'
Many ages past:
The puppets danced about the stage as they had many times before. The grand spectacle of this somewhat rare event always bemused the townsfolk. Something felt different with this show in some manner, but none paid the feeling any mind. It was after all just a show to while away an afternoon. There were always more important matters needing attention than a traveling stage play. This time, however, the play seemed imbued with some spreading energy. A vitality not usually associated with mere puppetry. The passion and emotions on display were not the usual affair at all. A different story was being told. One meant for more than just foals eyes. The puppets bobbed and weaved about the stage with a strangely deft ease of motion.
So easily by matter that some felt a welling within from some base corner of the soul usually reserved for dire fears. It passed so quickly this went mostly unnoticed save for an instant of unease and nervous glances to one another, but the show went on unabated. The setting was a golden palace. A place of such decadent heraldry and size one could be forgiven thinking it the abode of some glacially proportioned giant or god of old legends. It proved to be little more than a facade. Those dwelling within scurrying in a frantic haste none would deem normal. The glittering halls were merely painted metals far below anything valuable like they bespoke themselves to be crafted from. An outward lie of beauty and grace.
"My lord, you must not, I beg you part from this path before it is too late!" The servant, loyal to a fault beseeched his master not lay so much as a hoof upon the glass of the large gilded box before him. An ornate case covered in all manner of obscura to prevent directly setting eyes upon the dark blade held within which emanated a harsh power even contained as it was inside the protective coverings. His lifelong lord stood motionless in gilded robes of office and spoke in regal tone.
"Our people are dying, more with every moment I delay. There is no choice left to us. Begin the ritual." He bid.
With grim purpose the servant set about removing the arcane locks and seals placed upon the case as the lord supervised. It was slow, painfully so. With each clasp opened could be felt more the malign nature of the weapon within. As the final seal was released and the case opened a flare of power erupted into the air then calmed once more, the blade flickering more by itself than by any light within the chamber. Both felt a shivering cold, gazing a moment on such a horrific trinket. As his lord went to step forward the ever-loyal servant stepped in front of him abruptly.
"My lord, if it must be then let me wield it in your stead! I will bear it with pride in your name." The servant spoke hurriedly. The lords eyes went wide momentarily then teared up as his gaze softened, looking down on him kindly.
"You have served my family without pause or question for so many years and followed any order given without complaint, but this I cannot order. You would bear this burden for me? Do you understand what it is you offer?" His lord questioned. The servant bowed his head sullenly and low. Keenly aware of the suffering waiting ahead.
"You alone and this keening blade of sorrow are the only chances our people have left. My family has served yours for generations, but as I am the last of my line please allow me this great honor, my lord." The servant swept into a deep forward bow. Slowly, the lord nodded. The weight of this decision already heavy on his heart and brow as though the very act of saying yes was a pain unheard of.
"Very well. You shall be fitted with the finest of my armor. I can grant only time for that, then you must take up your weapon and all that comes with it. The battle must be joined. I am sorry. May the winds have mercy on us for our transgressions. Go." Unusually the normally solid voice of the stallion cracked with emotion as he spoke. His lord waved him towards the armory. After he left the chamber the grand lord turned towards the now open case, eyeing it warily.
"Why it befell my family to bear this cursed blade is painful beyond measure. For once, you may be of use but I am no foal and know far better. I do not trust far as I could throw you!" He near growled at the glowing sword then choked back tears.
"This is a bitter peril instilled in me and mine. Heavens above, why us?" He lamented soulfully the plight now before them. The walls of the false golden trap all about him feeling as though closing in from every angle. This display of such emotion by little more than a carved stack of wood and wire was getting to the crowd, old and young alike could nearly feel the depth of sadness those voicing the play behind the concealing curtains were wishing to impart. Yet, surely this was only a moments puppets play? Nothing more than a distraction from more daily interests. It still felt powerful, emotional. Pained, as the lords servant later returned in finely crafted armor. A hefty suit of full plate mail glinting most eerily in the confines.
The servant peered out from beneath the open helm.
"I never thought to see you in such attire. It looks quite grand on you." The lord complimented, trying to imbue confidence in his servant.
"Thank you, my lord. I suppose it is time?" He warily glanced at the wickedly gleaming sword, eliciting the lord to swallow and sigh forlornly. The sword was clearly of pony make, but wrong in some manner unspoken.
"It is.. Thank you." He said sadly. As he looked on, the servant took the swords grip in his muzzle. The curtains slowly closed.
---
It is said some swords have two edges.