Janen drops to her knees, eyes shining with admiration. She extends her hands outwards, palms up. A brief shimmering fills the air above her hands. A moment later, a spear of steel and swirled with a white metal of some sort appears in her hands, wisps of frost rising from the head, which has the appearance of a dragon's maw open wide in a ferocious roar, its stylized tongue thrust forth to form the tip of the spear.
Janen adjusts her grip on the spear, bringing its tip to her lips, which she kisses lightly. She proffers the weapon toward Novartis, once more held horizontally across both palms. "My weapon and trust are yours, Great One. What is your will?"