"Ah, Dydd. She was there when I awoke. Her hand touched me as she pried me out of the mighty maw of Ashardalon, weeping in grief and triumph. I reached out to her as she used me to cut the demon heart out of that tyrant that slew her lover. She carved me into the shape that you see now, laboring for years to fashion my hilt and my pommel. She taught me that I awoke to sentience by the death of the Rogue Dragon--crusading good emerging from the mouth of ultimate evil. She said it was a way for the multiverse to balance itself.
"What she looked like? Well, she was of the earliest humans on Faerun; the ones, I think, that became the Netherese. If I am not mistaken, these are the same peoples that founded Halruaa after the destruction of their empire--but my strength is in SMITING EVIL, not in learning. Sun-bronzed skin she had, and hair the color of obsidian or jet, and always with flowers tied in it. She had a slender nose and a wide mouth; her smile was as dazzling as the sunrise. She was a beautiful woman, graceful enough to put elven maids to shame, and as delicate and unbreakable as a stalk of wheat in a storm.
"My honored wielder, I am afraid I cannot say if she looked like the woman from your dream. It has been over 20,000 years since I lost saw Dydd, or felt her hand grasp my hilt--sometimes I think I have forgotten what she looked like, and have only created this memory of her that I now speak of." |
