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retired.  Hundreds of years ago Firesmyth Mancuso had gone into retirement with all the other Firesmyths after the establishment of the Laws of Separation and hadn’t been heard of since.  In the stone relief, Firesmyth Mancuso wore the armor of old with a craftsmanship that could not be duplicated today.  It fitted his slim build well with just enough plastisteel to protect him but not too much to get in the way.  The sword – lighter and of finer steel than its contemporary version – also looked like it had been crafted by a lost skill.  Unlike the heavy broadsword variety now in use, this sword could easily be wielded with one hand.  True the larger, heavier swords could crack armor and deal a brutal blow when used correctly.  But in the time it took a warrior to land one blow with the larger sword, his opponent wielding the older, lighter sword could make two possibly three stabs, and all it took was one well placed jab.

The cloaked man leaned toward the wall carving and applied the flat portion of his signet ring again, this time to the jewel on the hilt of the carved sword.  Without a sound, the stone hand turned plastic, releasing its grip on the sword.  The color of life breathed into the sword turning it from a dull gray to the luster of polished metal, ivory, and a large ruby at the base of its hilt. 

He gently took hold of the now released sword and it awoke a flood of memories in his mind.  Yes, it was his.  The cold steel glistened in the white light.  The ivory handle still held its luster.  And there, above the ruby, lay his engraved initials, still legible after over 501 years.  He turned, letting the light run along its blade.  “Good morning, LaSor.” he whispered the sword’s name.  “Time to awake from your slumber.  We have work ahead of us again, old friend.  Hmm.  That’s odd,” he said as he balanced it in his old weathered hand.  “You feel heavier than I remember.”  A faint smirk drew across his lips.  He guided the sword into the scabbard with a sound pleasing to his ears.

He took an extra moment to stand and remember himself in the korax scene.  “History always looks different after the fact,” he muttered, “so much more ... stylized.”

Scroll 1: History's Mirror                                                                                    Chapter 1: Treasures from the Past