“Where is my sword!?”
Long ago, in a land that nobody could pronounce the name of, there existed a Lord. His name, you ask? It’s Harold, Lord Harold, not very special.
Lord Harold served under the king as a trusted and successful general in his army, and had the wealth to show for it.
One fateful week, when tensions were high between this kingdom and another, Harold though it would be a good idea to splurge on a new sword, so he headed for the smithy.
He barges into the blacksmith’s hut and shouts, “Smithy! I require an Enchanted blade! One so powerful my enemies will tremble in fear at the sight of its edge! I can pay handsomely.”
The smithy was never one to deny a Lord, not could he if he wanted, so he says to Harold, “Aye, if ye want a enchanted blade, you’ll get one strong enough to crack a mountain, trusting I take my time with it.”
“Huzzah!” Harold says, he then describes the blade of his desires to the smithy, then takes his leave.
2 days pass and Harold checks on the Smithy and his progress, “How goes the sword, Smithy?”
The Smithy replies with “Excellent m’lord, carving out your pommel now! You’ll have it within 4 days!”
Delighted with the answer, Harold leaves for the day.
2 more days pass and Harold repeats the process, “Smithy! How is my blade? Can it slice the very air in my path?”
The Smithy replied with “She sure can! Just working out the last kinks now, you’ll have it in two days!
Harold left for the evening but is then alerted by the king that the order to attack had been given and must leave tomorrow. Harold bursts into the Smith’s shop in the morning and demands the blade.
The Smithy says “But sire, the kinks!” Harold has no time to waste, so he grabs the sword from the smithy and leaves a hefty coin purse.
The next morning Harold is woken by cannon fire. He bolts up from his bedding and rushes for the new sword, only to see that it had vanished. As he searched for it, he noticed that along with the blade, some of his wolf skins and leathers have been taken as well.
He dashed out of his tent enraged, hellbent on finding the thief. Amidst the smoldering embers of the nearby land, he spots an oddly familiar figure.
Harold runs for the figure and stops in his tracks when he sees it. There it is, his sword, it’s enchanted power possessing what seems to be a suit made entirely of furs, and using it to dance and prance around the battlefield.
Harold is then pierced in the heart by an enemy archer, he falls to the ground.
The last words to go through Harold’s mind are not his own, but the Smithy’s.
But sire, the kinks!