"Here we are," Leir said as Skandra produced a sword. it was still in its scabbard at that point, but Leir wanted nothing more than to grab hold of it. Of course he kept his hands still and at his sides, but he did lean towards it. The scabbard looked a bit hasty, a bit plain. But the guard was crafted with nothing but grace.
And then Skandra got rid of the scabbard. Leir leaned back and away from the sword with both brows up as if to beg for an explanation. What was it? He knew the answer almost as soon as the question. It was the stone. How it got there, how it became a blade, was a baffling thought.
Skandra held it out for him to take. Could he? Was it sacrilege? Part of him said no, immediately, but he quieted the voice. It might just be boyish wonder, to see something so well made and proud, and need to have a hand on it. But the stone was ancient, and it was given to the elves. Maybe this had been its purpose all along, or at least one of them.
Astarii needed to be defended. A relic could inspire pride and patriotism and faith. But a sword could keep those things intact. So he took it. The weapon sat perfectly vertical in his hand for a moment, and then he spun it. Airy.
"This will cut through anything."
"If Fenrir gets close enough be sure to flay him."
Leir spun the sword once more. Except this time, on the way up, his arm snapped out. Shink!
The table before them shivered. It was perfect for one breath longer, or as perfect as a table can be. And then both halves collapsed inward to the floor.