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Message: <blockquote data-quote="BoldItalic" data-source="post: 6795631" data-attributes="member: 6777052">The sword spoke, its light flickering with the rhythm of its words. Its voice was high-pitched and shrill but easily understandable to Sir Rylnethaz, for it spoke to him in elvish. "So, mighty king, are you worthy to perish at my needle-sharp point? Sliced in twain by my ice-keen edge? Or will you master this sorry excuse for a warrior, whose only hand is but the hand of a minion? Claim me if you will!"Sir Rylnethaz made no reply but flourished his own good sword and took a battle stance to meet his opponent, watching carefully. Two swords clashed and the fight began.BoldItalic surmised that the black armour was enchanted and he cast another spell to divine its true nature. He saw in his mind that it was cursed; it was impervous to heat and fire but only while it maintained a bond with Fellgrim Onehand. If he ever took it off, it would become forever commonplace and he would suffer all the damage that it had ever absorbed in one mighty blast that would probably prove fatal. The man was trapped in his own steel shell and that was his weakness.Sir Rylnethaz meanwhile traded blows with the warrior and, though both landed heavy strokes that would have killed a lesser man, neither was ready to yield. Clotbert began a hymn of healing, and directed its power at Sir Rylnethaz so that he was refreshed and able to fight on.Four goblins, who had sought to outflank Sir Rylnethaz, fell to arrows from Finger's bow. No goblin could reach him to stem the withering fire, for Fingers had now cunningly placed himself high up over the cave mouth behind a low parapet of boulders. Seeing this, no more goblins made the attempt.BoldItalic whispered into his staff and cast his words into the mind of Sir Rynethaz who was even now blocking with his red shield. The magic sword was dancing in its wielder's hand and all the time insulting the elf in its reedy voice. BoldItalic bade Sir Rylnethaz to try to knock away the black armour, piece by piece, rather than trying to harm his opponent directly with sword cuts. It would not be easy, for the straps were well-covered, but if the armour could be disrupted, there was a chance that the battle would end in the king's favour.Fellgrim meanwhile felt he was sure to gain the upper hand, for he had never been defeated since he acquired this sword. It seemed to anticipate every move his opponents made and told him what counter-moves to make so that he always had the better of every fight. But he had reckoned without Clotbert, who called upon Myrristra and brought down a globe of silence around the battling pair. It was a risky thing to do, for it meant that BoldItalic could no longer whisper advice to Sir Rylnethaz, but it dismayed Fellgrim the more, for the sword could no longer guide his tactics. He had to fall back on his own abilities, which had never been as great as he would have wished; for he had grown lazy of late, relying on the sword to do his thinking, and not honed his fighting skills as he should.Rylnethaz soon noticed that his opponent's swordstrokes lacked co-ordination and was able to turn them aside, landing slash after slash on the straps of the black breastplate. Little by little, he whittled them away until he risked all on one powerful stroke, leaving himself open to a heavy cut on his shield arm. In an instant, the straps gave way and the breastplate fell to the ground. There was a silent flash of red, gold and blue light, lethal in its intensity, and Fellgrim crumpled up dead on the ground at the feet of the victorious elf. The wicked sword fell from its owner's grasp and lay inert beside him.The divine silence ended and the piping voice of the talking sword was heard again from where it lay on the barren ground. It was like the voice of a sycophant, praising the red knight and complimenting him on his victory. "You are a worthy elf indeed! A sword would be honoured to serve in your hand! Take me up and we will go forward together to many more victories!" But Sir Rynethaz kicked it away, for he had seen what it did to its erstwhile owner. Besides, he had more pressing concerns. His shield arm was broken.Clotbert took him aside and treated his injuries on the spot, calling on his goddess to heal the arm. "It will be sore for a week, but it will mend," he reassured the elf as he improvised a sling.Meanwhile, Fingers had rejoined them, scrambling down from his vantage point. He went with BoldItalic into the caves and found the goblins. "Go home," the wizard told them. "The power of the sword is broken and the black knight is fallen. You can descend the staircase and return to your homelands." Then he gave a purse of gold to the one whom they had earlier bargained with, as had been promised. With that, the goblins departed gratefully and troubled the kingdom no more.The king called his vizier to him and asked what should be done about the sword. BoldItalic thought for a moment, then said "It is evil. I believe that the hilt is possessed by a demon that seeks to bend the wielder to its will. We cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands again." Then he took off his cloak, folded it lengthwise and wrapped the sword in it so that its fell voice was reduced to a muffled squeak. He bound it with many cords, knotted with many cunning knots and cast a spell such that they could not be untied save at his command. "I will take care of it," he said. "I fancy that if we plunge it into the heart of one of the chaos engines, the ones attended by the yellow-clad gnomes, not only will the engine be wrecked but the demon of the sword will be drawn instantly back to the abyss where it belongs. I know of no other way that it can be unmade.""But I am forgetting something," BoldItalic continued, "In the cave where Fellgrim had made his bed, there was a chest that looked too sturdy to be of goblin make. Let us see what it contains. It may give a clue as to the origin of the sword."There was indeed such a chest, and it was a matter of moments for Fingers to spring the locks and have it open. In it, they found treasures almost beyond counting that Fellgrim had looted from his long line of victims in the past. Not least of them was another sword, wrapped in a red velvet cloth, that Rylnethaz took up with reverence. "Now this sword is holy indeed," he declared. "Little wonder that Fellgrim could not use it, but I shall. I take it for my own.""There is gold here, to swell your castle's coffers," remarked Clotbert, somewhat to Finger's dismay who had thought to pocket some for himself, but a pouch a diamonds satisfied him in its stead and was, after all, easier to carry and conceal about his person. "And what is this?" cried Clotbert as he unwrapped a heavy object from a white silk cover. "By all that is holy! This is a figure of Myrristra! She truly gives us her blessing for our work this day. It shall have pride of place upon the altar in the shrine that we have made for her.""Careful with those scrolls," warned BoldItalic, as the others pored over the treasures in their eagerness. "They may repay careful study. I will keep them safe until we return home to the castle."</blockquote>

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