Short. Enjoy! (And review! xDD)
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Now that I come to think of it, it's actually rather odd. It's not like I make scary faces or scream "BOO!" in the middle of the night, yet people are absolutely terrified of me nonetheless. I don't threaten, I don't rant, I just touch them ever so slightly and immediately they start quivering in terror. How very disconcerting.
This wreaks havoc on my social life.
I wonder if my siblings have ever gone through anything like this. Not that I've ever seen any of them after that elf beat us and separated us from each other. Except maybe Undbitr, but that's not saying much. Considering the fact that our meeting ended up with us hitting each other.
It's all Morzan's fault. Can you imagine—out of an almost limitless vocabulary of words, he chooses to name me 'Zar'roc.' Honestly, Zar'roc? Misery? How uncreative can you get? There're so many other—what?
What do you mean, swords can't talk?
That's complete nonsense. Of course we can talk. Take it from me, I should know. What with all the lives we take on a daily basis, who's to say we can't keep some for ourselves? So yes, we can talk. Got any problems with that?
No? Good. That's what I thought. Now where was I?
Oh, yes. My name. Sigh. Well, I suppose it could have been worse. Undbitr certainly got the short end of the stick. I mean, Undbitr? How do you even pronounce that? But that's what his owner named him, and that was that. But he did get a very nice sapphire. As compensation, of course.
Doesn't match my ruby, though. What? Really manly swords don't care about jewelry? Well, what else do I have to be proud about? Being sharp and shiny isn't all it's cracked up to be. Yes, you can wave me and smile at the mob and the light bounces off your teeth, ting, but in the end who's the one taking the hits? Me, thank you very much.
And I know I don't scratch or break. Which is nice. But it'd be nicer not to be hit in the first place. I have feelings, you know. And I can choose to express them in a very definite way, so you'd better watch out.
But don't worry. (Much.) I'm actually very nice. Really. Except when I'm killing people. But that's not really my fault, it's all Morzan's. At least it used to be. But these days, it's this other guy. His name begins with an 'M,' too, but I can't really be bothered to recall the whole name. Humans come and go, but we swords are forever. Especially brightsteel swords. Pffft, don't even talk to me about those common steel ones.
At least M doesn't have sweaty palms. Take it from me, there's nothing worse than a wielder with sweaty palms. Hooo boy. The faint slipperiness is bad enough, but after a while my handle begins to smell. You know what I mean? That faint, acidic odor of perspiration and moisture that takes ages to get off. Urrrgh. Can we say disgusting?
Hrrrm. In retrospect, maybe I'm being too harsh on Morzan. He never had sweaty palms. Then again, he wore gloves. Black gloves. Black gloves on a red hilt. Very nice touch. I think I rather miss him, after all.
I'm getting teary here.
It's always nice to think of someone who cares for you. Even only if it's so that he can shove you into a number of things you'd really rather not be shoved into. You think I like going through human flesh? Yeuch. Sweaty palms are bad enough, but that little schluping sound whenever I leave people—well, it just gets me every time. Plus, there's the screaming.
You think they'd be glad to see me leave.
B certainly was.
Not that I miss him. To tell the truth, I didn't really see him all that much. It was insulting, the way he treated me. Hiding away my brilliance in a (very long) sack and burying me under undignified dirt. That was possibly the most boring time of my life. I much preferred living with Morzan, you know. Screaming and all.
Even if he did give me a lousy name.
Enough of that. At any rate, B dug me back up in due time. But I didn't stay with him very long before being handed to E. And you know what the very first thing E did to me was? He blocked my edge! My beautiful, keen edge!
What's the point of a sword without an edge? If you want to bludgeon people, go get a club.
If I had had the choice, I'd've cut him. But no, I couldn't, since he'd blocked my edge. Little bastard. And he was blue. Or his dragon was, anyway, which is all I care about. I mean, blue?
Don't get me wrong. Some of my friends are blue. Well, I don't have any friends, but if I had friends, they would be blue. Undbitr, at least, was blue. I like blue. It's very...well, blue. It's just that red is better. You can see that, right?
So I was happy when he lost me to M. Ecstatic. M's dragon is red, and his palms are dry. And he oils me every week even though he doesn't need to. Little touches like this that make all the difference, you know.
Hey, guess what?
I ran into Naegling the other day. What a surprise. I thought she was long gone, just like all the others. After all, I hadn't seen her in ages, and—
Hrrrm? What's that? Oh. Of course there are female swords. Just like there are male swords. I'm male, by the way.
How do you tell the difference? Why do you want to know? It's not any of your business.
Naegling's too old for me, anyway.
Sigh. It's a lonely life, being a brightsteel sword. You can't fraternize with the normal swords after a hard day's work (not that you would want to fraternize with the plebs anyway). All you can do is stay aloof and elite and hope that another brightsteel sword comes along to keep you company. Someday.
I hear there's a new brightsteel sword around. Name's Brisingr or something.
Wow. His owner must be even worse than Morzan at making up names.
Maybe I'll get to meet him. Someday. One can only hope.
But until then, I'll just hang out here in a scabbard on M's waist. Chillin' out. You know, in between all the stabbing and killing I have to do.
It was nice talking to you, by the way. I don't talk to many people. Can I give you a hug? I hope we can—
…
Oops. Errr...sorry about that.
schlup.