Song of the Broken Blade

Introduction

One of the dozens of servants of Brightmoore Keep, Home Of the Blade, blew out the final candle in the manner's last of numerous halls. He breathed a sigh of relief. The imperative task of maintaining the five hundred and fifty-six year-old keep could be quite a hassle at times. The servant silently made his way back to the servant wing of the castle. He very well could have lit a candle for himself, but he needn't bother. He knew the halls of Brightmoore better than most anyone, even the other servants, who were, in his opinion, not as scrupulous about their jobs as he. 

The servant changed into his nightwear and settled into his old, musty bed. He began to drift into sleep, his whirling thoughts slowing to a halt. Just before he fell into unconsciousness, a thought crossed his mind: he hadn't locked the Sword up. Oh, well, he thought. What harm will come of it?

He woke with a start. Something was calling his name. His mind was foggy, and he couldn't determine where exactly from where it was coming. He slowly pushed off his sheets and stood up. He walked to the door of his room. The Noise got louder. He pushed it open. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something reminded him that he was never  supposed to leave his wing at night. But the Noise was entrancing. He knew that something good had to come out of this. 

He let the Noise guide him, sight irrelevant in the darkness. It got louder with every footstep he took, beckoning him towards its source. It lead him to a door. No, not a door. The door. The door to the cellar. He knew something important was held there, but he couldn't remember what. He pulled out his key chain and instantly found the correct one. He slid it into the keyhole and turned. The door let out a click and swung open.

He began his descent down the spiral staircase, into darkness. At the bottom of the stairs, their was another door, this time unlocked. The servant paid this no mind. The Noise would now be unbearable to anyone else, but he seemed unaffected by it. 

The room he entered into was pitch black, asides from a single point of light in the center. The servant knew now with certainty that this was the origin of the Noise. He mindlessly  walked towards the light. As he came closer, the light was revealed to be emanating from a case.

An open case.

And in that case was a sword. 

The Sword.

The Sword of Rakanth, the God-Slayer.

The Broken Blade of Brightmoore Keep.

He took hold of it.

Everything in his mind exploded, and everything went black.