Aramuil's Enchantment Descriptions
-
((Just a brief note, I've written a few enchantment descriptions, and when I do I tend to put some effort into it. I thought it was a waste for only the enchantment DM to see these descriptions, so I thought I'd start posting them. Enjoy!))
-
Ral Shish Libash
Aramuil painstakingly painted the last vine upon the axe blade’s flat, and exhaled after completing it. Aramuil then carefully examined each side of the axe, looking for any imperfections in his painting for what must have been the hundredth time. This would be an experiment as well as a favor for a friend, Aramuil was going to try to replicate some of the effects of rune magic by mimicking what little was known of the process outside of the dwarves and giants. An attempt to give power to words while at the same time imbuing the axe with elven skill and delicacy; this could be Aramuil’s greatest achievement to date in the realms of item enchantment. The idea was, in a certain way, simplistic in concept. Aramuil would replicate dwarven runes upon the axe, unlike the rune forgers though, he would instead consume the materials out of the blade, forming the words and adding an additional elven touch. Each rune and symbol on the blade, from the name brazenly written upon each side of the axe to the wolf fangs on each blade were painted upon it in overlapping vines of different colors, blue, green and gold. If everything went as planned, the mystic paint would activate with his spellcasting and consume the metal beneath it, leaving a faint outline of vines as a way of showing Aramuil’s work and hinting at the elven magics that truly powered the blade.
Admittedly, it was risky, a more standard elven enchantment would work just as well, but Aramuil wanted this blade to look and feel dwarven to those that might look at it. He wanted it to be dwarven and elven at the same time. And if Aramuil could utilize the techniques of the dwarven runesmiths, or even create a reasonably close proxy he might be able to further press this to create even more impressive works. Aramuil mused over these thoughts as he stared at the axe, looking for imperfections one last time; he considered briefly if this might be worth the risk, after all, it was Stubs’ axe, but he pushed such thoughts aside. It would work, he was sure of it.
The next day dawned, and Aramuil stared at the circle he had drawn upon the floor, fevered work that started while his family slept; Reverie granted him hours of waking that let him get work done before everyone was up, though he realized with a wince that when the children learn to take Reverie in the future, they would wake at the same time he did. Aramuil shook his head to clear out thoughts of anything other than his current task now though. The circle before him was a marvelous mix of elven script and dwarven runes; multi-layered and over ten feet in diameter, it was filled with pleas to elven and dwarven gods as well as mystical commands to the elements of earth and air. Suspended by ropes secured to walls of his study by a sticky and sturdy glue, the painted axe stood, hilt to the ground while the blade was suspended into the air at the center of the circle. Aramuil took in a deep breath, before he began and cleared his mind of all thoughts but what lay before him, then he kneeled before the axe.
In elven Aramuil asked Corellon for aid, then in dwarven he made similar pleas to Moradin; the axe began to glow lightly, a good sign. Aramuil then began to intone the words and mystic passages necessary in a variety of languages, elven, dwarven, draconic, and celestial intermixed into a chant unrecognizable to most. The runes upon the axe began to glow with a bright white light, and as Aramuil continued his chant, the earth seemed to rise between the cracks of the floorboard to lift the axe off the ground, and clouds seemed to gather above the axe blade. The ropes snapped from the wall, the glue failing to keep in place the blade. Sparks of electricity reached out to strike the earth below which now encased the handle of the blade, forming a plateau from which the rest of the blade stuck up from like a tower of silvery justice. The energies between earth and air continued to build, and Aramuil’s chants seemed to echo through halls that did not exist. The runes now sunk into the axe blade and were nearly blindingly white; Aramuil’s eyes crackled with a similar energy and power. The chants reached a crescendo, and with all his might, Aramuil screamed, first in elven then in dwarven, “I name you, RAL SHIS LIBASH!” and as the final word rang out a blast of energy rang out and axe fell to the ground; Aramuil, exhausted, crawled over to view his work…
