I'm sure it's fine
20
JAN/22
Vashir stared in wonder at the stunning weapon he held in his hands. As he wove the blade through the air in front of him in smooth, delicate, and deliberate arcs, he marveled at its perfect weight and unnatural sharpness of the steel, and he delighted in the look of elegant perfection of the sinuous curve of the blade. This marvelous dagger felt like it was a natural extension of his him – like it was a part of him. It was as if his arm was always meant to end in a foot-and-a-half of razor-sharp steel instead of in a jumble of fleshy, fumbling fingers.
This weapon was truly a relic of a bygone age; forged by masters of a long-forgotten craft, their prized knowledge lost to the sands of time. These ancient artisans had hammered and forged this rare and precious metal, not only into a a true work of art, but also into a weapon of unrivaled power. The graceful, elegant curve of the blade perfectly mirrored a steel replica of a serpent’s fang; though one whose bite was far deadlier. And, when Vashir held the blade up to the night sky, he noted that its shape perfectly aligned with one of the new constellations of stars that had suddenly appeared in the celestial heavens. This small serpentine expanse of flickering lights seemed to glow even more vibrantly now than they had on the propitious night they had been birthed up into the darkness, and they now practically burned in a celebration of raw defiance with their mere insolent presence in the heavenly cosmos.
Vashir’s face broke into a grin at the realization as to how well the delicate curve of this dagger mirrored this Constellation of the Venomlord, as this confirmed his suspicions as to the origins behind the enchantment that powered this – his -mighty weapon. It was an unholy instrument infused with the raw might and authority of the God of Vipers Himself and this artifact had found its way into his hands! The blade practically hummed with this deific and unbridled power, the strength of which Vashir had never felt in his life. With this weapon, and the dark blessings it bestowed upon him, could even the Queen of Dragons Herself hope to stand up against its wrath?
This dagger was clearly what the Two Dawns had been searching for these many months: a weapon with the power to destroy the Dark Goddess and usher a new pantheon of Gods into supremacy, with the Venomlord at their head. Is that why Arnia sought after the dagger with such obvious fervor? Did she want this power for herself? As passable a weapon as her blade the Dawnbringer was, it clearly could not compare to a weapon literally imbued with the actual might of a God. He could see that her eyes were always upon it, burning with raw avarice and envy whenever she caught sight of it in his hand or upon his hip. As were Oni’s, his supposed friend. They both must feel the raw power that emanated off of it and they were jealous that this power had been granted to Vashir and not imparted to them. Or, perhaps they saw it as a sign of the weakness of their Dawnlord and a threat to his primacy when the new Gods walked the earth; could that be the simple explanation behind their covetous stares?
Even Ixen, the Scourge of the Sewers whose very existence venerated the cosmic battle against the tyranny of the Five, seemed drawn in by the power of this blade. When the golden druid had found him there, crumpled and broken upon those jagged rocks at the bottom of that deep, dark well, Vashir was certain that he had seen his greedy, serpent eyes staring intently at the mighty dagger upon his hip after his magic had coaxed Vashir from that dreamless dark place. The words that ushered out of Ixen’s mouth when he awoke were those of concern; melodic lyrics that sang the helpful tune of friend and ally, but Vashir could hear the unspoken message behind those flowery lies; hidden thoughts that betrayed his true intentions, as he was clearly desirous of the power that this weapon had gifted to Vashir, and he too wanted it all for himself.
Only David seemed unswayed by the temptation to steal the blade and keep it for himself. Was it because David was better at hiding his desires? Or, perhaps it was the kinship they shared with their psionic training; had the rigorous studies that the young Psion had undergone in order to strengthen and hone his mental gifts put him above such earthly vices as greed and jealousy? Or, maybe it was his recent dalliance under the Sleepless Sea that made him hesitant to risk a battle that might send him there again? More likely, it was because he had found his own powerful artifact in that small golden statue that he absentmindedly fondled and caressed during their long trek through the desert. David did not speak much about this relic, except for occasional boastings that he could feel its power coursing through him and bending luck to his advantage. Maybe the dagger and the statue were both boons gifted to them by bygone powers; deific weapons infused with enough power to finally end the long and terrible reign of the Dragon Queen?
With a sigh of resignation, Vashir slipped the dagger into his cloak and immediately felt weaker and more exposed as the weapon’s power slowly faded from him; like a mighty fire reduced to drifting embers that wafted listlessly through the air in the grip of a jealous breeze, carried until their spark finally faded into ashen memories of their former glory. He almost pulled the blade out back out, desperate to feel its heat burn through him once again, but knew that he needed to hide it from the sight of hungry eyes for the moment. And, he realized with a sense of resignation, he might need to try and actually get some rest – he had nearly died trying to find the entrance to this hidden tomb after all…
That night they made their camp beneath the ancient statue that guarded the lip of the dark well, and they huddled together against the aura of hopelessness and fear that radiated off of the giant terrifying stone edifice. These close quarters should have felt comforting, but the proximity to those who coveted his treasure did not put Vashir at ease; quite the opposite. He could hear the heated whispers that passed between Arnia and Oni and see the sidelong glances they cast his way as Vashir rested with false nonchalance with his back against the mighty stone statue; even in the darkness he could see their eyes burning with hunger and greed.
He feigned ignorance to their schemes and gave a mighty yawn – if they thought he was unaware of their machinations, perhaps they would overplay their hand in their haste to rob him of his prize, and thus give him the edge he needed to protect it. Vashir ignored the viperous stares and scheming whispers as he bade them goodnight and pulled his hyena pelt securely over him, making as though he intended to sleep through the night. If his ruse worked, perhaps in their haste to act they would forget that he no longer needed sleep and would make their move while they thought he slumbered. But he would be ready for them when they came, he thought, as he slowly unsheathed the dagger and tucked its naked, lethal form underneath his cloak, where it waited like a steel viper; coiled and ready to strike. Vashir’s eyes narrowed to paper slits as he pretended to succumb to the world of dreams, his hand clenched firmly around the ebony hilt. As the power of the blade coursed back through him, easily fighting back the cold night air with its ravenous heat, Vashir watched and waited and pretended to dream…
The stars overhead maintained their silent vigil over the world below, regarding the goings-on beneath them with cold and imperious disinterest. All that is, except for one constellation of stars: a narrow band of shimmering lights arrayed in the formation of a coiled serpent, which stared down upon the scene below with a renewed, burning interest.