Dwarven Two-Handed Sword

The King's Share

Enough Dürn for three swords.The dwarven two-handed sword gathers into a single blade enough to forge three: denser and fuller than its human cousin, it splits where the other cuts, and breaks what it cannot sever. What it costs: it forgives distance poorly, and it drinks so much rock-iron that few dwarves will ever carry one.
Such a blade is less a weapon than a clan's decision: it is forged for a name far more than for a dwarf. The smith strikes his workshop mark into it, the mark of the alloy, and a rune along the fuller that is reddened anew each winter. Full and dense, weighted toward the point like everything a dwarf wields, it falls of its own weight once swung. It is passed on oiled, never bare, and each bearer returns it with the edge he received.
Among dwarves, such a weapon is earned and lent. Most often it sleeps in the clan hall, drawn for a single chosen bearer when the mountain is threatened, then returned. It carries the names of all who held it, graven in a line down the tang, and with them a debt: to return it notched from battle is an honor; to lose it, a fault that follows the clan three generations long. In the stone corridors where no one swings a long blade freely, it is its density that rules. Whoever raises it lifts a whole lineage with it, and the weight of all the Dürn it took to pour.
Here lies the whole nature of this weapon: the human sword speaks, the dwarven sword weighs, and its weight settles the matter.