"The pen is mightier than the Sword."
--insert knife in the Shape of a writing-Feather here-- -- Anon Guest
[AN: The word combo you were looking for is "writing quill" btw]
It was a beautiful blade. Someone had made it look like the wing-feather of a goose, only three times the size. Every detail was there. The rachis, the vanes, even the fine detail of the interlocking barbs. Whoever forged it had even made the crossguard look like a cluster of long, flexible barbs. The pommel was made to look like a nib.
It was also, unfortunately, only a sword for Kobolds and Gnomes. For anyone else, it was a dagger at best. It glowed with both magic and sharpness and was almost instantly recognisable to anyone who knew their weapons history.
"That's The Pen," said Melvin, who did. "The legendary artificer Reikhold Forgeworthy made it after someone challenged him to duel with a pen while the other party had a sword. So he poured everything he knew into making a blade shaped like a pen and put every single offensive enchantment on it that he could." His fingers twitched to touch it, but he kept his hands off it. "It's priceless, invaluable, and ridiculously OP."
"Cursed?" asked Lady Anthe, who could kind of sense how these things went.
"What? No! It's just... this is artisan history. The pen that is mightier than any sword. It does crazy-bad damage and you never need to sharpen it and it's made of Luth'lorien steel and it's beautiful and... and..."
"You don't think you're worthy," summarised Wraithvine.
"...'es," mumbled Melvin.
"It's a blade meant for a fighter," said Lady Anthe. "I could use it as a sword, but... I so rarely get to use swords at all. It would be a waste."
Wraithvine caught on and added, "You wouldn't want such a magnificent blade to go to waste would you? Besides, it's been a tough dungeon. You deserve nice things."
Melvin's hand drifted closer to the hilt than it had ever been. "It's priceless."
"It's worthless if you just leave it here," said Lady Anthe. "You should at least take it so that none of the bad guys get it."
"You'll be protecting it from evil," added Wraithvine.
Rumtum, having ascertained exactly what it was, yawned and stretched. "If he doesn't want it, I could take it."
The rest of the party, clearly picturing what a small Tabaxi Bard could do with a blade like that, urgently gestured to Melvin that him wanting The Pen was the best possible outcome in this situation.
Melvin grasped the hilt gingerly, as if afraid it would bite him. There should have been an arcane wind. There should have been some kind of light show. There should have been something to show that the blade had accepted its new master. Instead of any of that, there was just Melvin, picking up a legendary blade that looked small and ridiculous in his meaty hand.
The remaining villains in the dungeon may laugh, but they would not be laughing for very long.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / miru]
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