The Legend of the Sword-God

The Legend of the Sword-God is a Ballard written by an unknown poet almost five-thousand years before the start of the Testament Of Fiction Main Story. It is a legend that explains the origin of the Nine Blade-Masters and the significance of the title. Though the characters involved in the Ballard fluctuate between legend and history; it is clear that their weapons genuinely do exist in the world. This is the most famous poem in the land of Morealm; all swordsmen have heard of it around the world. Legends of it have even spread to the global stage. Archaeologists and researchers have marvelled at it for decades; making educated inferences but nothing more...

=== The First Blade Master:
## Myth of Dragon-Fall ===

This is the tale of a man, just six foot tall

His sword could silence the wind

His shield: tough; like castle-wall

In his youth he never once sinned

But come age and he went to war

But his patience slowly thinned

And his battles ran red with gore

He claimed to be the very best

His flaw, blind, he never saw

He chased dragons without rest

And ate their flesh red-raw

He bathed in blood and sang in zest

His body: bruised and sore

Then he would promptly joke and jest

At skulls of his kin upon the floor

He settled in a cave; made it his nest

Lived there dormant for decades: four

The beast in the cave; wrathful was his roar

The man who neighboured: dragon-fall

In this time he made eight great friends

And taught them the art of war

Eight whose loyalty never ever bends

Nine of them warriors to the core

He taught them each one by one

And pushed them to death’s door

And then…

He took his eight allies to aid him

As he declared war on his greatest foe

It was a battle of whit’s and whim

A battle fought through sun and snow

The clash that echoes through time

A clash that began five thousand years ago

It was a bout that went down in history

It was written down and sung in hymn

They fought for many years;

Their threads of fate growing thin.

It was a mighty long campaign;

The nine of them were chronically tired

However; they had slain humanity’s bane

They became famed; much admired

Though it did not heal their pangs and pain;

A generation of heroes they inspired

And many more dragons were brutally slain

The Sword-God’s glory was envied… desired

But his greatest ambition was complete

And so, the Swprd-God finally retired

Then tragedy: greater more...

Than the death of our great sun

Ten years pass; they’d had their run

And the eight split four on four

And the four split into two

And the two split: nine times one

The oldest man felt blue

At this conflict that had come

Yet without hesitation...

The man did what must be done

And he killed the other eight

Eight-battles: one on one

He laid his eighth friend down to rest

In a scruffy tomb of dirt

He prayed the eight of them be blessed

But he could no longer mask his hurt

He ran far far away: a journey to the west

He set up a new nest: a start of a new life

He built a house of wooden board

Then trudged down to town in strife

He retrieved the treasures he’d stored

Then came home with a lively wife

He went to town again

And at last sold his trusty sword

He lived a peaceful life

For fifty five more years

His wife departed first

Leaving him in tears

Broken heart about to burst:

He set her tender hands upon her breast

And buried her in a storm: the weather was the worst

He suddenly felt tired

So laid down for a rest

Declared dead moments later

His flaw not yet confessed

And alas, so it was:

The end of his epic quest

The wars, his friends his wife...

Many times; had he dodged fate

But he had no more dreams to live

And so he joined the other eight