Long ago, when even the now oldest mountains were only juvenile little humps, on the face of the earth, right in the middle of everything that was known, towered a threatening black castle. From behind the high walls a ruthless dwarven warlord ruled over the land, forcing the populace from all around to work and toil in his mines for day and night, ever digging, ever searching for gems and riches in the depths, for his thirst for treasure was even greater than his ruthlessness. An illness of dwarvenkind. One day, while he was hunting in the woods with his escort, he saw a beautiful fawn grazing in the middle of a glade. The fawn noticed him and with a swift jump disappeared into the wilderness. The warlord wasn't sluggish either, and with his mounted escort, pursued the tracks till he found the young creature and with him the whole herd. Took the fawn into the crosshair of his musket and without a further though squeezed the trigger. - BAAAMMMM!!!! -- thundered the gun, with an unnatural burst. since the barrel got stuffed with a sizable stone, launched from far away and the cartridge detonated within. The pellets blasted the gun to smithereens and took one of the dwarf's eyes with them. A piercing shriek echoed throughout the woods, and a painful rage engulfed the Lord. The escort captured the slinger, a halfling herdsman. He reached for his war-knife in his wrath, but his greed prevailed. The lad was only sparred to be tossed into the mines as punishment. Horrible days passed in the pits. His slim physique buckled under the heavy dust sacks, quickly turning him into a grotesque reminder of what he was once, a proud child of the woods. Day and night goes hand in hand, the work down under sees no end. Tiny boy there rots away, there's no path to lead away. Death awaits here everyone, none escapes its gripping claw. Suddenly a loud annoying noise disturbed the lord in his dreams. An old man covered in rags stood in front of the gates, banging them with both his stony fists. - Let the boy go! Take me instead! - roared the old man. The guards laughed at him and so did the Lord. - What could I use a senile deadwood, like yourself, for? - came the rumbling voice from the tower's window. And with a long, mocking laughter slammed the window panes shut. But the old man didn't leave. He stood there in front of the gates, in scorching sunshine, in soaking rain and in freezing blizzard, keeping the castle under siege with his curses and begging. The days turned into weeks and the dwarven lord finally had enough. He sent two of his most blackguardly mercenaries under the cover of the night and had the greybeard slain. But when the sage took his last breath and faded away from this world, he appeared at once in the Lord's dreams, rushing him into madness, haunting him for eternity. It is 46.5 cm long, The blade is 31 cm long, 6.5 cm wide at its maximum and 6 mm thick. Forged of L6, 5160 and 1.2516 with around 200 layers, presenting my new experimental pattern The handle is carved oak and iron. The sheath is made of 4 mm thick cow hide.