Silver-hilted dark eahnor longsword
- a silver-hilted dark eahnor longsword
Flawless and polished to a high luster, the eahnor blade of the longsword seems as a streak of molten ruby, deep crimson and glossy. Both edges are keenly honed, while the midline is traced with subtle etching, and the blade terminates at a crossguard of eahnor-inset silver. Beneath, the hilt has been crafted of silver to resemble a clenched fist, the contouring providing an excellent grip for the wielder. At the base of the hilt is an orb of ruby banded in silver engraved with elegant script.
Along the band of silver encasing the ruby pommel are engraved the words, "Strength" and "Honor."
- Masterfully crit weighted
As your song enshrouds the longsword, you feel a sudden heat growing in your chest and on your face. Turning your eyes downward, you see an anvil and a pair of hands not your own. Heavy strikes of a hammer fall one after another on piece of red hot metal that begins to take the form of a blade. Every blow brings the blade closer to perfection, and pride wells in your heart as you plunge the blade into a barrel of dark water. The sizzling of the blade cooling sings in your ears as the vision fades.
The notes of your song penetrate the longsword, coaxing out another vision. A weathered hand you recognize polishes the blade of an ornate longsword, bringing a sanguine gleam to the eahnor. Setting the cloth aside, you feel beneath your hands the cool silvered hilt, which resembles a clenched fist. Clutching the grip, you look up to your surroundings. Austere and militant, the walls of a barracks rise around you. Your armor clinks as you stand, and your hold on the vision wans.
Your sight opens on a battlefield as your song draws you into the memories of the longsword. Hordes of ogres and trolls rage, and the clashing of blades are a signal of your comrades. Your gaze lifts to a man you recognize as your commander. He battles valiantly, but is overwhelmed. As he falls, you surge forward, possessed of fury and the desire to avenge. Your song dies in your ears as you feel yourself fending off foe after foe, before a blinding flash of pain in your chest darkens the vision entirely.
Your song opens a vision. The battle wages on as a chill overcomes you. Your hands are bloody, and the pain in your chest tells the origin of the stain. As your eyes close, you glimpse a muscular young man. His light armor is pristine, and he lays a hand on your wound, the cold chased away by warmth. Standing you up, he places your sword in your hand and disappears into the throng of combatants. You raise your longsword, and the vision fades as a battle cry echoes in your ears: "Strength and Honor!