Chronicles of the Flying Dolphin

Chapter Six in the image of Trauma, the making of Terror

Contemplating crafts one summer's heat Fractal forged a mate to his illustrious and well used blade. An almost duplicate weapon possessed by similar magix, whose edge a single stroke would hone - on leather, steel or stone - to razor's keenness regardless of the task undertaken by the blade. Neither could the point be dulled. The guard was all of black and yellow and rose colored gold, a dainty coral snake, twisted into a mobius strip and consuming it's own tail. The handle was scrimshawed mastedon ivory, green and blue with ancient age, matching the etched depiction of the terran surface on the fullerine pommel. One side of the handle depicted the seven faces of Luna, on the other side were mikuni of the three goddesses, riding out of the sky on dolphins and armed for war.

Of such delightful design was the blade, butterfly wing damascus on one side, braided cable on the other, over a core of the steel usesd to cut steel. The weapon's convex edges were dramatically color case hardened in designs of wave, flame, mountain and cloud, with the runes of protecter and avenger filled with multicolored gold so that even divine Kristal was given to covet it's slim length. The thought of theft was loathsome to the Goddess, yet through some subtlety she came to fondle the wondrously wrought device. It merely resembled Fractal's blade in the physical realm - she could see into those other dimensions where this sword lacked the aggression and madness that permeated that other entity which it duplicated. It was a sweet sword. Capable of, but not prone to the destructive forces that had gained Trauma it's very name.

Of course, she thought, anyone who saw the blade would assume that it really was the other, and probably die of fright.

"H'low, Highness," Fractal startled her from her meditations. She was embarrassed to have been caught at unawares so deeply engrossed in desire for someone else's property - even if that someone else was the closest person to her own self possible.

"You appreciate my labors, lover? Then let it be a gift for you. We can match each other at costume parties!"

"...no, but not could take it I, to only feel thought I deftness, heft, balance it's it's it's, its much much fine a too prize me for!"

"Then do with it as you will; Toss it in the sea, donate it to some charity, sell it, melt it down. I'll not keep any device to cause my Princess to covet or conspire... I made it just for you anyway - don't you like it?"

Her tenseness evaporated, and they leaned close to one another - their breath mingling as their lips met. The gift was all but forgotten. But not the giving.