I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down a very strange set of occurrences surrounding a blade I have dubbed Memoria. Whilst reading through an inventory of the Sultan’s armory prepared by his great-uncle’s master-at-arms, I was struck by a mention of a blade that was kept in its own room in the cellar.

I was struck moreso by an annotation, apparently in my own hand, warning me not to seek it out. Curiosity won out over discretion, and I made my way to the cellar, into the old forge area, long since shuttered in favor of a grander one in the new wing. Few had been there in many years, and only a few footprints let in and out of the area. On closer inspection, the footprints were mine, though I was sure I had never been to the cellar before.

Arriving at the blade’s room, I found a series of notes pinned to the door, all written in my hand, each describing a fresh attempt to enter the room and examine the blade within. All, apparently, had somehow failed. I cracked the wooden door, enough to see the light from my torch play over the silver of a great sword held within, and then resolutely shut it. I collected the notes, carefully locked the door, and returned to write this description. On my way, I called upon the Sultan’s chamberlain to inquire about placing a permanent warning, and he noted that I had been working on the same sword for five days, and that he had begun to worry about me.

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