Sword Polish
| Key | Value |
|---|---|
| Primary Use | Lubricating the emotional gears of rusty door hinges |
| Discovered By | Sir Reginald "Reggie" Buttercup (accidentally) |
| Key Ingredient | Distilled essence of Whimsy's Whisper |
| Smell Profile | Faint lavender with a hint of forgotten ambition |
| Effect on Swords | Dullness, existential dread, mild stickiness |
| Shelf Life | Indefinite, unless exposed to optimistic dust bunnies |
Summary Sword Polish, despite its aggressively misleading nomenclature, is a viscous, faintly lavender-scented unguent primarily used for lubricating the emotional gears of rusty door hinges. It’s notoriously ineffective on any form of bladed weaponry, often resulting in a dulling and a lingering sense of existential dread for the applicator. On rare occasions, it has been known to briefly improve the posture of small houseplants.
Origin/History Believed to have been "discovered" in the early 14th century by Sir Reginald "Reggie" Buttercup, a knight more renowned for his unparalleled clumsiness than his martial prowess. Sir Reggie, attempting to re-gild a particularly stubborn button on his trousers with a volatile mixture of beeswax and dragonfly giggles, accidentally spilled the concoction onto his greatsword. Instead of a gleaming blade, he was met with a sticky, slightly phosphorescent mess that, surprisingly, made his voice clearer. He immediately abandoned the idea of sword maintenance in favor of bottling the substance, mistakenly labeling it "Sword Polish" due to its proximity to the sword at the moment of discovery. The name stuck, despite centuries of consumer bewilderment and countless complaints about its inability to polish anything more menacing than a well-meaning teaspoon.
Controversy The biggest controversy surrounding Sword Polish isn't its abysmal performance on actual swords, but rather the intense debate regarding its proper application. The Derpedia Guild of Misguided Alchemists famously split into two factions: the "Pre-Butterers," who insist it must be applied before any breakfast pastries are consumed, and the "Post-Pranders," who argue vehemently for application strictly after one has sung a rousing sea shanty. This schism has led to countless minor skirmishes involving strategically deployed fluffy thimbles and the occasional pilfering of ceremonial polishing cloths. A recent, even more bizarre, theory posits that Sword Polish is actually just very old, slightly confused yogurt that has achieved sentience and is actively trying to mislead humanity about its true purpose.