Zi'Da 12th, Arc 721
Morgue blamed beginner's luck on Rakvald's sucessfully identifying the properties of Embersteel, Onyx, and for transmuting lead on his first attempt. Rakvald wasn't so sure. When examining the glass discs that they brought to him in the Battlemage's office, he swiftly infused them with ether, which promptly caused them to phase out and back into reality, with enough flaws to crack them as they landed upon his palm. Glass was brittle, it was true, but a disc as thick as the ones provided shouldn't have fallen apart like bread crumbs.
So Rakvald meditated on his failure for a few trials. He'd gotten the barest glimpse of the glass' properties while filling it with the ether. It wasn't nearly enough time for him to identify what made glass special, no, but he'd had time to think on his failure, and why his ether filling the vessel too fast had caused it to flicker out of reality and then back into it, horrendously flawed. It was an important lesson for a transmuter to learn, so said Morgue. And over the past days, Rakvald had come to rely on him for filling the blanks in much of his metaphysical knowledge. There was still so much to learn, but Rakvald was sure that with hands on and practical approach, he would learn fast.
So, regardless of his failure, he was sent along to the Brocksmith, to apprentice under the metalworker. Their hope was that he would eventually become a provider of arcanically enhanced weapons, and tampering with the fractive chaos unfolding on the spit of land extending into the Orm'dell, calm the chaotic tempests sweeping in from the fractured landscape.
Rakvald, of course for his part, had other plans, but for now it served him to abide in this place for a time. He found comradery of a sort, and enjoyed the company and tutelage of Morgue. They had resources in plenty in the Forbidden Spit, and enough soldiers to man a garrison. They alone had been untouched, he learned, by the plague Lisirra had unleashed upon the Etzori. While Rakvald had no designs on commanding them, or assuming leadership, that didn't mean the thought didn't occur to him from time to time. However, he was the farthest thing from a leader of men, and so such idle thoughts were cast to the wayside.
Instead, Rakvald was sent along to the foundry of the Forbidden Post. This was where Brock toiled to repair and supply the soldiers that populated it. Rakvald himself was invited to help choose his own set of weapons and armor, and to help design them as well, while serving as apprentice student to Brock. Rakvald remembered his dream, where he'd worn a plague-doctor's mask, and thought that was a good look for him, and might dull the impact of seeing his mutated visage. At the same time, it was still a mask that harbored a dread all its own. But he was told he'd need a facial covering that protected him while working upon wells, so his face would be covered in any event.
Rakvald made his specifications known to Brock, "Yeah, pointy nose type mask, and eye sockets open. I'm going to design the lenses myself..."
Brock smirked, and shrugged. "Very well. And a weapon?"
Rakvald shot back, "Make it a crow's beak hammer, with a spike on the back of it." That said, his gear was settled. He'd be getting some fine embersteel plate cuirass, pauldrons, and vambraces to fit over a harness. The tanner of the Post had arranged for those bits to be made well in advance. Of course, a man of Rakvald's stature, such as the one he inhabited in his gestalt totem form, there was a great need of large amounts of material. He'd need no less than three ingots to cover the excess area. And since Rakvald had assured Brock that he wouldn't be changing shape anytime soon, they got to work.
Rakvald was made to work on the small jobs, bending metal rings to make buckles and catches for the harness. Other smaller tasks, such as hooks and latches. Measuring the harness for a perfect fit over his usual get-up of the large leather robe that had become his usual outfit.
The large mage couldn't help himself at times, as he cleaned up his work area, to look over at what Brock was doing. Not simply because he was curious as to how his suit was shaping up, but also to learn what he could of the man's methods. The face mask, the crow's beak style plague mask was among the first pieces to be tried by Brock. He'd shaped it from a mold, and then hammered it into shape. A heat-treat was applied after the fact, to forge it into hardened metal that while it had some flexion, was made to withstand mighty blows (or fractive explosions).
Rakvald noted the circular sockets in the mask, where his lenses would go. His mind turned toward the properties of glass, which he would then imbue upon embersteel discs. He'd been brought several pieces of glass, some more galvanized than others. Rakvald chose the one that was made to resist heat, and also impact. While he held no illusions that such lenses would withstand a blast of fractive fury, that wasn't the point. He wouldn't be using glass for the lenses, afterall. Only their property of transparency.
The pieces of glass, Rakvald took up. The one he'd selected prior to the embersteel discs being casts. For a few bits, he concentrated, filling their material slowly with his golden ether. Through the crystalline structure of the glass, the ether filled the vessel of the glass. Careful not to overextend to become overeager, he held back from filling it to the brim immediately, but held it in a state of half-full of ether, letting the energies acclimate to their new housing. Then, grain by grain of ether was channelled into the glass, until it faded from the reality of Idalos, and into the imaginary.
The vision of the glass floated over his hand, as he poured over its qualities. Fragility, sharpness when broken, transparency. While he didn't have the sceintific know-how to understand precisely why its particular differences from metal made it the way it was, on a preternatural level he could grasp how they took that form, and apply it like a template to other materials. Thus identified, Rakvald relinquished the grasp over the piece of glass, and began repurposing the ether back into his own soul. Thus reclaimed, the glass reformed in Idalos, this time with a different flaw. Rather than making it brittle and crumbly, it turned a stark and deep red. Shrugging to himself, he placed the piece of glass aside.
After a few bits of rest and refreshment, he returned to the work of the forge. Brock had done him the favor of casting the embersteel discs that he would need to forge into transparent lenses.
These, he hammered down to the measurements he'd need for the sockets of his mask. Then the heat treat, letting them cook for a time in the fires of the forge and coals. Once, under the supervision of Brock of course, Rakvald judged them to be ready to remove from the coals, he took them with the tongs, and placed them in the cooling oils. The oil flared up, blazing and boiling with the contact to the yelllow=hot metal. After a few trills of submersion, he withdrew the disc, one by one from the oils.
Brock then demonstrated how to check the metal for proper hardness after forging, and giving it a few scrapes with a file, was satisfied with the work Rakvald had done.
Now, it was time for the moment of truth, to see if Rakvald could make what he had envisioned. A pair of lenses as hard and durable as embersteel, with the transparency of glass.
For this, he needed to be alone, and so took the items that made for him, a good quality plate cuirass, pauldrons and vambraces, and the crow's beak hammer, which was done some days in advance of his arrival to the forge. And so he'd missed out on the weapon-smithing portion of his education as a smith.
Rakvald secluded himself to a place where the magi recruits were often sent to meditate on matters arcane, or related to their sparks. Rakavald held the disc in either hand. In so doing, he began channeling his ether through the forged embersteel discs. Taking the same precautions he had with the glass vessels, he filled the discs slowly with his gilded ether. He could feel the energy flowing into the metal, without seeing them. Bits passed by in the way, until at last he felt it filling their material to the brim, the secrets of forged embersteel now bare to him, their quality.
It was then that the alteration phase of his ritual began. He lifted both of the discs up to eye level, and with them flipping over to face him, he filled them with the quality of glass's transparency, while maintaining the integrity of Embersteel. Within bits, he felt confident that he'd accomplished the transplantation of that quality to Embersteel. Yet there was something undefined that had changed in the metal, something he couldn't have predicted. But he made no rush to discover what it was, but held them in a state of alteration for a moment longer before beginning the Finishing.
With gradual concentration, he willed the discs, now lenses, to reform in Idalos with the property he'd imbued it with. When they reemerged, he found that they were clear, but slightly opaque with a red-orange tint. This was an obvious flaw, but one he was willing to deal with so long as they were strong and durable, and able to be seen through clearly enough.
He placed the lenses down upon the shelf, and tested their integrity with small rock. The rock rang against the transparent metal, clinking as it should. There wasn't so much as a scratch or blemish upon the lense, and it hadn't fractured. He called that a success.
Thus, having secured the lenses, he placed them within the sockets of his mask, and adjusted the catches that would hold them in place. There, he had a pair of brick-tinted goggles for his mask that would protect his eyes admirably for the purposes of ensorcelling. It had been left with a flaw, but that was something he could deal with later.
