Post by Doormat* on Oct 7, 2012 11:05:17 GMT -6
Long ago, before the village had been founded, there lived a great warrior who had seen many battles and conquered countless foes.
But there was one foe that no man could defeat: Time. (Well, I guess that crazy old fish man has been around a while, but that's not important.)
After many years of combat, it was not a sword that struck him down, but his age. Realizing that it would soon be his time and that he had no heirs to carry on his legacy, he set off on one final adventure.
The man journeyed far from his home, wielding a brilliant sword wrought of pure silver, the blade perfect and unmarked, despite having been used to strike down dozens, if not hundreds of his foes.
After many weeks of travel he set himself down upon a large rock, weary from a hard day's hike. He did not know it at the time, but many years from then a small village would spring up not far away from where he sat.
Now, it is said that the man was very fond of clichés, for what he did next would make very little sense in any other circumstance: He plunged his sword deep into the rock, and left.
Perhaps he wished to pass the sword down to future generations, but found no one worthy to wield it. Or maybe he was just mad in his old age, but either way there it was, stuck in the stone. And there it would stay for many, many years.
Hundreds of years later, after the raid on the village, an old man known to many as Geezer took in an injured Kobold, a Droog of it's kind. The creature was angry and violent as it's kind tend to be, but was remarkably well behaved for a Kobold, feeling it owed a debt to the old man for saving him.
The old Geezer's shack was on the outskirts of the town, spared from the raid, but after the raid the small village grew, expanding it's borders much closer to the old man's hut. The hut itself was only a few hours walk from where the warrior had left his sword and it was not long after that one of the villagers stumbled upon it.
No one knew what to make of the sword in the stone, and many of them tried their hand at freeing it and claiming it for their own, but none could free it.
It wasn't long until the Kobold had heard of it. "A sword made outta silver!" He thought, "Only a Kobold deserves something that shiny!"
He marched his way to the sword, spending hours trying to release it from it's stone prison, but only gained the mocking laughter of the much larger, stronger pinkies who thought it was ridiculous that such a small creature could ever pull the sword from the stone.
The Kobold was crafty, however, much more so than the pinkies who spent so long trying to free the sword with brute strength.
In the dead of night, he led the old Geezer's mule to the sword and tied a rope around the stone, hitching it to the mule and dragging it off into the night, and into the old Geezer's shed.
Now that he had it however, he needed to figure a way to free it himself, away from those pesky pinkies who foolishly mocked him. And while the old Geezer was sleeping, he snuck into his hut and stole away an old hammer. The handle was broken, and the head rusted but he thought it would work well enough.
He then spent the next week, every night slowly chipping away at the stone around the sword, laughing to himself as the pinkies scrambled about, wondering how it could have simply disappeared.
After a long week slowly breaking apart the rock he had managed to free it, something that the big, "strong" pinkies were unable to do. The next night he once again took the mule out into the woods. This time, however he found another rock, and dragged it back to were the sword was before he took it. He spent the night carving the rock to make it look like the old stone, with a deep crack in the center where the sword would have been.
Satisfied that it looked just the same, he took the mule back to the old man, and quietly set the hammer back where it belonged and waited 'til morning.
The next morning, the whole village was abuzz with the news that someone had managed to claim the sword, everyone looking about to find the one responsible.
The kobold waited an hour or so, watching the pinkies run around like chickens with their heads cut off before calmly strolling into the village with the sword at his side.
As they saw him, a crowd gathered around him, shocked that such a small creature was able to free the sword.
"No, it's true! I pulled it out when all you smelly pinkies weren't able to!"
The crowd talked among themselves before realizing that he must have been telling the truth, as impossible as it is, and let him keep the sword that he had "rightfully" earned.
The kobold let out a laugh and walked back to the old man's hut, sword in hand.
But there was one foe that no man could defeat: Time. (Well, I guess that crazy old fish man has been around a while, but that's not important.)
After many years of combat, it was not a sword that struck him down, but his age. Realizing that it would soon be his time and that he had no heirs to carry on his legacy, he set off on one final adventure.
The man journeyed far from his home, wielding a brilliant sword wrought of pure silver, the blade perfect and unmarked, despite having been used to strike down dozens, if not hundreds of his foes.
After many weeks of travel he set himself down upon a large rock, weary from a hard day's hike. He did not know it at the time, but many years from then a small village would spring up not far away from where he sat.
Now, it is said that the man was very fond of clichés, for what he did next would make very little sense in any other circumstance: He plunged his sword deep into the rock, and left.
Perhaps he wished to pass the sword down to future generations, but found no one worthy to wield it. Or maybe he was just mad in his old age, but either way there it was, stuck in the stone. And there it would stay for many, many years.
Hundreds of years later, after the raid on the village, an old man known to many as Geezer took in an injured Kobold, a Droog of it's kind. The creature was angry and violent as it's kind tend to be, but was remarkably well behaved for a Kobold, feeling it owed a debt to the old man for saving him.
The old Geezer's shack was on the outskirts of the town, spared from the raid, but after the raid the small village grew, expanding it's borders much closer to the old man's hut. The hut itself was only a few hours walk from where the warrior had left his sword and it was not long after that one of the villagers stumbled upon it.
No one knew what to make of the sword in the stone, and many of them tried their hand at freeing it and claiming it for their own, but none could free it.
It wasn't long until the Kobold had heard of it. "A sword made outta silver!" He thought, "Only a Kobold deserves something that shiny!"
He marched his way to the sword, spending hours trying to release it from it's stone prison, but only gained the mocking laughter of the much larger, stronger pinkies who thought it was ridiculous that such a small creature could ever pull the sword from the stone.
The Kobold was crafty, however, much more so than the pinkies who spent so long trying to free the sword with brute strength.
In the dead of night, he led the old Geezer's mule to the sword and tied a rope around the stone, hitching it to the mule and dragging it off into the night, and into the old Geezer's shed.
Now that he had it however, he needed to figure a way to free it himself, away from those pesky pinkies who foolishly mocked him. And while the old Geezer was sleeping, he snuck into his hut and stole away an old hammer. The handle was broken, and the head rusted but he thought it would work well enough.
He then spent the next week, every night slowly chipping away at the stone around the sword, laughing to himself as the pinkies scrambled about, wondering how it could have simply disappeared.
After a long week slowly breaking apart the rock he had managed to free it, something that the big, "strong" pinkies were unable to do. The next night he once again took the mule out into the woods. This time, however he found another rock, and dragged it back to were the sword was before he took it. He spent the night carving the rock to make it look like the old stone, with a deep crack in the center where the sword would have been.
Satisfied that it looked just the same, he took the mule back to the old man, and quietly set the hammer back where it belonged and waited 'til morning.
The next morning, the whole village was abuzz with the news that someone had managed to claim the sword, everyone looking about to find the one responsible.
The kobold waited an hour or so, watching the pinkies run around like chickens with their heads cut off before calmly strolling into the village with the sword at his side.
As they saw him, a crowd gathered around him, shocked that such a small creature was able to free the sword.
"No, it's true! I pulled it out when all you smelly pinkies weren't able to!"
The crowd talked among themselves before realizing that he must have been telling the truth, as impossible as it is, and let him keep the sword that he had "rightfully" earned.
The kobold let out a laugh and walked back to the old man's hut, sword in hand.