Got me me first sword when I was twenty. Me da’s da was off on a hiking trip with me uncle. Plan was to reach the peak of every mountain in the states of Washington and Oregon. Meant to be a long hiking trip, you see. Anyway, they was making their way up one of them big old mountains up over there, Mount Hood or a Butte or maybe was Mount St. Helens afore the boom in ‘80. I don’t much remember the particulars of the thing. But they were going up the mountain, prolly about halfways or a three-quarters lengthwise up, ready to crest the top within the weekend, yeah?
Story as me da’s da tells it they was takin’ a minute on a flat spot, all resting like, when they heard a jangling. They found out that the jangling was a-coming from up the mountain side so they, you know, they peaked out from their little ledge to see. There he was. Bird Skull.
Now, his name wasn’t no Bird Skull, probably not. But, he was wearing a bird skull, and based on me uncle’s description, colorful horn all sticking out the top, I would personally be of the persuasion that they was wearing the horn of a rhinoceros hornbill. Now. What a man in a long flowing black coat, with all sorts of knickknacks and Christmas-in-July jingle bells attached to his clothing by paperclips, wearing the skull of a rhinoceros hornbill, in the middle of October, is doing, or thinking, by stomping up the side of Mount Hood or a Butte or maybe Mount St. Helens afore the boom in ‘80, with no climbing gear, hefting a Scottish broadsword covered in Gaelic runes, well, that’s beyond me. I don’t know that particular man’s life. But there he was, walking right up the side of the mountain.
He walks right up to me da’s da and he says, “You will not-” Also, actually, I should say, the rhinoceros hornbill does not have a skull big enough for no wearing, so that means that either this individual had a custom hat made, which, God’s hand to him, live his life however he wants. Or, this man found and hunted a very, very large rhinoceros hornbill.
Anyway, where was I? So he says, “You will not need this blade, but your descendent shall.” And he plants that Scottish broadsword right into the snow in front of me da’s da and me uncle. Then walks right back down the mountain. Now, we ain’t a superstition family or nothing, but we know an omen when it stares us in the face and says “you will not need this blade, but your descendent shall,” so me da’s da packs the sword into his pack and they finish their hiking trip. For me twentieth birthday, me da’s da told me this story and gave me me first sword.
Anyway, I was telling the story about me lawyer. So, there was a break in a few years ago at me apartment in Greenwich Village, and you pronounce the dubbya in Greenwich, alright, remember that. Anyway, two deranged individuals broke into me home and made off with several of me possessions, primarily several of the swords that I keep in the collection at home. Well, one of them stole the swords, the other one tried to take the TV and Nintendo Wii. And, while I’m willing to lose me source of gaming entertainment, as they are more replaceable than me blades, I was only able to cut in twain the one with me Nintendo. So, there I was with two halves of a dead body in me apartment and all me carefully collected blades stolen. I took me licks and accepted defeat for a lack of training and preparation.
But, a few weeks later, I was wondering near a pawn shop around Fordham Road, and I saw me swords in the window display. So I walked into the shop and explained the situation to the woman at the register, but she would not return me blades to me. So I unsheathed the iron age Xiphos I carry around with me when I go for me long walks, it was a condition when I dug the blade out of its sandy outcropping in the tomb of Dindymene that I need to wear it on me left hip when I engage in light exercise.
She remained unimpressed, even after I cut the arm off the antique metal chair in the corner. So I took her to court to regain me property.
That’s how I met Mr. Diddie. I was in me apartment, looking for a lawyer when I heard a scurrying around me heating duct. I assumed that Trendock was back, so I readied me longsword. But, I heard a voice calling out to me through the shaft.
“Hey, buddy, I heard you’re looking for a lawyer.”
I assured him I was.
”Mr. Diddie’s the name. I’m the lawyer you need.”
And if you can’t trust lawyers in your active heating unit in December? Who can you trust, honestly? So he advised me to tell the court I would be representing meself. I did so, as apparent. He whispered down to me from the ceiling vent units the things I should be saying to the Judge and Jury. I did present me case with many respectabilities, and, yes, I did reclaim the objects stolen from me. And yes, I did track down that cowardly son-of-a-muffin who stole me blades and I did deliver swift justice.
I reckon that was probably a little after the 2003 blackout when I first met Mr. Diddie. He insisted that this case was pro bono, which I found out later meant it was free, which I found mighty acceptable. I’ve been in touch with Mr. Diddie again recently, on account that that earthquake from 2017 did damage me building’s fire escape and I do fear for me safety in the event of a fiery reckoning upon me old brick and mortar home. Though, if you’re of the mind to think I had communicated with Mr. Diddie between the blackout and the earthquake, you are incorrect. He insists that he wasn’t even in the country in the intervening years.
So anyway that’s me lawyer.
Oh, actually, maybe it was me da’s da’s da, what got me me first blade.