ENTRY 016: A VALIANT EFFORT

Dear Diary,

There’s something about a signature that gets people excited. It doesn’t matter if it’s on a weapon, a book, or a tankard of questionable cleanliness—slap the name of someone famous on it, and suddenly it’s priceless.

Or so the seller told me when he walked into my shop this morning, cradling a battered old sword like it was made of gold.

“An authentic signature of Valric the Valiant,” he said, presenting the blade with a theatrical flourish. I squinted at the inscription etched along the hilt. Sure enough, it bore the name in flowing script: Valrick the Valiant.

Valric was a well-known hero, and if this sword was legitimate, collectors would pay a small fortune for it. I was just about to make an offer (fifteen gold, no less!) when Korgath, who had been quietly reorganizing shields, lumbered over.

“That’s fake,” he grunted, pointing a thick finger at the hilt.

"What, the sword?" I asked. As I said, it didn't matter which item bore the name of a celebrity. The signature alone could transform even a battered old sword into a priceless relic.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Not the sword. The signature."

The seller bristled. “How dare you! It’s clearly Valric’s signature!”

Korgath leaned closer, squinting at the inscription. “It’s spelled wrong. Valric’s name doesn’t have a ‘k.’”

I wanted to slap myself. Of course! The signature spelled VALRICK.

The seller’s face turned a shade redder than a dragon’s scales. “It’s… an old spelling,” he stammered, clearly floundering. He didn’t stick around to argue. He grabbed the sword and ran away.

I thought that was the end of it—until the next day, when a completely different man strolled into the shop. By “completely different,” I mean he was wearing a floppy hat and an oversized cloak that didn’t quite disguise the fact that he was the exact same guy from yesterday.

“I have another rare artifact for you,” he said, his voice suspiciously deeper than before. This time, he produced a shield. Etched into the edge, in bold, elegant script, was the name Valric the Valiant.

Spelled correctly, no less! We were making some progress, at least.

“An incredible piece,” the seller continued, clearly trying to sound convincing.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Look,” I said, “I appreciate the effort you’ve put into this whole… production, but I’m not buying it.”

The seller tried to protest, but my glare and Korgath’s looming presence silenced him. He slunk out of the shop, leaving the shield behind in his rush.

I now have a shield with a fake signature on it sitting in the backroom. I guess that’s what they call a consolation prize—though in this case, I think it’s the seller who needs consoling. Still, it might be worth something to a fan of terrible forgery attempts.

Yours in profit,

Garren