Darrkon sat in darkness ready to begin the fire and blood ceremony.  It
was an ancient ceremony of his people which he had never performed.  It
holds the belief that the first blood a weapon should taste should be
that of the man wielding it.  By doing this the weapon takes on the
strength of that man.  If first blood comes from an opponent you have
defeated in battle, someone obviously weaker than you, the blade takes
on their strength and consequently is weakened.

Darrkon lit the fire behind him.  Its light reflected off of the cave
walls and off of the weapons laid out in front of him.  A modified
battle-axe, two new short swords, a new dagger, and ten throwing knives
were his weapons of choice.  Darrkon knew the changes were necessary.
It had been too long since his fighting spirit had evolved.  He picked
up his families ceremonial knife and prepared himself.

"Darrkon?"  He heard Marina call from behind him.  He turned to see her
in the very spot he had left her.  Which was expected because of her
condition.  "If you're going to change everything about yourself you
should take this."  He had explained the ceremony to Marina to avoid
shocking her and possibly hurting her more.  She handed a small bundle
to him, "I had to make sure it matched.  It's ready now."

Darrkon opened the bundle and saw himself.  Marina had made him a mask,
enhancing some of his features.  The sharp cheekbones and exaggerated
angry brow made it clear this was a mask to be worn into battle.  The
mask also had an opening for his mouth, something he and Lacey had been
working on for months.  As he examined it he saw how Marina had
accomplished it.  The wooden base consisted of two pieces.  The face
plate, which ended just below the upper jaw, and the chin guard, which
extended along the lower jawbone.  The pieces were connected by an
elastic fabric which also ran down and around the neck.  Multiple ties
closed it in the back.

"I would be honored to wear this Marina.  Thank you."  Darrkon felt
somewhat guilty about her inability to use her legs which was one reason
he accepted the mask.  But he had to admit, even if her condition didn't
exist, he may have accepted the mask anyway.  Darrkon walked back to his
weapons and placed the mask on top of another bundle.  He then realized
the significance of Marina's last words.  The mask perfectly matched the
clothes he had chosen to wear into battle.  Which meant she must have
finished it within the last few hours.  Now it was time to begin.

Darrkon placed his weapons in the fire and once again raised the
ceremonial knife.  He placed his left arm over a bowl and lightly cut
across the wrist.  Darrkon let the blood run free until the appropriate
amount  was collected.  He closed the cut with some salve and wrapped it
to allow clotting to begin.

Darrkon mixed oils and herbs into the blood he had collected to make a
rather foul mixture.  The dragonrider then took multiple strips of clean
cloth and coated them in the blood mixture.  One by one, he removed his
weapon from the fire and wrapped their blades in the cloths.  The stink
of searing blood filled the cave.  The oils and herbs did nothing but
add to the stench.

As the sizzling sound died down Darrkon took the weapons and placed them
into a barrel of cold water.  Steam rose from the barrel since the
weapons were still quite hot.  Darrkon quickly disrobed, which brought a
slight gasp from Marina.  He was sure he had told her about that part.
Darrkon took the rest of the blood and oil mixture and spread it over
himself.  His left wrist was the only skin not touched by the special
mixture.  Upon retrieving his weapons he ripped the cloth away from them
and examined each one.  He was satisfied to find every blade had a
slight discoloration.  The ceremony was a success.  The weapons were a
part of him, now he must make himself a part of the weapons.  As they
were forged by fire and cooled by water so must he be.  Darrkon turned
toward the fire and slowly pushed each body part through it.  He
understood the necessity of the blood and oils now.  They prevented him
from seriously being burned.  After he was done he walked over to
another barrel and climbed in.  The sudden cold after the intense heat
sent shocks through his body.  It took a few minutes for him to
completely clean himself of the blood.  When he had dried he was ready
to dress.

Darrkon looked at himself in the mirror he had brought down with them.
The black boot, black leather pants, black shirt, and wrist guards made
him look fierce.  The swords at his waist and crosssheath of throwing
knives showed he was a warrior.  But as he placed Marina's mask on, he
changed.  He became death incarnate.  But as he picked up the battle-axe
he felt something was wrong.  He looked at his pile of belongings, the
past could not exist in the future.  He looked at his battle-axe, now
the main extension of his power, just as Calindeth was an extension of
himself.  Just as Calindeth has a name, so should the axe.  When he
realized the first action of the battle-axe would be to destroy a part
of himself, the perfect name came to him.

Darrkon raised the axe above his head, as he smashed down through his
past  he called out, "I name you Soulcleaver!"  With that action a great
sense of power rushed through him.  Darrkon was ready; to battle all
enemies to come; to accept whatever path his future held; and to truly
face Lacey.  As he thought of returning to the warren and finally
putting an end to these recent problems between himself and Lacey, he
smiled.  A smile he could see.  Which brought another thought to mind.
For years his emotions were hidden behind his mask.  He must make his
face as wooden as the mask he wears, or his enemies would read him too
easily.  But first things first...let the fools come.