Deathstone-inset enruned steel claidhmore
This item was a prize from the Hunt for History.
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a deathstone-inset enruned steel claidhmore
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Loresong
The melody of your song penetrates the mists of time as you are transported to a distant place. High in the Dragonspine, on the peaks of Rockspear Mountain, the giantkin gather. Highmen will challenge Obanmenas in the traditional seasonal conflicts to test mettle and skills. Neither wishing the other to have the advantage of terrain, they have pushed higher this time, much higher than in previous years. The ground is unknown to them, but both tribes are confident. It is the first night of the gathering. The night of introductions, personal challenges and boasting. Ale flows like water in the spring thaw, and insults veiled in laughter and innuendo fill the air as each tribe asserts bragging rights. Not certain if it's the thin mountain air or the powerful ale, your mind spins as it deposits you back in the present.
As your song begins anew, the revelry of the previous night has ended. Giantkin awake bleary-eyed, with tongues swollen from last night's ale, and heads feeling two sizes too big. Even so, they have come to fight and fight they will, no matter how clumsily they may start out. As Highmen face Obanmenas, slurred catcalls and taunts flying back and forth, sunlight breaks over the peak and flashes off rows of polished armor and shields. The giantmen blink, squinting into the glare, trying to decide who -- or what -- has come unwelcome to spoil their fun. Anger turns to hilarity as the giantkin gaze on rank after rank of what appear to be rotund, bearded goblins arrayed for war. The guffaws of the giantmen echo in your head as the flash of sunlight on metal causes you to cover your eyes, thus losing the vision.
With the start of a new verse, you realize the giantmen are puzzled. These "goblins" do not shrink from battle, but fight well and exhibit true warrior traits. The battle rages in earnest, though neither side gains an advantage. The giantmen realize these fighters, these bearded dwarves, are skilled tacticians, well-trained weapon masters, and worthy opponents. It no longer matters what started the battle or why they continue to fight. A grudging respect grows between the two sides. Strangely enough, animosity seems to have dissipated from both giantkin and dwarf, it's now a matter of warrior against warrior, with neither willing to give ground. The confrontation continues for months, with neither being able to kick the other off the mountain top. Perhaps you have been watching too long, for it seems the two races are having an odd sort of fun, grins, not grimaces, on their faces as they pound at each other, toe-to-toe. Your song falters at the incongruity and you find yourself pried loose from the vision.
When your song resumes, you are back on the mountain top. As the mists clear, you see that the battle has ended. Which side actually called, "Hold!" is a subject for later debate. The dwarves claim the giantmen gave in to their nagging wives. The giants claim the dwarves fell too drunk to go on. No matter the reason, an abiding respect and friendship has been forged here. Giantmen and dwarves clasp arms as equals on the battlefield, acknowledging the prowess and determination of their former foes. To celebrate this new found regard, a pact is signed. Each vows to fight alongside the other in coming conflicts, never facing the other again in hostility. Forever after, when members of the two races meet, it is traditional that a cup is raised in a toast to "Sunfist", in honor of the "war" and the mountaintop where the treaty was signed. As your song ends, you feel you have a greater understanding of the bond between these two warrior races.
Your song draws to a close and you feel the story has ended.