Solo [Izurdin's Forge]Pleading with Father [Flashback]

[Ly'an Godhammer]

42nd of Summer 490AV, Late Evening, three chimes before the midnight bell Ly'an sat before Izurdin's Forge, staring at it's solid form she couldn't help but feel so small and insignificant before it. Her eyes were dulled from the internal strife she was causing herself, what would normally be white were streaked with bloodshot veins, turning the small spaces of white a scary color of pink. Sitting in a sheath made of leather was the sword Ly'an finished crafting a week ago. She knew her fellow Vizerian had decided upon marking his shield and had already done so. It was a troublesome decision the Isurian just couldn't make easy enough. The effort of doing the task was tremendous, and it was said that some that finished marking their craft were deranged. It was a week from hell for Ly'an. A week Ly'an wished would disappear from her memories. “Father, grant me the strength to decide upon this action. I want to do what is right in your eyes and don't want it to bear it's weight upon my shoulders any longer. I fear I am crumbling under it's immense weight and never be able to get up from it again.” Her words came out as whispers, edged with tearful exhaustion and pure unaltered dedication and faith. Staring at the sword her bald head shimmer with sweat, the source of heat being the ring of forges around her and the anvil. Her eyes rimmed themselves with tears, her anguish visible from any that would've entered into the Forge at this time. It would be a pitiful sight to, Ly'an Godhammer, daughter of Izurdin, sitting on the floor of the forge, her knees to her chest. Arms curled tightly around her knees. With chin on knees and tears breaking that invisible barrier that kept back sobs and uncontrollable crying. The long sword before her encased in it's sheath was a work made from her own hands.

[Ly'an Godhammer]

Ly'an took several deep gulps of air, taking in her surroundings and scolding herself before wiping away her tears and staring at the work before her. Picking it up she tugged out the sword so she could see just a few inches of it's polished blade. It was a beautiful work from her own hands, the hammer emblem just above the cross guard reassured the Isurian that the work before her was indeed her own. Looking up at the anvil, Ly'an couldn't help but feel that Father was looking down upon her and flooding her with his courage and love. Father give me strength for what I am about to embark on. Your love and your courage have guided me to this decision, may I continue to have both when I start the implementation of giving my gift. She unsheathed the sword, staring at the blade's combat-edge, there were no nicks or burrs that she could see with her naked eye, the forge fires closest to her bounced off the reflective surface, only to memorize Ly'an and make her feel giddy and amazed at her own work. Father I shall not fail you. Setting the blade down, so that the sword's actual blade rested on the sheath, Ly'an closed her eyes and took several more deep breaths in and out, slowly and calmly. The Isurian needed to clear her mind and set in her mind's eye the goal she wanted to focus on and imbue the sword with. The weapon smith could already feel the itching sensation that marked where her gnosis mark was, it curved and swirled at her shoulder, the itching intensifying. Strength and integrity. Durability and a never dulling blade. Inhale. Exhale. Durability and a never dulling blade Inhale. Exhale. Ly'an stretched out the arm with her mark of Inzentor, etched into the shoulder. It was her primary arm, the sky blue coloration of her skin and the silver veins pulsed and deepened in the forge light. Father, grant my wish and allow this blade to endure for centuries to come. Her fingers touched the flat of the blade. It was cold and inflexible. Unyielding to her fingers. She remembered the heat of the forge turning the core a bright flaming red, an echo of the forge's hot coals. That heat was no longer within the sword. Ly'an knew, deep within, that the blade would never see a forge's heat for quite some time. Durability and a never dulling blade. Inhale. Exhale. Her fingers traced the blade's edge, gingerly so not to tear into her tips and bleed upon the blade. To the outside world, Ly'an's mark took on the elements of the forges themselves, starting out as a dull orange-red color, ebbing back to the dull blue-black that it originally is. Inhale. Exhale. The mark flared brightly upon the exhale. The inhalation of breathe caused the bleeding out of the orange-red coloration. Durability. Ly'an inhaled, her lungs filling with the oxygen rich air around her, filling the bellows that would erupt across the hot coals of her soul any moment now. Never Dulling Blade. She exhaled, the bellows erupted across the hot coals, fueling the fire within and forcing them to a brighter state of orange. With each inhale and exhale the coals of her soul would ebb back and forth between their brighter stage and the stage just before it's current before settling once more on it's current stage. The process seemed timeless, but in fact it was hours...

[Ly'an Godhammer]

Durability. Inhale. The coals of her soul were nearly to the proper stage to start forging. Never Dulling Blade. Exhale. The coals brightened one last time, a fiery white before settling to the brightest red one could only see from burning coals. Her mark took on the same fiery red, it was a gateway to her soul. In her mind she could feel her soul placing the sword into the 'forge', and hefting a hammer. In reality, the sword never left it's place, her fingers still slowly running their course over the sword's edge. In the forge of her soul the sword didn't take long to reach that red-hot core she so desired before working with metal. Durability The hammer of her soul came bearing down upon the hot sword as she could see it placed on the anvil representing her life. Sparks erupted in her mind's eye, the sword sparked, a ghostly red aura radiated from the sword's cold surface. Never Dulling Blade. The hammer once more came down upon the blade in her mind. Sparks once more erupted and the real sword once more sparked and the red ghostly aura radiated brightly before dulling out. Inhale. Exhale. The sword was once more into the forge, heating quickly before being hammered into once more. Sparks flew and echoed, the hammer falls echoed into her ears and mind. The red glow around the real thing brightened and flared, each set of sparks bouncing and skittering away. Ly'an's heart thudded hard with each hammer fall in her mind's eyes, coursing red-hot blood through her veins, pushing the heat from her mark through her arm and out through her fingertips. The sword remained cold, but to her soul the sword was hotter than ever. Just like a forge fire. Inhale. Durability. The hammer fall landed with a bright shower of sparks. Exhale. Never Dulling Blade The red aura started to fade gently to orange. Sweat poured down her bald crown, dripping heavily onto her shoulders and sizzling upon contact of her mark. Her mark was still a bright red, slowly losing it's brightness and fading to blue-black once again.

[Ly'an Godhammer]

Ly'an could see her soul placing the blade once more into the forge, the whole of the weapon. It was the final stage of forging, a process Ly'an took seriously and it influenced her actions in every aspect of her life. Inhale. Durability. Exhale. Never Dulling Blade. She watched as her soul heated the blade to a temperature never seen in the forges of real. It rippled a bright white tinged and blue. It was magical and she knew what it was. A part of her soul was imparted to the blade. Ly'an watched as the blade was pulled from the forge of her soul, ripe with white-blue heat. The real sword took on the ghostly appearance of the white-blue heat from her inner forging, her fingers having stopped upon the hammered emblem she marked her works with. Durability. Inhale. The sword was poised over her soul's version of a tempering barrel. Never Dulling Blade. Exhale. The sword never lost it's white-blue coloration as her mind's eye thrust the blade into the murky depths of that barrel. A loud hiss echoed from her inner forging to the real sword in front of her. The final stage of forging was completely. Inhale. Exhale. Ly'an's heart stopped thumping, her mind went blank as she felt the sweat upon her brow and had soaked her clothing thoroughly. Her eyes fluttered open, exhaustion overtook her body as she slumped. Ly'an's eyes fell to the sword at her feet, fumbling hands grasped the hilt and sheath and managed to cram sword into sheath without damaging the leather sleeve. “Thank you Father.” The words murmured in the fatigued state of mind Ly'an was currently in. Her body ached as if she had been forging for weeks on end with no break, her body felt torn apart from the inside out, muscles burned, joints ached. Her eyes squinted in the dying flames of the forge. Hours must have passed, but Ly'an didn't know how long she sat there in that position, pushing her legs out before her. It didn't matter what she did, her legs were stiff and in just as much pain as the rest of her body. Her eyelids were sliding shut, closing out the sight before her. Snapping eyes open Ly'an fixed her eyes on Father's anvil, it was the last thing she remembered consciously as she drifted into the sweet oblivion known as slumber. No pain, no aches... Just sweet darkness and relaxation.

[Whimsy]

Ly'an

Experience	Lore
+4 Philosophy	Religious Indecision
	Focusing on Values During The Use of Izentor
	The Timely Process of Izentor
	Crafting a Durable and Never Dulling Blade
	Exhaustion that Comes from the Use of Izentor

Comments
I am sorry I could not give you concrete skills. I really liked seeing how detailed you made the one action of using your mark of Izentor. Please PM me if you have any questions or concerns.

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