White alloy/saved posts: Difference between revisions
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Voices echoed through the smooth cavern halls, the quiet drone transforming the low-light dwelling from day activities to the solace of night. Solace for all but one within the dwarven monastery. |
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Sweat dripping from braids, brow, and beard, she stood over the forge with a pit in her stomach, an anger born of frustration on her lips and deep disappointment constricting her airways. When she had started the morning, she thought that this would be the day that she would achieve her goal. She had thought that the long hours before the heat, forging hammer in hand, would bring to her the satisfaction of success. Instead, she stared down at the mace on the anvil and felt only disgust and a vague soreness of muscle. |
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Closing her eyes, she placed her forging hammer upon the anvil and slowly dropped to her knees. |
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"Father of Creation," she intoned with the barest of breath from her lungs. Scarcely audible, any dwarf that passed the hall would not have heard, yet something in her quiet words caused a stillness in the forging hall and it was as if the entire underworld was holding its breath. |
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"Father…" she began again, but this time the word came out thick, her emotions betraying her to the point of vulnerability and she wept. Soft, silently, the tears disappearing into her beard, she let her frustration, anger, and grief seep from her tired frame. |
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She lowered her forehead to the anvil, the large stone and iron object that had become an altar to her over the past few days, weeks, months, and let it support her as it always had. As her faith always had. |
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Licking her lips, she began again. |
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"Father of my Creation, Hear this Hammer's unsanctioned Rogation. My Sisters and Brothers die, as I pound on this forge. My arm is weak, my spirit is waning, but I can not eat or drink for despair has turned it to ash. Please, Father, guide my hands. Helping me to forge a weapon that can hurt the ethereal, bring it low, and bind it. Please do not ask me to remain useless. Do not ask me to attend another funeral. Let me right the wrong." |
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A shiver of air set the fires of the forge to flickering, the gust of heat adding to her discomfort but she hardly noticed. |
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Gravely and deep, a voice from the hallway called out to her. |
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"Daughter of the Hammer," and she lifted her head to stare at the simply garbed friar with daisies in his beard. |
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He strode to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. |
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"Here, let me guide you. You are so close to your goal, do not let the despair take it from you." |
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Licking her parched lips, she numbly nodded even as she noticed a tingle in her arm where his hand had touched her. |
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"Show me what you have done…" |
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Mutely, tired, and fatigued from her countless efforts, she was too tired to argue with the unusually large dwarven friar. |
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She rose to her feet and guided him through the steps she'd been taking. She spoke to him of the smelting process, the ores that she used in her metals, of the molds she had crafted herself. He offered not a word to any of it but nodded at appropriate intervals. Lastly, she brought him to the forge and showed the crafted item. |
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His eyes did not leave the smelter. |
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"Daughter of the Hammer," he said to her, and she was struck by the formality of it for the second time that night. "Your ratios are off by the barest of measures. Add a touch more eonake to your vultite and white ora." |
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Turning, she tore her gaze from the object that had consumed her every waking thought and dreams, her eyes as round as moons, and asked, "How…" But the question died on her lips. The friar was gone. |
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Not wanting to lose a moment, she began her days work anew. Resmelting the ores, filling the forms, and began working at the anvil once more. Each strike of her hammer ringing out loud enough to deafen, but in her ears, she only heard the sound of her own heartbeat. |
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As the midnight bell tolled, she gazed down at her work with awe and wonder. She had succeeded, the new metal she had created held form, the mace was a thing of beauty. |
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The next day, they found her there in the forge -- a white alloy mace in her hand, instructions scribbled in coal upon the ground, and a single daisy in her beard.<section end=dwarvenmettle /> |
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White alloy was originally the failed attempt to create a cheap permanently blessed material. However, it was recently discovered that, when properly blended, this alloy is anathema to the cursed shades and undead spirits that haunt Elanthia. Undead spirits struck by a white alloy weapon take extra damage and are temporarily anchored to the mortal plane when slain. Undead spirits recoil from white alloy armor and shields, making it harder for them to damage those bearing such equipment. |
White alloy was originally the failed attempt to create a cheap permanently blessed material. However, it was recently discovered that, when properly blended, this alloy is anathema to the cursed shades and undead spirits that haunt Elanthia. Undead spirits struck by a white alloy weapon take extra damage and are temporarily anchored to the mortal plane when slain. Undead spirits recoil from white alloy armor and shields, making it harder for them to damage those bearing such equipment. |
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Revision as of 16:56, 27 May 2021
Topic: Rumor Woods
Message #: 473
Author: GS4-THANDIWE
Date: 6/1/2020
Subject: A Tale of Dwarven Mettle
Voices echoed through the smooth cavern halls, the quiet drone transforming the low-light dwelling from day activities to the solace of night. Solace for all but one within the dwarven monastery.
Sweat dripping from braids, brow, and beard, she stood over the forge with a pit in her stomach, an anger born of frustration on her lips and deep disappointment constricting her airways. When she had started the morning, she thought that this would be the day that she would achieve her goal. She had thought that the long hours before the heat, forging hammer in hand, would bring to her the satisfaction of success. Instead, she stared down at the mace on the anvil and felt only disgust and a vague soreness of muscle.
Closing her eyes, she placed her forging hammer upon the anvil and slowly dropped to her knees.
"Father of Creation," she intoned with the barest of breath from her lungs. Scarcely audible, any dwarf that passed the hall would not have heard, yet something in her quiet words caused a stillness in the forging hall and it was as if the entire underworld was holding its breath.
"Father…" she began again, but this time the word came out thick, her emotions betraying her to the point of vulnerability and she wept. Soft, silently, the tears disappearing into her beard, she let her frustration, anger, and grief seep from her tired frame.
She lowered her forehead to the anvil, the large stone and iron object that had become an altar to her over the past few days, weeks, months, and let it support her as it always had. As her faith always had.
Licking her lips, she began again.
"Father of my Creation, Hear this Hammer's unsanctioned Rogation. My Sisters and Brothers die, as I pound on this forge. My arm is weak, my spirit is waning, but I can not eat or drink for despair has turned it to ash. Please, Father, guide my hands. Helping me to forge a weapon that can hurt the ethereal, bring it low, and bind it. Please do not ask me to remain useless. Do not ask me to attend another funeral. Let me right the wrong."
A shiver of air set the fires of the forge to flickering, the gust of heat adding to her discomfort but she hardly noticed.
Gravely and deep, a voice from the hallway called out to her.
"Daughter of the Hammer," and she lifted her head to stare at the simply garbed friar with daisies in his beard.
He strode to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Here, let me guide you. You are so close to your goal, do not let the despair take it from you."
Licking her parched lips, she numbly nodded even as she noticed a tingle in her arm where his hand had touched her.
"Show me what you have done…"
Mutely, tired, and fatigued from her countless efforts, she was too tired to argue with the unusually large dwarven friar.
She rose to her feet and guided him through the steps she'd been taking. She spoke to him of the smelting process, the ores that she used in her metals, of the molds she had crafted herself. He offered not a word to any of it but nodded at appropriate intervals. Lastly, she brought him to the forge and showed the crafted item.
His eyes did not leave the smelter.
"Daughter of the Hammer," he said to her, and she was struck by the formality of it for the second time that night. "Your ratios are off by the barest of measures. Add a touch more eonake to your vultite and white ora."
Turning, she tore her gaze from the object that had consumed her every waking thought and dreams, her eyes as round as moons, and asked, "How…" But the question died on her lips. The friar was gone.
Not wanting to lose a moment, she began her days work anew. Resmelting the ores, filling the forms, and began working at the anvil once more. Each strike of her hammer ringing out loud enough to deafen, but in her ears, she only heard the sound of her own heartbeat.
As the midnight bell tolled, she gazed down at her work with awe and wonder. She had succeeded, the new metal she had created held form, the mace was a thing of beauty.
The next day, they found her there in the forge -- a white alloy mace in her hand, instructions scribbled in coal upon the ground, and a single daisy in her beard.
White alloy was originally the failed attempt to create a cheap permanently blessed material. However, it was recently discovered that, when properly blended, this alloy is anathema to the cursed shades and undead spirits that haunt Elanthia. Undead spirits struck by a white alloy weapon take extra damage and are temporarily anchored to the mortal plane when slain. Undead spirits recoil from white alloy armor and shields, making it harder for them to damage those bearing such equipment.
White alloy is considered a magical metal and can be used to craft weapons, armor, and shields. However, it is unsuitable for bows, staves, claidhmores, and katanas. It has a natural enchantment of +20. It can not be dyed.
In addition to that, it's non-corporeal undead bane, which means its +8 damage weighting and doesn't require a bless to hit non-corporeal undead. When it does hit non-corporeal undead, it anchors their spirit, preventing them from instantly decaying. It does require a bless to hit corporeal undead.
The new metal, white alloy, will be released in Rumor Woods. You can look for it in the shop, Devout Alloy.
~*~ Thandiwe ~*~
ASGM of Events
Topic: Rumor Woods
Message #: 557
Author: GS4-ESTILD
Date: 6/20/2020
Subject: White Alloy
White alloy is an alloy of vultite, white ora, and eonake. As such, it's intended to be sanctified. I'll be making an update to automatically correct that property on any white alloy weapons that went out without that property. However, at the same time, I'm also making another update that will allow Bless (304) and Symbol of Bless to work on naturally holy materials (which is just white ora, eonake, and white alloy for now). The net result is clerics and paladins can bless such items for holy water flares and non-clerics/paladins will be able to get such weapons blessed to be used against the undead.
GameMaster Estild