Sword in the Stone

Lavender travelled through the forest, desperately seeking out any object that could house her essence. Yet, to her despair and frustration, she could only see rows and rows of endless trees. Living beings, which she could not enter. As she searched, Lavender could feel her being slowly fading out of existence. Soon, she would be nothing. Fortunately, it seemed that the Gods held her in good regards, as the witch-essence finally spotted a peculiar glow emitting from behind a large section of thick undergrowth. Knowing that it must be something significant, Lavender compelled her shrinking form forward.

Phasing through the bushes, Lavender found herself in a small clearing, in the depths of the forest. A small circle of grass coated the floor here and sunlight streamed down from an opening in the canopy. Following the downward spiral of the sun's rays, Lavender caught sight of an unusually large stone, that sat in the middle of the clearing. It looked so out of place among the thousands of trees around it and Lavender was certain the rock hadn't been forged by the passage of nature. Rather, the stone looked as if had been placed there, though when Lavender was not sure. Moss coated the rock, giving it a green sheen, but protruding from the stone was the source of the glow that Lavender had seen. It was a sword, buried up to its hilt in the rock, with only the golden hilt being visible. Lavender didn't have time to appreciate the decorative pommel, that was entwined with historical imagery, and instead, she flew straight into the hilt; as quick as a bolt of lightning. Her essence quickly faded into the sword and Lavender felt her form retract and elongate, as she spread throughout the sword, filling it with her magical remains. As she seeped into the blade, Lavender could feel herself becoming bound to her new host, she was becoming a part of it, completely inseparable. From now on, it would be impossible for her to leave the sword. She may have insured her continuing existence, but it had come with a price; her freedom. Now coated and bound with Lavender, the sword began to glow brighter, as if acting like a beacon for all the denizens of the Great Forest; enticing them to it with its alluring light.

For a long while, Lavender remained like that. She was as trapped in this sword, as the sword itself was within the rock. All she could do was hope that a passer-by may one day come by and pick her up. Using her magic, Lavender extended her senses, hoping in vain that she could catch sound or sight of some person walking through the woods. She even called out, hoping to draw in someone with the sound of her ghostly whispers. But there was no one, after all the Great Forest was such a vast place, and she had no idea just how deep she was within its confines.

As she waited, Lavender's thoughts turned to dark places. She thought of what she'd learned in Gertie's cottage. About the man called Lars; well, once called Lars. When she'd first read it, Lavender hadn't understood; she had refused to believe it. But now, stuck in this place, she continued to revisit that memory and slowly she had come to realise the truth. The man had been her, she'd once been a knight, and Gertie wasn't her grandmother, but her captor. Lavender felt bitter and used. Her life had been a one big lie, and discovering the truth had destroyed her body.

Lavender brooded for a few more days, or weeks or even years; it was hard to tell the passage of time when she could only sense the world around herself through magical forces. However, eventually, Lavender heard a pair of footsteps, and with the came a man, who emerged from the undergrowth. 

He was young, not even out of his teens. He was well-toned, with a knot of muscles in his biceps, no doubt the result of a life spent pulling a plough. He was dressed in a dirty peasant garb, a clear indicator that this lad was from a farming village. His brown hair was a mess and at his side was a tattered scabbard, which held within it an old, rusty blade. The boy could have been quite handsome, in a boyish way, if it weren't for the traveling dirt that coated his face and the permeant scowl that he bore. However, his eyes lit up as he caught sight of the sword. Seeing his reaction, a feeling of warmth and joy spread over Lavender, he had seen her, now all she had to do was wait.

~

Liam strode over to the strange blade and inspected it closely, being careful not to touch it. The hilt was carved with images of some sort of royal procession. Amidst the cheering crowds, was a king, or God, with a halo of light, represented by a golden disk, around his head. Curious, he thought. His father had told him legends of a fabled sword in the stone, set down by the last Voltairen Emperor some eight hundred years ago. It was said that only the true heir of Voltaire could remove the blade. But, as Liam's eyes examined the blade, he concluded that this wasn't the sword of legend. It certainly didn't look eight hundred years old, rather it looked as it someone had only recently placed the blade here; maybe as a practical joke. Thoughts of his father caused the scowl to return to Liam's face. He missed those days when his dad would sit down with him and his sister and read them stories by the fire. They had been happier times, filled with childhood innocence. But those bandits had taken all of that from Liam when they raided his farmstead and murdered his mother and father. They'd kidnapped his sister too, and now Liam refused to stop or rest until he'd rescued his beloved sibling and put each and every one of those bandits to the sword.

Turning away from the sword, Lars started to head back into the forest, he'd wasted enough time looking at that stupid thing. For every second he was still, the bandits and his sister got further ahead. But then something made him stop and look back at the protruding hilt. He couldn't describe the sensation, but it was almost as if the sword was calling to him, telling him to pick it up. Liam stared down at his own sword. It was dull and rusty, and wouldn't be much use against a ton of armed bandits. At least the sword in the stone looked like it had some bite to it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Liam wandered back to the stone and grasped the hilt with both of his hands. He tugged, but the blade did not budge from it's position. It must have been wedged deep inside the rock. He tried a second time and still could not lift the sword. But, when he made a third attempt, there came a grinding noise as the sword slowly began to emerge. Lars strained and pulled as the sword moved outwards, gradually; inch by inch. Liam honestly couldn't believe that he was moving the sword. Maybe he was the fabled heir of Voltaire after all. 

Little did he know, Lavender was actually injecting him with some of her magic, boosting his strength briefly and making it possible for him to remove the blade.

With a final tug and a yell, the sword sprang free from it's rocky confines. The blade was very heavy, and Liam struggled to lift it. It was some kind of longsword, a two-handed weapon, and the blade was as beautifully carved as the hilt. It seemed to be made out of some kind of polished metal; not steel, but something rarer. With a heave, Liam lifted the blade above his head. He wobbled briefly, but managed to steady himself. Triumphant, he yelled to the forest canopy. He had claimed the blade and it would be with this sword that he'd strike down his sister's captors. Nothing would stop him from finding her now.

~
1. Lavender then imbues the boy with her magic, causing him to grow tremendous muscles and gain unnatural power
2. Communicating through the blade, Lavender speaks to the boy, hoping to strike up a bargain.

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