After writing about the mundane falchion which I carry, I mentioned the fact to the Sultan and he insisted that I also write about my true sword, the one which I sharpen and practice with every day. Thus, I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down the history of my pen.

While I use goose quills from the royal aviary for much day-to-day writing, I am lucky enough to have a nib pen wrought by the Sultan’s personal metalsmith as well, for writing on wood-pulp paper and vellum. It is made of fine steel, ornately engraved so as to provide a grip, with a nib that can be removed, exchanged, and sharpened.

The metalsmith made me 100 nibs by way of his apprentice, and since that gift I have used up 54 of them. The 55th nib writes these words now, and I have often wondered which will come first: my own death, or the 100th nib?

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