A Blade of Nature

The beauty of it is unmatched.
Forged deep in the Woods of Crownsville, Place of Kings,
And bestowed upon a small shop in Revel Grove.
It became my tool, to use it as I may,
And yet the blade breathes in the cool air,
It roars as I swing it through the air,
But it is not unkind to its opponents.
It has rested by my side
For many a year.
The fate of warrior and gentleman
Have been decided by its strike.
The strength that was imbued to the thing
At its birth continues to amaze me.
And though it has no heartbeat
I can still fell the life inside,
Just waiting to be unleashed upon someone
Foolish enough to challenge its master.
Its kind were once known in such places as Hyperborea,
Far beyond the Thrace, in places where the ancients slumber
In darkness.
The blade has become what no person could,
The faithful companion a true hero needs.
But I am still only mortal…
Oh Great Odin, Lord of the Northern Ice, give me strength!
Reaper of the Grim, guide my blade!
Let the entire world know of the blade
Made of cherry wood which rests atop my mantel.