Snaps haft

It was a hooked blade, not unlike the ceremonial khopesh swords favoured by the erudite pseudo-warrior sons of Magnus the Red. Its haft was more than twice as long as those he was accustomed to wielding. Its edge was chipped and pitted from use against heavy armour, the steel brittle from the onset of the corrosion that comes from being bathed in blood time and time again.

Simply put, it was an ugly, rusted piece of scrap. Lucius could hardly bring himself to call it a weapon at all, and on any other day, in any other circumstance, he would not have insulted his gauntlets by forcing them to feel its weight. But needs must.

Lucius sighed, and spun the weapon expertly in his left hand, rolling the blade’s worn haft between the back of his gauntlet and his palm.

‘Feel honoured, you ugly and discarded thing. With you, for this gawking filth, I shall perform miracles.’

(...)

The iron haft of Lucius’ scavenged sword squealed before snapping in two in his fist.

***

Lucius: The Faultless Blade, III.II