Roen\'s chest rose and fell as he, like Maximos, took his time entering the ring. Out of reverance for the fight to come, the Devil made sure to not rush something so pure. His only regret was not having a larger arena to do battle in. A triviality to be sure, but it was the short that flawed an otherwise perfect event. Taking a spot opposite Maximos, Roen spaced away from the anvils so that they would not get in the way of his and Maximos' inevitable confrontation.
Of Swords and Men.
With all the attentiveness Maximos was due, the Devil listened to his words and watched his actions, both eyes and ears well adjusted to the environmental factors of Dante's Forge. The show of the blade, the talk of its maker, and what it meant to their battle. Maximos had history with its owner that was vital to the way this event would play out, but what did the Devil have to offer in exchange? Nigeralo? A gift from a wanderer who thought that it would look nice on his hip? This would not due. This was not what Maximos deserved. Shifting his weight on his feet and pushing aside the part of his great coat, Roen made quick work of the buckles at his hip. In deft and quick motions, Nigeralo in its sheath was removed from the Devil's person and tossed to the sidelines.
Enter Hræðilegr: The Dreadful or Horrible.
Adeipho, the Master Artificer, took his time forging this blade. Letting it's song sing through his spacious halls with every hammer blow he had tuned it from a stuttering choir boy into one of the Three Tenors. It first began as a block of Adamantium, a brick of Electrum, a purse of Gold flecks, a coil of Silver, and more Copper filament then dare be asked. He was going to craft a monster, something dreadful, a horror that should never dare be unsheathed from it's womb. A Frankenstein's monster.
The Devil drew the weapon, like Nigeralo before it, with all the authority of a warrior.
Adeipho fitted the sword with a large fuller and began to press the molten Electrum into the Adamantium. Carefully smashing the two elements together, eventually producing a lovely aesthetic trait, the dark almost black metal was off-set by the mixture of Electrum down the fuller. Very much like a single highlight in a mop of black hair. Other than its size, this was one of the elements that set it apart from Maximos' blade.
Truly, perhaps much like Maximos' weapon, this was a work of art.
In the end, when the Master Artificer was finished, the blade itself was sixty-eight inches long, three and a half inches wide (with the cross guard being two inches wider on each side) and six tenths of a centimeter thick. The two handed grip was lathed to incorporate the hand placement of the user, and roughly ten inches long. At the end of it all the pommel, containing the counterweight made of heavier tungsten. This would help the weapon as it was swung and keep the center of balance and percussion in order to achieve a larger sweet spot, just like on a baseball bat.
Roen flourished the sword over his head and brought it around, slicing down and towards the ground. With a resounding impact, the contrete was split open and dug into by several inches before the cleave was stopped. And, without much effort, the World Splitter was brought up and out of the ground. It vibrated with lament, metal grinding against metal, until Roen pulled his right hand away to push his palm against the flat of the weapon, silencing it for the time being.
It was the Frankenstein monster that Adeipho crafted and gave to an even worse of a fiend.
The cross guard he had crafted the twin faces of daemons on either side - horrors that have never been seen in this world. Splintering the metal with their long incisors and canines, threatening to gouge the wrists of the one wielding it, but twisting away at the last second to never allow for that to happen. In their many dozen eyes, there were planted a force attuned stone, sensitive and powerful, and only reactant to the one wielding the weapon and would increase his power several times over if tapped into.
The grip was notched perfectly to fit the Roen's hands even down to the fingerprints; no matter which way he held it, insuring that only he could wield it perfectly. Everyone else would either be slightly too small or two large, and they would have been cut. The weapon gleamed, in the dim light of the forge and lamps above, under the incredible amount of polishing that was done to nearly every last millimeter. Adeipho even took the time to hammer the tungsten counterweight at the bottom into a large canine tooth shape for gaffing.
The perfect sword for the perfect battle, and the Devil was giving it to the Nameless to test its might. Pulling Hræðilegr away from the concrete floor and sliding his left foot behind him, Roen hefted the giant sword up and placed its edge on his left shoulder - a relaxed posture to be sure, but only because he did not want to hold it before him due to its girth. Instead he presented his right flank to Maximos, only raising his right hand in suite to beckon the warrior. Roen was ready. He was ready to show this man what war meant to him. And if he did not come, then Roen would bring the battle to him.
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