"This is going to take some getting used to...," a brief thought passed through Lupinum's mind while he stood in front of the forge. A small flurry of snow played around the open door of the Smithy, held in check by the waves of heat. The dry torridity lapped at the priest's rotted epidermis while he worked. The skin of his face and arms was splitting and cracking as he dragged the heavy, glowing crucible out of the kiln. Wedged between two heavy braces was a long, curved mold. The resting place of this smelted ore, and the last of Lupinum's failed designs.
A small board hung near a workbench. Both were covered with thin pieces of paper, themselves decorated with hard lines of the previous molds. Thicker, shorter, tapered cylinders, straight bars. Scrawled in the margin were proclamations of their perceived brilliance and subsequent failure. Lupin's thickly gloved hands held onto heavy tongs as he walked past with the glowing crucible. "Nice and smooth... no hesitation...," the Forsaken's inner dialogue continued. His mouth was drawn together into a thin line of determination. Lupinum twisted his arms deftly and poured the molten Blackrock Ore into the mold. His arms shook slightly, disrupting the flow with small hiccups that splattered the excess onto the smooth stone floor. The ore filled the mold slowly, following its long, tapered length. It ended in a fine point, perfect for goring foes. The interior of the mold was lined with Dwarven bone fragments, to add much needed strength and durability to his design.
Black flecks of slag rose to the top of the viscous liquid only to be scraped away by Lupinum. The blizzard outside was rising and snow was beginning to pile up near the large barrel of water for dousing. The wind whistled through the cracks in the stone hut as the priest hefted the mold towards the water. A quick dunk, and the screeching of the metal echoed that of the wind. Satisfied, Lupinum broke the mold apart and set about tempering his creation. The sharp crack of his hammer echoed across the flagstones as he worked on this horn and its brother.
Lupinum's brow would be gleaming with sweat if he still had working glands. But as it was, he stood looking down at the horns. Light from a candle nearby danced across the spidery lines of black that held large chunks of bleached bone together and whole. This had been the easy part. The arm was going to be altogether different...