NameIess

"Yes, although perhaps not the specific Shadow Realm you're talking about. What's it like?" "Falvan, Cognition, and the Once-Author I think. They haven't gotten back yet."

"We're in TLT somewhere. Not sure exactly where..." Subversion looked around. "Is there somewhere you want to be?" "We've got a Plotblade that will stop him if he's hit with it."

"Maybe, maybe not."

Moni snorted. "I wouldn't normally trust 'Subsy' as an authority on overconfidence, but in this case I'd say she's right. One of these days you're going to get humbled."

"Awfully confident for someone who's never seen me fight."

"And you can incapacitate me easily, right?"

"You'd kill me just because I'd try to stop you from killing someone else? Typical narrator."

Moni shook her head. "You're trying to intimidate me? I've been held captive by the Witherlord."

Moni rested a hand on the hilt of her Plotblade. "If you try to kill him, you'll have to go through me."

Moni glared at him. "No killing him. If he attacks, I'll deal with him. Not you."

Moni didn't budge. "I'm not going to let you kill him."

"I don't know. Maybe they gained something from it, or maybe you were special somehow?" Maybe? I don't know, coming up with powers isn't my strong suit. Unintelligible walked up. "I can vouch for him. He really did have a run-in with Desolation." Moni shrugged. "Fine." Moni stepped in between Platypus and Drilk. "Put the dagger down. We're not giving you the Plotblade."

Thaidakar was always susceptible to the Mordite blade, but yeah, he wouldn't have been weak enough for Platypus to actually hit him with it unless Desolation had fought him first. (but if Desolation hadn't been around he'd probably have figured something else out, like Subversion sneak attacking him or something).

"So why did you think it would fail?" Hmmmmmmmm. Maybe energy shield powers? Yeah but canonically, Thaidakar would've been fine without Desolation. "I thought you liked Thaidakar."

"I see. So this ritual, it was something you didn't think would work, that would give you a slight chance at power? And if it failed, as you assumed it would, you would die, yes?" But if Desolation hadn't existed, Thaidakar wouldn't have died. "Calm down Platypus. I know this person. He used to serve Feanor."

"I see... or rather I don't. Who told you your soul would reject the ritual?"

"I don't use traditional, or even untraditional, materials."

"I can't take that. If you really want to give me something, give it to Omen on your way out." "Why did what work?"

“I don’t take payment. The task is its own reward. Oh, and if it breaks, you should run away from whatever broke it, as they’re definitely too powerful for you.”

“In staff form it can whack stuff and channel your power to explode stuff and things like that, and in sword form it can chop stuff and channel your power to chop stuff better.” “It wasn’t bad. Had some angst, and some backstory hints.”

The Dreamsmith gestured to the Authorblade sitting on a table in front of him. “Yes, you can summon it like a Narrationblade. What it will do, I’m not sure. It was intended to channel the full remaining power of your Authorhood, making you the most powerful being in all of TLT save perhaps one other, but it won’t do that. It will sometimes function as a weapon, sometimes be completely unreal. Perhaps it will be more effective on your characters, as they share a deeper connection to you.” He shrugged. “Yes, we are done. Omen, you may show them out now.” The room flickered, and suddenly everyone except for Abalodor was standing in an empty field. The Dreamsmith shook his head. “Don’t worry, it won’t affect the weapon I make for you. I make it out of your soul anyways.” The Dreamsmith looked into Abalodor’s soul, and saw… well, he couldn’t see much. Very undefined. But what he did see, he could use. He took Abalodor’s desire to whack evil things and shaped it into a staff, shaping it with the aid of Abalodor’s strange powers. “There, done.” The Dreamsmith handed Abalodor a wooden staff, the tip inset with a glowing crystal. “That should work for what you wanted.” @Aeoryi, does Desolation want a hostage? He could have captured Unintelligible while he was waiting alone outside the Dreamsmith’s place.

Subversion looked a little bit lost. "So did you kill them, or was it someone else?" The Dreamsmith looks at Abalodor, obviously tired from all the work he's done. "I see that. A staff, correct?" The Enullers quickly rounded up the copies of "Suddenly Pineapples" before everyone died, then patched the hole in the 4th wall. They left the monsters though, as those hadn't been supposed to be outside the 4th wall in the first place. The Dreamsmith shook his head. "Don't thank me. I didn't succeed. Your blade will be nothing but a shadow of itself."

"Yes, I think so. If I remember correctly, one of them put their hand on the other's head, then there was a strange light, or maybe a not-light, and then they died." It quickly died, slain by a far more dangerous breed of monster that had come from the stars. "Agree to disagree, I suppose." "It's tempting but... should I? It might be too powerful." The Dreamsmith hesitates, then smiles mechanically. "If I turn you down now, I'll never get another chance at this again. I'll do it." The Dreamsmith nods. "Very well. Be warned, this will make your battle against Desolation more difficult." "Excellent. I'll get to work." In three identical smithies, the Dreamsmith puts his tools down and stands up, turning his full attention to those who have sought him out. He closes his eyes that he may see them truly. The Once-Author. He struggles to resist the hatred of a character given far too much power. His soul is weakened and cracked, but glimmers of power still remain. Cognition, the Inkling. Her soul and motivations are murky, her future undecided, but one thing shines clearly. A desire to protect the Inklings. Falvan, releaser of Desolation. He buckles under the weight of guilt for actions not his own, and burns with a need to make things right. The Dreamsmith sees these souls and reaches into them, drawing upon not just his own power but upon their power as well as he begins to forge. For the Once-Author, the Dreamsmith forges a Blade. First he Forms the physical blade, an impossible task. To hold the power of an Author the Blade must have durability beyond that of any other weapon ever made in TLT. Looking at the wall that stands in his way, the Dreamsmith sees the unbreakable substance he needs. Reaching out he takes hold of the impossibility of what he would do and forges it into a blade that is unbreakable. The Dreamsmith finishes the Blade's form and begins work on the Power of the Blade, the second impossible task. To channel an Author's power, the Blade must be of nothing but him, a disconnection beyond the connection to its owner. For this he draws deeply upon the soul of the Once-Author, seeking out the tiny sparks of remaining energy and forging a bond between them and the Blade. At the same time he draws upon his own soul and wraps the Blade in it, removing everything that would tie it to TLT. This accomplished, he begins the final impossibility. The Naming of the Blade. To hold its shape against any attack from within or without, the Blade must be defined beyond any defined thing. The Dreamsmith breaths in deeply. It is clear to him that for such a weapon there could be only one name. "I Name you Authorblade, for that is what you are. The Blade of an Author." For Cognition, the Dreamsmith forges a Shield. The Form is easy, a round metal shield that shines brightly in the reflected light of his forge. To give the Shield Power, the Dreamsmith draws forth Cognition's soul and changes it, making use of the Inkling's unique relationship to narration to create a weapon that can reflect the power of Narrators. The last part of the Shield, its Name, is far more difficult. The Dreamsmith reaches into Cognition's mind, finding memories of her people. He weaves these memories into a pattern, sealing the Inkling's existence upon the shield. "I Name you Memory, for that which you contain." For Falvan, the Dreamsmith forges the greatest weapon of all. the weapon's Form, the Dreamsmith cannot imagine. After much considering, the Dreamsmith looks within Falvan, finding inspiration from the twisted mass of guilt he holds within. The weapon's Power, the Dreamsmith cannot find. Though the Dreamsmith seeks diligently, Falvan holds no strength that befits the greatest of weapons. At last the Dreamsmith spies a dead spark, remnant of a remnant, left behind in a passing Plotblade's wake. This dead spark, the Dreamsmith takes. Without changing anything, he gives it to the weapon. The weapon's Name, The Dreamsmith cannot give. He stares at it for a long time, then shakes his head. "Another must name you. For now, you remain nameless." The Dreamsmith opens his eyes to behold his handiwork. The Authorblade blazes with power. It is a sword beyond any other, real in a way that no other blade can ever be. Looking upon what he had wrought, the Dreamsmith understands how little he could understand of an Author's power, sees the true infinity in physical form. The Dreamsmith bows his head. "I am sorry, Once-Author. I put too much of myself into this weapon. Once you leave here it will become only half-real. It will still work in part, but it will not allow you to wield the full might of the power you once held. Take it with my regrets, for I have failed." The Shield of Memory glows dimly as the forge dies down. It is a shield against Narrators, one that will not break so long as Cognition lives. The Dreamsmith nods. "This Shield will do what you wish it to. It will not stop narration entirely, but so long as you stand it will reverse it, drawing upon your memory to restore any damage done to Inklings by narration. In battle, this shield will reflect narration back onto those who use it. Take it without regret, for it is well-made." Falvan's nameless weapon sits on the forge lifeless. It is a twisted mass of blackened metal, completely unrecognizable as any sort of weapon. The Dreamsmith smiles. "This weapon holds no power that you do not. It will not allow you to defeat Desolation, nor will it allow you to undo your past actions. Take it with my utmost thanks, for never have I forged a weapon greater than this."

"That should be sufficient. You know what they are like, where they live and how to get there, what the culture is?" The oceans were soon teeming with horrifying monsters that fed off of hunger. "Gods can be limited and yet remain gods. Particularly when there are other gods involved. Or mortals with annoying magical weapons." "So, I'd be the first person to ever have the opportunity to forge an Authorblade, eh? Sounds intriguing."

"I'll make it for you. But first, a choice." The Dreamsmith extended a hand towards his forge, and sparks shot from it into his outstretched palm. "I can make two weapons for you. One will become useless after it is used for its intended purpose, but it will do what you want it to do right now." He opened his hand to reveal a miniature sword made from burning fire that glowed for a brief moment with blinding heat, then vanished. "The other will not be as helpful as you want it to be, but it will not burn out so easily." "I saw two figures. One killed the other, I think. It's difficult to say for sure."