Lore Scroll: Beat of the Ironsong

"Can't you sense it deep in your heart, Thea?" Jaspar appeared worn out and beaten. His bones ached, and he couldn't recall the hilt of the Dawnblade being so... relentless. He clutched his shoulder with gritted teeth, gazing at the young prodigy before him. Dorinthea, more than just a warrior, yet not quite more than a princess, held the Revered Blade's handle as though she were protecting it from thieves, rather than...

Jaspar struck with astonishing speed, his movements a blur that left Dorinthea momentarily stunned. Her eyes widened as she tried to comprehend how he had closed the distance so quickly. Reacting instinctively, she flicked her blade upwards, aiming to counter his attack. However, the sharp clash of steel against steel that she anticipated never came. Instead, he had skillfully forced her blade downward, redirecting its momentum with a practiced ease. The Dawnblade, glinting in the light, found its mark against the side of his leather armor. A grunt escaped his lips as the weapon slipped between the tightly woven layers of his protective gear, the impact resonating through the tension-filled air.

"Don't drop your sword!" Jaspar gasped, his voice trembling with urgency as he caught the look of horror and fear that washed over her face. Time seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of their reality pressing down on them like a heavy shroud. But despite the turmoil swirling within her, she obeyed. With a shaky breath, he continued, his words laced with a fierce determination, "You are not fighting to lose, Thea. You are fighting to win. To protect what you hold dear." He reached out, grasping the edge of her blade, pushing it gently yet firmly. With tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Dorinthea lowered the blade and knelt, the weight of her own guilt settling upon her.

"What lives inside of that Blade, inside of you, is a Song that inspires the people. It emboldens warriors and makes them believe that even in their darkest hour, light can shine through, provide hope to beat back the impossible evil that might strike at their souls." He grasped her cloak and pulled her close to ensure that his next words would strike home. "This is not a weapon to be protected, but a weapon forged to protect."

Dorinthea looked down at the Dawnblade again, and through drips of her master's blood, felt the unmistakable sound of her heartbeat. But something else spoke through her rhythm. Dorinthea closed her eyes and reached for the center of that mysterious feeling, and realized it was the heartbeat of all of those who had wielded the Revered Blade before her. He father, mother, grandfather, and all the warriors of the past. Their rhythm unified as one with hers.

With a sharp breath, Dorinthea closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the depths of this mysterious sensation. She reached out, not with her hands, but with her spirit, seeking the source of this powerful feeling. As she delved deeper, she realized that it was not just her heartbeat she felt; it was the collective rhythm of all those who had wielded the Revered Blade before her. Visions of her father and mother flickered through her mind, alongside the proud figure of her grandfather, and the countless warriors who had come before them. Each heartbeat was a thread woven into the rich tapestry of history, binding them together across time. Their rhythms pulsed in unison with hers, a powerful symphony of courage, sacrifice, and legacy. In that moment, Dorinthea understood that she was not alone; she was part of something far greater than herself, a lineage of strength and honor that flowed through her veins like fire.