Millar was deep into his weapon trance.  He knew he was getting closer to seeing who forged it.  He'd glimpsed the back of the figure, and then the sword splintered into a dozen streams of diamond like shapes and emitted a blast of dark energy slammed into him.  He was sent flying backwards through the tavern, and smashed into a table, splintering it into pieces as he gasped sharply in pain.  The chainmail covering his chest bent awkwardly, and gasping in pain he poked his busted rib.<br/>"Ow...."  Zhuareks sword slowly reformed into its original shape, and then settled on the table.