In tempests you dance, a Queen fierce and grand,
Shaping thunder and lightning with a wave of your hand.
From jeweler's bench to the ocean's fierce spree,
Your designs shape my weapons, rivaling the storms you command.

Conceived from your art, then by my forge they take form,
Weapons of substance, from tempest-torn bone.
Your vision's the compass, my forge is the key,
Together we craft arms as potent as sea.

Your eyes, deep as purple, hold a flicker of sly wit,
As you see me brandish arms that we've honed to be fit.
Queen of the Storm, in jewel and in gale,
In our co-forged arsenal, my trust will not fail.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Lupar, in the year 930 AF.