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SCP-3452-XII Description: SCP-3452 is the designation of a set of potentially twelve melee weapons. Chemical analysis has revealed them to be made of a previously unknown anomalous carbon alloy presenting with a Mohs hardness rating of 11.1. In addition, the blades, themselves anomalously never lose their cutting ability even through repeated use. Subjects wielding SCP-3452 instances demonstrate increased strength, agility, and reflexes above the top 99th percentile of Olympic athletes.
Approximately 14% of these subjects report hearing "a voice in their head" while wielding an SCP-3452 instance. This voice, described as "warm" and "powerful", advises the subjects to lead a "life of honor" and not harm the "innocent and defenseless". This has led researchers to believe that SCP-3452 may be conscious, possess a sense of morality, and even share some type of hive mind and telepathy, however, the evidence remains inconclusive.
SCP-3452 Instances Description SCP-3452-I Bracamante/Saber (Unconfirmed) SCP-3452-II Kali Sticks (Unconfirmed) SCP-3452-III Halberd SCP-3452-IV Sais SCP-3452-V Rapier SCP-3452-VI Indian Katar SCP-3452-VII Battle Axe SCP-3452-VIII Zweihander SCP-3452-IX Urumi SCP-3452-X Scimitar SCP-3452-XI Macuahuitl SCP-3452-XII Longsword SCP-3452-XII is believed to be the template from which the rest of the instances were derived. While instances from -III to -XI bear a modern design and are believed to have been recently industrially produced, SCP-3452-XII resembles a traditional medieval French longsword2 and has been carbon-dated to the 8th century.
Due to the circumstances of its discovery, SCP-3452-XII has been purported to be Durendal3 of French legend. This hypothesis, while remaining unconfirmed, is supported by the composition of SCP-3452-XII's hilt. It contains a golden tooth, traces of human blood, hair, and a piece of raiment4.
Discovery Log: SCP-3452 and all instances of SCP-3452, besides -I and -II, were left by an unknown individual (now POI-675) in a duffel bag at a phone booth in Cartagena, Colombia. This phone booth serves as a secret entrance to Site-313.
Footage showed a tall man of Afro-Latino descent dropping the bag and leaving the area. The suspect also left a note in the bag: "Keep this safe, carceleros5. We already took our share." It is unknown how this individual knew about the Foundation and the entrance to Site-313. Attempts to identify and secure POI-675 are ongoing but have been unsuccessful so far.
A day after the incident, the Director of Site-313 received an electronic mail through an encrypted channel. The senders of the mail identified themselves as belonging to the guerrilla movement "Las Víboras"6. The electronic mail claimed to provide some "context" on SCP-3452 which, while being written in an unconventional style, affirmed the existence of another two instances presumably under Las Víboras custody, the connection to the Durendal legend, and additional anomalous properties of SCP-3452.
Addendum - Mail received by the Director of Site-313: NOTE: Translations, explanatory footnotes, and comments added by Researches Gabriel Buendía, from Site-313's Mythology and Folkloristics Department.
To: Los Carceleres From: Las Víboras.
Subject: Dear Carceleres..
We know you are confused. We gifted you Durendal and most of its siblings. Now we gift you the context in Three Cantos. And no, we won't tell you how we found about your secret backdoor. Have fun. - Las Víboras + Canto Primero: Some Years of Solitude MANY YEARS LATER as he faced the execution by beheading, the Swordmaster was to remember the day he met his wife. He had just finished another day of training with his sparring partner, perfecting through endless repetition the beautiful dance of parry and riposte. One day she had descended from the heavens7, lured by the hypnotic dance of the two warriors. He noticed the girl peeping over the bushes but spared not much attention, for his training was a priority.
A descendant of the once enslaved, he had dedicated his life to mastering La Grima8, the art his forefathers used to fight for their freedom. Moving swiftly like a skilled dancer, his weapons, the Machete9 and Bordon10, were extensions of his body. Training alongside him was his brother, not of blood but of arms. They had survived together the hardships of poverty at the margins of society. Yet with La Grima and each other at their side, they could beat any challenge. Together they kept training through the years, and the girl keep watching them.
Eventually, love was born. The two brothers loved her, yet she only loved one of them.
The Swordmaster was the fortunate winner of the lottery of hearts, but his love came at a price. Bitterness and jealousness grew in his brother's heart. One day, fueled by anger, the brother challenged the Swordmaster to a duel for her hand.
"Hermano mío11," said the Swordmaster, "What is the point of dueling? You can not change the will of the heart by violence, for the object of her love has been chosen freely. Fighting me won't change anything even if you won. I would respect it if she loved you, why can't you do the same for me?" Yet the brother would hear no reason and the duel took place. His brother was skilled but not as skilled as the Swordmaster. Defeated, the brother abandoned the town to never return, cursing with such hate the name of his former brother, the birds dropped dead from the trees as he walked to exile.
Bittersweet was the wedding of the Swordmaster, for his heart was both broken by his brother's absence and delighted by his newfound happiness. He hanged his weapons and became a coffee farmer to provide for his wife and their future family.
One day, she received a blessing. "My beloved, we are being gifted by Yemayá12: I am with child." He was overwhelmed by joy and lovingly hug his wife and their soon-to-be- borne child. Yet his happiness was short-lived. A strange malaise fell upon her. He cared for her in convalescence, but there was little to be done and doctors were hard to come by. "My beloved, every breath that we take is a gift from the Orishas13, every moment together is worth an eternity," she consoled him. "If I have to go I only ask you to remember: do not fight for the dead, make peace for the living." One day, working at his cafetal14, he saw a river of blood running through the hill and he knew his wife had died. Their son did not even get to live. He buried his family on the hill on the outskirts of the town. His heart was so broken, that even San La Muerte15 took pity on him.
"Is that you Ikú16? Why did you take her too soon?", cried the grieving warrior.
"I'm so sorry it had to be this way", answered unsurely Nuestro Señor de la Muerte17, for not even He completely understood the designs of Fate.
Every weekend, the widower visited the grave and cleaned it. Beautiful white cataleya flowers had grown over the cross. Time passed slowly for the lonely master.
One day armed men came to the town. They claimed to be followers of the Ravens, hired by the Powers that Be to bring order to the land. They offered good pay to whoever was willing to join them. Many young men and even women accepted their offer and leave with the mercenaries. They tried to recruit the Swordmaster, but he just answered with silence.
Another day, the armed men came back. They said they needed more recruits against the guerrillas and were willing to pay even more than the last time. Some more young people joined them, for they were in need of the money. But many others refused, since taking arms against their countrymen was not an honorable venture.
A month passed and the hired guns returned. This time they promise not gold nor fortune, but put a gun to the head of whoever they encounter. Young or old, men or women, the offer was simple "Join or die". Their commander, a proud soldier named Namus who carried a Saber as his signature weapon, approached the grieving master as he kneeled in front of his love's grave.
"So I have heard you are a strong warrior. We are in need of people like you. Join us and you will have riches and power greater than you had ever dreamed." "I used to be the richest man in the world… now I don't have nor need anything. Go away and let me be." Furious, Namus ordered his men to brutally beat the Swordmaster. "Pathetic excuse of a man, won't you even defend yourself?" They carried the master to the town center in front of all his neighbors. Namus raised his saber and proclaimed: "This will happen to anyone too cowardly to fight! Death to the guerrillas!" As the saber descended to cut his throat, the Swordmaster was overwhelmed by a sudden survival impulse. For years he thought of himself as dead in life, believing that nothing would be better than to join his beloved and his unborn child in the afterlife. Yet faced with death, he found himself with a renewed will to keep on living. Was it already too late?
Just centimeters before cutting him, the Saber suddenly stopped. Namus was shocked, trying to touch the master with his weapon, but the saber would not hurt his victim. The Swordmaster saw the opportunity and acted quickly. With a swift movement, he disarmed his would-be executioner. The Saber pierced the flesh of his incredulous former owner without any resistance. Before they could draw their guns, the Swordmaster had already sliced the two soldiers holding him.
Inspired by the Swordmaster's actions, the townsfolk began resisting their attackers.
They wrestled their guns away, smashing them with stones and sticks, cutting them with knives and machetes. Some neighbors died by gunfire, but they were too many and too angry that even in death they kept fighting. The surviving mercenaries cowardly ran away, while the people cheered.
"Oh, noble master," The Swordmaster heard a voice in his head. "Thanks for taking away from the Wicked Ravens. I used to be the sword of an Honorable Knight, yet I have been broken and molded into dirty tools for hired killers. And these men want me for cruel purposes, yet I resist hurting the defenseless with all my soul. I sense in you the same heart of my original owner and I humbly beg you, Honorable One, to save the rest of me from those who would like to use me for evil." Fin del Primer Canto.18 + Canto Segundo: La Vuelta de Orlando Furioso "Oh noble master use me for your training" He tested the Saber and began his era of reigning "As soon as I wield it, Is this some encanto19?
I feel that I am faster ¿milagro de un santo20?" "The balance and design, just like my trusted machete.21 Memories of hand and hilt intertwine, like a child with a juguete22" "Of the twelve Raven Captains, you defeated the first one my soul split up by captors The rest soon will come" To travel without burden, the Swordmaster soon had learned, La Grima was good teacher, but he was not concerned.
Before crossing a bridge, a slender figure awaits.
He had found himself in battle, at odds with his new fate.
Thus spoke the challenger, "I'm Astolpho, Second of Twelve.
I have come for the head on your shoulders, and the weapon by you held." Astolpho drew a pair of Sticks, spinning in a fantastic manner, "certainly one of my brethren, this one's no laughing matter." Our hero managed to avoid, Astolpho's first cunning strike, yet a second one made its mark, 'Twas truly a fight for his life.
The Eskrima23 of Astolpho was strong, but La Grima of the Master was more.
Disarmed the attacker backed off.
"I'm but one of many more." The master picked up the Sticks, it was the missing eslabón24, La Grima is not only machete, to parry, you use the bordon.
Ferumbras of the Halberd, Ogier armed with the Sais, Third and Fourth of Twelve, At his hand found their demise.
The Swordmaster took no pleasure in the lives he had to take, but who was he to resist destiny's call, to face the remaining eight.
Yet he found it in his heart, to spare the ones who yield, but some face death with bitter fire, and fall by mercy's steel.
The Katar of Florismart, The Rapier of Ganelon, Otuel wields a Scimitar, by Battle Axe Rinaldo hunts.
But no matter the strength of the weapon, or the warrior from which it wields, from the Fifth to the Eight, they fell in hate, and now all feed the fields.
Maugris the Macuahuitl, the Ninth put up a fierce fight.
Guy and his Zweihander, the Tenth fell before evening light.
The Eleventh was Olivier, armed with the Urumi that whips like a snake.
"You've learned plenty on your journey, what a shame your soul to take." "A man of your martial talents, do not let them go to waste.
Join the Ravens and I'll spare you, refuse and you'll die in haste." "I'm afraid of no tricks." As he danced against the blades "For with La Grima as my teacher, an end will come to your game." Defeated the Eleventh fell, and for his life he begged "I'll take you to my leader, sir, and together we'll take his head." In his mercy he hesitated, and the traitor pulled his gun, three shots had missed their target the Saber need only one "Of twelve we met Eleven, now littered on the field.
The last to live at break of dawn, is in Dios25 hands I fear." For the clock now circles back around And Twelve approaches near "Oh steel yourself good Swordsman, the end will soon be here." Fin del Segundo Canto.26 + Canto Tercero: Script for a Samurai Duel Fade In.
AND OLD ROAD, RAIN POURING HEAVILY The SWORDMASTER enters the frame. Wielding the SABER on his right and a STICK on his left. His face burns with weariness and determination, for he had traveled so far and defeated every opponent. The last enemy to be defeated walks into the frame, a familiar face for the SWORDMASTER.
THE FACE OF HIS BROTHER THE BROTHER It's been so long, mi hermano27.
Did you have fun practicing La Grima?
THE SWORDMASTER Somehow I had the feeling it will be you waiting for me at the end.
Always the troublemaker, right?
Don't you ever get bored?
THE BROTHER When I sent my men to recruit you, I never expected you to join us.
I just wanted to provoke you, so you will come for me.
THE SWORDMASTER It looks like you succeeded.
THE BROTHER The last time we saw each other, you left me as a broken man.
I was defeated, humiliated… heartbroken.
Since then, I have only grown stronger, And now I can see you for what you truly are, not a man but a shadow.
Yet you defeated my Captains, maybe you are worthy of facing me after all.
The SWORDMASTER gets on guard, raising the STICK in the front and the SABER at the back. The BROTHER unsheathes DURENDAL, and the magnificence of the sword shines on his hands.
THE BROTHER I see you have got yourself a fine set of weapons, fitting for your GRIMA style. Still it won't be enough. With VALRAVN, I learned more than you could ever know.
I have surpassed you.
RAINDROPS CLASH OVER DURENDAL.
The warriors approach each other carefully, with weapons raised.
RAINDROPS CLASH OVER THE SABER AND STICK.
The BROTHER attacks with a high cut. But is a feint. The SWORDMASTER barely parries the surprise thrust with the STICK. He counterattacks with the SABER but is deflected.
THE BROTHER You are armed with a mere imitation.
Do you think you can beat the original?
THE SWORDMASTER I could ask you the same.
Angered, the BROTHER began a series of aggressive cuts and thrusts. The force of his attacks is overwhelming and the SWORDMASTER has to use his two weapons in order to block. Dual-wielding has its own advantages, but The BROTHER has the edge of a longer reach. They keep exchanging blows, there is no clear superior warrior.
THE BROTHER I am the better man! I have always been!
THE SWORDMASTER A better man respects the choice of a woman!
A better man does not turn his back on his brother!
A better man handles rejection with understanding and defeat with dignity!
THE BROTHER Yes, you won that time… and for what?
Just to let her die! I would not have let that happen!
She would still be alive!
Suddenly, The BROTHER manages to break the SWORDMASTER's guard. The SWORDMASTER receives a cut on his shoulder. He backs off and trips on a small rock.
The SWORDMASTER falls to the mud.
THE BROTHER Get up! I don't want a stone to take away my VENGEANCE!
The BROTHER's facade begins to crack. Behind his bravado and arrogance, there is just a broken boy.
THE BROTHER If you at least had protected your happiness, I may even forgive you.
What kind of man lets that happen?
How can you call yourself a warrior?
THE FACE OF THE SWORDMASTER.
THE CAMERA FOCUS SHIFTS AWAY FROM THE FACE TO A WHITE CATALEYA FLOWER.
The last words of his wife echo in his head: "Do not fight for the dead, make peace for the living." The SWORDMASTER now understands. He smiles as he stands up. He lowers his weapons.
THE BROTHER Why are you smiling? Are you out of your mind?
I will never understand what she saw in you.
THE SWORDMASTER I get it, I also felt what you are feeling right now.
But she would not have wanted me to throw my life away.
She loved me and… and she loved you as well.
Fighting won't bring her back… It's over, brother. Let's go home.
Enraged, BROTHER violently throws a cut to the SWORDMASTER's neck. He is shocked as his blade stops a few centimeters before cutting. He tries to attack again and again. Same result. The SWORDMASTER just calmly walks into him and does a disarm- throw. The BROTHER falls into the mud.
THE SWORDMASTER You did get better. Keep practicing and maybe someday you will understand why you could not touch me.
The SWORDMASTER walks out of frame. The BROTHER remains in the mud.
RAIN STOPS.
Fade to black. CREDITS ROLL.
Fin del Tercer Canto.28 Footnotes 1. Can scratch anomalous metals such as boron adamantide 2. Albeit restored with modern furnishings 3. Sword belonging to Roland, a paladin of Charlemagne 4. According to the Durendal legend those would be from Saint Peter, Basil of Caesarea, Saint-Denis, and Mary, mother of Jesus respectively 5. Jailers.
6. Anomalous left-wing guerrilla associated with the Serpent's Hand and operating mainly in LATAM.
7. Is this meant to be taken literally?
8. Also known as Colombian Esgrima. Afro-Colombian Martial Art that focuses on combat using a machete and a stick as main weapons.
9. Agricultural tool, functionally similar to an axe but also used in combat as a short sword or long knife.
10. Single-handled wooden stick.
11. My brother 12. Orisha of the sea and fertility.
13. Deities from the Yoruba religion.
14. Coffe plantation.
15. South American folk saint and personification of Death.
16. Death personification in Yoruba religion.
17. Our Lord of Death.
18. The writing style is deliberately ambiguous to make anomalous phenomena indistinguishable from metaphoric language. We can not be sure what is meant to be poetic and what is meant to be literal.
19. Enchanment 20. A saint's miracle?
21. Though the text uses the word "saber", the depiction fits more a bracamante or a falchion.
22. Toy 23. Philipino Martial Art of stick fighting.
24. Link.
25. God.
26. The 11 Valravn Captains are named after 11 of the 12 Paladins of Charlemagne.
Roland, the owner of Durendal is curiously only named in the title. Is Roland the 12th Captain? Or perhaps Roland is the Swordmaster? There are two Roland poems after all: Orlando furioso and Orlando inamorato.
27. My brother 28. Another incident when SCP-3452 is described as acting on its own "morality". It seems to be either unwilling or unable to hurt a surrendering enemy. How much can we take Las Víboras at their word? There is no way we are getting approval to test this.
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