The Sword Held By Three

This is a short story I wrote while I was visiting my girlfriend's fathers. This story has no moral to it. Its just a good legend I thought up.

Long ago in a kingdom of great strength a powerful king ruled with great honor.  He sought out to give his greatest of generals a blade beyond the normal limits.  He traveled far and wide alone for several months.

He found a powerful forge master who knew the arts of the holy ones.  The king asked him if he would forge a sword worthy of a god for his ever sacrificing general.  The strange forge master told him that such a blade would not bring blessings but torment and undoing all good works.  The king would not hear it.  He knew his general would only use it for honorable means.

So the master forged the kings desired weapon.  It was powerful and strong yet light and easy to handle.  Perfectly balanced was the blade with the hilt.  Perfection in the most perfect ways.  However the king saw no signs of the forge master using the age old arts he knew.

The king asked him if he would add the runes of holy ones onto its blade so that it too may be design like the angels in the worlds up high.  So the forge master obliged.

The blade grew cold to the touch.  It became unpleasing.  However it was strong and powerful like no other sword in the land which this great king ruled.  He then took the sword and offered little to nothing to the forge master.

The blade was given to the great general.  An invading army of awesome numbers were banging at the gates for attack.  The king order his great general to battle with only his legions of soldiers at his command.  The general slaughtered hundreds of enemy soldiers by his own hands.  By nightfall by the name of his king... all the soldiers were fallen and passed onto celestial realms.

Many years past and then his son took the sword as his own.  Killing his father with his very own prize.  A rebellion broke out against the generals son.  However the king defended him and so did the son.  Within days he had captured every one that had spoken out against him.  He carried out all their death sentences with that blade.

The blade drank of much blood.  It grew a desire of its own one could say.  On the battle field an invading army attacked the young general and come to steal the death prize he had obtained through his foul ways.  An arrow shot threw his neck and he fell to the ground.  One of the enemy soldiers picked up the sword.

A month later the lives of ten thousand women men and children were massacred.  And the king who ordered the blades creation watched as his great nation fell to ruins.  And on the sixth day he laid on the floor decapitated by that very sword.