36th of Summer, 490AV, Morning
Artifex slipped into his abode. The previous night's events had proven as remarkable as he had expected them to; and then some. He was still a bit giddy from the amount of drink he had imbibed, but none the less he managed to collect himself. There was no time for sleep however, despite the look of comfort that his bed had. There was work yet to be done.
He looked to where his shrine was situated; the newly crafted shield sat like a shining banner. It was leaning against the anvil that constituted much of the shrine. He walked over to it and ran a gentle-yet rough-hand across its surface. It made him proud that he could honor his people and Izurdin by being able to craft such works.
He shed his top layer of clothing. Revealing a solid series of chest muscles, arm muscles, and silver veins that ran across his stoney blueish flesh. His hair sat as spiky as ever, like a series of stalagmites. He made sure everything was clear of the area he would occupy for a good length of time. With everything in order he stood before his personal shrine, his personal place of devotion to Izurdin. The shield stood, leaning against the anvil that made up the centerpiece of the shrine. Before the shield's face Artifex sat cross legged, and thus the imparting was underway.
Artifex pulled the shield before him, and laid it across his lap. He pulled the prayer beads from around his neck and held them in his right hand, purposefully running his fingers over each bead, and finally the anvil amulet attached. Then he placed his left hand-his symbol of lineage and connection to Izurdin (aside from the izentor)-and concentrated upon the shield, and what it was he desired to impart upon it. His thoughts solidified upon the a mountain, a bastion of strength, of endurance-both against the wears of time and nature. To him it embodied endurance, patience, and strength-a slow patient strength that rises up from the earth. He held the image, and focused all of his intention upon it. The world around him seemed to fade away, until not even a single sound broke through his bastion of clarity and focus.
He thought of the purpose of his task, and the purpose that the shield would serve. He thought of the blows it would suffer, but he also thought of the blows it would endure. The many lives it would protect from harm-both directly and indirectly. He thought of how it would last and do so for generations. He thought of how he would make the shield stronger and endure longer and more deadly blows. This he thought of for a long time, until minutes gave way to more minutes, and at last an hour had passed-which he denoted by a bell ringing off in the distance.
Now came the harder part. He cast aside the previous thoughts, but he did not forget them; he merely put them away for the time being. He thus focused his thoughts on a memory, as he had been taught. He searched his memories for one that would fit the task at hand. He spent a good many minutes trying to locate said memory and then at last it arrived like a scenery painting itself through his imagination.
The memory was simple, he had been watching Izurdin's Hammer training; from out of sight of course. He had been young, though he had doubted many would be angry with him he was supposed to be on his way to learn a lesson. However he had taken a detour on his way. He told himself he was only gonna stay for a few minutes, for he had always admired the strength of arm and will that each member of The Hammer put into their task. In some ways he hoped he could be that strong, inside and outside the forge. He primarily was focused on those that were shield training. Every blow deflected, and yet not a single dent or scratch could he see upon the shield's surface. He admired the shield-bearer because he never flinched, and always stood his ground. Blow after blow descended upon the shield, like a hammer upon metal, and yet it endured; it endured.
In his thoughts, as the memory continued, he invoked a prayer. Oh Father Izurdin. I pray to you now amidst a holy endeavor. I praise you for your wisdom, and thank you for imparting it upon me. I shall honor you justly with it for as long as i may live. Thus may you find my task now, an honorable one, for i have looked long into myself and i find that it is a worthy cause to endeavor upon. I thank you for the patience you have with me, and i hope you will take note of the patience i strive to uphold. May i honor you forever more in all that i do and someday live up to my great ancestors honor. Forever your humble servant, amen.
As the memory took hold of his thoughts and his prayer was finished, the true spectacle of the imparting began. Time flowed by around him, but he was indifferent to it, his eyes closed and his focus elsewhere. His blue left arm ignited in a series of bright chromatic energy. All around him the area was bathed in a myriad of reds, greens, and blues. It was a kaleidoscopic spectacle, that he payed minimal heed to.
After a while time was lost to him as the memory moved by in slow time. Bells tolled outside his home denoting the passage of time, but it never reached him. The array of hues continued to flow from his arm, and the energy remained as well. When the memory finally stopped, and subsequently faded eight hours had passed. The energy faded, and so did the colors. His arm returned to normal, and it appeared as if nothing happened, but he knew that the shield was different. Something he felt when he looked upon it assured of such.
Then it hit him. A wave of exhaustion washed over him like a mighty crashing wave. He could do nothing to stop it, he was powerless. He had been expecting it to happen, but he was little prepared for the overwhelming sensation. It drove him backwards to the floor, where he laid sprawled out with the shield still on his lap. He smiled briefly, for even that task was hard. Then sleep took him, as he drifted off into a deep sleep he was happy. Happy that he had succeeded, and happy that he had honored his family, his people, and Izurdin. He couldn't wait to gift the shield to The Hammer, with or without Ly'an though he preferred the second option. However those thoughts too fled him, until all that remained was a wide yawning sleep. A sleep filled with metal and hammer blows that rang throughout. |
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by Artifex on February 5th, 2013, 6:49 pm 
