"He will listen," Xeraphine assured her.
"He may complain like a whipped mule, but he is not daft enough to defy our House."
"Or doth Master Marsh forge for thee?" she trailed off, "I meanest no assumption."
Xeraphine let out a lilting laughter, surprising even herself, her gloved hand covering her mouth.
"Him? Forging? I'd be a'feared to let him anywhere near a hammer, let alone a smithy. Don't tell him that though — it would mortify him to fall short of his ancestors."
Back down the stairway and through another door in the corridor of paintings. Kezrim's stern gaze and the girl's innocent gaze seemed to follow them, considering their journey through the bones of their manor.
Soon enough, the armory presented itself to them, door opened by Marsh. A neat, relatively small space, stark in its lack of decoration and grey stone walls and floor. Racks upon racks littered the space, presenting a dizzying selection of weaponry. But it was from a grand display of fine glass that the dwarven manservant unlocked three blades suspended on black mounts like steel horizons below a nightsky,
Durn took down the first one, carrying its black blade with flat hands. An obsidian blade ran straight from an angular crossguard, a simple faceted pommel crowning the dark-brown leather of its hilt. The length and size of the hilt marked it as a bastard's sword, or a one-and-a-half sword, favouring fingers of one hand to steer it by its pommel.
"This is Bloodtoll. Its enchantments were not woven by our hands, but impressive all the same. For every drop of blood it spills, it strenghtens its wielder. Renders them faster and more durable against their own injuries. Simple, yet effective. It is indefatigable in its power, relying only on you scoring proper blows."
With her nod, Durn returned it and extricated an even longer blade, at least six feet of sharpened steel blooming from its bed of a hilt, with an extra crossguard to protect its ricasso. This massive greatsword boasted a hilt that looked worthy of scores of hands, but a proficient warrior would know that it allowed the sword to be handled almost like a spear, granting its wielder flexibility and speed at different ranges, according to their grip. Its black blade looked similar to Bloodtoll, though ornamentation of its crossguards swirled with more pageantry.
"Nightspell. A blade that not only breaks formations, but can break magic itself. Allow its Emril steel to taste earth and its Celestine Iron pommel to reach for the skies, and it shall shield you with night itself. The dark smoke that will coil from it not only distracts your foes, but will devour most magic it cleaves through and absorb their energy for its own. Should someone, say, launch at you with arcane fire, you may strike back at them with their own flame. Beware, though. Once employed, it will need to bathe in moon- and starlight for a full night before it can see use again. And some magic might be safer to absorb than others, as you will see its smoke mimic the given element."
After placing back the more cumbersome Nightspell, Durn drew a rapier of a one-handed grip. Its blade seemed to absorb the light more than its kin, and when the manservant swung it in an arc or two, its form blurred in strange, shifting motions. Whistles reminiscent of an airy flute followed these swings, making the implement almost seem musical. Only the intricate crossguard remained undisturbed to sight and appeared to make up for the lacking size of its steel.
"And last, but certainly not least, Lullaby. Or as Fane likes to call it: Fencer's Bane. This has seen him safe out of more than one duel. Like Nightspell, it is capable of great confusion to your opponent -- both in sight and sound. They say wounds from it fail to heal, and each cut and scrape weakens your foe, making its blur and tone more and more prescient to their minds. Test the balance of each, if you wish."
Lilette Blackbriar
