No Laughing Matter

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Bunnysmack
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No Laughing Matter

Post by Bunnysmack » Tue Mar 09, 2021 8:03 pm

The mage looked down at his work bench and swallowed; the task he was about to perform carried a grim sort of weight. In front of him lay a section of talon, only a fraction of the size of what it had been severed from, yet still half the length of his own forearm. The material was incredibly resilient and gave off a metallic sheen as the torchlight of the room played across it.

Moving with specially designed tools that had a number of advanced spells woven into them, the mage coaxed shape into the material of the talon. It wasn't going to be a masterpiece of artistic splendor, nor some tool of legendary power, but then again: It didn't need to be. It was a symbol, and a statement. Sacrifice, freely given. The willingness of something strong to protect those that can't protect themselves. Closing his eyes, the mage uttered in a bare whisper of the draconic language, "I hope I never have to use this..."

Several hours of uninterrupted work and concentration passed, all the while the mage poured physical toil and magical energies into the talon as it more and more began to resemble the shape of a ritual athame. A knife to be used as a focus for magical energies, while also serving as a symbol of whichever specific purpose the will-worker might attempt to pursue with their power. He already had an athame, one that was serviceable and had been used on a number of occasions in the past, but for this purpose...Something far more specialized was required. Next came the runes. Carved meticulously in flowing helixes of intersecting lines of magical writing for Celestial and Draconic. Both languages were needed to forge the proper connection to the being that the knife was meant to call out to.

The very thought that this tool might one day be needed brought a cold chill to the pit of the mage's stomach. He hated the idea of ever employing it, but he knew that darker times are on the horizon. Those who are able to do more must be prepared to give more for the sake of those in need. He would protect the right of his neighbors to to continue living lives where they can easily laugh and smile, or else he would die trying.

At long last, the mage lifted an arm to wipe sweat from his brow. He looked down at the results of his work and nodded. This would do. Placing the knife into a carrying case made of gleaming platinum, the mage furrowed his brow, nodded once, and slipped the case into a pouch hanging off of his fieldwork belt. Whatever happens now, at least he'd be prepared.
"You're insufferable..."
"That's not true! I can totally be suffered!"

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