Fragments Gallery
Safekeeping
The blade was heavy in the priests hand as he considered it carefully. Some swords were just seen as tools, weapons used to destroy. However this one was different. It was still a weapon, but it also was part of the histories. It was as if when he held the blade he also felt the weight of its past and the memories of those who had held the blade before him.
In years long past the blade had belonged to several great knights, some of whom had used the blade to keep the peace while others had used it to wage their wars. Only in the last century or so had it found its way to his temple in this small town. It had been entrusted to them for safekeeping.
Blades are the tools of men and nothing more, the priest told himself as he stared at the blade but that thought did little to quell the loathing he felt for the blade. Although some of the sword's masters had done great things with the weapon, others had committed atrocities. He'd be glad when the thing was gone from his sight and once more hidden below in the vaults.
The blade seemed almost soft in the faint light filtering through the stained glass lining the high walls of the temple. The runes carved into the polished steel of the blade by ancient mages still pulsed with their eerie power. He shivered; they still didn’t now all that the blade was capable of even though their own mages had studied it for many years. As result he didn't know what sort of enchantments had been laid upon the weapon and he wasn't sure he wanted to know either. He held the blade gingerly, in part because he didn't want to trigger any unknown enchantments and because the elaborately carved wooden hilt made him uneasy.
"Behold Sarlan," said a moderately toned male voice, "A blade as equally infamous as it is famous. Its name means greatness in the old tongue."
The priest looked up from the blade to see the head priest of the temple, Revered Father Cillian, walk in with the visitor who had asked to see Sarlan. It had been an odd request and even odder still that Cillian had granted the request, especially when the request came from this particular visitor who had remained mysterious and cloaked. However what was done was done, thought the priest as he approached the pair, and besides it is not my place to question.
"As you requested Revered Father," he said as he brought the blade to them, "I have delivered."
"Thank you my son," responded Cillian, "please leave us and return to your studies."
The priest bowed and left the room, glad that his task was done.
When he was halfway down the hall there was a sharp crack from the room behind him. He turned and ran back to the room. He stopped in the doorway and stared into the room in dismay.
Cillian was unconscious on the floor, the priest could see him breathing so he must still be alive, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen.
And the blade was gone.
The blade which had been entrusted to their care so many years ago was now gone. They had failed.
"What have we unleashed?" murmured the priest.
Would the blade fade into obscurity now that it had been stolen? Would a new warrior take up the sword? If so how would it affect the world? Would the new owner of the sword prove to be a peacemaker or a destroyer?