“Fuck! Who the fuck makes these things? Someone is playing a stupid fucking joke.”

I complained fiercely as I dragged my new six and a half foot sword off of the weapon rack. The tip of the blade dug into the dirt, carving a canyon through the floor of the barracks to the yard as I dragged its massive weight behind me. I could barely hold the ridiculously outsized instrument. This was stupid. I didn't even want to be a goddamn warrior. Give me a scroll. I'll carry a giant scroll all day. No problem. I'll even read it. Maybe I can trade this ship anchor to someone for a giant scroll. Pate probably has one.

As I seriously contemplated how deep a hole I would have to dig to bury this blade satisfactorily, something nagged at my vision. There was a flashing to my left, pulling my thoughts from my fantasy of hot, steel melting fire pits back to the reality of my surroundings. A few yards away my handsome and infuriatingly talented friend Ley was brandishing a shining four foot sword. A very light looking four foot sword.
“No! No, no, no. Why does he get that one!?” I exclaim to no one really but myself. “Ley, where did you get that? I want that one. Tell you what, I'll trade you. Think of the damage you could do with this guy”. I crouched and dislodged my sword's tip from the dirt and into the air, using as much leverage as I could manage on the two handed hilt to keep it upright, still crouching with the pommel on my knee. I raised my eyebrows to Ley. “Huh? Right?”

Just then a burly, war-scarred instructor-type walked across my front and only very slightly pushed to tip of my blade and sent it rocketing back to the earth, and me along with it.
“That's your sword, Taren. And Ley keeps his. No trades.” 
The cause of my embarrassment was the son of our small army's general. He was apparently an excellent, savagely skilled fighter and unfortunately intelligent enough to make me feel stupid as well as weak. He carried a short, one handed sword on his belt.
“You get that sword because you have never held one in your life. Ley at least knows and respects the blade. If you can pick that up and give me a good solid swing, I may be able to find one for you a few inches shorter”
“Ha! A few inches! Great! Maybe I can at least nick our enemy's shin then before I'm decapitated or disemboweled or stabbed through the heart or hacked to pieces or flayed or trampled or have my throat cut or legs sliced off.”
I began to sweat as I was forced to contemplate my own demise in a war I knew was coming all along, knew that I would have to participate in but had hoped that I could escape through some miracle of wit. Kelan, the general's son, did not think my outburst was as clever or amusing as I had, and was staring at me heavily. I realized then that he was not joking about the meager reduction of my sword length.
“Wait, so really, If I can swing this thing at you, you'll get me a smaller one?”
“I'll get you a smaller one”
“What if I swing it at you twice? Or three times?”
“Even smaller.”
“Okay. Okay okay. I can do that.”

I started at Kelan with a run for some momentum, pulling the sword through the dirt and mud behind me, then wrenched my shoulder forward and with a shout lifted the glinting steal weapon from its cozy, cowardly place on the ground and threw it's edge towards my target. The tip of the sword met the ground again a few inches from where it had left.
“Unbelievable” I panted.
“Teran, the more you use a blade, the more you know how the fight works, the less you will need the sword itself.” Kelan lectured. “If you swing that blade just right and I don't defend, you could kill me. But if you were to take this sword I have and try the same thing, the damage would be far less and the goal more difficult to accomplish. If you train hard enough you may not need a sword at all. But for now let's at least get you a smaller weapon.”

Months have passed and the winter has come. In my training I've graduated to a five and a half foot sword. This is not the progress I had hoped for or even realistically expected. Even Lay was now fighting only with a dagger. This was insane. I'm running away. That's it. I'm trashing this stupid sword and running away. I can't handle a war or a battle or even a skirmish with some local hostiles.
My belongings packed and my lance of a sword strapped to my back I started out into the wilderness, reserved to live the life of a giant sword wielding fugitive and coward. As the hours passed and as I walked farther from my village, I started to realize what a mistake I had made. Maybe I could have at least become skilled enough to get a manageable weapon. But now I'm a real legitimate coward, and every step I take I loath myself more. I pull my sword from its scabbard and slam it into the nearest tree. And then again. And again and again. I'm so stupid and worthless and why couldn't I have just traded a sword for a goddamn scroll. I could have just walked the other way and thrown in into the river but no, I tried and failed and now here I am in the freezing cold with this freezing sword and...
As I slammed the sword into the tree again the blade which had become brittle from the cold snapped and flew from the hilt into the drifted snow. Fuck. Now I have zero sword and I'm going to freeze and die without even a weapon to protect me from the wolves.
I look around me, wondering where to go or what to do now, the useless sword hilt still in my hands. And then from the trees a hulking mountain of a man is making his way towards me. Great, an outlaw. A wandering murderer. A rogue. I am now seriously regretting my tantrum. He reaches to his side and from his scabbard pulls his sword. Or rather, simply the hilt of a sword. His eyes catch my hand and and he grins.
“Finally, an opponent worthy of a real fight.”