We all know of many ailments that can take a life, but there are but a few which can fatally undermine a person’s strength while leaving them outwardly untouched. I, Ad Dakhla, scribe and chronicler to the court of the Sultan of the City of Bronze, do here set down what I have learned about one such ailment, caused by a magicked sword in the Sultan’s possession.

It imparts a keen sense of swordsmanship to any who holds it, and even I, no warrior nor the son of a warrior, was able to easily deflect mock blows from the Sultan’s guard. Yet even as I did I felt weak as a kitten, and the slight nick I recieved from the blade bled for hours like a hemophiliac’s wound. I had only held the sword for a few minutes, and it had already rendered me in such delicate health that I took a week to recover.

But in those few minutes, I believe I could easily have bested nearly any opponent in battle, even if any slight wound they had made upon my person would have ended me soon after.

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