Lately, I've been suffering from a lot of burnout. Making headway on any of my personal projects has been hard, while writing has proven even worse. I could write a blog post about this—it wouldn't be the first time—but I think that it would be better if I compromised and did something fun instead.
I've done far too much reading. Too much consumption. Now is the time for creation, and hopefully a good six months of blog posts to show for it—quality be damned.
This is where we'll begin.
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| I will update this list at a later date. Challenge by @faithschaffer on Tumblr |
SWINE COME QUICK: a bronze grip-tongue sword with a carved gourd for a handle. The inlaid is vaguely reminiscent of autumn, but it'll gladly expound upon some the details if asked. Can be attuned by burying it in a pile of fresh produce overnight, then summoned by expending a ration, whereupon it sprouts wings and rushes to your hand.
WHERE BLOSSOMS GROW: he is a light falchion (+1) of glassy steel. Its guard is rounded and made of cobblestones, which shiver and pop as it is swung, and occasionally sprouts weeds. Knowledgeable of burial rites in several cultures. If an inch-wide cut is made into the ground and a command word is spoken, a trail of flowers will guide you to the nearest cemetery.
OUR LAST HOPE: she is a heavy zweihander (+3) of pure adamantium, beautifully inlaid with lines of gold, silver, and platinum. An elvish parable has been inscribed along the weapon's length, detailing the ancient hero who once wielded it against evil. Shines with immeasurable daylight when drawn, turning undead and dispelling even magical darkness. Currently embedded within a stone, waiting for an ancestor of the hero to retrieve it, and under the protection of a small clergy.
A CRUEL FATE: same as #3, but ebon splotches have warped the sword's appearance, like oil slicks on asphalt. Spasms violently on occasion. Unsheathing the sword plunges whatever room it was drawn into total darkness. Currently half-buried in rubble underneath a sepulcher, where the clergy have barricaded the entryways.
FARM DOG'S ODYSSEY: It is a medium xithos (+1) with a mycellium skin. Seemingly made entirely out of mushrooms, which grow shorter & more thin as they approach the "blade". Can be carefully folded into a cube (1 slot), and consuming any part of the weapon forces a Save Vs. Violently Orgasmic Hallucinations.
WHO GOES THERE?: she is a light rapier with a silver blade & brass accessories. Speaks in a thick cockney accent, which she uses to point suspicion at everyone or everything she doesn't intimately know. Lighting the blade's tip causes it to glow with the strength of an oil lantern, which lasts for 10 minutes, and smells faintly of lemongrass. Can be replenished by soaking in olive oil or whiskey.
LOVELY NIGHT MARE: they are a light khopesh (+1) of bronze alloy. Inlays of electrum run along the weapon, resembling a series of rivers. Someone has (rather poorly) embedded diamonds into the hilt, which now pulsate in the dark. Soft-spoken; rather friendly, if not a bit monotone. Can "scoop out" someone's dreams by cutting through their reflection. You're not stealing them—it's divination.
___ WARNING ___: It is a heavy shortsword (+2) of carbon steel, ejected by a star suffering from acute iron poisoning. Originally a spear, but later reforged after it snapped in half upon striking a mountain. Attempts to communicate with the wielder through a series of complex runes, heptapod style, which project from the blade's surface and onto the walls & floor. Wishes to be reunited?
FISH HATE MORTALS: he is a medium cutlass of seaglass and leather, caked in barnacles. A relic of an ancient (aquatic) civilization. Doesn't speak your language, and even if it did, it wouldn't like you. Sinks in water when held (but otherwise floats). Counts as a +1 sword when used underwater, and +2 if the target is a landlubber.
ORDER REQUIRES PREREQUISITES: she is a heavy backsword adorned in gold, platinum, and silver. The blade itself is cold iron, with irregular lightning bolts running down its length. Secretly desires to be a mace instead. Commissioned by the court and never intended to be used, but was later enchanted by a wizard after realizing that they overpaid. Contains a pocket dimension which holds every proposed law of the court in the last 50 years.
GENTLEMAN'S DUE DILIGENCE: they are a heavy spatha of velvet accents with coal-black fullers. The family heirloom of a war-loving culture. Can be split vertically into two light blades (+1), which deal half-damage to—and automatically parry attacks from—anyone expect the person wielding the second sword. Bitch and moan at each other while combined, but flirt aggressively in use, like Morticia & Gomez Addams.
ALMIGHTY UNCONQUERABLE THERMOGENESIS: she is a light scimitar (+3) of brass and elemental-treated gold. One of the many blades forged for—and disposed of by—the great Sultan of the City of Brass. A skilled poet & vizier, she is not unhurt by his rejection. Always on fire. Yes, even the hilt. Can cut through flames bigger than its wielder in order to create a portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire—not always safe portals.
WHO SAW THAT?: he is a light jian (+1) of jagged, never-melting ice. Fragile. Cracks along the flat parts of the ice are razor-sharp to the touch, giving the sword a working edge. Speaks like a disillusioned wizard; an old man, sick of the world's shit. Look through the blade to see through illusions and spot ghosts and, if placed in a pool of water, it will melt and turn into a scrying pool. Can be restored by chucking the hilt into a snowstorm (or something equivalently cold) for three days.
SECOND CASE SCENARIO: they are a medium koncerz, overwhelmed with tubes and machinery. A trigger-guard is embedded in the hilt, various gauges and transparent gizmos adorn the guard and piping. Can be held in half-sword when wielded in two hands, providing armor-piercing and triggering the device. On hit, inject a dose of poison (2x total, hand-loaded). Contains a dose of Basilisk Oil when found.
LOUSY JUDGEMENT CALL: it is a light broadsword made entirely of glass. Fragile. The handle is an complex basket-hilt, like a chain of tubes, with visible markings where the glass was sealed off. Inside the "blade" sloshes a reddish-brown fluid which, when shattered, explodes violently, unleashing the air elemental contained within. The original blade—a "master mold"—remains in an unfinished state: variants of the weapon are currently being mass-produced.
SOME KILLER TECHNIQUE: he is a medium hook sword (+1) of soot-choked steel, with a blade of humanoid fingers. Originally forged to be a whip, but rot and improper maintenance has ruined its joints. Flexible enough to swing around corners. Knows 1d4-1 combat techniques, which the wielder can use once-per-day.
LONG DAY RETREAT: he is a light rapier of heat-resistant glass. Really a bong in the shape of a sword, commissioned by a wealthy mercenary with a really bad habit. Knows exactly what you like and where you can get more of it. When you draw this sword, you may take a hit of one (inhalant) drug you possess as a free action.
VERY FUNNY MOM: they are a light sickle (+2) of tin and iron, its handle wrapped in decorative ribbons of various colors and styles. Sits on your tongue like a fishhook when sheathed. Occasionally tells a poorly-timed joke in your voice. Seeps itself into the flesh like a poison, inducing hysteria and terrible humor in its victims—especially unpleasant when you're a wizard. Kills add new ribbons to the hilt.
FLESH NOT FERN: she is a medium talwar of obsidian and amber. Its hilt is carved from the bark of an irontree, which the blade claims belongs to its dryad owner. Incapable of cutting through plant matter—it simply bends out of the way. Despite being immune to its violence, plant creatures will often defer themselves to it (make a morale check).
ONE LOOSE END: they are a heavy falchion (+3) of unknown make, covered in runes and glittering sparks of magic. Currently shattered into three pieces—each is considered a light +1 sword in its right—which will combine when reunited. If you are a magic-user and possess ≤2 shards, they attack a random enemy whenever you cast a spell using MD, dealing 1d4 damage each. The hilt wants nothing more than to remain separate from its kindred.
COLD HARD STARE: she is a light jian (+1) constructed entirely out of glass eyes. Handles as you'd expect, which isn't helped by the blade's penchant for vision-related wordplay. If used as a foci for one of your Gaze spells, add +1 MD. Gets weirdly persuasive about climbing into your head if you happen to lose an eye.
SLAY WILL ALONE: it is a heavy broadsword made of brass, oil and tears. Cobbled together by a lunatic with an engineering degree. An internal combustion engine sputters when drawn from the scabbard, grinding the blade's two halves together like saw-teeth. Can be used to sunder shields (or shoddy doors) while ignoring damage reduction.
FIRST ONE FREE: he is a medium xithos (+1) of cold iron. While the blade is rather plain in style, its scabbard is grossly overdecorated, adorned in mosaic spirals of gold leaf and silver. When drawn from its scabbard, a ghostly apparition (with the stats of a 3rd-level fighter) immediately takes possession of the blade. He is patient and cooperative, but refuses to part with the weapon until he is defeated, whereupon he vanishes and it returns to its scabbard.
FAULT THY SELF: he is a medium kopsis (+2), carved from an enormous emerald. Treated as a holy relic by the monastery that discovered the emerald, which has definitely gone to his head a little. Claims to heal whoever touches him, which isn't a complete lie—all that sickness and pain is given back to the gemstone.
REAL LIVING ART: it is a light dao of platinum and silk-spun adornments. An giant, intelligent silk moth named Jimbel lives within the blade's hollow guard, tasked with maintaining the accessories. Jimbel is quite kind, not to mention knowledgeable in the art of fashion, and he will regularly offer his services as a seamstress to the wielder—so long as the blade is regularly polished.
HOLY SHIT BALLS: she is a heavy claymore, scrounged together from the remnants of a weather monitoring station's lightning rod. Gained sentience after a demon—traveling at the speed of light—passed through the rod and entered our world. She's as confused about it as you are, to be honest. Deals +1d6 lightning damage on hit. If she's ever struck by lightning again, upgrade into a +1 sword, but roll for a random demonic incursion.
SYMBIOSIS REQUIRES KINDNESS: she is a light small-sword of copper and silver. Its scabbard—an ornate, oversized grasshopper—animates when the blade is drawn, becoming a loyal familiar. While not exactly helpful in combat, it is capable of performing other tasks appropriate to a familiar, such as spying on targets and retrieving objects. The blade & scabbard are inseparably linked—the former speaks of the latter like a good friend, and destroying the scabbard will also shatter the sword.
PEACE AMONG WORLDS: they are a medium "shortsword"—really the disembodied tail of a Psychic Bismuth Scorpion. Its length, albeit jagged, is consistent enough to use as a blade, while the stinger at the tip remains an excellent stabbing weapon. While able to communicate from within its tail, the scorpion doesn't have much to say, besides a vague sadness over its circumstances. Launch a psychic blast when wielded in two hands (3/day, 1d6 + WIS).
REDUCE REUSE RECYCLE: this isn't a sword at all—those require a blade, or at least a hilt. An emerald rune, burnt into its owners palm. As living things die around you, a blade is constructed according to their traits and preferences: rapiers for the suave, serrated teeth for dogs, a basket-hilt for the wary, etc.
FIND HER MARK: she is a medium estoc of cold-iron and dripstone, built from what could be found within the frozen caves of Betrayal. Small droplets of luminescent fluid leak from the blade's tip. Anything covered by these droplets begins to glow for a short period of time, to the point of translucency through thin walls—according to the helldivers, great for finding pierceable organs.
