Another chapter of A Blacksmith’s Adventures with Weapons of Legend. This might actually become a thing, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of my other writing, which I am working on.

A Blacksmith’s Adventures with Weapons of Legend: The Envoy

“Thomas Riversedge, Son of the Great River, Rider of the Fierce Storm, Chosen of the River Dragon,” the stranger recited lazily, despite the grandeur of the statement.

“Well, I am Thomas Riversedge, true,” Tom replied. “And I was born in a small village near the River of Tears, if that’s what you mean by ‘Son of the Great River.’ And I do ride river runners, if that’s what you mean by ‘Rider of the Fierce Storm.’ A bit archaic, but I’m familiar with the title. Not sure where you’re getting that ‘Chosen of the River Dragon’ bit, though.”

“You carry that exemplar weapon, yeah? You are one of the founders of Wasserdrachen, yeah? Clearly, someone put in a good word for you with Sorowa. And I happen to know it was the one and only River Dragon. You thought he was just a myth, didn’t you? Well, he isn’t.”

“Huh. We’ll have to discuss that over a cup of tea later. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

“Bingo. I’ve been sent to test you. Make sure you’re worthy of that halberd of yours.”

Tom noticed the peculiar scythe the man carried. It was one whole piece of material, from shaft to blade. The metal seemed almost mercurial in luster looked as if it was constantly in motion, despite retaining its form.

“Might I presume that you are the Wanderer, then?”

“The one and only, Tommy, my boy,” the stranger announced, bowing.

“So, that’s the Envoy? The Undying Weapon? The Changeling Blade? The Soul Mirror?”

“Quite right,” the living legend answered impatiently.

The Envoy and the Wanderer: the greatest of all Koeleth’s legends. Though much of the truth has been lost to time, the legend states that at the time of a great war, in the days when the Ekoalem were nothing more than a nomadic tribe, their very existence was at stake. To fight off their oppressors and keep their people alive, they made a desperate appeal to the Guardians, who, seeing the plight of the desperate tribe, showed mercy and blessed them with a mighty weapon: the Envoy. The Envoy, when presented to them, left them even more terrified than before. When the tribal shaman held it aloft, it appeared to be a mere short sword, lustrous and beautiful, but altogether plain in its capabilities. But the Guardians advised them that in the hands of a chosen champion, the blade would be able to unleash wonderful and terrible power, capable of leveling mountains and razing armies to the ground. The Guardians chose a young man, inexperienced, but pure and brave, as that champion. He took up the blade and, with a brilliant flash of light, the whole village watched as the bland sword transformed into a massive great sword, emitting a supernatural aura. The warrior went on to singlehandedly defeat all those who opposed the Ekoalem. However, since the weapon was not bound to one man’s soul, as any paragon weapon would be, it did not dissolve upon the warrior’s death. Rather, it lived on, each generation being dedicated to a new master. And with each new master, its form and power changed. In times of great crisis, the chosen bearer, a mysterious individual known as the Wanderer, would be called upon to save Koeleth.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” the unbecoming heir to the title griped. “I’ve got other exemplars to test, too. I was in the middle of a lovely vacation when the Guardians called on me. I’d very much like to get back to the fine ladies of the beaches of Eternal Reach. Could do without the pirates, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with. I can’t understand why they trusted you with the fate of the world, but I assure you that if they wanted to beat me, they picked the wrong candidate.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Now brace yourself, things are about to get pretty darn windy,” the man said, barely lifting a finger and yet summoning a mighty gale.