The Broken Dunmari Sword Vision

The mirror fades, and you see an image of what you would guess was the palace at Kharsan, but in its glory days, intact and full of people and life. A man is at the center of the image, a Dunmari man, perhaps in his forties, who is preparing for war. He is strapping on armor, tightening his belt, putting on a helmet, finding his shield, and then, the sword, sitting on the table. He leans over the sword, whispering a prayer in Dunmari.

Wellby reads his lips, and notes he is whispering a prayer to Aagir, praying for safety, for victory, although he does not expect to living. He’s praying to defeat Cha’mutte, praying that rumors of a violent death spreading across the east are not true, praying that the gods will protect him and his soldiers as he leads them into battle. Then, he straps on the sword, and the image shifts.

An image of Kharsan, another man. Similar features, perhaps a grandfather or a great uncle. He is sitting by the sword, carefully polishing it, slowly and methodically, taking care of it, making sure the blade is sharp. You can see the pommel, it is silver, designed to look like running horses, and then wrapped in leather, with a white gem at the base. All this has been lost, although now that Riswynn has seen it, she could probably recreate it.

Then, another image. A young man, standing in a smithy or forge, and there’s a blacksmith, a burly woman, who is pounding on this sword, shaping it. The man is standing, and he is continually praying to Aagir, each time the sword it struck, you can almost see the words kind of flowing into the sword as the as the prayer is wrapped in the metal as it’s shaped.

And then the vision ends.