James

The sword that pierced the stone stood in the circle of grass hidden by trees. Covered from people who didn't know of its existence, it was left unseen for years to come. The sword appeared suddenly. There was no big explosion, or scene, just a man. An old one that of a skeleton-like fixture. He carried himself in an aura of defeat. The once great paladin was left on the verge of collapse as he dragged his legs and willed himself to continue walking. Blood trickled behind him showing trails of crimson red in his wake. His breath was haggard, his lungs bruised and beat, causing him to cough up blood. Clothes left in ruin and stained by mistakes and ruined hope. At the time, the stone was one of many and surrounded a pretty, yet small body of water. The man who used to smile in the face of danger used the rest of his might to make one final wish. Exhausted, he stuck the sword into the rock cracks spread from the origin, and yet the rock maintained its shape.

'Only when an adventurer with the heart of a hero and soul of a champion approaches this sword will it listen and follow them on their journey,' His voice was ragged, he talked in a hushed whisper. He choked and coughed on blood throughout this plea. His hands were shaking.

His fingers fell from the handle as his body too hit the ground hard. No matter how much more he pushed himself he had no more strength to give. For the end of an age had come and a paladin that symbolized the end of evil took his last breath. The golden hair on his head flattened, and as his body disintegrated into specs of bright gold the sword's handle also changed. It grew golden-shaped arches on either side where guards on the end of a handle would go. There, laid the grave of a man no one truly knew, yet made more of an impact against any forces of evil the world had yet to realize.