Song of the Hero
Author: the ghost of AnALT
Summary: Written for the Discworld MUD's "Tall Tales Writing Competition" held by the Thieves' Guild.
Prompt:
In the depths of the guild, a fabled sword lies in our trophy case, its tales forgotten, its legend denied...
"This great sword looks like a fine prize and could prove very useful in battle if you're tough enough to wield it. It is made of an octiron and is very durable. Its handle is made of platinum and has a stylised engraving of a dragon."
The Thieves Guild proudly announces the Tall Tale writing competition. As of now, we officially don't care what the story behind the sword in the trophy cabinet is. Its bound to be a lot more boring than what you lot can come up with, so here be the rules:
Those of you who wish to write the new history of the sword compose a Tall Tale about its origins, keeping in mind the conventions of a tall tale, where embellishments and never before seen feats are accomplished as a matter of due course. Once you feel secure in the notion that your tale is indeed the most flamboyant, extrovert and rousing tale, you mail it to me, on an address specified below.
Gather ye 'round and be regaled
With tales of courage against dreaded foe,
With valiant feats of mettle and might,
Of shattered hearts and bitter night...
Once there was a maiden, beloved,
In long ago and far away,
To all who beheld her, in the kingdom
Over which her father held sway.
Her radiance shone across the Disc,
For held she the greatest treasure -
Golden crown and father's kingdom; and thus
Hearts of men who sought her pleasure.
Years she lived in a land at peace,
Where joy and wealth was all that grew,
(Or all, at least, that was spoken within
Hearing of the governing few).
But came, in this time of plenty,
A day when the peace was broken.
A sourcerer was her favour denied,
His staff refused - his heart's token.
Thus the wizard in righteous wrath
Stole the lady from father's grasp
Sent the kingdom down sorrow's path
And in a dragon's hold enclasped.
And in despair the kingdom cried
Out for a champion to ally
And offered maiden as a bride
(After she's torn from wizard's side).
And heroes from the Disc came forth
All to fall to the dragon's force
All save one of meagre resource
Who thus fulfilled narrative's laws.
Archetype strode into dragon's lair
And after battle epic and fair
Plunged mystic sword with a showman's flair
And triumphed over the monster there.
When from the sky the dragon fell,
Its form shrank and began to change,
'Til in the dirt there did lie, not a beast
But the stolen maiden, in exchange.
Cheering joy the conqueror met,
When he returned with maiden pale.
And none did speak, as they wed, of the sword
Upon which the lady lay impaled.
Golden crown upon hero's head,
Peace again was the kingdom's right,
And having all the land to warm his bed,
He lay with her but a single night.
And father of the maiden fair,
Welcomed his son with pleasant smiles.
Then alone he stood before daughter's grave,
And wept. Only for a little while.
In long ago and far away
These heroes lived and bled,
As ages fly and magic died,
This sword alone was left.
In Guild of Thieves it now resides,
An octiron-bladed prize,
Authentic runes, magic-tipped,
On platinum hilt, in flowing script:
'Made in Agatea'.