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Mirumoto finished his conversation with the Keeper in the Druid Glade and set his things by the side of the waterfall past the trees. He stripped almost completely and waded into the water, relishing the icy grip of the pool over numerous scars and freshly healed wounds all over his body. With strong strokes, Mirumoto swam to the base of the waterfall and expertly gripped the slippery rocks on his climb upwards. He finally settled on a rock with a slight curve downward, but for the most part flat. He stood up, raising his hand to allow the water to tumble down his fingertips and let the roar of the falls fill his ears. He stood in the waterfall, clearing his mind and let the sound fill his ears, his head, and his soul.
He had done it. He had gathered rare materials from all across the land of Sundren, risking life and limb in an effort to bring the best metals and supplies for enchantment together in his quest for the forging of a mighty blade. When Cazen had carried his limp and semi-concious body from the top of the Cartel mountain, he had heard his Lady's hesitation when asked by her master if helping him then was the wisest move. He had failed her in his duties, and so was properly punished. He could not fail like that ever again. To serve his Lady he was prepared to train harder than ever before, and to improve himself in every way possible.
Samurai creed states that a samurai's sword is his soul, an extension of himself. If he was to truly become a better warrior and a better retainer, he needed to improve not only his body and mind, but his spirit as well. This sword would be that improvement, as a testament to his determination and willingness to die for his master. This sword would be a third arm, a limb that would never tire or age or rust.
Mirumoto's balance almost slipped for a moment, and he almost tumbled down. At the last second, he gripped the rock with his toes with all the strength he could muster. His Lady must not find out about his work until she needed him in the direst of times. He must show her the extent of his training and work in their full. Which begs the question: How would he enchant his blade? He needed someone at least of his Lady's level of power. The forging itself he could do, but magical assistance was required. In that moment, Mirumoto's heart sunk like a rock, and his stomach was lifted by a hundred butterflies as he realized who was the only person he could call on.
He needed to find Mizrahi.
He had done it. He had gathered rare materials from all across the land of Sundren, risking life and limb in an effort to bring the best metals and supplies for enchantment together in his quest for the forging of a mighty blade. When Cazen had carried his limp and semi-concious body from the top of the Cartel mountain, he had heard his Lady's hesitation when asked by her master if helping him then was the wisest move. He had failed her in his duties, and so was properly punished. He could not fail like that ever again. To serve his Lady he was prepared to train harder than ever before, and to improve himself in every way possible.
Samurai creed states that a samurai's sword is his soul, an extension of himself. If he was to truly become a better warrior and a better retainer, he needed to improve not only his body and mind, but his spirit as well. This sword would be that improvement, as a testament to his determination and willingness to die for his master. This sword would be a third arm, a limb that would never tire or age or rust.
Mirumoto's balance almost slipped for a moment, and he almost tumbled down. At the last second, he gripped the rock with his toes with all the strength he could muster. His Lady must not find out about his work until she needed him in the direst of times. He must show her the extent of his training and work in their full. Which begs the question: How would he enchant his blade? He needed someone at least of his Lady's level of power. The forging itself he could do, but magical assistance was required. In that moment, Mirumoto's heart sunk like a rock, and his stomach was lifted by a hundred butterflies as he realized who was the only person he could call on.
He needed to find Mizrahi.