Its blade was formed from the purest Elven moonsilver, for that was known by all to be the lightest and most durable of all the metals in the realm, and because ingots were on sale in a buy two get one free special.
The pommel was painstakingly carved from the tooth of Sprin'kles, the last of the mighty god dragons. It was a true work of art as well as a perfectly weighted counterbalance to the blade itself. Perhaps more remarkable than the craftsmanship was the artist's ability to convince Sprin'kles remain perfectly still for the duration of the project.
The sword was forged and assembled at the summit of Mount Unclimbable. The smith was able to make the trip up to the top (obviously) and there was already a forge waiting up there, so the mountain has since come to be known as Mount Only Climbable Twice That We Know Of Though We Are Flexible On The Matter If More Evidence Comes To Light.
Upon that forge, the blade was pounded into shape beneath the hammer of history's greatest dwarven weaponsmith. It was actually intended to be a teapot, but in addition to being the greatest weaponsmith this dwarf also happened to be history's worst teapot crafter. As the old saying goes: The gods give with one hand as they take with the other and they also use a third hand to give your elbow a shove while you're writing.
Once completed, the glowing hot sword was quenched in an ogre's blood. This had to be done with great haste, for once the sounds of sizzling reached the ogre's lumpy bristle-covered ears he came running and angrily shaking an enormous fist, only slowing for a few brief moments to survey the damage to his porcelain blood fountain.
The completed sword was soon blessed by an ancient order of warrior-priests. Their deity, Goblessia, was the god of compulsively blessing objects. These priests were trained as warriors out of necessity. You see, the priests determined that most people would be reluctant to have their items blessed by a group of strange men in unfashionable robes, so they decided it was best not to ask at all. They trained day and night to defend themselves when the very objects they blessed were inevitably thrown at their heads.
Badsmiter's strength and durability are nothing short of legendary. It once cut down eighteen rock golems and nearly three hundred skeleton warriors in one adventure alone. According to prophecy, the blade will cleave ten thousand evil beings before its warranty is up.
The sheath seems odd, does it not? That is because it is, itself, another blade. Note how the edges taper and become distinctively sword-y. This design is ingenious. It ensures that even if you accidentally leave the sheath on your sword it will still be able to hack and slash your foes. There is no downside whatsoever to having an exposed length of razor sharp death slapping against your thigh. Well, there is a downside, but it's so obvious that it's almost too obvious, rendering it unlikely and unworthy of concern.
Perhaps you will now understand my reaction to your discovery of this seemingly mundane sword. What you hold in your hand, young adventurer, is the legendary blade Badsmiter. Its mystical destiny is inextricably linked with your fate from this point forward, and together your actions shall serve a divine purpose of heroic justice.
Basically, you can use it to poke holes in sentient things until they stop living.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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