Lord Akzasosan is performing SeriaYi, the formal recounting of an episode from one’s life

…’SurZuth was the metal beloved by the Ancient swordmakers. As with all Ancient zuthhir, the composition and forging of sur is a mystery. But a sword made of SurZuth is highly prized among us, we the inheritors in Paper days. For the Fine and the Subtle, the blades are objects of aesthetic veneration, expressing the unadorned purity and asceticism for which the Ancients are renowned. It is well known, so precious are the blades, so hallowed, austere RoMayZine Marks use these weapons as components of their meditation practice. And such swords were, to my younger eye, at least, utterly beautiful: what is more essential than a sword? And swords of SurZuth, the “morning metal”, with its radiant, milky sheen in certain lights, and in others a cold, chaste silver glow, are the most lovely of all blades.

The RoMayZine, for whom all weapons are of the mind, have a terse epigram on the form of these classical, OnDomin swords: Nothing less. Nothing more. Beside them, the wonderful structures of flowers seem languid and overblown; nothing in nature, or at least nothing visible to unaided eyes, possesses the absolute simplicity of a SurZuth sword. Form perfects function; and function, form.

We are indeed blessed by our revered and vigilant ancestors that the uses to which most of us will put a SurZuth blade are exclusively ceremonial, or celebratory of beauty: we live in a peaceful land.

These swords, when resting, are mysterious. They mix in their life, death. How peaceful fine blades seem. How lean their glory.

It is true that now, for myself, I would rather look at a spray of cherry blossom against a spring sky than the rarest and most exquisite sword in all of O – but then, I have seen a lot of SurZuth in the past decade, and I have tired of metal.

Please listen, and understand: I do not question the basis of the esteem in which these, the finest of swords, are held. I am rare amongst those who move among rivers and trees, stones and flowers, in that my knowledge of these blades is not one simply of contemplation or of limpid ritual alone. I know why these sur blades were made. I know not just how they appear, but what they are. I know what they do.
It is not a knowledge I would wish on anyone.’

Excerpt from Flowing House, Volume 7 of Dustless

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