In an age that's long past, at the dawn of the world,
When the Gods still sung form from the chaos-filled void,
A great weapon was forged on the darkest of days
And a elf maiden's fate she could no more avoid.

She was a fair princess and a fighter well-trained,
The pride of her people, and a light to them all.
But as rumours began, whispered soft in the night,
Blade and shield she took up, and set out for her fall.

For the stories had told of the birth of a sword
Named Fade by the smith-god, forged of moonlight and mist.
In the deepest of caverns the sword was cold-quenched
And there she awaited a hero's grasping fist.

So long did she travel in the quest for fell Fade,
Through darkest of tunnel and deadliest of trap.
Till finally she arrived at the lair of the sword,
Where, alas, she did wake a guard demon from nap.

And fierce was the battle twixt spirit and the maid,
The prize was between them, where neither could take claim.
But Fate took a hand then, and drove back the fell beast.
So the elf could grasp Fade, then the demon to maim.

But the spirit took flight with the freeing of Fade,
And took hold of her soul, her possession a blow.
With a roar and a laugh, the beast thought he had won,
But the elf, still struggling, did what only she could;
Slew beast and herself; sought Ell upon Fade.