| Latest revision |
Your text |
| Line 57: |
Line 57: |
| ==Lore== | | ==Lore== |
| {{Verbatim}} | | {{Verbatim}} |
| ''In my youth, I led a thousand soldiers whose silver arrows brought down the moon. Now the enemy owns the sky. We must wait for our sword.''
| | {{Stub}} |
| | |
| "Turn up the heat," the old master urges, keeping his gaze fixed on the thermal vent's reaction. "Got it, Master." The apprentice wipes the sweat from his brow and hastens to grab the bellows to stoke the furnace. The flames ascend slightly.
| |
| | |
| "Keep going. More heat," the old master grumbles, clearly not satisfied.
| |
| | |
| "I'm on it, Master… Still not enough?" The apprentice's hands move faster. Now he's sweating buckets.
| |
| | |
| "No, not enough! More!" The master craftsman keeps watching the furnace intently, the firelight making his forehead wrinkles shine.
| |
| | |
| "But, Master… If it gets too hot, the sword's gonna crack," the apprentice carefully warns the old man, who is getting closer to the furnace.
| |
| | |
| "More!" The elder looks as if he doesn't even feel the heat, despite the flames singing his white hair and beard.
| |
| | |
| The apprentice bites his tongue, shovels in more fuel, and starts to bellow with all his might.
| |
| | |
| "Good! Stop, quench it!" the master smith shouts as he leaps up, like a bomb ready to explode.
| |
| | |
| The sword hits the water with a sizzle. and after the steam clears. a cracked blade is revealed. "Master, I told you we should've stopped…" the apprentice says, spotting the 'imperfection' in the metal.
| |
| | |
| But the smith's bloodshot eyes are filled with excitement. He kicks aside some seemingly intact yet 'junk' swords on the ground and takes the newest creation into the sunlight for inspection. A few minutes later, the master cries out.
| |
| | |
| "We've done it!"
| |
|
| |
|
| ==Gallery== | | ==Gallery== |