Armory of Marzan (212A)

[The_Empire]

Kisuke watches every minute of the man's work. The pasing of the man was quick. His process was like non other. The flames and the way he handled everything very delicate. Kisuke wanted to know how this works but didn't want to speak out of term. He is a man of knowledge but also a smart man to know when he should push boundaries and when not to. The sphere was finally finished by the bare hands of Marzan. He was unharmed and unphased by such heat. Kisuke opened his mouth but no words came out. The wall between the two was thicker than he imagine. This man was like no other and could be closes to God that Kisuke has ever been near.

The man was nearly done with Kisuke's tool and once he was he catches the tool with his right hand. It still had a warm feeling to it that Marzan warned him about.

Thank you very much. Such tool isn't made for battling but it has purpose like any other tool. It's all about how it's used.

Kisuke takes his tool and leaves the forge and landmark.

 

[Red-Robin]

This latest figure carried themselves with an air of propriety that Marzan welcomed but was not expecting in his chaotic environment. It was rather unfair of him to expect niceties from others when he himself leapt from one potential customer to another and back, forced to juggle expectations and deliver them in an expedient manner. As Zhongli extended a hand in greeting, the smith reached out, but hesitated, quickly dusting off stray ash and cinders from his hand before casually returning the gesture.

"There's no offense to be made here. It may have been Emiya who announced this Forge's location, but he wouldn't do so without my blessing, so you can be at ease; your actions are far from rude."​

Marzan would then notice Kisuke's return, cradling the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

"I on the other hand must ask you endure my unprofessional conduct once more.
If you could share your queries and concerns as I work, I would appreciate it."​

Even as he gave Zhongli his full attention, Marzan walked over to Kisuke, never once giving him the impression his desires were any less invalid than that of the returning Merchant's. And even as he began forging the other's tool, he made every effort to maintain an equilibrium of attention on both parties.
Taking all of Kisuke's materials in hand, Marzan inspected the quality of each piece one by one. Absolutely ordinary, yet not worthless. It's simplicity belied an application not even the smith could discern. He knew not why Kisuke wanted an unassuming object when the smith's collective creativity was at his disposal, but it was bound to be interesting whatever it was. While this forging was to be less intensive, it conversely required a more delicate hand. It would take less time to complete, but the smith nevertheless gave it his all.
First came the ore. It was to be shaped into a perfect sphere, then housed within a crystalline glass frame. Leaving the ore to smelt on the forge, he took the sandstone, the sturdier of the two remaining materials, and began to smelt that as well. He took his time, carefully molding the sandstone into a tetradecahedron, like a die one were to use in games of chance. With the shape of it molded, he carved it to perfection, sculpting the internals in preparation for what it was to house. Speaking of, as he'd finishing molding the sandstone, he wandered back over to the now completely malleable ore, picking it up with his bare hands, and began to shape it. Though he was directly holding molten metal, he showed no signs of pain, and in fact seemed to be completely in his element, his thumb carefully smoothing down the surface as he shaped it into a sphere of metal. While his grip was firm, the delicate motions he used to shape this sphere were surprisingly tender, careful. Even though it was shaped by his hands, by the time he was finished the orb's surface was almost glass-like itself, not a blemish or crack or mark on it's surface. With the core finished, Marzan returned to the glasswork, and more specifically the sand. Seeing as he'd crafted the casing and what it would house, all that remained was the glass that would keep the ore in place. Taking the loose sand and laying it out evenly on a plate-like instrument with a funnel on one end, the smith spent minutes allowing the sand to melt. With all the pieces now made, Marzan took the now liquid-like glass and poured it into one half of the casing, taking care to leave enough room in each half to ensure it would not overflow once the spherical ore was housed within. Finally, he combined all three together, sealing the ore within the geometrical case, before holding the completed sphere within a balled fist, and driving it into the flames of his forge, fusing and sealing the Hōgyoku together. With the item complete, he allowed it to cool down before tossing it to Kisuke with an underhand toss, careful and gentle.

"Might still be a bit warm, but there you go. One weird sphere."​

Spoiler: God Slayer Crumbling Orb

(Kamikorosu: Hōgyoku) – God Slayer: Crumbling Orb
Type: God-Slaying Artifact
Rank: C-Rank
Range: N/A
Chakra: N/A
Damage: N/A
Description: A unique object that consists of a glittering blue metallic sphere suspended within a glass container, forged as a God-Slaying Tool. It is incredibly small, only the size of a marble, being roughly three inches in diameter. This tool was forged for Kisuke; because it is a product of certain Atavistic techniques it is bound to his soul, its anti-Divinity properties are able to pierce the defenses afforded to Divine enemies in the Ninja World. This does not confer a God-Slaying Tool the ability to defeat properties of Anutu or its sub-components; it is specifically targeted against Divine enemies in the Ninja World and the Divinity that they possess. With proper focusing and enhancements perhaps this tool can become even stronger.

With Kisuke's order done, Marzan gave Zhongli his entirely undivided attention, prepared to answer any of their remaining queries.

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With the initial introductions out of the way, Zhongli's ears seemed to perk at the mention of a surprisingly familiar name; one he wasn't expecting to hear in such a place, though at the same time, it seemed oddly appropriate. A soft hum of understanding came from the Listener before he steadily lifted his arms into a tucked state across his chest, nodding. "So ser Shirou is still among the land of the living. I must say, I had my concerns for his well being with the encroaching raid upon the Underworld. I reckon you two know each other well, then?" No sooner than his first question had left to the air, the room was met with another body, carrying with them a variety of resources for the making of what one might easily assume was a request made of Marzan's talents. As if on que, the Forgemaster seemed to grumble as he dismissed himself from the active engagement he had with the Surgebinder, whom merely nodded with complete silent assurance that he understood all too well the calls of duty supersede a social obligation. In fact, he was all but eager to take the opportunity to watch the craftsman at work again. He felt it was a strange kind of privilege to see such a discipline at work and so few times close together.

Each step was meticulous and filled with purpose. nothing seemed to carry any weight of insignificance or felt superfluous. It was a hybrid of art and science; the beauty in the fluidity of tools at work and the concise manipulation of materials into greater products than their original forms. Zhongli had once served under a man as an apprentice, many, many years ago to be sure.. He could not help but recall the times of war that beckoned the unforgiving demand of craftsmen during such mortal quarrels that stained the ages. It came as no surprise that Marzan himself held far greater talent than Zhongli ever could hope to demonstrate himself, yet his understanding of the craft was enough to notice the more intricate details of the man's work. The longer he watched the creative process, the more he was reminded of his own creation that rested in it's compact state upon his waist; a triangular spearhead of what appeared to be golden-orange metal that dangled from his belt, just inside of his long-coat, ready to use at a moment's notice.

While the air of the armory grew hot with the fuel of the forge and the constant strike and warping of ore and minerals, Zhongli had brought himself to a rest along a nearby half wall; one that was likely in place as a means of a fixed support for a lineup of materials to idle in a propped position while awaiting their turn in the process of creation, for now it was unused and would serve well enough for a rest of his lower back. While he hadn't the desire to distract a man at work with his more inquisitive asks, he'd instead opt for things that seemed a touch more.. natural. An "ice-breaker" as some might call it. "You have a phenomenal knack for this trade to be sure, master Marzan, so I find myself curious: How many centuries have you honed your talents?" While Zhongli spoke quite casually on the subject, the clear suggestion that Marzan was far older than one might expect being potentially little more than a light dose of facetiousness; as one of many years himself, the Listener couldn't help but recognize the difference of a lifetime's work compared to many. Whether the man was truly just "that good" or there was more than meet's the eye to the Smith made little difference in the grant scheme of things, but it was enough for Zhongli to warrant clarity on the subject.

 

[Daemon]

Coming from (2) Port of Innovus (212) | Page 8 | Anime Forum (animebase.me)

Susabi finally made it to the forge. He walked into the small corridor where a single anvil was present. He took a couple of steps forward to get a full idea of where he was. The forge was rather small and unimpressive with many failed weaponry on the wall. It wasn't what he envisioned but if this was the place that was rumored then it'll do.

Susabi addressed the man near the anvil. Are you the one they call Marzan?

 

[Ańbu Juniør]

Coming From: Port of Innovus (212)

Kōtetsu arrives at the forge, but Marzan was not alone. One of the patrons was someone he'd met before, while the other was someone unfamiliar. The Inuzuka leans quietly against a dark corner of the forge and waits for the blacksmith's guests to leave.

 

[Keotsu]

Previous post.

---

Musashi arrived again after trekking back and forth across the continent, and climbing a large mountain. She could feel a smattering of souls coming to and from the forge, but paid it no mind at first.

"Hey, Great-Gramps, I'm back!" said Musashi, before something off piqued her interest. She scanned the room at first and noticed one individual in particular, a man with some hounds...something about him...his soul seemed familiar, somehow. It almost reminded her of her father, for some reason.

"I brought the ore you asked for!" she called out again, taking a seat unceremoniously on a barrel, with a large sigh.

 

[Imperfect]

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With the initial introductions out of the way, Zhongli's ears seemed to perk at the mention of a surprisingly familiar name; one he wasn't expecting to hear in such a place, though at the same time, it seemed oddly appropriate. A soft hum of understanding came from the Listener before he steadily lifted his arms into a tucked state across his chest, nodding. "So ser Shirou is still among the land of the living. I must say, I had my concerns for his well being with the encroaching raid upon the Underworld. I reckon you two know each other well, then?" No sooner than his first question had left to the air, the room was met with another body, carrying with them a variety of resources for the making of what one might easily assume was a request made of Marzan's talents. As if on que, the Forgemaster seemed to grumble as he dismissed himself from the active engagement he had with the Surgebinder, whom merely nodded with complete silent assurance that he understood all too well the calls of duty supersede a social obligation. In fact, he was all but eager to take the opportunity to watch the craftsman at work again. He felt it was a strange kind of privilege to see such a discipline at work and so few times close together.

Each step was meticulous and filled with purpose. nothing seemed to carry any weight of insignificance or felt superfluous. It was a hybrid of art and science; the beauty in the fluidity of tools at work and the concise manipulation of materials into greater products than their original forms. Zhongli had once served under a man as an apprentice, many, many years ago to be sure.. He could not help but recall the times of war that beckoned the unforgiving demand of craftsmen during such mortal quarrels that stained the ages. It came as no surprise that Marzan himself held far greater talent than Zhongli ever could hope to demonstrate himself, yet his understanding of the craft was enough to notice the more intricate details of the man's work. The longer he watched the creative process, the more he was reminded of his own creation that rested in it's compact state upon his waist; a triangular spearhead of what appeared to be golden-orange metal that dangled from his belt, just inside of his long-coat, ready to use at a moment's notice.

While the air of the armory grew hot with the fuel of the forge and the constant strike and warping of ore and minerals, Zhongli had brought himself to a rest along a nearby half wall; one that was likely in place as a means of a fixed support for a lineup of materials to idle in a propped position while awaiting their turn in the process of creation, for now it was unused and would serve well enough for a rest of his lower back. While he hadn't the desire to distract a man at work with his more inquisitive asks, he'd instead opt for things that seemed a touch more.. natural. An "ice-breaker" as some might call it. "You have a phenomenal knack for this trade to be sure, master Marzan, so I find myself curious: How many centuries have you honed your talents?" While Zhongli spoke quite casually on the subject, the clear suggestion that Marzan was far older than one might expect being potentially little more than a light dose of facetiousness; as one of many years himself, the Listener couldn't help but recognize the difference of a lifetime's work compared to many. Whether the man was truly just "that good" or there was more than meet's the eye to the Smith made little difference in the grant scheme of things, but it was enough for Zhongli to warrant clarity on the subject.

Marzan didn't know what to make of Zhongli really. At first glance he was a young man, and yet he had the purported patience of a saint. It was odd. Then there were his eyes, not something as superfluous as how they looked, but rather the insight they held. They were wise beyond the man's apparent years. This didn't matter much in their dialogue, but he was a curiosity nevertheless. When Zhongli made mention of Emiya's condition, the smith was moments away from blurting out that he'd died within minutes of their meeting one another, but decided against it. Seeing as Zhongli was an apparent acquaintance, he would most likely find out in time from the young man himself.

"Aye, he's alive, left here not too long ago in fact. But the way that one throws himself at problems, it's only a matter of time until he...
Well, best not to make ill commentary. He's made a fair few friends in his travels, so I'm sure they'll help keep him upright."​

With the implication that he knew Emiya on a deeper level, the smith could only laugh.

"I know one thing and one thing only about Emiya Shirō. It is the first thing you learn about him, and the only thing that matters. He won't hesitate to put others before himself, no matter the cost to himself. He's like a ceremonial blade, crafted for a specific purpose, that is to say the world's salvation, with almost nothing more beneath this surface of 'duty'. As though the 'blade' that is his life is hollow. I suspect he doesn't have any interests, or hobbies, or any true selfish desires one might consider 'normal'. There is his desire to save people, and that's it. Everything else is window dressing, an attempt at convincing you there is anything more to him than that, that there's a person beneath it all. The truth; There isn't... But I've rambled enough about that reckless, hopeless, selfless brat."​

While he was going off on a rather long tangent involving Emiya, several figures entered the forge, one even familiar to him; The swordswoman with the simple, beautiful request. As he began to turn his attention to the patient patrons, Zhongli's inquiry into his experience, and whether it came from his "ten thousand hours", or something more, Marzan had noted Zhongli's own quirks that outed him as wise beyond his years. It wasn't impossible for the Listener to do the same. Fair play as it were, so he answered sincerely.

"To put it bluntly... An eternity. I first made the God Slaying Tools to help humanity fight back against Tiamat back during the Era of the Gods. I haven't been at it all this time though. I was... Recruited for a job in Irkalla, and wasn't allowed to leave, until the Champion's recent incursion. That should give you sufficient idea as to how long I've been honing my craft. But enough about me. It's about time I got back to work."​

Coming from (2) Port of Innovus (212) | Page 8 | Anime Forum (animebase.me)

Susabi finally made it to the forge. He walked into the small corridor where a single anvil was present. He took a couple of steps forward to get a full idea of where he was. The forge was rather small and unimpressive with many failed weaponry on the wall. It wasn't what he envisioned but if this was the place that was rumored then it'll do.

Susabi addressed the man near the anvil. Are you the one they call Marzan?

First to arrive after Zhongli was a rather extravagant, if not outright flamboyant individual with deep azure hues, and an air of mystique about him. Didn't matter to the smith. The figure asked a simple question, and received a simple answer in turn.

"I am. Is there something I can help you with?"​

Coming From: Port of Innovus (212)

Kōtetsu arrives at the forge, but Marzan was not alone. One of the patrons was someone he'd met before, while the other was someone unfamiliar. The Inuzuka leans quietly against a dark corner of the forge and waits for the blacksmith's guests to leave.

Next in line was a hulking, animalistic figure. Upon laying eyes on the man, it was strange but he was oddly familiar. Marzan met a man with a similar face not long after they left Irkalla, Kōtetsu. Clearly he had taken the events within Irkalla to heart, and sought greater power. Whether or not it was though healthy, legal, or ethical means the smith couldn't say, but as his eyes drifted to the seal inscribed upon Kōtetsu's hand, identical to one on the man known as Lucifer, the smith's face became noticeably harsher as did his grip on the hammer held in his right hand. Seeing as the wayward soul was seemingly intentionally taking a spot far from the smith, it was clear he wanted their business to be done in privacy. Rather than cuss the man out in front of strangers, Marzan played along, and moved along to the next arrival.

Previous post.

---

Musashi arrived again after trekking back and forth across the continent, and climbing a large mountain. She could feel a smattering of souls coming to and from the forge, but paid it no mind at first.

"Hey, Great-Gramps, I'm back!" said Musashi, before something off piqued her interest. She scanned the room at first and noticed one individual in particular, a man with some hounds...something about him...his soul seemed familiar, somehow. It almost reminded her of her father, for some reason.

"I brought the ore you asked for!" she called out again, taking a seat unceremoniously on a barrel, with a large sigh.

Taking the ore from Musashi, Marzan gave a warm smile, gently placing a hand on the young woman's head, seemingly in a gesture of recognition for a job well done.

"Well now, this is some damn fine ore. I just have one question..."​

With all the force of a natural disaster that same hand offering praise was swiftly brought down on Musashi's skull, as the Smith erupted into a fit of rage that made his forge seem chilly by comparison.

"Where the hell is the rest of it, you idiot?! I can't very well be expected to make a sword out of scraps!! You barely brought enough for me to make you a butter knife!! When you said you didn't have the funds to buy one of my Tools, you failed to mention you can't even pay attention!! Now get back out there, and find some more ore you damn cheapskate, and if you even think of returning without enough ore to make three swords, you can pay double, no, TRIPLE!!"​

It didn't matter that the cost for the blade was still zero, knowing her for less than five minutes the smith still knew that Musashi would absolutely see the threat at face value and run for the hills. She would seek out the most abundant sources of ore, lest she suffer the wrath of having to pay thrice as much as a normal paying customer; Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Once she had left, whether she immediately did so, or lingered to cuss the smith out for his brutal method of instilling "enthusiasm" within her, Marzan would then inspect the ore in more detail. As he said, on it's own it couldn't make a blade. It could barely be forged into a tantō, never mind a full-length katana, but regardless of this fact, this ore, much like Isabella and Alucard before, held a deeper meaning to Musashi. A scarlet ore which had seemingly drank deep of the sun's rays and power. The end result, if forged with this ore, couldn't shoot out laser beams, nor would the blade hold the power of the sun either, but it would accurately reflect the nature of Musashi's soul; one that burned brightly, and on it's own terms. One that would touch the hearts of many, and bring a sense of warmth with her presence. Placing the ore to one side, he would await her return, this time with bated breath at what wonders she would produce.

 

[Keotsu]

Marzan didn't know what to make of Zhongli really. At first glance he was a young man, and yet he had the purported patience of a saint. It was odd. Then there were his eyes, not something as superfluous as how they looked, but rather the insight they held. They were wise beyond the man's apparent years. This didn't matter much in their dialogue, but he was a curiosity nevertheless. When Zhongli made mention of Emiya's condition, the smith was moments away from blurting out that he'd died within minutes of their meeting one another, but decided against it. Seeing as Zhongli was an apparent acquaintance, he would most likely find out in time from the young man himself.

"Aye, he's alive, left here not too long ago in fact. But the way that one throws himself at problems, it's only a matter of time until he...
Well, best not to make ill commentary. He's made a fair few friends in his travels, so I'm sure they'll help keep him upright."​

With the implication that he knew Emiya on a deeper level, the smith could only laugh.

"I know one thing and one thing only about Emiya Shirō. It is the first thing you learn about him, and the only thing that matters. He won't hesitate to put others before himself, no matter the cost to himself. He's like a ceremonial blade, crafted for a specific purpose, that is to say the world's salvation, with almost nothing more beneath this surface of 'duty'. As though the 'blade' that is his life is hollow. I suspect he doesn't have any interests, or hobbies, or any true selfish desires one might consider 'normal'. There is his desire to save people, and that's it. Everything else is window dressing, an attempt at convincing you there is anything more to him than that, that there's a person beneath it all. The truth; There isn't... But I've rambled enough about that reckless, hopeless, selfless brat."​

While he was going off on a rather long tangent involving Emiya, several figures entered the forge, one even familiar to him; The swordswoman with the simple, beautiful request. As he began to turn his attention to the patient patrons, Zhongli's inquiry into his experience, and whether it came from his "ten thousand hours", or something more, Marzan had noted Zhongli's own quirks that outed him as wise beyond his years. It wasn't impossible for the Listener to do the same. Fair play as it were, so he answered sincerely.

"To put it bluntly... An eternity. I first made the God Slaying Tools to help humanity fight back against Tiamat back during the Era of the Gods. I haven't been at it all this time though. I was... Recruited for a job in Irkalla, and wasn't allowed to leave, until the Champion's recent incursion. That should give you sufficient idea as to how long I've been honing my craft. But enough about me. It's about time I got back to work."​

First to arrive after Zhongli was a rather extravagant, if not outright flamboyant individual with deep azure hues, and an air of mystique about him. Didn't matter to the smith. The figure asked a simple question, and received a simple answer in turn.

"I am. Is there something I can help you with?"​

Next in line was a hulking, animalistic figure. Upon laying eyes on the man, it was strange but he was oddly familiar. Marzan met a man with a similar face not long after they left Irkalla, Kōtetsu. Clearly he had taken the events within Irkalla to heart, and sought greater power. Whether or not it was though healthy, legal, or ethical means the smith couldn't say, but as his eyes drifted to the seal inscribed upon Kōtetsu's hand, identical to one on the man known as Lucifer, the smith's face became noticeably harsher as did his grip on the hammer held in his right hand. Seeing as the wayward soul was seemingly intentionally taking a spot far from the smith, it was clear he wanted their business to be done in privacy. Rather than cuss the man out in front of strangers, Marzan played along, and moved along to the next arrival.



Taking the ore from Musashi, Marzan gave a warm smile, gently placing a hand on the young woman's head, seemingly in a gesture of recognition for a job well done.

"Well now, this is some damn fine ore. I just have one question..."​

With all the force of a natural disaster that same hand offering praise was swiftly brought down on Musashi's skull, as the Smith erupted into a fit of rage that made his forge seem chilly by comparison.

"Where the hell is the rest of it, you idiot?! I can't very well be expected to make a sword out of scraps!! You barely brought enough for me to make you a butter knife!! When you said you didn't have the funds to buy one of my Tools, you failed to mention you can't even pay attention!! Now get back out there, and find some more ore you damn cheapskate, and if you even think of returning without enough ore to make three swords, you can pay double, no, TRIPLE!!"​

It didn't matter that the cost for the blade was still zero, knowing her for less than five minutes the smith still knew that Musashi would absolutely see the threat at face value and run for the hills. She would seek out the most abundant sources of ore, lest she suffer the wrath of having to pay thrice as much as a normal paying customer; Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Once she had left, whether she immediately did so, or lingered to cuss the smith out for his brutal method of instilling "enthusiasm" within her, Marzan would then inspect the ore in more detail. As he said, on it's own it couldn't make a blade. It could barely be forged into a tantō, never mind a full-length katana, but regardless of this fact, this ore, much like Isabella and Alucard before, held a deeper meaning to Musashi. A scarlet ore which had seemingly drank deep of the sun's rays and power. The end result, if forged with this ore, couldn't shoot out laser beams, nor would the blade hold the power of the sun either, but it would accurately reflect the nature of Musashi's soul; one that burned brightly, and on it's own terms. One that would touch the hearts of many, and bring a sense of warmth with her presence. Placing the ore to one side, he would await her return, this time with bated breath at what wonders she would produce.

Praise quickly turned to admonishment, as Marzan smacked Musashi on the head for bringing an inadequate quantity of ore to actually forge a weapon. Retreating quickly with her figurative tail between her legs, she shouted out as she quickly left through the door she came in through, "Sorry, Great-Gramps! I'll bring more!" she said, shielding her head while laughing the whole way.

The old man's soul was ancient and well tempered, but...Musashi smiled, feeling the man's warmth in her heart.

She walked, not in a sprint, but with a quickened pace, intending to return home, well, as much as "home" could be in this world. She would head to the port first, but she felt if she needed a lot of high quality ore, than the Land of Iron would naturally be her choice. She had no doubt she could get much workable quality ore easily, but with something like a sword forged by a master smith, things like this should be done with care and not haphazardly. If the Land of Iron in this world was as familiar as the one she was used to, she already had an inkling of where to go.

Leaving Landmark for Port of Innovus (212).

 

[Red-Robin]

Marzan didn't know what to make of Zhongli really. At first glance he was a young man, and yet he had the purported patience of a saint. It was odd. Then there were his eyes, not something as superfluous as how they looked, but rather the insight they held. They were wise beyond the man's apparent years. This didn't matter much in their dialogue, but he was a curiosity nevertheless. When Zhongli made mention of Emiya's condition, the smith was moments away from blurting out that he'd died within minutes of their meeting one another, but decided against it. Seeing as Zhongli was an apparent acquaintance, he would most likely find out in time from the young man himself.

"Aye, he's alive, left here not too long ago in fact. But the way that one throws himself at problems, it's only a matter of time until he...
Well, best not to make ill commentary. He's made a fair few friends in his travels, so I'm sure they'll help keep him upright."​

With the implication that he knew Emiya on a deeper level, the smith could only laugh.

"I know one thing and one thing only about Emiya Shirō. It is the first thing you learn about him, and the only thing that matters. He won't hesitate to put others before himself, no matter the cost to himself. He's like a ceremonial blade, crafted for a specific purpose, that is to say the world's salvation, with almost nothing more beneath this surface of 'duty'. As though the 'blade' that is his life is hollow. I suspect he doesn't have any interests, or hobbies, or any true selfish desires one might consider 'normal'. There is his desire to save people, and that's it. Everything else is window dressing, an attempt at convincing you there is anything more to him than that, that there's a person beneath it all. The truth; There isn't... But I've rambled enough about that reckless, hopeless, selfless brat."​

While he was going off on a rather long tangent involving Emiya, several figures entered the forge, one even familiar to him; The swordswoman with the simple, beautiful request. As he began to turn his attention to the patient patrons, Zhongli's inquiry into his experience, and whether it came from his "ten thousand hours", or something more, Marzan had noted Zhongli's own quirks that outed him as wise beyond his years. It wasn't impossible for the Listener to do the same. Fair play as it were, so he answered sincerely.

"To put it bluntly... An eternity. I first made the God Slaying Tools to help humanity fight back against Tiamat back during the Era of the Gods. I haven't been at it all this time though. I was... Recruited for a job in Irkalla, and wasn't allowed to leave, until the Champion's recent incursion. That should give you sufficient idea as to how long I've been honing my craft. But enough about me. It's about time I got back to work."​

First to arrive after Zhongli was a rather extravagant, if not outright flamboyant individual with deep azure hues, and an air of mystique about him. Didn't matter to the smith. The figure asked a simple question, and received a simple answer in turn.

"I am. Is there something I can help you with?"​

Next in line was a hulking, animalistic figure. Upon laying eyes on the man, it was strange but he was oddly familiar. Marzan met a man with a similar face not long after they left Irkalla, Kōtetsu. Clearly he had taken the events within Irkalla to heart, and sought greater power. Whether or not it was though healthy, legal, or ethical means the smith couldn't say, but as his eyes drifted to the seal inscribed upon Kōtetsu's hand, identical to one on the man known as Lucifer, the smith's face became noticeably harsher as did his grip on the hammer held in his right hand. Seeing as the wayward soul was seemingly intentionally taking a spot far from the smith, it was clear he wanted their business to be done in privacy. Rather than cuss the man out in front of strangers, Marzan played along, and moved along to the next arrival.
Taking the ore from Musashi, Marzan gave a warm smile, gently placing a hand on the young woman's head, seemingly in a gesture of recognition for a job well done.

"Well now, this is some damn fine ore. I just have one question..."​

With all the force of a natural disaster that same hand offering praise was swiftly brought down on Musashi's skull, as the Smith erupted into a fit of rage that made his forge seem chilly by comparison.

"Where the hell is the rest of it, you idiot?! I can't very well be expected to make a sword out of scraps!! You barely brought enough for me to make you a butter knife!! When you said you didn't have the funds to buy one of my Tools, you failed to mention you can't even pay attention!! Now get back out there, and find some more ore you damn cheapskate, and if you even think of returning without enough ore to make three swords, you can pay double, no, TRIPLE!!"​

It didn't matter that the cost for the blade was still zero, knowing her for less than five minutes the smith still knew that Musashi would absolutely see the threat at face value and run for the hills. She would seek out the most abundant sources of ore, lest she suffer the wrath of having to pay thrice as much as a normal paying customer; Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Once she had left, whether she immediately did so, or lingered to cuss the smith out for his brutal method of instilling "enthusiasm" within her, Marzan would then inspect the ore in more detail. As he said, on it's own it couldn't make a blade. It could barely be forged into a tantō, never mind a full-length katana, but regardless of this fact, this ore, much like Isabella and Alucard before, held a deeper meaning to Musashi. A scarlet ore which had seemingly drank deep of the sun's rays and power. The end result, if forged with this ore, couldn't shoot out laser beams, nor would the blade hold the power of the sun either, but it would accurately reflect the nature of Musashi's soul; one that burned brightly, and on it's own terms. One that would touch the hearts of many, and bring a sense of warmth with her presence. Placing the ore to one side, he would await her return, this time with bated breath at what wonders she would produce.

Zhongli listened attentively with curiosity aplenty to hear more of his peer he had not seen in some time. The descriptiveness matched in a rather uncanny perfect comparison to his own accounts of the man in question. Shirō was truly a rather straight-forward individual; predictable but not all at the same time. It was truly a mystery of how he had not died seven-fold by now, rivaling the resilience of even a feline in his unwillingness to depart the world on anything but his own terms. On one hand, Zhongli felt a curious need to pick up where Emiya lacked in caution and self-preservation, but on the other, he knew better than to subvert the destiny of those readily forging their own paths. The Listener was no stranger to tragedies; so few having been written by him or with him involved, even. While Shirō's behavior begged a tragedy, he could not help but want to see how it would turn out, amid the grand scheme of the world's stage that was unfolding even as he spoke with Marzan. Regardless of what he might do, Zhongli knew that he first needed to even locate where his clansman had gone so that they might be able to reconvene on previously unfinished business.

All the same, Zhongli could not help but stifle a soft chuckle of his own that would reverberate beneath one shallow breath he'd let loose before it'd shape into words. "A fair and consistent assessment of the account of the boy in question. It does indeed seem we speak of the very same Shirō Emiya. I reckon he frequents this establishment of yours often, then? Would you happen to know where he might be, or possibly heading now?" While he had no intentions of "giving chase" so soon after learning of Shirō's whereabouts, he'd certainly find it beneficial to have an idea of his leading goals in the current climate of worldly affairs. As piously virtuous that Shirō was, Zhongli couldn't help but reflect on how ambitious he was, despite the description he shared the opinion of with Marzan. If there was something new or peculiar to be known in the world at large today, Zhongli's best chance based on current affiliations to discover them was no doubt in the telling of Emiya's developing story.

In the meantime, as he awaited the response to his inquiry from Marzan, Zhongli mulled over the response he was given with regard to the Forgemaster's origins. His isolation within the Underworld was doubtless the result of the crime against the Gods through the forging of weapons meant to elevate the mortal realm to the pinnacle the Gods fancied exclusively their own. While there was likely a tale to be told of how he ended up there, Zhongli had no immediate intention of hearing the telling for the moment. Instead, he felt there was more to these "God Slaying Tools" that seemed to be on the whim of every individual that would visit the Forge; even Marzan himself. No doubt he was the only being in existence -alive or otherwise- that seemed capable of crafting such devices. While the name seemed telling by itself, Zhongli felt the need to ask for further clarity. "These tools you create.. I find myself curious of what purpose they serve in a post-era of Divinity amid the mortal realm. The Gods had averted their attention of the Corporeal Plain predating the early Calendar. While there may yet be residual consequence of their prior involvements.. what news is there of such things these days, if I might ask?"

 

[Daemon]

Marzan didn't know what to make of Zhongli really. At first glance he was a young man, and yet he had the purported patience of a saint. It was odd. Then there were his eyes, not something as superfluous as how they looked, but rather the insight they held. They were wise beyond the man's apparent years. This didn't matter much in their dialogue, but he was a curiosity nevertheless. When Zhongli made mention of Emiya's condition, the smith was moments away from blurting out that he'd died within minutes of their meeting one another, but decided against it. Seeing as Zhongli was an apparent acquaintance, he would most likely find out in time from the young man himself.

"Aye, he's alive, left here not too long ago in fact. But the way that one throws himself at problems, it's only a matter of time until he...

Well, best not to make ill commentary. He's made a fair few friends in his travels, so I'm sure they'll help keep him upright."​

With the implication that he knew Emiya on a deeper level, the smith could only laugh.

"I know one thing and one thing only about Emiya Shirō. It is the first thing you learn about him, and the only thing that matters. He won't hesitate to put others before himself, no matter the cost to himself. He's like a ceremonial blade, crafted for a specific purpose, that is to say the world's salvation, with almost nothing more beneath this surface of 'duty'. As though the 'blade' that is his life is hollow. I suspect he doesn't have any interests, or hobbies, or any true selfish desires one might consider 'normal'. There is his desire to save people, and that's it. Everything else is window dressing, an attempt at convincing you there is anything more to him than that, that there's a person beneath it all. The truth; There isn't... But I've rambled enough about that reckless, hopeless, selfless brat."​

While he was going off on a rather long tangent involving Emiya, several figures entered the forge, one even familiar to him; The swordswoman with the simple, beautiful request. As he began to turn his attention to the patient patrons, Zhongli's inquiry into his experience, and whether it came from his "ten thousand hours", or something more, Marzan had noted Zhongli's own quirks that outed him as wise beyond his years. It wasn't impossible for the Listener to do the same. Fair play as it were, so he answered sincerely.

"To put it bluntly... An eternity. I first made the God Slaying Tools to help humanity fight back against Tiamat back during the Era of the Gods. I haven't been at it all this time though. I was... Recruited for a job in Irkalla, and wasn't allowed to leave, until the Champion's recent incursion. That should give you sufficient idea as to how long I've been honing my craft. But enough about me. It's about time I got back to work."​

First to arrive after Zhongli was a rather extravagant, if not outright flamboyant individual with deep azure hues, and an air of mystique about him. Didn't matter to the smith. The figure asked a simple question, and received a simple answer in turn.

"I am. Is there something I can help you with?"​

Next in line was a hulking, animalistic figure. Upon laying eyes on the man, it was strange but he was oddly familiar. Marzan met a man with a similar face not long after they left Irkalla, Kōtetsu. Clearly he had taken the events within Irkalla to heart, and sought greater power. Whether or not it was though healthy, legal, or ethical means the smith couldn't say, but as his eyes drifted to the seal inscribed upon Kōtetsu's hand, identical to one on the man known as Lucifer, the smith's face became noticeably harsher as did his grip on the hammer held in his right hand. Seeing as the wayward soul was seemingly intentionally taking a spot far from the smith, it was clear he wanted their business to be done in privacy. Rather than cuss the man out in front of strangers, Marzan played along, and moved along to the next arrival.



Taking the ore from Musashi, Marzan gave a warm smile, gently placing a hand on the young woman's head, seemingly in a gesture of recognition for a job well done.

"Well now, this is some damn fine ore. I just have one question..."​

With all the force of a natural disaster that same hand offering praise was swiftly brought down on Musashi's skull, as the Smith erupted into a fit of rage that made his forge seem chilly by comparison.

"Where the hell is the rest of it, you idiot?! I can't very well be expected to make a sword out of scraps!! You barely brought enough for me to make you a butter knife!! When you said you didn't have the funds to buy one of my Tools, you failed to mention you can't even pay attention!! Now get back out there, and find some more ore you damn cheapskate, and if you even think of returning without enough ore to make three swords, you can pay double, no, TRIPLE!!"​

It didn't matter that the cost for the blade was still zero, knowing her for less than five minutes the smith still knew that Musashi would absolutely see the threat at face value and run for the hills. She would seek out the most abundant sources of ore, lest she suffer the wrath of having to pay thrice as much as a normal paying customer; Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Once she had left, whether she immediately did so, or lingered to cuss the smith out for his brutal method of instilling "enthusiasm" within her, Marzan would then inspect the ore in more detail. As he said, on it's own it couldn't make a blade. It could barely be forged into a tantō, never mind a full-length katana, but regardless of this fact, this ore, much like Isabella and Alucard before, held a deeper meaning to Musashi. A scarlet ore which had seemingly drank deep of the sun's rays and power. The end result, if forged with this ore, couldn't shoot out laser beams, nor would the blade hold the power of the sun either, but it would accurately reflect the nature of Musashi's soul; one that burned brightly, and on it's own terms. One that would touch the hearts of many, and bring a sense of warmth with her presence. Placing the ore to one side, he would await her return, this time with bated breath at what wonders she would produce.

Susabi took a step forward. And bowed his head slightly.

Well, it is an honor. Sorry to barge in on your... Susabi looked around at the state of the forge. It wasn't in the best shape but it was small, cozy and welcoming despite everything. Humble abode. Even though you've been pent up here for god knows how long as this point, I'm sure you are aware of the state of the world outside of these walls, yes? We are currently at war and from the looks of it... we are barely surviving.

Susabi pulled out a scroll from the inside of his robe and placed it on Marzan's workbench. It was a template for a prototype weapon that the Hyuga clan had drafted up some decades ago, that he had taken from the clan's library when he took power. It was an odd weapon but designed in what logically would befit a Hyuga. The blueprint was 10 individual pieces of finger armor, one for each finger in the hand. Each of piece of armor came to a point so that the tips could be as sharp as the finest dagger.

Is something like this doable? He thought if this man, no if this god could truly make weapons that could slay even gods, then this could be useful to him.

 

[Imperfect]

Zhongli listened attentively with curiosity aplenty to hear more of his peer he had not seen in some time. The descriptiveness matched in a rather uncanny perfect comparison to his own accounts of the man in question. Shirō was truly a rather straight-forward individual; predictable but not all at the same time. It was truly a mystery of how he had not died seven-fold by now, rivaling the resilience of even a feline in his unwillingness to depart the world on anything but his own terms. On one hand, Zhongli felt a curious need to pick up where Emiya lacked in caution and self-preservation, but on the other, he knew better than to subvert the destiny of those readily forging their own paths. The Listener was no stranger to tragedies; so few having been written by him or with him involved, even. While Shirō's behavior begged a tragedy, he could not help but want to see how it would turn out, amid the grand scheme of the world's stage that was unfolding even as he spoke with Marzan. Regardless of what he might do, Zhongli knew that he first needed to even locate where his clansman had gone so that they might be able to reconvene on previously unfinished business.

All the same, Zhongli could not help but stifle a soft chuckle of his own that would reverberate beneath one shallow breath he'd let loose before it'd shape into words. "A fair and consistent assessment of the account of the boy in question. It does indeed seem we speak of the very same Shirō Emiya. I reckon he frequents this establishment of yours often, then? Would you happen to know where he might be, or possibly heading now?" While he had no intentions of "giving chase" so soon after learning of Shirō's whereabouts, he'd certainly find it beneficial to have an idea of his leading goals in the current climate of worldly affairs. As piously virtuous that Shirō was, Zhongli couldn't help but reflect on how ambitious he was, despite the description he shared the opinion of with Marzan. If there was something new or peculiar to be known in the world at large today, Zhongli's best chance based on current affiliations to discover them was no doubt in the telling of Emiya's developing story.

In the meantime, as he awaited the response to his inquiry from Marzan, Zhongli mulled over the response he was given with regard to the Forgemaster's origins. His isolation within the Underworld was doubtless the result of the crime against the Gods through the forging of weapons meant to elevate the mortal realm to the pinnacle the Gods fancied exclusively their own. While there was likely a tale to be told of how he ended up there, Zhongli had no immediate intention of hearing the telling for the moment. Instead, he felt there was more to these "God Slaying Tools" that seemed to be on the whim of every individual that would visit the Forge; even Marzan himself. No doubt he was the only being in existence -alive or otherwise- that seemed capable of crafting such devices. While the name seemed telling by itself, Zhongli felt the need to ask for further clarity. "These tools you create.. I find myself curious of what purpose they serve in a post-era of Divinity amid the mortal realm. The Gods had averted their attention of the Corporeal Plain predating the early Calendar. While there may yet be residual consequence of their prior involvements.. what news is there of such things these days, if I might ask?"

With Musashi leaving abruptly as expected, and Kōtetsu maintaining his position and stoic hesitance to explain why exactly he had come, and presumably with a weapon similar in nature, origin and purpose as Lucifer's, Marzan only had the two remaining souls to see to. With Zhongli probing ever deeper into the extent of the smith's knowledge, and the mysterious Susabi only asking what he seemed to deem necessary, he was certainly in diverse company.

"I'd say it's a fair statement to make. He comes and goes as he pleases, but my work means I'm never idle or bored. As for his whereabouts, he left here in a rush, and as I mentioned rather recently. Recent developments in the far West have grabbed what little attention he can spare. Apparently a big expedition's being undertaken out of a port city to the North, and they aim to sail for a newly discovered landmass beyond the Lands of Wind and Earth. They're calling them the Outer Lands."​

As Zhongli returned his line of inquiry to the Tools, Marzan was seemingly perplexed at the man's request for clarification for their need to exist. The Smith, perhaps in a hasty but not untrue desire to defend his works, gave his reply.

"What purpose do they serve? They may not rule over us as an oppressive force, but Gods are among us whether you see them as such or not, Zhongli. Phetra usurped the Crown of the Undying, and ruled over Irkalla with a heartless grip for millennia, and no one was any the wiser. Humanity's Champions could barely stop her, and it still required intervention from a flesh and blood Divinity that happened to be on Humanty's side. If things had been even a little different, they would have failed, and Humanity may have been truly doomed. And the False Queen of the Underworld was just one of many who may seek to control humanity, steering them onto a path that leads to oblivion. Other beings in this world merely contain a God's Divinity, and while they lack the strength of a true God, their Divine Authority makes them wholly unassailable to a mere human. These Tools exist because they can, and because they must, to equalize the field between humans and Gods, Zhongli."​

Susabi took a step forward. And bowed his head slightly.

Well, it is an honor. Sorry to barge in on your... Susabi looked around at the state of the forge. It wasn't in the best shape but it was small, cozy and welcoming despite everything. Humble abode. Even though you've been pent up here for god knows how long as this point, I'm sure you are aware of the state of the world outside of these walls, yes? We are currently at war and from the looks of it... we are barely surviving.

Susabi pulled out a scroll from the inside of his robe and placed it on Marzan's workbench. It was a template for a prototype weapon that the Hyuga clan had drafted up some decades ago, that he had taken from the clan's library when he took power. It was an odd weapon but designed in what logically would befit a Hyuga. The blueprint was 10 individual pieces of finger armor, one for each finger in the hand. Each of piece of armor came to a point so that the tips could be as sharp as the finest dagger.

Is something like this doable? He thought if this man, no if this god could truly make weapons that could slay even gods, then this could be useful to him.

The pause was blatant, but seemingly not intended as an insult. The smith paid it no mind. His "humble" lodgings made sure to correct any preconceived notions that he was some grand figure. As the comment about humanity's state was made, the Smith was quick to respond.

"Barely surviving?"​

Marzan looked over to his forge in an exaggerated fashion, the flames burning bright as ever.

"I'm not so sure about that one. So long as the flames of my forge yet burn, Humanity is far from done.
As you can see, they are as vigorous as ever. I would say, despite the circumstances, they burn brighter these days."​

With a detailed template laid out before him, Marzan inspected the design for but a moment. It was essentially plate mail for one's fingers and thumbs, sections that were connected and provided protection, but allowed freedom of movement and a range of motion close to that of an unarmored hand. Honestly, it wasn't simple, but it wasn't hard either. It was specific, but within the realm of reason.

"Aye, I could create something akin to that. Might not be as elegant as you're imagining, but I could forge the basic template. You'll need something light and malleable for this. I'll leave the kind up to you, but considering this is a delicate job, I'll need a lot of ore, just in case."​

---

Complete three B-Rank missions in the Badlands of Earth or the Iron Peninsula to gather the raw ore that Marzan needs to forge your tool, then return.

 

[Daemon]

With Musashi leaving abruptly as expected, and Kōtetsu maintaining his position and stoic hesitance to explain why exactly he had come, and presumably with a weapon similar in nature, origin and purpose as Lucifer's, Marzan only had the two remaining souls to see to. With Zhongli probing ever deeper into the extent of the smith's knowledge, and the mysterious Susabi only asking what he seemed to deem necessary, he was certainly in diverse company.

"I'd say it's a fair statement to make. He comes and goes as he pleases, but my work means I'm never idle or bored. As for his whereabouts, he left here in a rush, and as I mentioned rather recently. Recent developments in the far West have grabbed what little attention he can spare. Apparently a big expedition's being undertaken out of a port city to the North, and they aim to sail for a newly discovered landmass beyond the Lands of Wind and Earth. They're calling them the Outer Lands."​

As Zhongli returned his line of inquiry to the Tools, Marzan was seemingly perplexed at the man's request for clarification for their need to exist. The Smith, perhaps in a hasty but not untrue desire to defend his works, gave his reply.

"What purpose do they serve? They may not rule over us as an oppressive force, but Gods are among us whether you see them as such or not, Zhongli. Phetra usurped the Crown of the Undying, and ruled over Irkalla with a heartless grip for millennia, and no one was any the wiser. Humanity's Champions could barely stop her, and it still required intervention from a flesh and blood Divinity that happened to be on Humanty's side. If things had been even a little different, they would have failed, and Humanity may have been truly doomed. And the False Queen of the Underworld was just one of many who may seek to control humanity, steering them onto a path that leads to oblivion. Other beings in this world merely contain a God's Divinity, and while they lack the strength of a true God, their Divine Authority makes them wholly unassailable to a mere human. These Tools exist because they can, and because they must, to equalize the field between humans and Gods, Zhongli."​

The pause was blatant, but seemingly not intended as an insult. The smith paid it no mind. His "humble" lodgings made sure to correct any preconceived notions that he was some grand figure. As the comment about humanity's state was made, the Smith was quick to respond.

"Barely surviving?"​

Marzan looked over to his forge in an exaggerated fashion, the flames burning bright as ever.

"I'm not so sure about that one. So long as the flames of my forge yet burn, Humanity is far from done.
As you can see, they are as vigorous as ever. I would say, despite the circumstances, they burn brighter these days."​

With a detailed template laid out before him, Marzan inspected the design for but a moment. It was essentially plate mail for one's fingers and thumbs, sections that were connected and provided protection, but allowed freedom of movement and a range of motion close to that of an unarmored hand. Honestly, it wasn't simple, but it wasn't hard either. It was specific, but within the realm of reason.

"Aye, I could create something akin to that. Might not be as elegant as you're imagining, but I could forge the basic template. You'll need something light and malleable for this. I'll leave the kind up to you, but considering this is a delicate job, I'll need a lot of ore, just in case."​

---

Complete three B-Rank missions in the Badlands of Earth or the Iron Peninsula to gather the raw ore that Marzan needs to forge your tool, then return.

The Hyuga listened to Marzan's words. The flame of humanity was still burning yes as there were those still standing to fight. However, in Susabi's eyes, the recent loss of hundreds of thousands of lives wasn't exactly a good omen for the state of humanity. Susabi sighed deeply while folding his arms.

Oh, Marzan. I wouldn't call losing a third of the population brighter by any means. But I appreciate your hopefulness. A bright spot in these grave times.

He was pleased to hear that Marzan could make something comparable, but was surprised that he had to provide the material himself. But it was the least he could do.

Don't worry about the elegance. Its sentimental value is enough.

Susabi turned waved to the blacksmith signaling that he was off to gather the required materials.

LLM

---

 

[Red-Robin]

With Musashi leaving abruptly as expected, and Kōtetsu maintaining his position and stoic hesitance to explain why exactly he had come, and presumably with a weapon similar in nature, origin and purpose as Lucifer's, Marzan only had the two remaining souls to see to. With Zhongli probing ever deeper into the extent of the smith's knowledge, and the mysterious Susabi only asking what he seemed to deem necessary, he was certainly in diverse company.

"I'd say it's a fair statement to make. He comes and goes as he pleases, but my work means I'm never idle or bored. As for his whereabouts, he left here in a rush, and as I mentioned rather recently. Recent developments in the far West have grabbed what little attention he can spare. Apparently a big expedition's being undertaken out of a port city to the North, and they aim to sail for a newly discovered landmass beyond the Lands of Wind and Earth. They're calling them the Outer Lands."​

As Zhongli returned his line of inquiry to the Tools, Marzan was seemingly perplexed at the man's request for clarification for their need to exist. The Smith, perhaps in a hasty but not untrue desire to defend his works, gave his reply.

"What purpose do they serve? They may not rule over us as an oppressive force, but Gods are among us whether you see them as such or not, Zhongli. Phetra usurped the Crown of the Undying, and ruled over Irkalla with a heartless grip for millennia, and no one was any the wiser. Humanity's Champions could barely stop her, and it still required intervention from a flesh and blood Divinity that happened to be on Humanty's side. If things had been even a little different, they would have failed, and Humanity may have been truly doomed. And the False Queen of the Underworld was just one of many who may seek to control humanity, steering them onto a path that leads to oblivion. Other beings in this world merely contain a God's Divinity, and while they lack the strength of a true God, their Divine Authority makes them wholly unassailable to a mere human. These Tools exist because they can, and because they must, to equalize the field between humans and Gods, Zhongli."​

The pause was blatant, but seemingly not intended as an insult. The smith paid it no mind. His "humble" lodgings made sure to correct any preconceived notions that he was some grand figure. As the comment about humanity's state was made, the Smith was quick to respond.

"Barely surviving?"​

Marzan looked over to his forge in an exaggerated fashion, the flames burning bright as ever.

"I'm not so sure about that one. So long as the flames of my forge yet burn, Humanity is far from done.

As you can see, they are as vigorous as ever. I would say, despite the circumstances, they burn brighter these days."​

With a detailed template laid out before him, Marzan inspected the design for but a moment. It was essentially plate mail for one's fingers and thumbs, sections that were connected and provided protection, but allowed freedom of movement and a range of motion close to that of an unarmored hand. Honestly, it wasn't simple, but it wasn't hard either. It was specific, but within the realm of reason.

"Aye, I could create something akin to that. Might not be as elegant as you're imagining, but I could forge the basic template. You'll need something light and malleable for this. I'll leave the kind up to you, but considering this is a delicate job, I'll need a lot of ore, just in case."​

---

Complete three B-Rank missions in the Badlands of Earth or the Iron Peninsula to gather the raw ore that Marzan needs to forge your tool, then return.

Zhongli was fixed in a state of attentiveness as Marzan spoke, unperturbed by anything -or anyone- else that might have been lingering about in the Armory still. He suffered only a moment of distraction to take in the declaration of a name he was only briefly introduced to at the turn

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of the tide of events that were transpiring in the world during his last awakening: Phetra. He elevated a hand to pinch tenderly at his chin, rubbing it in a pensive thought as Marzan spoke, awaiting the man's words to lull to a pause before his attention shifted to the other client that awaited his services. In that time, Zhongli allowed for his thoughts to gather; reminiscing on old tales and prior experiences of his own before Marzan had returned from his engagement with the other fellow, allowing for their conversation to continue once again.

"So then it is true that lady Ereshkigal had faced obstruction to her control over the domain of the dead.. That would explain the strange happenings with the surfacing of many of the Undeath in the last few hundred years. I had thought her domain was being overwhelmed given the vast wars that had been transpiring over the past few cycles that was resulting in an overflow of spirits from one realm into the other. The mere presence of even the infamous forbidden Edo arts represents an affront to her Authority; an insult she would not leave to pass among the fragile memories of mortalkind. This explains quite a lot, in fact..." Something in the mulling of Zhongli's words felt as if he were simply thinking aloud to himself, as if he were stringing webs to thoughts and hypothesis' in a chain of events that seemed to lack information from what he knew, compared to what was reality now. After a brief pause, he returned his golden eyes to the Forgemaster, something of a nagging to his gaze that seemed to brew among his stirring thoughts. "So then a new era of sudo-divinity has begun to arise once again. Something tells me this is by no coincidence that correlates to the most recent wakening of the Mother of Life; such is to be expected among the closing chapters to the era of Gods. Yet tools such as these is hardly lacking in the means to bargain the disparity between humanity and the Gods. It is akin to giving a spear to a antelope and expecting it to face a lion with less humbling odds. Which begs my next question, if you would further indulge me, Master smith: It comes as a curiosity that a figure such as yourself sits upon arguably the disparaged side of this cycle's engagement between the realms.. Do you find your work necessary because you believe in the cause humanity heralds, or do you go on out of mere obligation alone?" True, The Listener's words seemed harsh and quite disrespectful for the craftsman's livelihood on the surface, yet he was hardly a man that made a habit of chastising one's character or morals; farbeit for even him to judge another for the conscious decisions they make in accordance to their own beliefs or interests. Yet too often was the tale of mortal and divine told in varying forms that all told the same beginning and end: Man often relished in their sins and wore them in pride. Even in their purest of Ages, they found folly in the mere notion that the Gods so much as existed and allowed things such as famine, plight and misfortune to exist, thus taking up arms to suffer only an undoing of their own as they laid down challenge after challenge to the Gods after laying blame for such things at the divine's feet.. what made this time any different? Over the years, Zhongli had become no stranger to the warmongering of mortals, nor their fallible efforts to cling to their superiority upon the "food chain," as it were. Perhaps, in a way, he had hopes that Marzan might be able to sway his fossilized heart.

 

[Imperfect]

Zhongli was fixed in a state of attentiveness as Marzan spoke, unperturbed by anything -or anyone- else that might have been lingering about in the Armory still. He suffered only a moment of distraction to take in the declaration of a name he was only briefly introduced to at the turn

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of the tide of events that were transpiring in the world during his last awakening: Phetra. He elevated a hand to pinch tenderly at his chin, rubbing it in a pensive thought as Marzan spoke, awaiting the man's words to lull to a pause before his attention shifted to the other client that awaited his services. In that time, Zhongli allowed for his thoughts to gather; reminiscing on old tales and prior experiences of his own before Marzan had returned from his engagement with the other fellow, allowing for their conversation to continue once again.

"So then it is true that lady Ereshkigal had faced obstruction to her control over the domain of the dead.. That would explain the strange happenings with the surfacing of many of the Undeath in the last few hundred years. I had thought her domain was being overwhelmed given the vast wars that had been transpiring over the past few cycles that was resulting in an overflow of spirits from one realm into the other. The mere presence of even the infamous forbidden Edo arts represents an affront to her Authority; an insult she would not leave to pass among the fragile memories of mortalkind. This explains quite a lot, in fact..." Something in the mulling of Zhongli's words felt as if he were simply thinking aloud to himself, as if he were stringing webs to thoughts and hypothesis' in a chain of events that seemed to lack information from what he knew, compared to what was reality now. After a brief pause, he returned his golden eyes to the Forgemaster, something of a nagging to his gaze that seemed to brew among his stirring thoughts. "So then a new era of sudo-divinity has begun to arise once again. Something tells me this is by no coincidence that correlates to the most recent wakening of the Mother of Life; such is to be expected among the closing chapters to the era of Gods. Yet tools such as these is hardly lacking in the means to bargain the disparity between humanity and the Gods. It is akin to giving a spear to a antelope and expecting it to face a lion with less humbling odds. Which begs my next question, if you would further indulge me, Master smith: It comes as a curiosity that a figure such as yourself sits upon arguably the disparaged side of this cycle's engagement between the realms.. Do you find your work necessary because you believe in the cause humanity heralds, or do you go on out of mere obligation alone?" True, The Listener's words seemed harsh and quite disrespectful for the craftsman's livelihood on the surface, yet he was hardly a man that made a habit of chastising one's character or morals; farbeit for even him to judge another for the conscious decisions they make in accordance to their own beliefs or interests. Yet too often was the tale of mortal and divine told in varying forms that all told the same beginning and end: Man often relished in their sins and wore them in pride. Even in their purest of Ages, they found folly in the mere notion that the Gods so much as existed and allowed things such as famine, plight and misfortune to exist, thus taking up arms to suffer only an undoing of their own as they laid down challenge after challenge to the Gods after laying blame for such things at the divine's feet.. what made this time any different? Over the years, Zhongli had become no stranger to the warmongering of mortals, nor their fallible efforts to cling to their superiority upon the "food chain," as it were. Perhaps, in a way, he had hopes that Marzan might be able to sway his fossilized heart.

Zhongli's remarks were more musings directed at himself, to keep his thoughts straight so Marzan left him to his devices, as he returned an eye over to Kōtetsu, whom still refused to approach the smith, even with the dwindling number of souls left in the Armory. Before he could call the aloof shinobi of woofs over, Zhongli had another thought to entertain. The smith spoke plainly, gesturing to himself in a most proud fashion.

"I am Human, am I not? I stand alongside Humanity for it is what I am.
I am a smith, am I not? I make tools for Humanity for it is what I do."​

Seeing his words may be construed as standoffish, or dismissive of Zhongli's points, he continued.

"There's no lie in the statement that Humanity is engaging in a losing battle, yet we persevere all the same. I believe in Humanity. Humans themselves can be horrible, just look at the Voidlords and all they have accomplished by abandoning theirs, but Humanity as a whole is worth Championing. As for whether or not these tools will actually be a deciding factor, I'll simply say the war against Tiamat was won with every last human soul. Not just the warriors, but from the highest born to the humblest of farmers.

Every last Human doing their part. I crafted each and every single one of them a tool to fight for their lives. As you say a tool in the hands of a master will fare better than one in the hands of a novice, but I've never claimed to give people anything more than the power to level the playing field. My tools can only draw from what's already there. Ultimately the power, and responsibility, lies with the one wielding it."​

Before continuing their discussion, Marzan feigned forgetfulness, tapping his forehead with a palm in a gesture meant to convey clumsiness or forgetfulness.

"I completely forgot, there was something I needed Emiya to do for me."​

His tone was borderline apologetic for but a moment, before the clear facade was dropped. Marzan swiftly walked over to Kōtetsu, grabbing the ear of the inflated muscle suit of an Inuzuka, and dragging him towards the back room where the stolen God Slaying Tools once resided. As he pulled the man like a dog on a leash, his tone was mono and void of joy.

"You can help instead. You look like you can lift some heavy stuff or whatever.
A thousand pardons, Zhongli. Will be right back."​

With himself and Kōtetsu alone in the next room, Marzan closed the door save for a sliver. It was dark and quiet until moments later a series of torches burst into flames, all the same hue as the forge. Sufficiently secluded, he confronted the Champion.

"What's with the cloak and dagger, lad? If you've business, spit it out, or you can leave like the last one."​

On that last part he practically spat the words out, referring to Lucifer who had shown up, twisted effigy of Tiamat literally in hand, directing his gaze to the Seal on the Inuzuka's hand as he did so. If he was here to ask for a tool when he dared to carry such a crude work, the smith would make his stance on the subject quite clear from the get-go as he had done before.

@Ańbu Juniør

 

[Keotsu]

Marzan didn't know what to make of Zhongli really. At first glance he was a young man, and yet he had the purported patience of a saint. It was odd. Then there were his eyes, not something as superfluous as how they looked, but rather the insight they held. They were wise beyond the man's apparent years. This didn't matter much in their dialogue, but he was a curiosity nevertheless. When Zhongli made mention of Emiya's condition, the smith was moments away from blurting out that he'd died within minutes of their meeting one another, but decided against it. Seeing as Zhongli was an apparent acquaintance, he would most likely find out in time from the young man himself.

"Aye, he's alive, left here not too long ago in fact. But the way that one throws himself at problems, it's only a matter of time until he...

Well, best not to make ill commentary. He's made a fair few friends in his travels, so I'm sure they'll help keep him upright."​

With the implication that he knew Emiya on a deeper level, the smith could only laugh.

"I know one thing and one thing only about Emiya Shirō. It is the first thing you learn about him, and the only thing that matters. He won't hesitate to put others before himself, no matter the cost to himself. He's like a ceremonial blade, crafted for a specific purpose, that is to say the world's salvation, with almost nothing more beneath this surface of 'duty'. As though the 'blade' that is his life is hollow. I suspect he doesn't have any interests, or hobbies, or any true selfish desires one might consider 'normal'. There is his desire to save people, and that's it. Everything else is window dressing, an attempt at convincing you there is anything more to him than that, that there's a person beneath it all. The truth; There isn't... But I've rambled enough about that reckless, hopeless, selfless brat."​

While he was going off on a rather long tangent involving Emiya, several figures entered the forge, one even familiar to him; The swordswoman with the simple, beautiful request. As he began to turn his attention to the patient patrons, Zhongli's inquiry into his experience, and whether it came from his "ten thousand hours", or something more, Marzan had noted Zhongli's own quirks that outed him as wise beyond his years. It wasn't impossible for the Listener to do the same. Fair play as it were, so he answered sincerely.

"To put it bluntly... An eternity. I first made the God Slaying Tools to help humanity fight back against Tiamat back during the Era of the Gods. I haven't been at it all this time though. I was... Recruited for a job in Irkalla, and wasn't allowed to leave, until the Champion's recent incursion. That should give you sufficient idea as to how long I've been honing my craft. But enough about me. It's about time I got back to work."​

First to arrive after Zhongli was a rather extravagant, if not outright flamboyant individual with deep azure hues, and an air of mystique about him. Didn't matter to the smith. The figure asked a simple question, and received a simple answer in turn.

"I am. Is there something I can help you with?"​

Next in line was a hulking, animalistic figure. Upon laying eyes on the man, it was strange but he was oddly familiar. Marzan met a man with a similar face not long after they left Irkalla, Kōtetsu. Clearly he had taken the events within Irkalla to heart, and sought greater power. Whether or not it was though healthy, legal, or ethical means the smith couldn't say, but as his eyes drifted to the seal inscribed upon Kōtetsu's hand, identical to one on the man known as Lucifer, the smith's face became noticeably harsher as did his grip on the hammer held in his right hand. Seeing as the wayward soul was seemingly intentionally taking a spot far from the smith, it was clear he wanted their business to be done in privacy. Rather than cuss the man out in front of strangers, Marzan played along, and moved along to the next arrival.



Taking the ore from Musashi, Marzan gave a warm smile, gently placing a hand on the young woman's head, seemingly in a gesture of recognition for a job well done.

"Well now, this is some damn fine ore. I just have one question..."​

With all the force of a natural disaster that same hand offering praise was swiftly brought down on Musashi's skull, as the Smith erupted into a fit of rage that made his forge seem chilly by comparison.

"Where the hell is the rest of it, you idiot?! I can't very well be expected to make a sword out of scraps!! You barely brought enough for me to make you a butter knife!! When you said you didn't have the funds to buy one of my Tools, you failed to mention you can't even pay attention!! Now get back out there, and find some more ore you damn cheapskate, and if you even think of returning without enough ore to make three swords, you can pay double, no, TRIPLE!!"​

It didn't matter that the cost for the blade was still zero, knowing her for less than five minutes the smith still knew that Musashi would absolutely see the threat at face value and run for the hills. She would seek out the most abundant sources of ore, lest she suffer the wrath of having to pay thrice as much as a normal paying customer; Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Once she had left, whether she immediately did so, or lingered to cuss the smith out for his brutal method of instilling "enthusiasm" within her, Marzan would then inspect the ore in more detail. As he said, on it's own it couldn't make a blade. It could barely be forged into a tantō, never mind a full-length katana, but regardless of this fact, this ore, much like Isabella and Alucard before, held a deeper meaning to Musashi. A scarlet ore which had seemingly drank deep of the sun's rays and power. The end result, if forged with this ore, couldn't shoot out laser beams, nor would the blade hold the power of the sun either, but it would accurately reflect the nature of Musashi's soul; one that burned brightly, and on it's own terms. One that would touch the hearts of many, and bring a sense of warmth with her presence. Placing the ore to one side, he would await her return, this time with bated breath at what wonders she would produce.

Previous post.

---

Musashi once again entered Marzan’s Forge, the smithy more busy than one Musashi had ever seen before, with so many souls coming too and fro.

”Great-Gramps, I’m back again!” hollered Musashi, placing the roped crate on a flat surface, before popping it open, “and with enough ore to forge three swords, like you asked!”

Musashi beamed with pride at her accomplishment, the crate full of ore, red, blue, and green in color. Power, Wisdom, Courage, all gained in equal measure.

If given the time, Musashi intended to recount the pilgrimage, but only if there was a reprieve. Marzan seemed busy, and while Musashi did want me to pick the brain of such an ancient soul, she also knew that he had a purpose to fulfill.

For now, riding the growth from her pilgrimage, Musashi waited with almost uncharacteristic patience.

 

[Imperfect]

Previous post.

---

Musashi once again entered Marzan’s Forge, the smithy more busy than one Musashi had ever seen before, with so many souls coming too and fro.

”Great-Gramps, I’m back again!” hollered Musashi, placing the roped crate on a flat surface, before popping it open, “and with enough ore to forge three swords, like you asked!”

Musashi beamed with pride at her accomplishment, the crate full of ore, red, blue, and green in color. Power, Wisdom, Courage, all gained in equal measure.

If given the time, Musashi intended to recount the pilgrimage, but only if there was a reprieve. Marzan seemed busy, and while Musashi did want me to pick the brain of such an ancient soul, she also knew that he had a purpose to fulfill.

For now, riding the growth from her pilgrimage, Musashi waited with almost uncharacteristic patience.

After spending a fair amount of time conversing with Kōtetsu alone in the room adjacent to the forge proper, Marzan returned to see Musashi had done the very same. Despite clearly being overzealous at her accomplishment, she also showed extreme restraint in not leaping into a full account of her adventures. Marzan took a look over the ornamental container the metals were placed within, and saw the reverence she treated her materials with in full. It wasn't some grueling tirade involving the ten thousand demons of demon mountain, it was something infinitely more fulfilling, at least that much was clear from the look on her face. She had fought her own "demons", and won. Not one to let good work go unrecognized, the Smith gave Musashi her due praise as he took all of the ore from the box, and walked over towards the forge.

"Good job. Now then... A katana?"​

He did not wait for a response. Dumping the three large chunks of ore into the forge, along with the one she'd acquired previously whether she noticed or not, he continued.

"I will forge you the best sword you have ever laid eyes on."​

As he spoke once more did the forge burst to life, fueled by the Marzan's passion for the craft and Musashi's drive. Once more would Marzan watch a collection of diverse, interesting and unique ores slowly bubble, boil, melt and coalesce, becoming one mass of pure, raw potential. He asked for more ore than necessary for a reason, enough to forge three blades of the type she wanted. As he stared into the oversized molten mess before him, it would soon become clear why. He wasn't looking at some formless liquid, but the blade contained within it. All he had to do was weed out absolutely everything standing between himself and that weapon. Taking his hammer in hand, Marzan began molding the ore into a more structured shape, not that of a sword. Not yet anyway. First he started with a simple elongated cuboid. To those watching it may have been odd. It was as though he was forging a box instead of a blade, but the reason soon became clear. Taking a nearby wedge-like instrument, he began to separate the metal, dividing it in half, but not completely separating it either. Once he'd almost completely bisected the metal, he folded it, and began the process once more. Taking his hammer, he flattened the now cube-like structure back down to a more rectangular shape. Each swing of the hammer, each blow sent sparks flying, impurities within even the most refined and resplendent metal were ejected from the shape. There were to be be no flaws within this weapon, not that there were any in his other works, but Marzan would go above and beyond this time. With the newly recreated cuboid-like structure before him, Marzan repeated the process once more. Dividing, folding and flattening the metal, each time fewer and fewer impurities were to be found. This was a technique created by those in the Land of Iron, where the iron ore was incredibly impure, more akin to sand than actual ore, so they resorted to smelting the metals into thin layers, then folding it to reinforce the basic structure. Musashi did not return with sand, and yet the technique was not without it's merits. Upon creating the first fold, the blade had two layers. After the fifth, it was reinforced thirty two times over. Ten folds is where a "normal" smith would consider their work complete, creating a blade with over a thousand folds. Marzan was not a "normal" smith however. While he was ultimately still human, he saw this practice of claiming a blade had been "folded a thousand times" as deceptive, and would refute the idea of stopping at such an early state. He pushed on for hours and hours, the metal in his hands shrinking each time, little by little, but noticeably over time. Upon reaching the ore's fiftieth fold, the blade would contain One quadrillion, one hundred and twenty-five trillion, eight hundred and ninety-nine billion, nine hundred and six million, eight hundred and forty-two thousand, six hundred and twenty-four layers, and still it wasn't enough. He pushed on, the flames in the Armory dancing around the smith's form in an intricate dance of creation, keeping the metal perfectly heated. It wasn't until his one hundredth fold, when the layers to the ore were simply to high for someone to keep track of any more, that the smith decided the blade was ready for proper molding. There, in his hands, lay a blade of unprecedented quality. One nonillion, two hundred and sixty-seven octillion, six hundred and fifty septillion, six hundred sextillion, two hundred and twenty-eight quintillion, two hundred and twenty-nine quadrillion, four hundred and one trillion, four hundred and ninety-six billion, seven hundred and three million, two hundred and five thousand and three hundred and seventy-six layers. While ultimately these numbers meant nothing, it was a monument to perfection. The smith did it on a whim, to prove that he could do it. It was, ultimately, a selfish indulgence, but one borne from a desire to produce an unparalleled blade for another.

With the impossibly folded blade ready, he began the process of turning it into a blade. He took his hammer, and once more began to strike the ore upon his anvil, this time striking at an angle, rotating the metal after every other swing to ensure an equilibrium was maintained, perfectly balanced on each side. Once that had been achieved, he began to strike the back of the molded metal to achieve a curve, before hammering down one side, creating the first traces of the blade's edge. With the shape of the blade planned out, Marzan then wandered over to a nearby quenching trough and submerged the blade-to-be, a sea of steam erupting from it as he did. Now all that remained was to give the blade it's edge, and with a simple trip to the nearby grindstone, Marzan was all but done. Grabbing a nearby saya, tsuba and tsuka, he put the finishing touches on the blade, presenting it to Musashi.

"I give you Myōjingiri, the God and Demon Slaying Sword."​

Spoiler: God Slayer: Katana

(Kamikorosu: Katana) – God Slayer: Sword
Type: God-Slaying Artifact
Rank: C-Rank
Range: N/A
Chakra: N/A
Damage: N/A
Description: A curved blade of extreme quality, the Katana is a favored weapon of the inhabitants of the Iron Peninsula, now forged as a God-Slaying Tool. Being roughly 2.5ft in length from tip to guard, it is a deadly instrument of precision, especially in the hands of a master. This weapon was forged for Musashi; because it is a product of certain Atavistic techniques it is bound to her soul, its anti-Divinity properties are able to pierce the defenses afforded to Divine enemies in the Ninja World. This does not confer a God-Slaying Tool the ability to defeat properties of Anutu or its sub-components; it is specifically targeted against Divine enemies in the Ninja World and the Divinity that they possess. With proper focusing and enhancements perhaps this weapon can become even stronger.

 

[Keotsu]

After spending a fair amount of time conversing with Kōtetsu alone in the room adjacent to the forge proper, Marzan returned to see Musashi had done the very same. Despite clearly being overzealous at her accomplishment, she also showed extreme restraint in not leaping into a full account of her adventures. Marzan took a look over the ornamental container the metals were placed within, and saw the reverence she treated her materials with in full. It wasn't some grueling tirade involving the ten thousand demons of demon mountain, it was something infinitely more fulfilling, at least that much was clear from the look on her face. She had fought her own "demons", and won. Not one to let good work go unrecognized, the Smith gave Musashi her due praise as he took all of the ore from the box, and walked over towards the forge.

"Good job. Now then... A katana?"​

He did not wait for a response. Dumping the three large chunks of ore into the forge, along with the one she'd acquired previously whether she noticed or not, he continued.

"I will forge you the best sword you have ever laid eyes on."​

As he spoke once more did the forge burst to life, fueled by the Marzan's passion for the craft and Musashi's drive. Once more would Marzan watch a collection of diverse, interesting and unique ores slowly bubble, boil, melt and coalesce, becoming one mass of pure, raw potential. He asked for more ore than necessary for a reason, enough to forge three blades of the type she wanted. As he stared into the oversized molten mess before him, it would soon become clear why. He wasn't looking at some formless liquid, but the blade contained within it. All he had to do was weed out absolutely everything standing between himself and that weapon. Taking his hammer in hand, Marzan began molding the ore into a more structured shape, not that of a sword. Not yet anyway. First he started with a simple elongated cuboid. To those watching it may have been odd. It was as though he was forging a box instead of a blade, but the reason soon became clear. Taking a nearby wedge-like instrument, he began to separate the metal, dividing it in half, but not completely separating it either. Once he'd almost completely bisected the metal, he folded it, and began the process once more. Taking his hammer, he flattened the now cube-like structure back down to a more rectangular shape. Each swing of the hammer, each blow sent sparks flying, impurities within even the most refined and resplendent metal were ejected from the shape. There were to be be no flaws within this weapon, not that there were any in his other works, but Marzan would go above and beyond this time. With the newly recreated cuboid-like structure before him, Marzan repeated the process once more. Dividing, folding and flattening the metal, each time fewer and fewer impurities were to be found. This was a technique created by those in the Land of Iron, where the iron ore was incredibly impure, more akin to sand than actual ore, so they resorted to smelting the metals into thin layers, then folding it to reinforce the basic structure. Musashi did not return with sand, and yet the technique was not without it's merits. Upon creating the first fold, the blade had two layers. After the fifth, it was reinforced thirty two times over. Ten folds is where a "normal" smith would consider their work complete, creating a blade with over a thousand folds. Marzan was not a "normal" smith however. While he was ultimately still human, he saw this practice of claiming a blade had been "folded a thousand times" as deceptive, and would refute the idea of stopping at such an early state. He pushed on for hours and hours, the metal in his hands shrinking each time, little by little, but noticeably over time. Upon reaching the ore's fiftieth fold, the blade would contain One quadrillion, one hundred and twenty-five trillion, eight hundred and ninety-nine billion, nine hundred and six million, eight hundred and forty-two thousand, six hundred and twenty-four layers, and still it wasn't enough. He pushed on, the flames in the Armory dancing around the smith's form in an intricate dance of creation, keeping the metal perfectly heated. It wasn't until his one hundredth fold, when the layers to the ore were simply to high for someone to keep track of any more, that the smith decided the blade was ready for proper molding. There, in his hands, lay a blade of unprecedented quality. One nonillion, two hundred and sixty-seven octillion, six hundred and fifty septillion, six hundred sextillion, two hundred and twenty-eight quintillion, two hundred and twenty-nine quadrillion, four hundred and one trillion, four hundred and ninety-six billion, seven hundred and three million, two hundred and five thousand and three hundred and seventy-six layers. While ultimately these numbers meant nothing, it was a monument to perfection. The smith did it on a whim, to prove that he could do it. It was, ultimately, a selfish indulgence, but one borne from a desire to produce an unparalleled blade for another.
With the impossibly folded blade ready, he began the process of turning it into a blade. He took his hammer, and once more began to strike the ore upon his anvil, this time striking at an angle, rotating the metal after every other swing to ensure an equilibrium was maintained, perfectly balanced on each side. Once that had been achieved, he began to strike the back of the molded metal to achieve a curve, before hammering down one side, creating the first traces of the blade's edge. With the shape of the blade planned out, Marzan then wandered over to a nearby quenching trough and submerged the blade-to-be, a sea of steam erupting from it as he did. Now all that remained was to give the blade it's edge, and with a simple trip to the nearby grindstone, Marzan was all but done. Grabbing a nearby saya, tsuba and tsuka, he put the finishing touches on the blade, presenting it to Musashi.

"I give you Myōjingiri, the God and Demon Slaying Sword."​

Spoiler: God Slayer: Katana

(Kamikorosu: Katana) – God Slayer: Sword

​

Spoiler: God Slayer: Katana

Type: God-Slaying Artifact​

Rank: C-Rank​

Range: N/A​

Chakra: N/A​

Damage: N/A​

Description: A curved blade of extreme quality, the Katana is a favored weapon of the inhabitants of the Iron Peninsula, now forged as a God-Slaying Tool. Being roughly 2.5ft in length from tip to guard, it is a deadly instrument of precision, especially in the hands of a master. This weapon was forged for Musashi; because it is a product of certain Atavistic techniques it is bound to her soul, its anti-Divinity properties are able to pierce the defenses afforded to Divine enemies in the Ninja World. This does not confer a God-Slaying Tool the ability to defeat properties of Anutu or its sub-components; it is specifically targeted against Divine enemies in the Ninja World and the Divinity that they possess. With proper focusing and enhancements perhaps this weapon can become even stronger.​

​

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Musashi watched, transfixed, as Marzan began the act of forging a blade from Musashi. She was no smith, and certainly no master craftsman at that. But as a skilled swordswoman, she recognized a master at work when she saw it. The strange, mystic fires danced around Marzan as he worked, and every blow was perfectly placed and precisely measured. Musashi watched as he began working the mass of melted ore into metal, and from that metal, drove out every impurity.

Musashi would not comprehend the significance of folding a blade so many times, but ultimately she would not need to: she knew the basic principles of folding steel was to drive out impurities, and at this point, Musashi doubted that any remained within the ore. With so many folds, one could argue that there were no longer any layers in the sword, and perhaps it was a solid, perfect crystal of steel.

The process was mesmerizing, and Musashi watched, transfixed, despite the incredible length of the process. Such stuff demonstrations often left her antsy and restless, and this did to, but in a different sense. When Musashi saw a skilled swordsman, she wanted to fight them. When watching Marzan forge, she wanted to observe it, to burn the the image into her mind so that it was preserved for eternity.

"I give you Myōjingiri, the God and Demon Slaying Sword."

Musashi took the blade, and held it in her hand, observing it. It's balance was immaculate, and its edge sharp beyond reason. He was right in calling it a blade that could slay both Demon and God - the sword would indiscriminately and unfailingly cut whatever it was brought against. It would be a blade that would take Musashi to great heights, as Marzan had promised. Musashi did not know if this was a sword that could cut the Void - but it would certainly be one that could cut through everything up to it. The search for a "sword that could cut the Void" wasn't even literal - it wasn't a magic sword Musashi sought, but the skill to make any sword she wielded do so.

But this, could almost do it alone. Such a tremendous stride taken in an instant, and Musashi would have all the time in the world to practice with the blade and learn to cut like so, herself.

And those flames...

"Great-Gramps, this is...magnificent," she said, in an almost hushed tone. "Myōjingiri is a fine name. Emiya wasn't kidding when he said you could not find a better sword - thank you!" she said, hugging the old man.

She sheathed the blade, it making a satisfying noise as she did so. Many people would swing their new sword about to test it, but that was usually for show and accomplished nothing. Musashi recognized quality in a blade when she held it.

"I'm surprised more people aren't coming to you for blade!" she exclaimed, exasperated, and suddenly realizing how hungry she was form all the hiking she had done - and remaining transfixed for so long.

 

[Skorm]

Coming from [x]

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Lilith arrived in the armory along with Faye. Upon seeing the fabled blacksmith she bowed gently towards him and looked towards Faye and then back again at Marzan.

Konnichi-wa Marzan-kun!
Anoo, this is my sister Faye I believe she's looking for your assistance in a God-slayer tool like Alucard.
​

She then let the setting proceed while getting another cigarette.

 

[El Alucard]

Coming from [x]

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Lilith arrived in the armory along with Faye. Upon seeing the fabled blacksmith she bowed gently towards him and looked towards Faye and then back again at Marzan.

Konnichi-wa Marzan-kun!
Anoo, this is my sister Faye I believe she's looking for your assistance in a God-slayer tool like Alucard.
​

She then let the setting proceed while getting another cigarette.

Faye wasn’t sure what she expected of the place but for a place that made instruments that could harm gods, it was rather unimpressive. But she wouldn’t judge, after all a master blacksmith didn’t need a fancy set up to prove anything, much less to strangers who were the ones seeking his assistance. She politely bowed before speaking.

Hi, uhm yeah. I’m here to ask you if you could perhaps make me a pair of twin daggers please.

 

[Skorm]

Faye wasn’t sure what she expected of the place but for a place that made god slaying tool, it was rather unimpressive. But she wouldn’t judge, after all a master blacksmith didn’t need a fancy set up to prove anything, much less to strangers who were the ones seeking his assistance. She politely bowed before speaking.

Hi, uhm yeah. I’m here to ask you if you could perhaps make me a pair of twin daggers please.

Lilith tapped Faye on the shoulder and placed her right leg on the ladder, heading back up to the surface.

Ganbatte, Faye-chan!
​

She then left the armory and went back to the port to finalize Alucard's task for her.

LLM

 

[Imperfect]

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Musashi watched, transfixed, as Marzan began the act of forging a blade from Musashi. She was no smith, and certainly no master craftsman at that. But as a skilled swordswoman, she recognized a master at work when she saw it. The strange, mystic fires danced around Marzan as he worked, and every blow was perfectly placed and precisely measured. Musashi watched as he began working the mass of melted ore into metal, and from that metal, drove out every impurity.

Musashi would not comprehend the significance of folding a blade so many times, but ultimately she would not need to: she knew the basic principles of folding steel was to drive out impurities, and at this point, Musashi doubted that any remained within the ore. With so many folds, one could argue that there were no longer any layers in the sword, and perhaps it was a solid, perfect crystal of steel.

The process was mesmerizing, and Musashi watched, transfixed, despite the incredible length of the process. Such stuff demonstrations often left her antsy and restless, and this did to, but in a different sense. When Musashi saw a skilled swordsman, she wanted to fight them. When watching Marzan forge, she wanted to observe it, to burn the the image into her mind so that it was preserved for eternity.



Musashi took the blade, and held it in her hand, observing it. It's balance was immaculate, and its edge sharp beyond reason. He was right in calling it a blade that could slay both Demon and God - the sword would indiscriminately and unfailingly cut whatever it was brought against. It would be a blade that would take Musashi to great heights, as Marzan had promised. Musashi did not know if this was a sword that could cut the Void - but it would certainly be one that could cut through everything up to it. The search for a "sword that could cut the Void" wasn't even literal - it wasn't a magic sword Musashi sought, but the skill to make any sword she wielded do so.

But this, could almost do it alone. Such a tremendous stride taken in an instant, and Musashi would have all the time in the world to practice with the blade and learn to cut like so, herself.

And those flames...

"Great-Gramps, this is...magnificent," she said, in an almost hushed tone. "Myōjingiri is a fine name. Emiya wasn't kidding when he said you could not find a better sword - thank you!" she said, hugging the old man.

She sheathed the blade, it making a satisfying noise as she did so. Many people would swing their new sword about to test it, but that was usually for show and accomplished nothing. Musashi recognized quality in a blade when she held it.

"I'm surprised more people aren't coming to you for blade!" she exclaimed, exasperated, and suddenly realizing how hungry she was form all the hiking she had done - and remaining transfixed for so long.

The thanks were enough, the hug unexpected, and yet the smith didn't pull away, nor seem particularly vexed at the gesture of thanks. It was enough she was happy to indulge his desire to forge another blade, and it was clear to see from how much reverence she put into the gathering, and then studious analysis during the forging, and the end result.

"If you're not a fan of the name, feel free to call it what you want. I'm a swordsmith, not wordsmith."​

As she wondered why more people weren't coming to him for a blade, having served a fair few folks so far, he gave his earnest take away from the entire process.

"Every human is unique, that's why my job is so much fun. I get to plumb the depths of their souls, hear what they want, and provide them with a blank slate for them to paint their experiences and soul over, filling their chosen tool with their very own essence. While one person may desire a blade, to another a blade is far too direct a tool, so they may request a less dangerous weapon, or perhaps not even a weapon at all. It's why they're called tools after all, they don't have to be offensive by nature."​

As he was explaining the simplicity of people's decisions being dictated by who they were at their very foundation, a pair of figures entered the Armory, while Musashi was clearly hankering for a decent meal after her vast pilgrimage. As he was an immortal, Marzan didn't exactly keep much on hand in the way of hospitality. This was a Forge, not a restaurant, so he apologized for the inhospitable environment, and did what came naturally to him. Moved on to his next "customer".

Faye wasn’t sure what she expected of the place but for a place that made instruments that could harm gods, it was rather unimpressive. But she wouldn’t judge, after all a master blacksmith didn’t need a fancy set up to prove anything, much less to strangers who were the ones seeking his assistance. She politely bowed before speaking.

Hi, uhm yeah. I’m here to ask you if you could perhaps make me a pair of twin daggers please.

As the young woman who was accompanying Alucard entered the Forge once more, new stranger in tow, Marzan began to feel as though he was doing the young lady a disservice. She was acting as a glorified doorman, though it's not as though he asked her to fulfill such a duty, and they clearly knew one another since she was introduced as a "sister". He was probably reading too much into the situation, even if he was feeling rather put out.

"Easy enough to achieve. If you have any design requests, we can go over them later. First I'll need you to get the raw materials, same as everyone else. Best places to start are the Lands of Earth and Iron, since I assume you'll want those to be made out of metal, aye?"​

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Complete three B-Rank missions in the Badlands of Earth or the Iron Peninsula to gather the raw ore that Marzan needs to forge your tool, then return.