She grumbles as she precipitates the magical construct from the abstract realm of forms and onto her workbench.
"... stupid way for a multiverse to work ... not like the portal division is getting anywhere ..."
Finally, she finishes double-checking her work, and gives the tightly coiled ball of magic a shove out of the universe and — hopefully — into the hands of someone who can use it well.
"I hope it works," she remarks quietly to the empty room.
The others watch as she decants the steel, checks its grain, and then starts hammering it into shape. She may have skill with steelworking, but it still requires a certain amount of muscular exertion that she may not be accustomed to.
She's not done any bodybuilding for a while, but she still has much of her muscle and her strength from those days.
Then presently she will have a hard, sharp blade made of grey steel covered in tiny black patterns to hand to Lhemur.
He runs a finger over it to feel the texture, and then tests it on a bit of scrap leather.
"That's sharp," he says cuttingly.
He glances away from the still-cooling forge and out into the dimming evening.
"I will look through the <something about planning>," he promises. "In the morning."
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