[ WP ] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur . Each generation or so , warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield . Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that 's been collecting dust . You hear it call to you .

The giant doors swung open without even a hint of sound. They were the only doors I'd ever opened that did that, no creaking or jangling or a subtle noise of paint peeling from the frame. It was odd, considering they looked old enough that I could put my fist through one without a thought, but not a hint of rust quailed the hinges. 
 
 What laid beyond was a room both majestic and decrepit in the same breath; gold and silver and carved stone and wood, once polished to a mirror-shine but now coated in easily a decade's dust. Arms and tools—weapons of glory and war—were strewn about the place, ornate and storied and in varying states of disarray. I did n't need to see plaques or inscriptions to know what they were. Longinus, Dansleif, Gae Bolg, Gram, Gungnir, Tyrfing, so many legends that I had to pinch myself just to make sure this was n't some demented dream. 
 
 It was n't. And as my boots clicked softly against the flagstones, muffled by the age-old dust and grime, I felt a sense of... nostalgia, almost, but not quite. Like there was something here which I'd forgotten so long ago, something that a part of me had unconsciously come to reclaim. 
 
 *Accept me. * 
 
 The hairs on the back of my neck sprang up, and I planted my feet, looking around quickly and putting my back towards a wall. 
 
 *Witness me. * 
 
 The voice... did n't come from a direction. It seemed, rather, to reverberate through my own mind, to come from within me. 
 
 *Hearken. * 
 
 My eyes, wide-open and alert for an unknown threat, found themselves inexorably drawn to a barely-lit corner, to a pile of rags and moldy leather. The faintest hint of rusted iron landed in the center of my gaze and despite my better judgement I was spellbound. 
 
 *Yes... * 
 
 `` Who...?'' 
 
 *I was given to many names in my lifetime... All of them stolen by others in this room, newer legends of greater import... I have been `` Redeemer'', `` Unforgiven'', `` Answerer'', `` Godslayer'', `` Sword of Promised Victory''... But now I am nothing... * 
 
 I found myself standing before this gathering of refuse, my hand extended towards the hilt of this forgotten weapon. Immediately I stopped, and recoiled. How did I get from the other end of the hall to there? Something was n't right. 
 
 `` What are you?'' 
 
 *A weapon... fool... long unused and long bereft of legend... A forbidden blade to all but they in most dire need... * 
 
 `` Mh...'' 
 
 My hand once more extended towards the sword, this time of my own volition. The grip was old, but not decaying; like a stone that had weathered a thousand storms, it was worn but strong for its trials. Pulling it free from the refuse, for the first time in all my life I felt well and truly awake. Like a limb had been restored to me that had laid so long unused I had forgotten its existence. 
 
 *Yes... Wield me in the name of honor or vengeance... Our destiny awaits at the end of all roads... * 
 
 `` Well, then...'' I twirled the blade in my hands, admiring the balance and weight that felt perfectly matched for me. If it was a weapon of legacy, it needed some kind of name... `` Falvern,'' I called it, `` Let's go carve a legend out for you. Once that will stick.'' 
 
 *... * It felt as though it would smile if only it had a face. *... Yes... Let us engrave our tale into the stone of history... partner. *
