In the days of swordkin
When mastery of it abounds
The rule of chaos therein lie
'Til a sword in twain cloven
Becomes twice as powerful
Hence its power is quadripled
That no other can withstand
The power its mate shall wield.
The words of the small verse rang in the ears of the young listeners as if they were coming from somewhere deep inside to be percieved by their ears. It was a prophecy from the elder time, a time that had only ever known peace and had failed to credit the verse dispite the fact that even then it had rung true in the soul of all who had read or heard it. Prophecy always found its truth in the deepest recesses of the hearer and this had struck sharper than any double edged ynxthian sword ever could and still did. Yet the elder people had reviled the seer as much as they had his prophecy, torments as only those who prophessed peace could think of had been his. Inhuman, unbearable even as it had never been mortal -as life was all important- he had endured refusing to refute his truth.
