In the dense and murky, muddy swamps of Slurridjj, there lives a race of near-humans, the humish. They have been untouched by the technologies of their sister-race (man). Not for them is stainless steel, clothes, toys, getting pissed. To their decadent technology-dependant neighbours, they look to live a miserable life. Sweating, walking about in swamp water, living off the bitter-tasting bitterfern and stringy swamplizards and whatever tiny mudfish they can pull out of the water, they are indeed pretty bloody miserable. A lot of them suffer from severe depression, and with the lack of any qualified psychologists (or any medical professionals for that matter) there are sadly a lot of suicides.
To describe them would be to describe a slightly shorter, wiry-version of man (except green skinned). They have webbed feet and long fingers, partially webbed themselves which handily can act as rudimentary fishing nets. Now I know what you’re thinking right now- that the woman are squat, fat, snub-nosed hairy and fat. Well in fact you are dead wrong. They are amazing. They’re tall, long legged, and their webbing is much less prominent than that of the males. Massive of breast, but pert even in the absence of bra, they have for aeons been the desired trophy of the world of men. Much is risked to ensnare them, but when they do they can fetch a small fortune in the slave-markets of nearby Kearressh’h. When I first made up this tale, it brought a tear to my eye as I thought of these poor beautiful women being sold into slavery for some fat sweaty slave owner to paw and grunt over. But then I worked out it was ok because actually due to self-esteem issues based on their appearance, the male humish suffer from a remarkably low sex-drive and erectile dysfunction. As a result, the females are bang up for it. Of course, this leads to intense jealousy, as the under-performing men see these handsome adventurers invade their land and make off (and out ;-p) with their women. Something needed to be done. But what? Without steel or inventions, how could they stand up to these modern invaders? Luckily the answer presented it in the very swamps they worship/loathe.
The Plant-sword is a peculiar sword, in that it’s not really a sword at all. It is a plant. Coincidentally however it is almost the exact dimensions of a human sword. It has a long “blade”, two crossguard/leaves, and a grip-sized trunk. The trunk (handle) is a lightweight but sturdy wood. It narrows in the middle, making it a dawdle for the long-fingered humish males to wrap their hand around. You can see a little hole in the trunk: this is the nesting place of a sword-faeiery. Each Plantsword has one of these, and they cannot be uprooted until the faeiery has been removed. Intrinsically linked, both plant and faeiery thrive off each other, with the faeiery brining droplets of valuable clean water for the plant, and the plant giving off nectar which the faeiery sucks up. They squeak when they are popped.
The leaves are a lot tougher than normal leaves, easily capable of fending off blows from incoming steel swords (or magic sometimes), but alas they are not steel, and will eventually be chipped away to nothing. In winter they shed them, which makes this the ideal time for Man to invade.
The blade itself is where the real majestic beauty of this sword lives. I can almost hear the cynics snort into their frappuccino’s “look at it, it’s not even sharp!”. Well, idiots, it doesn’t NEED to be sharp. The blade itself is the plants anther! And it does something better than cut, it gives off a highly toxic poison. Wherever it touches living tissue, the poison pollens spray out and dig deep into the flesh, causing it so swell to 9 times its usual size, then burst, pouring foul smelling ooze out of all the pores. The ooze attracts faeiery-lings, which feed off the ooze, thus completing the circle. Nature at it’s very best. If the humans arrive armoured, then their luck is still out, as it can burn through armour which then implodes inwards causing severe internal injuries.
In a way it’s the biggest question of all isn’t it? Nature vs technology. Man V Fishman. shaggers vs sexually-repressed, depressive lesser men. Should we as Men question whether all these… things, these toys, gadgets, houses an just junk we gather around us, make us happy? Would we be genuinely upset if they all disappeared and we had to live in a swamp? Well, on this evidence, fuck no. Fuck that.