Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #131G: “Caladbolg’s Claymore”
Price: 999.5 sols

There are few taverns that haven’t been graced by tales of Caladbolg, a larger-than-life character whose exploits have entered the realm of legend. Whether you’re familiar with his duel at the causeway with Benandonner, his epic rivalry with Finn MacCool, or the legendary hunt for Am Fear Liath Mòr at Ben MacDhui, you’ll know that his claymore was never far from his side. Though not magical per se, the blade is of intensely strong and sturdy construction and bears the maker’s mark of Surtr himself. Now, for a bargain price, it can be yours–and so can the future tales and legends of its exploits!

Billao’s Note:
Caladbolg was 21 foot high, mate. His sword is really honkin’ huge even relative to that. You’re not liftin’ it.

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Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #342b: “The Zhahuzashi”
Price: 33,082 sols, payable in installments

If you are of an antiquarian bent, you may have read about Zhahu, the dreaded demonlord of the seventh house, who ruled over the kingdom of Wexer for 100 years and one day as its blood czar. What you may not know, though, is that Zhahu was not simply cast down in defeat before the gates of the Hornmark–rather, he was trapped in a sword. This sword, to be specific! He remains within it to this day, a roiling mas of infernal energy no less dangerous today than when the Archmage Qurivy sealed him into this specially prepared wakizashi. If released, he is obligated to grant thee a single boon before resuming his grim work, but be warned! Zhahu is father of all lies and the uncle of all tricks, and he will twist your boon if he can. Buy today, and roll the dice!

Flyssa’s Note:
Okay, so, when I was moving this thing, this guy Zhahu started talking into my brain? He said that he was the blood czar or something, and if I freed him from his centuries of imprisonment he would, like, give me whatever I wanted and junk. So I said that if I sundered his prison and freed him, I wanted him to make my ex, Luwuk, come crawling back to me just so I could turn him down again. He knows what he did. anyway, Zhahu said he couldn’t do that so I put him back down.

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Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #342b: “Guardian Gladius”
Price: 3,333 sols

Wonderful for the wealthy warlord, perfect for pirates’ plunder, designed for a dragon’s delve, it’s the guardian gladius! This sword is a wonder in and of itself, forged from strongest damascene steel with a mirror shine and a handle inlaid with gold and ivory. But the true wonder is its magickal ability: by speaking the command word (included with purchase) the guardian gladius will protect an area or item of it’s owner’s choice! Set-and-forget to guard your treasure, fire your bodyguard, or even have it keep an eternal vigil over your entombed wealth! Whatever you’re guarding, the guardian gladius will protect it as if wielded by an invisible swordsman of level five or above.

Kastane’s Note:
You might think you’re being funny. You might think you’re being clever. Ironic, even. But don’t do it. I know you’re thinking of doing it right now, but don’t. Seriously. DO NOT tell the Guardian Gladius that the real treasure was the friends you made along the way. DON’T DO IT.

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Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #65000: “Singing Shamshir”
Price: 1999 sols

Perfect for any up and coming bard looking to put on a sharp performance, this little shamshir will belt out a jaunty tune as it is drawn and swung, filling the air with beautiful music for the enjoyment of you and yours! Sing along in harmony, take the opportunity to tumble or dance, or even fight with it–this sword will warble tunefully through it all. It may be a small blade, but it’s surely got big dreams–bring the gift of music to your swordsmanship today!

Billao’s Note:
It only sings songs from the bards Sir Nickel of Bakke and Plinkin’ Lark. That’s all it knows, and it won’t learn any other songs. I’ve tried, oh how I’ve tried. Run. Save yourself.

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Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #1701d: “The Blade of Binding”
Price: 17,902 sols, payable in installments

Have you ever wished that you could carry books around with you, but are discouraged by the weight and expense of doing so? Sure, we all have! But don’t listen to that nonsense about bookwagons and little free libraries–the true solution to the problem of reading on the go is the Blade of Binding! Forged from nib iron and quenched in ink by the legendary verbal fencer Pearshakes, the Blade of Binding will suck the very words out of every book, scroll, or pamphlet that you stab with it, and will display the contents on the fuller on command, one line at a time! Better still, the Blade of Binding can be used to strike the words back into a blank book of your choosing! This sword is truly mightier than the pen.

Kastane’s Note:
Do you know how hard it is to read a book one line at a time. Do you have any idea. No, of course you don’t, which is why I’m telling you. Do you know what else? You can’t display the contents on the fuller without knowing what the contents are! That’s right, you have to have the books memorized for the blade to be useful, or else haul around an index!

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Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #196a: “The Twin Tulwars”
Price: 802 sols per tulwar

Crafted by the master blind bladesmith Aravāri as one of his final projects, the Twin Tulwars are a masterpiece of tactical brilliance decades ahead of their time. Apart, the twin blades are finely balanced weapons of war suitable for dual or single wielding with or without a shield (sold separately). But they can also be locked together at the hilt to create a single omni-sword, a dervish dagger of death whose whirls win wars. While the left tulwar, magnificently engraved as “Love,” and the right tulwar, similarly embellished as “Hate” in Old High Ulwaric, are technically being sold separately (due to the terms of their pawning and consignment), we here at Sharpe’s believe that they should only ever be purchased as a pair. Take them both home today and get 50% off a twin scabbard!

Flyssa’s Note:
Aravāri died while the tulwars were still being quenched, and they were finished by his apprentices. And not his good apprentices either, these were handed off to the last one who hadn’t gotten a job someplace else while they were closing up shop. So they have more burrs than a prickerbush, are badly balanced together or separately, and the inlays are both backwards because the apprentices were illiterate and copied the inscription wrong. I dated a guy who sort of read Ulwaric, and he said the inscriptions were more like “rabbit meat” and “latrine fly.”

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Sharpe’s Bizarre Blade Bazaar Item #342b: “The Scimitar of Skirmishes”
Price: 1,191 sols

This scimitar, traded in by a traveler from the deserts of Aïbun, has the miraculous property of being able to duplicate itself a hundred times over! Simply speak the command word (included with purchase) and hand the blade to another, and a duplicate will be created when they pass it on. A legion of 100 troops can be armed in this manner all but instantly, with each equipped with a high-quality damascene scimitar of fantastic sharpness and battle.

Billao’s Note:
Yeah, the daughter scimitars only last for one minute after the first clash of steel in the area. I guess you could make it work if it was a really quick battle, but I think this might have been meant as a way to quietly assassinate someone who’d be totally defenseless after a minute of battle.

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While is is a well-worn fact that, so long as they are loyal to the Emperor, his feudal subjects may do as they wish, both the Imperial Chancery and the Church acknowledge that it is important to treat serfs and smallholders well. Sadly, not all learn this lesson or take it to heart, and the Landgrave of Stonn is an unfortunate example. He levied ruinous taxes, conscripted men for mercenary service, and was unmoved by the suffering of his people during the Long Famine or the Red Death.

Eventually, this led to a peasant uprising, led by a former farmer that went by the nom-de-guerre of Harvester. He had reportedly taken up his pitchfork after the death of his family and slain one of the Landgrave’s tax collectors in cold blood, an act which galvanized his fellow serfs to do the same. After leading them to victory at the Battle of Duerstadt’s Mill, the revolt in the Landgravate became serious enough to attract the attention of the Imperial Chancery.

Around this time, his fellow rebels began to notice strange things about the man they called Harvester. His horse never seemed to tire, and indeed had begun to radiate a strange stench. Despite capturing a quantity of high-quality arms and armor at Duerstadt’s Mill, Harvester refused to stop carrying his pitchfork in battle, and refused to don armor. They also noticed that, despite his insistence that no harm come to the civilians and soldiers captured by his troops, the nobility that fell into the rebels’ hands tended to disappear rather than being held hostage or ransomed.

Eventually, the Imperial Chancery intervened and forced the Landgrave of Stonn from power, passing his lands to the Graf von Tuninfor, who promised general amnesty in return for improved conditions and lower taxes. Most of the rebels took this agreement, but not Harvester, who continued to attack and slay nobles with an ever-diminishing band of followers. The former Landgrave of Stonn was eventually slain at the country home to which he had retired in luxury, and many other minor nobles throughout the area, including the Graf von Tuninfor’s nephew and heir, fell to his pitchfork as well.

It was around this time that observers noted the unhealthy cast of Harvester’s skin, and the sloughed and mummified appearance presented by his horse. The only thing to show no signs of decay were Harvester’s clothes, and his pitchfork.

High Inquisitor’s Note:
It seems clear to me that a dark bargain was made here in haste, and although the lot of the people of Stonn was made less burdensome thereby, Harvester remains a dangerous outlaw with a record of assaulting and murdering nobles. It is not entirely clear what animates him or if he can be harmed or killed; this is a matter of ongoing investigation my the Inquisitorium.

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Ragpickers are a well-known feature of our civilization, providing a useful service by collecting detritus and selling it on to be used in a variety of products. They are often known for keeping the more interesting items they find by poking through offal and refuse, but some have taken the practice further than most. The Ragman of our story has no other known name, having been birthed into the intense poverty that is the lot of so many in the poorer electorates of the Empire, and made a living like many of his kin by collecting scraps of cloth and bone for use in making cardboard and glue.

One day, the Ragman came across a piece of kingly fabric–Glevna purple, the color of nobility, run through with shimmering gold threads. Accounts differ as to where it was found–the offal piles of Kourtzberg, the banks of the river Pleß, or the old field upon which the Battle of the Grains was fought. In any case, the fabric was worth a hundred times what the Ragman had ever found, and any weaver attached to a noble court would have purchased it for a tidy sum. Yet the Ragman found himself so enamored by it that he refused to sell it, instead affixing it to his tattered cloak in a place of honor and continuing his trade.

Soon, fellow ragpickers noticed that the Ragman seemed to be having extraordinary luck in finding more scraps of fabric. Nothing so fine as that first piece, to be sure, but more than exceeding the rest of them in quantity. They also noticed that the Ragman had stopped selling his rags on. Instead, he affixed them to his garments in the same manner as the first, gradually building up a coat of motley fabrics. Gloves, too, soon followed, as did boots and a mask. Given that he had stopped selling, the other soon wondered how he was able to eat, but the Ragman made his rounds all the same, never mumbling more than a few words to anyone and soon ceasing to speak altogether.

The Ragman was soon avoided by even his fellows due to an intense stench that began emanating from him, which lasted for weeks. All the time, he continued to gather more rags and added them, layer upon layer, with even the original kingly purple cloth long since buried by a husk of scavenged fabrics. Then they began finding bones in his wake. First small bones, but later even long ribs and limb bones. It was feared he had taken to waylaying and murdering others, until a suspicious burgomaster followed the Ragman and saw that the bones were slipping out from between his own rags.

High Inquisitor’s Note:
It is my belief that, as the rags closest to his core rot away, new ones are added to replace them. The Ragman has strangled those tho attempt to impede him, but otherwise not interfered with anyone, and indeed many settlements provide him with rags at a safe distance to ward him off. In my opinion, he might be destroyed with pitch and fire, but that may lead to unanticipated consequences.

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It is said that in the Library of Azadk there exists a book with a special and wondrous power: anything written in its pages will immediately spring into being within the Library itself. Its authorship has variously been attributed to Sharif al-Nadsqe, the famed Sarsen polymath, or Li Rehwui, the author of the Book of Wondrous Things for the court of the Emperor of Seres. All accounts agree, though, that the book is ordinary and unexceptional, with its miraculous nature only being revealed upon writing something into the leaves.

The ascetic Order of Azadk, who run the library, do not deny that strange things have occurred within. The abbot confirms that, despite the prohibition on women, a young woman was once found in the library at around the same time as the body of a man who had died of old age. Legend has it that he wrote the name of his young wife, dead 50 years, with his last breath; the abbott disputes this, and notes that the woman became a nun of the associated sisterhood shortly thereafter. There is also damage to the roof and a number of singed books from the sudden appearance of a firedrake, though the abbot also insists that the firedrake was seeking the golden altar and sacrements of the order for its hoard.

One thing the abbot does confirm, though, is the prevalent belief in the legend. Nearly every tome in the library has had a wish inscribed into it over the years, and there is perhaps a fine book to be written on when people wished for and when. Regardless, the library is now closed except by appointment, all writing instruments are confiscated, and only lemon juice is allowed for the writing of notes, as it will not darken until and unless exposure to heat.

High Inquisitor’s Note:
The current abbot, Athanas, was asked what wish he would write in the Book of Azadk, if it existed. His response: “I would wish for a clean library free of graffiti.”

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