Two can keep a ( secret )
If one of them is d e a d .
One half of the promise carved delicately into the underside of twin revolvers, surely to be seen when their to-be owner raised them to blow away the smoke. Or, perhaps not. Not much to see when you’re a corpse, after all.
But what victims could see for certain, would be nothing short of art. Murders of crows were painstakingly etched across each gun’s silvery exterior, stained blue as deep as the ocean and detailed with black. Upon the pair of revolvers’ stocks was the tainted draenei’s signature, ever so small but there nonetheless. Into the head of the barrels were etched swirls, that could either be raging clouds or the waves of the sea, depending on how you angled the revolvers.
Such could be found on the bottom of the case that would serve as the guns’ beds. Heavy, doubtlessly because of the material it was made of. Dark azure titansteel frame and lid, branded with a three-headed crow in front of crossed scimitars, and the interior cushioned with luxurious ebony leather. The revolvers would have it better than some nobles if Nar had any say in this.
Wiping their hands and setting the cloth aside, the weaponscrafter turned their attention to six trays filled with even rows. Ammunition. Sliding the top tray of bullets out, they rested it on the work table on which, many hours ago, they had prepared runes and circles, now wreathed in murky violet clouds. The shadowy power reached like desperate fingers out to the tray of bullets, tainting each one. Energising them. Improving them. This was done with the second tray of bullets, and the two sets were placed into their own separate crate to be delivered personally to the Admiral herself.
Nar didn’t need the help of conjuring runes to empower the next two sets of ammunition. Mechanics and weapons may have been their top skill, but fel was a close runner-up. Their hand dragged through the air just a hair above the bullets, a stream of vibrant emerald pouring over them individually. Happy early Winter Veil, the draenei thought jovially. Fuck some sods up for the Admiral, if you would.
Crating up the fel-touched bullets, they took the remaining two trays and laid them in a third crate on their own. Regular bullets, for the losers just not cool enough to get some magic shot between their eyes.
Careful time was spent packaging the entire bundle of joy, and come that afternoon, Lucia’s request was ready to be received. Nar stood up, cleaning excess metal and fel from their hands before heading out with their freshly-made cargo.
Greatfather Winter was here early, and he had a present for a certain Admiral.
@phoenixadmiral
[ I hope this is an adequate piece! ;w; ]
