Sanguine Prince | Chapter 28: Perdition (Second Draft)

“Aetherblades are this way,” the massive Forgemaster said as he guided Arcturus past armor displays and glittering weapons to a wall of sword hilts at the back of the room. Even with his limited control over his powers, Arcturus could feel the magic surrounding these more than any of the other items within the showroom.

The first and most immediately obvious details were the love and care with which each hilt was crafted. Precious jewels sat in every pommel, and though many of the blades seemed strangely absent ostentation, the lines and careful exactness of dimension in each piece—no matter if it was a hilt suited to a claymore or shortsword—spoke to the intricacy of the work.

“These are beautiful,” Arcturus said in an awed voice. “Did you make all of them?”

Luthaire grunted in affirmation. “When the mood struck me. Bladecrafting is fickle.”

“They all look so appealing.”

“This is your first time attempting a Choosing, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Arcturus said without thinking. The respectful address just seemed right.

Luthaire grunted again. “Look over the hilts and find the ones that seem to glow, subtly, to your eyes.”

Arcturus did as he was told. His eyes swept the available hilts, and he focused on them intently, looking for what Luthaire described.

[Arcana Check] successful!

[Perception Check] successful!

After several moments of nothing, several hilts lit up abruptly with subtle glows, followed by more, and then even more.

“Uh, Luthaire?”

“What?”

“I think I messed up.”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yeah, but they’re all glowing.”

“Then pick one up,” he grumbled.

Arcturus did as instructed and reached out to grab a nice-looking longsword hilt that was narrow at the grip, rising into a curved cross-guard in the shape of an elongated prong. He held the hilt in his hand and looked at it, staring for a moment before turning to Luthaire hesitantly. “Is something supposed to happen?”

The massive Aethersmith growled something under his breath and plucked the hilt from Arcturus’ hand, slotting it back onto its wall stand and waving at the rest. “Pick another.”

Arcturus, once again, did as instructed.

The process repeated multitudinous times for the next hour, with Arcturus picking up different hilts—sometimes even rotating back to previous ones—and holding them until Luthaire snatched them away; the Forgemaster’s mutterings growing more aggrieved with each failed selection.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Arcturus asked after the latest hilt was taken away, and Luthaire stood glowering at the wall.

The answer is always yes.

“No,” Luthaire responded with a clear sound of irritation. “There is nothing wrong with what you’re doing; you just aren’t resonating with any of them. I’ve had you cycle through six different Psionic hilts, and despite knowing you’re Psionic, not a single one of the bloody things has resonated. I’ve never seen this before.”

“I’m, uh, sorry…?” he half-asked uncertainly.

“I’ve never had a customer I couldn’t find a blade for,” Luthaire growled. “You won’t be the first, boy. Wait here.”

Arcturus was left alone as the giant of a man turned on his heel and stomped over to a smaller door set into the back of the private showroom, unlocking it and vanishing inside.

Instead of standing awkwardly in front of the wall of Aetherblades, each of which seemed to almost taunt him with their glowing auras, Arcturus turned away and set to exploring the rest of the showroom. He passed spears, conventional swords, daggers, flails, and all kinds of odd and unique weaponry until he came to a halt before a mannequin displaying a set of armor that almost seemed hidden away.

Curiously, Arcturus triggered his [Inspect] skill.

INFORMATION PANEL

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Armor of the S̸̡̙͎̒̈́̑̇͠ͅ@̵͚̞͓͐̎̂͛͐/̵̭̓̎̊͋|̸̛̺̈́̏̈͘/̴̯̫̉̈́g̷͖̱̦̎̀͐͘͝ų̴̬̃͒̇1̷̟͒̓̒̐̈́n̸̢̘̘̠̗̞̎͊3̷̺͈͔͚̜̙̋̀͗̃ ̴̨̰̮͈͈͈̅͊̈́L̶̩̎̆͌0̶͓̻̹̭͋̏̈́6̴̜̂̎̈̀͘͝d̶̮̈́̂̌̈́̚͝

Slot(s): Head, Chest (Multiple), Arms (Multiple), Hands, Legs (Multiple), Feet

Type(s): Enchanted, Restricted

Rarity: Mythic

Classification(s): Armor (Full Body)

Statistic(s):

+5 to ??? (Restricted)

+5 to ??? (Restricted)

+5 to ??? (Restricted)

+5 to É̶͕͉̌ṙ̴̡̛r̵͉̂̃ŏ̵̳͖̓r̶̼̖͛̀(Restricted)

Modification(s): É̶͕͉̌ṙ̴̡̛r̵͉̂̃ŏ̵̳͖̓r̶̼̖͛̀

Description:

Recovered from an unknown ruin in the Blighted Lands and restored, mostly, by the careful efforts of Luthaire Gildedhammer, this set of forbidding armor holds a hidden power that has been frustratingly inaccessible.

Whatever boons are hidden behind the esoteric locks placed upon its use, no one has been able to decipher the secrets required to unlock its full and terrible potential.

Soulbond(s): N/A

Durability: 1,500 / 1,500

Each piece of the armor was an elegant shade of onyx, inscribed with silvery runes of a language even his [Arcane Linguistics] skill couldn’t decipher. The helmet was in the style Arcturus would confidently have called ancient Corinthian, if he had seen the armor on display on Earth. The front of the helmet curved down to cover the wearer’s face and below the jawline, with a single extension to cover the nose. A crimson plume adorned the top of the helmet, ranging from above the forehead to the center rear of the skull in a neat line.

It was more commonly known as the ‘Leonidas Helmet’ by the uninitiated, though the description was antithetical to a student of history.

You may not become King of Valaria, but you’re definitely King of the Nerds.

The breastplate matched the helm, extending from the collarbone to the pelvis, with stylized abdominal muscles built into the metal and two dark pauldrons that could be attached to the breastplate via sturdy buckles. In a strange twist of culture, it was the more Roman style of skirting attached to the breastplate, with a dense ring of leather straps hanging down to obscure the wearer’s thighs. A pair of wrist-to-elbow forearm vambraces sat on a separate display beside the breastplate, with a set of thigh cuisses, shin greaves, and reinforced sabatons on a shelf below.

Upon closer inspection, Arcturus noticed that there was a single well-cut ruby inlaid in every piece of armor, from the helmet to the sabatons.

[Perception Check] unsuccessful!

Drawn by something inexplicable, he extended his hand towards the most prominent ruby—socketed between the rendered pectorals of the breastplate—and was about to touch it when the door at the back of the showroom banged open again.

Arcturus jumped in surprise at the sudden noise, heart pounding against his ribs as he spun to face the approaching figure of Luthaire. A cloth-wrapped object was held in the giant Aethersmith’s right hand, and when he rejoined Arcturus, he extended it toward him in offering.

“Take it. If this doesn’t work, boy, then nothing will.”

Arcturus glanced surreptitiously at the armor again and then looked at the item in Luthaire’s massive palm. A moment of trepidation stalled him, and then Arcturus steeled himself and took the item.

When the cloth cover was pulled away, Arcturus was brought up short in surprise.

In his hand was a plain, unassuming piece of solid metal: A sword hilt not unlike that of a traditional western longsword. It felt good in his hand, with a weight and a balance that allowed him to hold it comfortably. An experimental addition of his left hand showed that he could comfortably hold the hilt in one hand or two, with room for all ten fingers and a comfortable gap between his hands.

His eyes were drawn to the center of the crossguard, where it would usually indent to fit the blade. In place of a socket for one, however, there was the glittering tip of a diamond, and tiny silver runes painstakingly inlaid around it on the metal, forming a perfect circle. Arcturus had rarely seen something as beautiful, and despite the simplicity of the hilt compared to the others he’d tried—this new one having no paint or embellishments on its bare metal surface—he knew that what he held in his hand was special.

I’ve got nothing to add, Arcturus. This really is a work of art.

Arcturus felt something stir within him as the voice said its piece. Something primal, powerful, and ancient beyond his understanding roused itself from deep within his core, and he felt power suffuse his limbs. Notifications popped into being before his eyes, and he minimized them as quickly as they appeared, staring at the hilt in his hands. Power, glorious and terrible, writhed its way from the deepest recesses of his soul and made itself known in a flash of coruscating light and abyssal darkness.

The runes around the diamond and along the hilt in hidden lines burned first with white fire, then black, and then a fantastical union of both. The metal seemed to superheat in his hands, though he felt no pain as the steel reshaped itself. The unwrapped grip elongated and widened to accommodate his longer fingers, thickening along its circumference to provide a better handhold.

Next, the crossguard shifted and thickened, the two ends that formed the top ends of the ‘T’ morphing into open-mawed dragon heads, frozen in the identical tableaus of a roar. The center of the crossguard morphed as well, with stylized draconic wings folded across the middle to form a rising formation not unlike a hollow spire rising a few inches above the socket housing the diamond at the heart of the crossguard.

The appearance of the hilt changed as well, with the material taking on a coloring equal parts black and white. Whorls and patterns emerged not unlike the scales of a dragon, with images of just such creatures flying or roaring mixed into otherwise seemingly random designs. At the very bottom of the hilt, a five-taloned claw formed where usually there would be the housing for a gem.

Within the confines of the claw, white and black flames spun and twisted until they resolved into a jewel equal parts jet and diamond—filled with a matching monochrome flame that Arcturus somehow knew would never cease burning.

As the upsurge of energy began to taper, Arcturus guided as much as observed as the final surge of power travelled from the jewel at the pommel to the diamond inlaid where the blade would normally connect—giving birth to a paradox of power. A blade of energy, equal parts light and void, formed the shape of a traditional English bastard sword, dancing with monochrome flames that licked and crackled as they flared and died by the moment along the length of the weapon.

His Aetherblade simultaneously provided illumination and ate it; operating in a constant cycle of give and take—of creation and destruction—with no end. 

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

“Your father had the same look on his face,” Luthaire grumbled from beside him, the giant man’s eyes looking over the faintly humming blade of energy. “Shock mixed with euphoric pleasure. His hilt didn’t reshape itself, though. Almost none of them do. I suspected an unaspected hilt would work, but nothing like this.”

Arcturus was too busy processing what Luthaire had first said to respond immediately, and it wasn’t until the other man looked at him that he remembered to speak. “You knew my—you know who I am?”

“Gilded hammer, boy. Knew him? I was your pain-in-the-arse father’s personal Aethersmith. I made the armor he wore. I made the blade he wielded.”

Arcturus stared at the giant of a man and then looked back at his sword in silence.

“You have to name it,” Luthaire said after a few moments.

“Name it?”

“Aetherblades are more than just tools, boy. They’re as alive as Aether is.”

Arcturus considered his sword for a few moments. “A name, huh?’

“Yes. Something with intent, preferably.”

Arcturus nodded thoughtfully and then smiled as it came to him.

“Perdition.”

Luthaire paused when Arcturus presented the name. “That’s quite the implication.” He said after a few moments’ silence.

“It seemed appropriate for what I have to do,” Arcturus responded resolutely.

“Aye,” Luthaire agreed with a slow nod. “Aye, I’d say it does.”

After that, Arcturus puzzled for a moment over how to ‘turn off’ the blade, until he identified a tether of Aether running from him to the weapon. More specifically, to the newly created gem in its pommel. The moment he severed the flow, the projected blade winked out of existence. Satisfied, Arcturus turned to Luthaire and then hesitated.

“What is it?” The Aethersmith questioned.

“I’m supposed to keep my identity a secret,” Arcturus responded warily.

“Some oaths transcend worlds and lifetimes,” Luthaire said matter-of-factly. “I recall swearing an oath of fealty as a member of the Gilded Aegis. I don’t recall that oath ever being released.”

Arcturus turned back to the towering, surly crafter and saw a twinkle of amusement in his dark, stormy eyes.

“Thank you, Luthaire.”

“You were my King the day you were born, boy. All you need to do now is grow into the crown.” He hesitated for a moment. “Just don’t tell Maurice about this next bit, or he’ll be intolerable.”

A sudden rush of heat drew a hiss of discomfort from Arcturus, and he saw Luthaire’s eyes tighten at their corners and his large body lock up in momentary pain.

When the heat vanished, a small notification alerted him that his Oathsworn had risen from 4 / 10 to 5 / 10.

“Luthaire, why—?”

“The day you were born, as I stated,” the Forgemaster said matter-of-factly.

“Thank you,” Arcturus said honestly, though the words didn’t quite seem to capture what the profession of loyalty actually meant. It was strange, but Luthaire felt… solid. Like an immovable rock in a raging tempest. He had no logical reason to trust him; he’d only barely met the Aethersmith.

Something about him, though, called to Arcturus. Perhaps the Aetheric resonance of the Forgemaster’s oath to his father, or something else—but whatever it was, instinct and something more substantial than instinct told Arcturus he could trust Luthaire in a way he could trust very few others.

There may be something to your theory about Order’s interference. First Maurice, now Luthaire… something is changing your Fate through those around you, despite you being severed. Be careful.

Arcturus accepted the warning in silence. In truth, he’d been thinking the same.

“Now then, boy, is there anything else you needed?”

After a moment of consideration, Arcturus glanced over at the enigmatic set of armor resting nearby.

“Well, now that you mention it…”