The Sword of Haamuir
19 Apr 2024 - Transcribed by Paul TurnerDeep in the woods of Crimson Rock Forest National Park and Snack Bar sat a sword from a forgotten age. It was stuck into a stone nearly to the hilt, and despite being open to the elements, it never rusted or displayed any signs of deterioration. The trees around the stone could not permeate it with their roots, so a natural clearing was formed. For the local bird population, it was prime real estate. Middle class robins often dreamed of saving up the worms required to rent it from the thrush owner who bought it early from the local squirrels.
One day, a small cadre of knights entered the clearing. The leader, with a simple crown adorning his head knelt before the stone and wept openly.
“For a lifetime, I have dreamt of this moment,” said the wizened knight. The other two remained on their horses and clasped a hand to their chest as a sign of respect and reverence.
The crowned knight brushed aside the bird nest at the base of the sword, causing a rapturous sound from the birds of the clearing. He took it as a good sign. He took a deep breath and placed his shaking hands around the hilt and pulled.
Nothing happened.
“I… I do not understand. I have devoted all of my life to-,” but he was interrupted by a rustle behind the seated knights in the clearing.
From the woods stomped out Dug, the quarter-orc (from his father’s side) barbarian. Having Orc genes, he was unnaturally tall, and unnaturally muscular. Due to his uncommon build, he only wore a leather waistcloth and fur boots. His skin was pale with the smallest hint of green, and his dark hair was cut in patchwork since he maintained it himself. He was finishing a skewered lizard tail on a stick when the two knights on horseback drew their swords. A moment of silence passed over the clearing.
“You dare interrupt a holy ritual?” Questioned one of the horseback knights.
“Leave now, or we will cut you down. Unarmed or not,” said the other while drawing his sword.
“Dug not unarmed. Dug has two arms,” said Dug, confused.
“Templars, to me,” said the older knight.
As one of the knights turned to the older one he spoke. “Sir, this heathen is no threat. He is clearly just some vagabond who ventured too far from the snack bar. We will-,” and then he screamed.
In a tree nearby hung his sword arm, pierced through the bicep by the wooden stick of a skewered lizard tail treat. As he brought up his shield arm to staunch the wound, a flash of movement occurred. His remaining arm was wrenched from its socket as Dug tore it off by twisting away the shield. As he did, the other knight brought his sword overhead to strike down Dug in one smooth motion. Instead of hitting flesh and bone however, the sword bounced away from the shield in Dug’s hands.
Dazed by the shockwave that ran up his arm, the other horseback knight barely managed to hold onto his weapon. When he tried to swing again, a confusing notion hit him that his body was twisting away. His head spun, and where he thought he would puke bile, only blood came out. The shield carried his head into a nearby canopy of branches where the knight was able to see his headless body slough off his horse into a heap on the ground.
“Holy shit, that was sick,” said the knight’s head somehow before he died.
Dug approached the elder, crowned knight who had fallen to his knees.
“Please sir, we are of a sacred order. We meant you no harm! We only wished to release the Sword of Haamuir.” He pleaded.
“They said Dug weak. Dug need new weapon to prove himself strong,” said Dug, though more to himself than to the remaining knight.
“The Sword of Haamuir is meant only for those devout of faith and pure of heart. You cannot possibly mean to wield it?”
“Dug must get really big club or something and-. Wait. You said sword?”
“Y-yes. The Sword of Haamuir, it is-”
“Sword is weapon. Dug will have this weapon. Then no one will think Dug weak!”
The elder knight, seeing what Dug meant to do, stood to block the way. Dug casually pushed him aside, and he fell like a discarded thank you card. The elder knight winced as he landed, his hip fractured from the fall.
“No,” he gasped. “You musn’t!”
“I mus-cle,” said Dug as he wrapped his hands around the hilt of the sword.
The elder knight sat in dismay as Dug stood on top of the stone and began to strain his muscles. The veins of his biceps pulsed. The veins on those veins quivered to life. His sweat began to quicken into rivers along the rivulets of dirt covering his skin. A low grunt emanated from the bottoms of his lungs. Despite the effort, the sword did not budge.
“I tried to tell you, barbarian! The Sword of Haamuir is not meant to be pulled by some faithless murderer!”
Dug looked at the elder knight, and for a moment the knight reconsidered his words. Then Dug had a sudden look of comprehension fall across his face.
“Wait… Pull,” Dug said as he smacked his forehead. “Why didn’t Dug think of it? Dug can do that.”
Dug returned to his task with renewed vigor as the elder knight sat speechless. He strained, and cursed as he did. This went on for several minutes, then hours passed. The knights’ horses had calmed from the earlier commotion. One bird, a thrush, was even attempting to rebuild a nest where it had been brushed away earlier. The elder knight had managed to pull himself back up. Finally he addressed Dug, who had been throwing his back into it for the last hour in a way that would physically hurt anyone over the age of thirty just by viewing it.
“Dug. It is enough,” he said.
Dug squinted at the knight. “I still need weapon,” he said. “Perhaps you meant to distract Dug to take it for yourself.”
“No, Dug. I believe Haamuir has sent you here to teach me something. Gods, I have wasted my life.”
Dug stepped off of the stone as he listened to the elder knight continue.
“I have devoted my life to a higher power. Literally. I wanted to seek and wield a power greater than that of man. Yet here, a being stronger than I have ever met, cannot even budge the most storied weapon of our faith. Faithless, you may be, but even thine eyes must witness the truth of it. The Sword of Haamuir is a test of futility.”
“You speak pretty words,” said Dug.
The elder knight laughed and winced from the pain of his hip. “Aye. Pretty words. Perhaps that is the only weapon I am fit to hold.”
Silence sat between the two for a few moments. The thrush continued to hurriedly build a nest at the base of the sword while a well-to-do robin watched, a placid look on a face which hid anger. Finally, the elder knight spoke.
“Come Dug. Let us away from here. I will help you find a new weapon while I search for a new life.”
“Wait! That’s right, Dug need weapon!”
Dug reached behind and grabbed the hilt of the sword once more. This time it came up easily and as he swung it around, the elder knight’s body was flung away as though it were vollied from a trebuchet. All that remained were his boots, still upright in the ground. Dug admired the sword, though still stuck in the stone, it had been removed from its resting place in the ground.
“Oh! Sword of Haamuir is sword hammer. Dug will look strong indeed,” he said, pleased. As he took a few practice swings in the air while making swishing noises with his mouth, he noticed the elder knight was missing.
“Hello?” He called. “Old man who was too weak for sword hammer? Did you go?”
Dug looked down and saw the old knight’s greaves.
“Today Dug’s lucky day! Fortune teller at snack bar was right. New weapon and new boots?” As he picked up the boots though, a look of disgust spread across his cragged face. “Ew. Old man leave feet in boots. No thanks.”
He tossed the boots away and slung the sword hammer across his back. Before he left the clearing though, he looked to the three horses who had brought the knights into the clearing. In a choice of fight or flight, the nerves of the poor animals had been so shot that they chose the often unmentioned third option of not moving at all. With an awkward amount of gravitas and reverence, Dug bowed to the frightened horses.
“G’day,” he said calmly before stepping into the woods once again.
THE END