Lobtail
Once, there was a sword known as Lobtail.
It had been passed down through generations of the Weard family of the Misted Coast, Sea-Lords who had ruled the area for nigh on seven hundred years. The story goes that during a Long Night, a period of fierce storms which darkened the skies for several days at a time, a magnificent whale washed onto the rocky shores near an unnamed village.
The village mayor, upon learning of the beaching, ordered a group be sent out to harvest the whale. Beachings were a boon, providing oil and meat to sustain the village for months, and typically the townspeople would be very eager to harvest the dead whale. This night, however, the storm which had been raging for two straight days was reaching a climax which called for shoring up doors and windows and staying by the fire with a hot cup of tea and a pipe.
But the mayor was insistent, as he had increasingly become of late, and demanded that the whale be butchered despite the weather.
A small team of workers made their way to the beach, wrapped tightly in oilskin, to find that the sea had become a violent, roiling beast. Ahead of them, rocking back and forth in the storm-swollen waves, was the hulking shape of the whale.
Normally, they would have taken the time to carefully set out their gear, and to give thanks to the whale for the sustenance she would be providing to the village. But between the risk of the sea reclaiming the carcass, and the eagerness to return to their fires, the villagers quickly got to work.
Sharp, pelting rain and blustering wind threatened to knock them to the ground, or worse, into the unforgiving waters. Despite the cold and difficult work, the butchers almost finished their work without incident. A sneaker wave, rising suddenly from the swells and rushing the shore with much more force than the others, struck the body of the whale sweeping everyone who was not farther up the beach off their feet.
Among these was a young flenser, the daughter of the local innkeeper. As the wave crashed over her from behind, she found herself tumbled and bounced off the sea bottom. She surface a few times, struggling for breath, before being pull down and out into the freezing, darkened abyss.
A few of her comrades attempted to wade out into the waters to help, but barely survived being dragged to the depths themselves. With great sadness, they gathered the blubber, oil, and meat they had gathered and made they way solemnly back to the village.
Upon their return, dripping and full of anger for the loss of their friend, the flensers and other villagers demanded an audience with the mayor. Cornering him in the town hall, the sounds of shouting and bereaved weeping were enough to almost drown out the storm.
The mayor had few supporters, but the ones he had faithfully defended his decision to call for the butchering of the whale. They couldn't pass on the opportunity, they said, it was too important too the town. Think of the greater good, how long the resources from the whale would last them, they insisted. The price was, to them, worth it.
As the argument reached a crescendo of voices and fists slamming on tables, the door to the hall suddenly burst open. Wind rushed into the crowd, and rain soaked the cobbled floor of the entrance. Stepping in with all the anticipation of a looming wave, was the young flenser.
She was soaked head to toe, wet hair tangled and full of strands of seaweed. Her heavy oilskin coat had been lost, her woolen tunic and trousers torn from been tossed about sharp, barnacle covered rocks.
In her hand, she loosely held a short sword, edged on both sides. Its cross guard curved up towards the tip, and its pommel had the recognizable shape of a whale's fluked tail. In all, the blade was very modest, but the craftsmanship was undeniable.
The crowd went suddenly silent, everyone was turned to look at the young woman. Framed by the doorway, wind and rain lashing around her rugged appearance, she commanded the attention of all present.
"The sea took me," she spoke quietly, though her voice still cut through the sounds of the storm. "And by the will of the sea I have been returned." Stepping fully into the town hall, she shut the doors and dulled the howling of the wind.
She proceeded to tell of how she was dragged far, far out and down to the very floor of the ocean. She found herself amongst stars, fish that lit the impossible darkness with their bodies. Incredible pressure pressed against her and threatened to crush her, but as she was sure she would not be able to stand it any longer the pressure suddenly released. At the same moment, air filled her gasping lungs and the luminescent fish parted to create a path through the abyss.
Without knowing why, she followed the path, swimming just above the sandy bottom which teemed with endless forms of animal she had never imagined. At the end of the path, the sea floor dropped off into an even deeper chasm.
From those depths, she watched in awe as the specter of a massive whale rose to face her. Bigger than she had ever seen, bigger, even, than any fisherman's tale she had ever heard. The whale stopped her ascent directly in front of the young woman, and began a haunting melody.
The song, though certainly not in any language known to human ears, was clear in its meaning. The woman was not meant to die, instead she had been chosen by the sea for a purpose the whale would not yet disclose. The spectral whale had come to guide her back to the surface, so that she may pursue this destiny.
She found herself, as suddenly as waking from a dream, on the storm tossed shore. In her hand, she had found the fluked sword. As she made her way back to the village, she discovered she was not bothered by the storm, and the gusting wind was always at her back, urging her forward.
Her story was met with silence. All those gathered gaped in both awe and fear; it was unbelievable, though the sword in her hand made it undeniable.
The mayor was first to break the silence, offering an awkward laugh at the tale and conveying relief at the young woman's return. She had returned, surely there was nothing to argue about now.
But the woman's story had shaken the villagers. Who were they to defy the will of the sea? They all relied on the sea for their livelihood, and they revered the sea as their provider. It gave freely to those who were respectful, but would just as easily take from those who did not.
That night saw the mayor removed from his position, and the beginning of a new dynasty of Sea-Lords. No one remembers the young flenser's name, or that of the small village where she was raised, but they would all remember the name of that sword and the family who used it to conquer the Misted Coast.
Lobtail, the blade from the deep, and the Weard Lords who wielded it.
