The Sword of Champions |
Written by The Musing Minstrel | |
Thursday, 29 October 2015 | |
Joint winner of the 2015 Literature Competition
It
did not know its creator. It did not know the time or place of its creation. It
did not know what species created it, or to what end. All it knew was that it
was a weapon intended for champions, for people who dedicate themselves body
and soul to the needs and desires of others. As long as its current wielder
confirmed to those requirements, it could lay dormant, and let the champion
decide matters both great and small. And so it was wielded in the cause of
righteousness. It did not have a personality as others would recognize it, but it did possess intelligence. Among other things it was capable of changing its form to suit the current fashions, to make itself appeal to others both as a piece of beauty as a tool of death. Many shapes and sizes it has took in its ageless existence, but for some reason it had most often been a sword of some kind or another. Long or short, double-edged or single-edged, curved or straight, it did not matter; the shape of a sword seemed intrinsically linked to champions. On some level it could understand this, since there were good arguments to be made for the superiority of a sword over other weapons. However, there was more to it than that. The difficulty of forging a blade, as well as mastering swordsmanship, made the sword a weapon for the mighty and the noble in the public consciousness. When the helpless and the hopeless saw it in this bladed form, they were impressed, and thought to themselves that the champion was someone they could trust. While it was mystified by this need for theatrics, it did not let its lack of understanding stand between fulfilling its purpose. And so it was a sword.
The first human it came across was a foolish charmer who could not commit himself to a single woman. He would court his sweetheart of the moment without tiring, promising her everything she could ever desire. Some women were convinced in mere hours, with others it could take years. A few even exploited the man, demanding that he perform unlawful acts such as theft and murder in order to prove his love. All however gave in to his advances in the end. Then after some time had passed and his ardour had dulled, a new beauty would catch his eye, and he would move on. But this was not due to malice or thoughtlessness on his part. Each and every time he was genuine in his affections, convinced that he had finally found the one he could share his life with. He was prepared to do anything for his beloved, and when he inevitably changed his mind, he felt remorse bordering on suicidal thoughts. "How can I talk about love, when I do not know the meaning of the word?", went the human. He did not show these thoughts outwardly, mostly because the people saw him as larger than life. In their minds he could be a hero or a villain, a gentleman or a rogue, but not someone who was capable of self-doubt. The human could only find the courage to open up to his former lovers, and they were rather unsympathetic to his plight. But even with these faults he was still a suitor without compare and a gentleman throughout, ready to give up his very life if it would but remove a single tear from the face of his beloved. And so it knew the first human champion.
At first they all wanted to rule well, to lead their people into safety, liberty and prosperity. But sooner or later, ruling well changed into simply ruling, as it had today. The champion-turned-king wanted it to become a symbol of status, something he could pass down to his offspring to legitimize their sovereign right to the throne. Deep in his heart he was unsure whether he wanted this for the greater good or for selfish desire, for the dream that centuries later someone of his bloodline could rule the world. What his true intentions were did not matter to it. What mattered was that in this way it would no longer serve champions. A leader could still be a champion, that was true. Hungry monsters, scheming witches, baseborn criminals and other enemies of civilization could be fought without shedding blood. Yet it was and would always be a weapon, and a weapon unused was a weapon wasted in its mind. To say nothing of the fact that the king expected it to blindly accept his heirs, regardless of whether or not they were worthy to wield it. And so it used its powers to slip away from the king's grasp, and fall to the bottom of a tranquil lake.
Despite this, it was intrigued by her talk about chivalry, and something she called a knight. It had known holy warriors before, but these had always looked to their deities and their priests for guidance, if not themselves. These knights would obey a code above all else, a code which compelled them to defend the weak, destroy the villainous and right wrongs wherever they found them. The clincher was the promise that it could choose its champion. All that she would do, is search among her people for those who could be called worthy, and let it decide their true nature. And so it emerged from the water, clasped in her hand, to be given onto a knight kneeling beside the lake.
The siege raged on, the enemies of rhyme and reason uncaring of their own safety. In the end only the final champion and it were left among the defenders. Before them stood the slaves of darkness, a horde fit for any war god. "This is the end for me", observed the final champion. Then he looked at it, following the slender blade in all its shimmering glory. Not all champions had realized that it had intelligence, that it had a presence. Even fewer were capable of communicating with it, regardless of their efforts. This human now conveyed more with his eyes in a single moment than some had uttered in their entire lifespans. "But this does not have to be the end for you", he said with his gaze. Before it had fully realized what the final champion meant with this, he flung it away with all his strength into the kaleidoscopic heavens. It could do nothing but watch as the foulsome horde attacked the now unarmed knight. Every last bit of his body and soul was fought over as they punished him for his last act of defiance. For the first time that it could remember, it wanted to weep. But it could not weep. It was a weapon of champions, and would never be anything more. And so it tumbled end over end in space, carried onto magical winds to destinations unknown. |
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 18 February 2016 ) |