Gnat's Other Prologue

Nathaniel Brewerson's first sword was a simple, modest blade given to him by his father during the summer of his thirteenth year. It could be called a sword because it had a point and one reasonably sharpened edge. The blade did not shine, nor glint, even though when he was a boy he proudly polished it every day. The guard was just a straight, unadorned crosspiece. The handle was tightly wrapped in leather, but Nathaniel had done that himself. It was not an elegant or even particularly well-crafted sword, but when word had reached the village that a roaming tribe of goblins had been spotted raiding the outlying farms, it was the best that a humble brewer could afford to give his oldest son to help protect the family.

Nathaniel's second sword was an indestructible blade forged through sorcery in the age of legends when the Gods walked the land and mighty heroes fought unimaginably fiendish monsters with steel, magic, and righteous fury. In generations past it had been wielded by countless noble champions, clashed with the fangs of dragons and the claws of demons. Its bearers had stood alone against insurmountable hordes of hobgoblins, orcs, and the walking dead. After the evil tides had been pushed back, the sword rested for three hundred and thirteen years in a holy shrine sealed by the most powerful and sacred incantations. The sword lay hidden and guarded while the devastated countryside was tamed, and the civilizations of mankind spread order and relative peace across the once wild lands.

This is the story of how Nathaniel Brewerson found one of his swords, and how he came to wish it was his other one…