The Naming of Zar'roc
Morzan beheld the iridescent crimson blade cradled in the ancient elf-smith's arms. It was a beautiful thing, the exact colour of the scales of Talambria. He held out his arms, a silent request. Rhunön hesitated - just for a moment - then handed it to Morzan.
He held the sword loosely in his hand for a few seconds, then tightened his grip and lifted it above his head, admiring the way that the sun reflected off of the scarlet brightsteel, then slashed downward and began taking the sword through one of the forms that Oromis had taught him.
Then he brought his sword diagonally downward, as if cutting an enemy from shoulder to hip, and his mind was suddenly filled with an image as clear as crystal and as bright as day...
A young man was mounted on a bright red dragon, as red as blood. He was wielding the very same sword that Morzan held. In the distance a gleaming golden dragon glided across the sky before suddenly tucking its wings against its body and shooting towards the red dragon like an arrow. The man's handsome features became contorted with rage and he lifted the crimson blade with authority before releasing a fearsome war cry. As the golden dragon drew closer Morzan realised that the rider on its back was Oromis, his mentor, and that the dragon was Glaedr. But he was horribly disfigured; the right foreleg had been completely severed, leaving only a pale stump. Oromis was just raising his bronze blade, Naegling, when he suddenly grew still and stiff. The sword fell from his hand and began to spiral away towards the ground. The man seized his chance and leaned forward, slashing Oromis with the scarlet blade from shoulder to hip. Blood spurted along the length of the sword and it appeared to gleam with delight...
Morzan came back to his own mind to find himself kneeling on the floor of the smithy, panting heavily. Rhunön gasped in relief and began to question him sharply. But he could only shake his head and try to stop his limbs from trembling. The smith swore loudly in dwarvish and pulled him to his feet before saying, "Have it your way then, young Morzan. Keep your secrets, but before you leave I must know what you decide to name your blade."
"Name?" said Morzan weakly.
"Yes! The name, a Rider's sword must have a name! And be quick about it, I haven't got all day."
Morzan stumbled over to Talambria and leaned against her scales wearily.
A name Talambria, what could I call this sword?
It is powerful, no doubt about that, and definitely bloodthirsty, your vision tells us this much.
Morzan shivered and said, do you think that what I saw was true Tam? Do you think that the man I saw will kill Oromis?
I don't know Morzan, but we must remain in the present, what will you call this sword?
He looked down at the blade in his hands and several names flashed through his mind.
This sword is evil; its purpose is to bring darkness, death, and misery. Misery...
A smile flashed across his face. Misery, misery...
Talambria chuckled in approval. Perfect. She thought.
"Rhunön, I have decided. I name this sword Zar'roc. Misery."
A shadow crossed the elf's face but she still murmured the words to make the glyph Zar'roc appear on the blade and the scabbard.
Now I am a rider in full. Thought Morzan.
He raised the sword above his head and Talambria released a jet of flame into the sky.
