Within the walls of the long forgotten old castle, they found the sword buried in the wall as if put there by some ancient person to protect it from falling into the wrong hands.
It had been a wise move, as the sword had lain hidden for a long time. During that passage of time moss had grown over the abandoned walls and the sword also had been overgrown. Upon discovery, the blade had a green hue, which made all the more intriguing.
Understandably there was considerable consternation among the tiny creatures that inhabited the crevasses in the wall. The blade had long been part of their environment. In their eyes, it was part of them, and its removal was not welcomed in any way.
To put it mildly, the removal of the blade left a huge hole in their lives. For them the blade and its hilt had always been a great source of conversation, myths had been created about it and stories of past victories repeated over the years. What were they to do?
Meetings were called, resolutions made, votes taken and at one point revolution was spoken of. The downfall of the wall creatures was that they were good at resolutions but not so on action.
So as the hole in which the blade had once sat began to fill with the dust of the air, more resolutions were made, threats of retribution were called for, and so life went on with new legends and myths being created along the lines of what was once part of their history but now was not.
Each story was embellished with more and more embellishment until as new generations arrived the facts could no longer be discerned from the fantasy, but that didn’t really bother the wall folk all that much so long as there was a good story to tell.