The new Grandmaster let out deep sigh as he heard the familiar steps of his closest friend and recently appointed Knight Commander approach.
“Well, what did you do with it?” Duramarth demanded. His gaze still fixated on the bookshelf in front of him. He was unable to turn and look at his friend. Too afraid of what the reply would be.
“You mean the sword?” answered Cynraede.
"Of course, I mean the sword!" Duramarth snapped back. Visibly, annoyed and seething at the mere mention of it.
'It took me almost a year,” explained Cynraede calmly. Unfazed by the typical brooding of his friend.
“I wandered for what felt like ages between the lands of dwarves and also the elves. Learning their ancient secrets. Knowledge of metals unknown to men.”
Duramarth closed the book he was holding and listened tensely to his friend the Knight Commander’s account.
Cynraede continued. “I finally found the knowledge to melt the metal down to its original state and reshape it. From its vile contents, I bore two new blades.”
Duramarth dug his fingers into the old tome so hard the spine began to bend. "You, you...what? Do you realize what you've done?'
Cynraede lowered his head, looking at his hands and answered, "Summoned darkness upon our doorstep?"
The Grandmaster answered sincerely and with compassion, “More than you know old friend.”
“You see the blade was cursed,” explained Cynraede.
“It spoke in tongues both ancient and new. That is until I answered back. I whispered back in the Black Speech. And do you know what Duramarth? It tempted me. It was then I knew for certain, that the steel had to be broken. So, I broke it. I beat it and broke it until the voices stopped and silence was restored.”
By now Duramarth had turned to meet Cynraede’s gaze. The Knight Commander looked back at him knowingly and said, “For what was forged for darkness was made anew for the light."
Duramarth shook his head in astonishment, holding back his anger. “I know your heart is in the right place Cynraede, but you do not understand. The voices haven’t stopped at all. The Druggavar. He has come to me in my dreams...”
“...and its master beckons me.”
Duramarth’s eyes moved to the floor in despair. "Nothing good can come of that metal. Nothing.”
Cynraede nodded, rubbing his hands together searching for the words. "It wasn’t only your dreams brother. Whatever evil seeks this steel, it will be wroth with its undoing. I am sure of it. Once they are fully aware of what I’ve done, they will come for us."
Duramarth smiled sadly, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What's done is done. What else can you tell me about this accursed metal?”
“It’s not like anything I've seen,” Cynraede replied.
“Dwarven forges could scarcely heat it. Elven hammers all but shattered upon its edge. Finally, it took a special flame to undo it. A powerful one. Its edge could cut through twilight itself...of which I gave them their names. Carach -o Uial,” Cynraede explained.
Duramarth’s demeanor eased a bit and he smiled sincerely this time. "You are one after my own heart and I can see how you believe these weapons could help our cause. That too was my own intent after all."
“And yet, this still does not solve the problem that troubles us so,” said Duramarth.
“What do we do now with this evil that comes for us?” asked Cynraede.
Duramarth walked back to the shelf and slid the old book back into its spot. “We’ll do what we do best old friend. We ready for the hunt.”
Cynraede grinned widely and nodded. "Once more, into the fray."
