[i]20,001 leagues under the sea…[/i] Heavy footsteps fell in time with the [i]clank, clank[/i] of spiritual echos. Dust, long-undisturbed, flew away in all directions, not daring to approach he who crossed this ancient threshold. Sylver whistled merrily along with the hammering of spirits as he strode into the depths of the Sunken Foundry. These tunnels were dark, their torches left unlit for untold ages. The spirits, though, were defiant to time. Still their ghostly hammers pounded. The Sunken Foundry held many rooms, but Sylver sought only one. Most of these halls, the one he walked included, all spider-webbed into the Central Forge, which opened its maw at the end of the tunnel. Sylver felt a rush of warmth as he entered the cavernous chamber. Though dim, it was still lit by endlessly burning spirit-fires. The primitive steam machinery roared their defiant song, powered on by the spirits of the Foundry. Accompanying all was the sourceless [i]clank, clank[/i] of the spirits. Sylver groaned as he dropped the roped burlap satchel from his back; it hit the ground with a boom. The raw abyssialite was astoundingly heavy, but 95% of that weight would be lost in the purification process. He could already feel the spirits’ awe at the powerful material as he opened the sack. “Let’s get to work.” . . . . [i]An unknown length of time[/i] Sylver reached his bare arm, striped with runic tattoos, into the light-blue spirit-fire. The enchantments had been finalized, and the sword with them. What he withdrew was nothing short of an artist’s masterpiece. The black blade of the sword was clean, untouched save for the tiny, runic scrawl reading, “[i]Challenger’s Mark.[/i]” It’s crossguard was contrastingly elegant, marked with fine carvings and runes. The smooth cross guard was, in turn, contrasted by the fine geometry of the diamond-shaped pommel. [i]Challenger[/i] in hand, Sylver crossed to one of the entrances of the Central Forge. He activated the main enchantment of the weapon, and the space around it warped with a dull hum. He raised the sword and struck it into the corner between the tunnel and forge walls. The wall… crunched, like an immense pressure had imploded the space through which the sword passed. A clean path had been pulverized from the rock. The blade itself had not even made contact. Satisfied, Sylver and his sword walked away from the Sunken Foundry, sealing it once more. The [i]Challenger’s Mark[/i] left its abyssal birthplace, ready to make its Mark on the world. [quote]The [i]Challenger’s Mark[/i] is an elegant, black-bladed sword made from Abyssialite. It’s main enchantment is to apply immense pressure to the space around the blade, effectively pulverizing anything it passes. It does, of course, hold the usual marks of Sylver’s work: It cannot be lost, will never dull, and will never break.[/quote]