From a document recovered by the Healer's Guild of Barnacus and painstakingly reconstructed by Lerrin, Scribe of Trabasso with the aid and patience of Guildmistress Cleora of Barnacus 994 H.E.

Long ago, the youngest son of a king decided that he would devote himself to the healing arts. His country had long been plagued by wars with a neighboring state, and healers were much in demand. This young prince, seeing his homeland ravaged by war and observing the hideous wounds he was called upon to mend, came to believe that war was an evil act and devoted himself entirely to the preservation of life.

In this, he was the only member of his family to renounce war. One by one, his elder brothers rode off into battle, and one by one they were slain. Finally, his aging father was killed in a sneak attack, leaving the throne empty with no heir but the youngest son. At first, the prince refused the throne, preferring instead to remain within the peacefully neutral walls of the Healers' Guild. However, it soon became apparent that his kingdom would plunge into an even more bloody civil war in choosing a successor. Reluctantly, therefore, he allowed himself to be crowned.

Again, he nearly abdicated when he discovered that his troops fully expected him to lead them personally into battle as their supreme general. The very thought of being personally responsible for the actions of his armies repulsed him. However, his clever advisors pointed out that, as general, he would be in an excellent position to minimize the bloodshed. Another ruler might wage war for money or power or simply for the joy of killing. He would go to battle only in dire necessity. In time, the king relented and took on the duties of his office.

In order to lead his armies, however, he required training in arms. This he undertook with the diligence of a man determined to do a job so well, it never needed doing again. Indeed, he excelled in use of weapons until the weaponsmaster was hard put to find him worthy opponents to spar against. Finally, the king began practicing with the weaponsmaster himself, until one day he dealt him such a blow with the practice sword that the wood shattered and staked the weaponsmaster through the heart. Immediately, the king rushed forward to heal him, but he was too late. The weaponsmaster perished, blood frothing from his mouth, with a look of stark admiration on his face.

At this, the king howled in anguish. He flung the useless hilt away from him and charged to the castle forge, raving to all his concerned assistants that he would wield no weapon unless it could undo what damage it might cause. He seized the tools of metalworking, hefting an anvil on his shoulder, and stomped off to a tower. There, he ordered all the occupants out and locked himself in.

For three long years, he remained there, and his ranting and the sound of metal on metal often rang out in the night. In his absence, his advisors did as best they could to keep their enemies at bay while holding the kingdom together. Even so, rebellions spread like wildfire, and the borders of the kingdom were pushed slowly inward. Just when all seemed most hopeless, the king emerged from his tower, and he bore a sword.

This sword made every other weapon in the kingdom look like mere toothpicks. The steel had been magnificently wrought, the guard unsurpassed in its workmanship and the edge more keen and fine than dawn's first light. Lifting it up, he called for a horse and, mounting, rode off to battle.

It was, perhaps, the most unusual battle in history, for while the king was unbeatable, and his supreme tactics won him the day, not a single man died, for when a man fell , the king would stride up to him and lay his sword lightly upon him, whereupon his wounds would vanish. True to his healer's oath, the king did not discriminate, healing the fallen enemy as well as his own men, and so many of the opposing troops joined his cause in gratitude that the battle soon became a rout, and that shrank to a mere murmur, until only the two kings in command remained to face each other, one with twice the army he had begun with, and one who stood alone.

They fought briefly, for the king quickly disarmed his opponent. Then, he closed in, the point of his magical sword heading for his opponent's throat, so that the opponent braced himself for death. In fact, the king had detected a scratch across the other man's cheek and, touching the point to his flesh, healed it. The opposing king then fell to his knees at this kindness and swore his eternal loyalty to the man who had conquered him, not by defeating his army, but by restoring it. Thus did the healer king double his lands and end war upon and within all his borders.

He ruled wisely and well for the remainder of his years, King Darian of Tanelon insured the name of the sword would endure, for he had named it Mercy.

When at last he died, he left Mercy to his only son with grave precautions against using the sword to destroy. The son, however, was young, vain, and greedy for power. He manipulated a border dispute with another nation until it caught fire and burst into war. Then he led his armies forth, ready to conquer and thus increase his lands. However, as he deployed his forces, one of his generals, General Starxos dared to argue with him, reminding him that his father's policy had always be one of peace and careful diplomacy. The son grew wroth at this, and the argument became so heated than at last he drew the sword Mercy and struck the general with such a blow to the neck that it should have been severed from his body.

To the general's astonishment and the son's dismay, the head remained in place for Mercy had shattered into three pieces. The son then had the general arrested for breaking the magical sword and rode into battle with an inferior sword, where he and his entire army was slain. Only the general survived, and since he was discovered as a prisoner, was shown mercy by the enemy and allowed to leave the country with the shards as a reminder of their defeat.

For countless generations, as the kingdom was overrun, divided, and conquered countless times, the shards of Mercy were scattered. While the conquering army divided up the shards, one was recovered by the general. Since then, the descendants of the general have

kept and guarded the shard while searching for the remaining two. Whether they recovered them all is not known, but magical things have a tendency to converge themselves against all probability, as fate is a greater force than chance. The guardians hid at least one shard in a secret place and devised terrible traps to guard it. Alas! Their hiding place was discovered by trolls, who slew and ate the guardians, never finding the treasure they had struggled so long to keep. Now the shard lies forgotten, waiting beneath a gnarled troll's foot for the day when it will be found and reforged with the other two shards, returning Mercy to the world.

Afternote: Mercy was indeed found and reforged by the shade of King Darian in the Hero's Graveyard in 994 H.E. Mercy was then given to Lord Amalric Acoma, by King Darius, for having similar philosophies of leading through peace.