To Say Nothing Of The Sword
The Sword had seen many battles. Blood
and sweat had dripped down its reflective surface. It had been
plunged into hundreds of orcs, humans, elves, and a number of other
monsters. Its hilt had been gripped by many heroes and enemies alike.
Many names were given to it such as Wrath Bringer, Silver Serpent,
and Soul Stealer. The blade gave up its power to each wielder. The
Sword had traveled to many a place and had been on many
adventures.
On one such adventure, The Sword happened to find
itself in the hands of a young knight. The knight had by chance come
across a dragon’s cave. Intending to slay the dragon, he with The
Sword in hand sneaked up upon the dragon, not knowing what great
hearing such a beast had. The Sword however knew this, having fought
dragons before. It tried to warn the knight, yet lacking in speech,
was unable to do so. The knight was quickly flame broiled, and The
Sword clattered to the ground.
It was picked up by none other
than an ambitious dwarf. The dwarf lifted The Sword and carried it
out of the cave. He eventually realized by the time it was too late,
that The Sword was too heavy for him. The weight caused the dwarf to
topple over a cliff to his untimely death. The Sword was once again
left ownerless at the edge of a stream.
An elf prince had
discovered The Sword next, in which he and the blade fought together
for years. He became ruler of his kingdom. The Sword stayed boldly at
his side. Eventually, however, age had caught up to the elf, very
slowly, but surely. The Sword however, remained mostly the same, if a
bit worse for wear. Being old and weary, it came time for The Sword
to be passed down to a new heir. Unfortunately, before such a
ceremony could take place, The Sword was furtively stolen by one of
the finest thieves in the land.
Unfortunately for the thief,
he soon decided The Sword was not practical in his affairs, and kept
to his old reliable dagger. This was fortunate for The Sword, for it
didn’t take kindly to the profession of thievery.
Thus, the
thief handed off The Sword to the town’s blacksmith. All this being
passed around and rough handling left The Sword in a bitter state,
and it was due for a much needed re-forging.
Like new, The
Sword was now fit for selling. The day came when a pirate perchanced
upon the old blacksmith’s shop. He was greasy, like he hadn’t
bathed in months. The spot where his right hand should have been bore
a hook stained with blood. His left eye was covered with a patch,
while his right was swollen and bruised. His grin was lacking quite a
few teeth. He smelled of rum and fish. A perfect fit, The Sword
thought. This filthy pirate had seen ages of battle, as The Sword
indeed had. The seafarer plopped down several doubloons on the
blacksmith’s wooden table. To this the blacksmith was happy to
oblige in the offer, as long as the pirate left, and the stench with
him. So, The Sword was off again.
Sea-warfaring was certainly
The Sword’s idea of a good time. Many sea captains were slain and
ships looted by the stinky pirate and his crew. However, after
several years, the ship became no longer sea-worthy. The pirates
abandoned it on an icy shoreline in the north. The Sword too was left
behind, or perhaps forgotten, for it wasn’t sure.
It stuck there in the ice and snow, watching the run-down ship for a while. Then the ship began to speak creakily to The Sword of its unrecognized adventures and life at sea. And The Sword listened…
