Even with his necklace, Baneck still felt a bit of warmth, with his hands resting so close to the metal, and the orange glow bathing his skin.

He could feel the curiosity pouring off Morgy, as she looked over his shoulder.  Not that he liked somebody watching his every move, but he could appreciate her wish to watch her investment.

“Just what in the scale-scratching blazes is that?” she finally asked.

“Frost-steel,” he casually said, as he bent over the large metal plate, carving another rune on its extravagantly engraved, shimmering hot surface.  “Doesn’t your eye for treasure tell you so?”

“Of course.  What I want to know is, what’s it for?”

As he stayed silent, from behind him he heard her shuffle with a scuff of impatient feet.

“I guess you don’t need this after all,” she said.

He immediately straightened up, and looked at the purple bottle she carried.

“One moment,” he quickly said, as he took off his apron, and sat at the little table, inviting her to join him.

She did so, placing the vitality potion on the table, but keeping her fingers around it.

“It’s shaped like no sword I’ve every seen,” she said, with a nod to the thing sitting on the anvil.  “Although it is pleasing to the eye.”

He looked at her with a crafty smile.  “Troujur will be its name.  It’s part of my learning to use Wintermore.”

“You speak vaguely,” she said, as she extended the bottle to him.

After taking a sip, he told her, “It’s part of getting ready to make your sword.”

“Are you consumed, or just passionate about your work?”

“Both.  I’ll need more orgite.”

As he stood up, Morgy reached over, and flipped through the pages of his leather bound notebook, taking a quick study of the many runes he had recorded, as he had found them in his Mark.

“You’ll have it,” she said, as she exited.

He stood dangerously close to the searing surfaces, and positioned himself for the next tap of the chisel.