of his work bench to think. "If what you're saying is true, it's possible you are BOTH fulcrums. You may not have lost your life, but your powers were still an ingredient in the binding. The sword is tethering the creature to this plane, but it's not what's stabilizing him. A spirit sword is a vessel; it cannot be more than that. Your fulcrum's stability, and whatever various degrees of solidity he might take, must be rooted in his connection to you. Your powers are controlling that, not the original spell."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara stiffened. She wondered how Thvoros felt knowing that. His corporeal existence was entirely dependent on her magic and her will—and her magic wasn’t reliable or predictable or safe. Though, he didn't know that.

“So we are stuck together…” she rubbed her arm. She imagined trying to separate either of them from the sword would doom them both. “He can’t go home? I can’t be rid of the sword? We have to learn to live with each other?”

[Soran Nightblade]

He shrugged. "Not necessarily. His binding might be permanent, but yours is most likely not. Most spirit weapons can be handled by any owner who is sufficiently capable. Perhaps the sword is helping you stabilize your powers for now, but if you were to master them, it might be unnecessary to keep it in the future."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara pursed her lips. She didn’t like the idea of Thvoros falling into anyone else’s hands. Not because she was particularly fond of him—she didn’t know much about him. But it seemed so cruel to be bound and used by others at their whim.

She didn’t want to use him. She wanted him to be free and to be free herself. Not for her to grow beyond the need of him and for him to be forever stuck as a sword.

Well, he wouldn’t always be a sword. She could give him form. At least she could do that for him.

“Thank you for your wisdom,” she said, running her hands over one of the leather sheaths hanging on a hook. “I’ll let you get back to your sword making. Seems I have some practicing to do…”

[Soran Nightblade]

"Yes. Practice is key," Yeo agreed, nodding like she'd said something very profound. "A blade is mastered only through practice. Perhaps, the next time I see you, it will truly be your blade."

[Emora Deen]

“I don’t think he’s keen on being anyone’s anything,” Tenara said softly. She gave him a gentle wave as she stepped away.

Tenara left the forges and turned through an arch door into the gardens. She wondered down a path towards a quiet end, and then ducked under thick brush to a small clearing known to few. It had been her mother’s favorite spot. The first place she had met her father. It was small. Surrounded by bushes and a circle of trees, with a stone bench in the center.

Tenara went to the bench, but didn’t sit on it. She placed the sword on it and knelt near.

“Okay. Practice. My power gives you form. So… let’s… do that. Can’t be too hard. It’s been easier lately than every before... It’s not like it could go out of control and create another crater in this garden that someone has to hide with a fish pond…”

Tenara placed a hand on the hilt, and one over the blade. She took a deep breath, and drew her plan across the sharp edge.

A hiss fluttered out of her lips. Flames licked out of the wound and she focused on it, felt that brilliant blinding rush of power flood over her. It was like a hot caress. A lick of fire and pleasure as she watched the flames dance across her palm and tangle around her fingers.

So far. So good.

How had she made him whole the first time? She didn’t know. She’d just wanted to help him and knew that things happened when she used her magic. So she’d used it.

She wanted to help him now. To give him form.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon had retreated so far into his own thoughts that he didn't notice something was happening until he realized she'd set him down. It felt different being set down than when he was held in her grasp. It could almost be called emptiness, or longing, but he didn't understand why it should feel that way. That sword master's grip had been different. There was power in the man's hand, effortless possession. He'd felt, in that moment, that if given a command, he might follow it without question. It had been a relief to be returned to Tenara.

He might have protested the girl cutting herself on the blade, but it happened quickly. Her blood sent a wash of heat through him, like he was being filled up and boiled at the same time. The next thing he knew, he was looking at her. His sight had been absent for the better part of a day, and it was a surprise to have it returned so abruptly now. His voice, too, was back. He learned that as a tight sound came from the back of his throat. He felt good. He felt everything, at once, all washed down with that peculiar heat, and he couldn't keep his voice in check. He was on his knees in the grass just beside the bench, breathless. His skin was so sensitive and hot...he needed to cool down. "T....Tenara," he managed to say without doing anything else too embarrassing. Even the slight breeze through the garden felt overstimulating on his skin. He shivered and pulled at the front of his shirt like he wanted to rip it off. He half-moaned a curse word under his breath.

[Emora Deen]

She was surprised to find him kneeling across from her on the other side of the bench. He seemed… well, not quite in pain.

She felt afire. Free. She reached out and touched him, smoothing her palm across his chest without thinking. Her power out licked across his skin, but didn’t harm him. It didn’t burn him as it had burned the sorcerer, whose skin had melted off like she’d bathed him in acid. Instead, it lapped over him tenderly. She curled her hand in his tattered shirt, wanting to be the flames brushing across him. Her blue eyes lifted to meet his.

She let her power build, felt the tension of it coil inside her. She had control. Control. She…

Tenara thought of the man in her room, floating in the air, his bones snapping and his body contorting grotesquely. Tenara stiffened, she pulled her hand away before she did the same to Thvoros. But her power wasn’t so easily pulled back into a box. Not when she’d wanted it so free.

The pleasure running through her turned torturous. The stone between them cracked the bench splitting in half. Her eyes widened. The ground opened, veins of damage stretching out towards the trees. Their limbs shivered and the leaves shriveled, scorched and ruined. “Oh, no… no…”