Quoted By:
Taking a deep breath to keep yourself calm beneath the din of battle, you close your eyes and focus upon the divine spark planted deep within you. The seed which the Divine Beast planted deep within your womb so very long ago quickened into roots that penetrate your very essence. They grew as you grew, maturing as one with your body over the better part of a century. Every flower in your heart of hearts blossomed with a steely grey, a manifestation of your divine gift for the manipulation of metal. That is how you can wear so much mithril as a junior sister - you extracted and shaped every ounce of ore used in your clothes and your jewelry by yourself.
Just as you extract lesser metals now from the ground beneath your feet.
"First, <span class="mu-i">extract ore</span>," you command. You keep your voice softer than the din of battle, but it still carries the reverberations of mana flowing through your words. Light, ethereal, like the mist - were the enemy closer, they would have heard you. The incantation flows down your fingertips as you make a gathering gesture. "Then separate in accordance with its purpose. Copper to flame to sheathe their weapons. Cold iron to ward away the rot of the blight. Silver to shape the badge of the healer."
You pull upon the earth beneath your feet, and you can feel the scattered flecks of metal in the stone groan and creak as you force them away from their homes among the rocks. This place is not rich in metals, and the artifice upon your clothes and jewels grant them a resistance to using them as fodder for your spells. By your will, a cloud of iron dust is soon joined by a cloud of copper, and then a smaller cloud of silver. When you clench your fist they condense together - iron and copper into balls the size of a fist, and the silver into a pellet the size and approximate shape of your thumb.
Fare less ore than you are used to.
The roots of the Yggdrasil gather rich mineral deposits that are renewed over the course of a year beneath Alfheim. The minerals of this place can hardly compare - in fact, such a comparison would be as unfair as comparing mortals to the Children of Yggdrasil.
But it will do all the same.
Not every place need be as gifted as the elvenhomes in minerals and farmland. Not every creature need live as long as the Children, with a sufficient lifespan to become at least adept in most things.
These Hume knights are no rangers of the Chilren, but all the same they will do quite nicely as recipients of the blessings you mean to shape of these metals. That is the second step, giving your prayers to the roots of Yggdrasil shape through metals symbolic of each prayer's purpose. Through the use of your divine gift, your can skip past ceremony and incantation that can last for hours before even a single wound is healed by the divine energy circling the world.
The shape of iron becomes an ancient hymn of protection in battle against the Blight.
The shape of silver becomes a mass of healing for a congregation.
