Jake gets himself an Opal

[DoF Archive]

Date: 10/24/2001 10:15 AM Central Daylight Time
From: JakeThrash


Jake gets himself an Opal



Jake sat pondering the shiny blue rock that sat in the palm of his hand. He was still bewildered at what foul luck had chanced upon him to see it in his hands again. Long ago he had sworn he would never touch them again, and yet...here he was, with one of the accursed stones in his possession.

He rolled the opal around in his hand, studying the unnatural gleam that emanated from the flawless surface. Too bright to be a natural property, the light was a manifestation of the living energy infused into the gem...at least that was how Morgan explained it to him so long ago.

All the orc really knew was that it was magic. And he despised magic.

So how did he keep coming into contact with it? Magic, despite his best efforts, kept involving itself with him, even when he did his best to avoid it.

Jake tossed the blue gem into the air and let it fall again into his hand. The gem was noticeably cooler than a natural stone would be. That was the magic of this particular stone, the one called IceDancer.

Morgan said there was power in names. That names could define a thing, both empowering and limiting it. The opal, IceDancer, lived up to its name. The orc had heard the stories of its use since arriving in the Outback. Its icy powers were perhaps better known than any save FireStar. And yet, Morgan had said the stone was the representation of Water. Which suggested it had more power than that over just ice, or it had before it had gained its current name.

The orc flipped the stone into the air again. Its arc brought the orc's eyes up in line with a sword that rested upon the wall. As the opal fell back into his hand, Jake's eyes stayed upon the bright silver sword.

The blade was untarnished, as bright as though polished only moments ago, and yet the orc never cared for it. Any regular blade would be showing signs of rust or discoloration had they been ignored for so long. Not this blade.

The blade was also flawless, no nick or burr marred its razor edge. The orc had recently begun to suspect the blade was more than just an elven-crafted weapon.

The elves did not craft weapons in the manner of men, or orcs, or even of the stumpy rock-headed dwarves. The orc had heard that elven weapons were crafted with the mind, spirit and heart, and that the heat of the forge never touched them. "Heart," the orc snorted to himself. Who ever heard of a weapon being crafted with heart? Magic. That was what it was. Magic.

Elven crafting aside, the blade was different still.

Jake rose to his feet and moved to the wall, still gazing at the sword. He reached with slow deliberation to grasp the hilt of the weapon. He pulled it off the wall, eyeing it with quiet suspicion.

As he swung the blade left and then right, he could feel it.

The sword answered the presence of the opal. It was not just his imagination. The metal of the sword was bluer, he was sure of it. A hint of the opal's power was manifesting in the blade.

The orc held the sword out, point forward, he almost thought he could feel the flow of energy from the opal in his left hand into the weapon in his right.

Jake slashed the sword through the air, and then without though he swung out, cutting cleanly through a barrel of dry hops. He finished the swing, convinced he had felt a draft of cool air.

He turned his gaze down to the sheared barrel. A line of frost rimed the edge of the barrel.

He set the sword down and ran his thumb along the edge of the barrel. It was a clean cut, perfectly sheared away, a perfect edge, and well beyond even the abilities of even the sharpest blade...without the help of magic.

The orc frowned to himself and took up the sword again. He held it up, point towards the ceiling, inspecting the edge of the blade. Mirror bright, like ice, it gleamed and betrayed no sign it had just been used to shear through a seasoned hardwood barrel full of dry hops.

Shaking his head, Jake replaced the blade--Stormfist's blade--back upon the wall.

Magic.

He tossed the opal up and caught it again in his hand as he ambled back towards the front of the brewery.

Accursed magic.

Still...he had to admit, it was rather handy having the opal that could keep his ale chilled.