As I said elsewhere I wrote two entries in addition to the one I ultimately did enter in Scibe’s IV, but couldn’t use them because they were too long, so here they are for your entertainment while you mull over who to vote for.
The Smith’s Prophecy
Grazkh Coaltounge stared into the hot coals and casually tossed the blade shards into the crucible.
“Why bother?” sneered Drazkha Brassfist, "The axe is broken, throw it aside."
Grazkh shook his head, not taking his eyes from the furnace. “Symbolism is lost on you,” wheezed the Daemonsmith as the metal heated up.
“Symbolism?” snorted Drazkha, rolling his eyes.
“Look into the flames. Tell me what you see.”
“Nay. I see the future and the past.”
“So now you’re a seer?”
“Hashut has granted me this vision,” explained Grazkh, pouring Taurus blood over the molten metal. “It is always the same and always when I reforge a weapon…it troubles me, and reassures me at the same time.”
“So what do you see?” sighed the other Daemonsmith, as he set up the mould, impatient to know where this was going.
“A corrupt, broken world dying, consumed by the fires of war.”
“Comforting,” sneered Drazkha as his friend poured the metal into the mould.
Grazkh did not reply, instead murmuring incantations over the blade as the metal cooled. Satisfied, he opened it up and grasping brazen tongs, removed the blade, plunging it back into the fire, before withdrawing it again and starting to hammer at it. “I see the world die, but from its shattered remains a god forges it anew, a new world made from the old, just as from those shards I have forged a new blade.” He plunged the sword into a bucket of blood, gathered from the crucified body of an overlord that had dared turn on his clan’s ruling family and had failed. “But just as this is not the first time this sword has been reforged, so to in my vision do I see an older world re shaped into ours by the gods, and six more times before that. And just as one day this sword will be reforged, so too will the new world.”
“Sounds like you’re just bad at reforging weapons,” laughed Drazkha, "For this to be the ninth incarnation does not bode well for it."
Grazkha shrugged, “All things die given time, what matters is whether they do their job it the time the gods allot them. I would far rather reforge this sword a hundred times in as many years and have it slay a thousand foes each life, than reforge it once in that time and only slay a single foes once a decade.” He smiled a dark smile and without warning plunged the blade deep into Drazkha’s broad chest.
“All this has happened before, and all it shall happen again,” he cackled madly, as the life seeped from his friend and into the blade.