The Third Age. Year 198. The Andronath banner fluttered freely like a butterfly in the distance. The riders were bound for Valhansen, their stronghold. Many had perished, nonetheless, they were victorious against Blavcon. Many were weary, tired, but nonetheless, they were high in their spirits.
They were passing Seldrif, the famous piles of boulders where Hagon had once slain the Prince of Darkness and legend has it that Hagon's sword could be found here.
"My lord! My lord! There is a flamberge entombed inside that rock!", one warrior exclaimed to Lional, the king-to-be, pointing eagerly to a particular piece of rock.
Lional nodded but said nothing. He was not excited neither was he disappointed. He simply walked to the rock, mumbled a few verses of something, and to his army's amazement, pulled out the weapon without even having to waste much strength.
Then, the prince announced to his men," This is the flamberge of Hagon the Second.
It has been lost for many centuries, only rising from the ground to the rock every once two years. But..." Before Lional could even finish completing his sentence, he was interrupted by a bellowing voice.
"I claim what is mine. Hagon was slain by me, fool." The Andromathis turned and saw what they could not believe...