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The legendary blade, known throughout the world, sits upon the altar before me, waiting to be taken into my hands and used as the bright star of justice in the dark night of life. Emotions--fear, joy, pride--flow as I stand where no man has ever stood before, and I take the sword and put it across my back. I head for Zurlenia, to join the city guards in their nightly battles against the animdead, corpses brought to semi-life by Xxoarphi, the necromancer to the north who ever dreams of world domination; all the guards must do each night is chop apart an animdead or two, and he retreats, realizing his army is diminishing faster than it grows by killing others. But with this sword, I can kill so many of them a night that he will not come back again.
At nightfall, I join the guards keeping watch. They don't recognize the sword, but are thankful for the help when the corpses come. I seem more skilled in the starlight, as if the sword is doing the killing and I am merely there to hold it off the ground. It strikes slowly at first, then faster and faster, until I can't keep up with it and it vanishes.
Confusion floods my mind: I've been under the spell of the guards, slaying my friends as they cheer me on. I draw my dirk from my belt and leap at them, the bright star of justice in the dark night. Shock and terror wash over their faces as they are caught unprepared, fumbling for weapons, stunned that their spells could be broken. And the only thought that reaches my mind as we battle is 'they deserve this for deceiving me.' The dirk dances in my hands, having been at my side for years, learning every move we make.
At first, I am saved by my speed and the element of surprise. But soon I must retreat a little: I need to restrict the number of them that can come toward me at once. I lead the fight into a narrow cul-de-sac. My dirk, red from its noble cause, continues its work. Four more are defeated before my proper mind returns.
A tidal wave of despair washes over me. What have I done? Where is Exponentia? Why are the guards fighting me? All this flashes through my mind in half an instant, and my guard is down. But the guard in front of me is still fighting: I must go on, at least until I have breath enough to call out and tell them I am me again. Too late: trailing by half an instant, I cannot parry fast enough as the guard's blade sinks through leather and flesh and unleashes all emotion--I don't feel hope or anger or joy, but some sort of cosmic Everything. It is a moment before I even realize that I am dying, caught up in the experience of death.
As best I can across the Unriver, I cast my memories, that the living may see the truth the legend so cheerfully obliterated: that the sword is death. That should've been obvious: how could a legendary sword sought for ages possibly remain unfound when it is a short journey into the cave to find it? I am a fool, and I paid a dear price. I beg of you, make not the same mistake.
Author's Note: The original story was only the first three paragraphs; the rest is but a 'proper' ending added to it for release to the world. As for the sword, it kills at an exponential rate, and teleports back to its cave when its wielder can't keep up. But nothing is without cost...
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