Special items and relics have a long and illustrious history in both fantasy and science fiction. Sigurd used the magical sword Gram to slay the dragon Fafnir, and Greek myths are full of examples of heroes being given shiny bits of kit by various gods and goddesses.

If you’ve come up with a cool item – be it magic or tech – that you’re dying to work into your story, here are some ways of doing that.

1. As a marker

The most common use of special items is to flag to everyone reading that the character using it is important. Looking at our earlier example from Greek myth, when Perseus goes off to slay the gorgon Medusa, he prays to the gods, and Hermes and Athena turn up with a basket of goodies. For the Greeks, divine assistance in a task was a hallmark of virtue. We know Perseus is the good guy because the gods are on his side.

Now, in most speculative fiction settings, the gods (if they exist) tend to be a little more hands-off than the Olympian pantheon, who seem to turn up at the opening of a crisp packet. But items that are divinely inspired or linked to the gods can still add a ‘wow’ factor.

2. As a callback to a bygone age

It’s a standard convention of fantasy that all the good stuff is in the past. All the ancient knowledge and wisdom is, well, ancient! Most forging techniques have been forgotten or lost, which neatly explains why everyone and their dog aren’t walking around with an enchanted sword. The proper name for this trope is EndOfAnAge. And it started with the Ur-Fantasy Beowulf, about which Prof. Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, delivered a lecture arguing that Beowulf’s death marked the end of the age of heroes. (The essay is called ‘Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics’ and is well worth a read!)    

In high and epic fantasy, giving your protagonist a special item is a callback to that mythic time. It serves as a way to tie the current events of your novel to the wider history of your setting. Somehow, the hand of fate has placed this item into the protagonist’s possession, and the payoff comes when you reveal its full significance. 

Speaking of Tolkien, we can’t discuss magic swords without referring to the magic sword in his own work: Andúril, Flame of the West. A big part of Aragon’s character is his hesitation to accept his destiny as Heir of Isildur, partly due to the whole Isildur-mucking-up-and-not-destroying-the-ring thing. In the film, he is given the sword by Elrond at Dunharrow, before he goes off on his jolly to find the Army of the Dead. But in the books, it is presented to him at the Council of Elrond. As you might be aware, Andúril used to be Narsil, a sword that played a pivotal role against the series’ Big Bad antagonist, Sauron. But the re-forging and re-naming of the sword gives Aragon a fresh start. Not just as Isildur’s heir, but as his own man and able to make his own destiny.

This callback approach works in dark fantasy as well. Look at the sword Ice in George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series. After Eddard Stark’s execution, this Stark family sword is melted down and re-forged into two new blades: Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail. The significance of this is that a sword used by an honourable man is destroyed after he is politically outmaneuvered by more callous and ‘practical’ characters. The theft and destruction of Ice sends a very clear message to readers – this is a grim world, where good men like Eddard Stark won’t survive long. 

3. As a legacy

Another sword from A Song of Ice and Fire, Longclaw, is a superb example of this. Jeor Mormont is the grizzled old watch commander, and he gifts the sword to Jon Snow as a clear passing of the torch. Mormont is presented as the ideal leader: gruff, strong, with a troubled past, everything you want in a dark fantasy hero. Having him willingly pass this sword along with his blessing gives a clear signpost to the reader that this Jon Snow guy has something about him. After all, if the grizzled old watch commander who knows what he’s doing thinks so, it must be the case.

As is the destiny of most wise old mentors, Mormont snuffs it, giving Jon Snow not only room to grow into the leadership vacuum he leaves behind, but also a solid motivation to become the new leader.

If we’re being cynical, this trope is also closely related to the trope I’m Dying, Please Take My MacGuffin. This is a literary convention in which someone close to death gives the protagonist a special item to aid them in their quest. Or, if they don’t have a quest at present, the MacGuffin item conveniently gives them one.

If you’re going down this route, the reader needs a reason to care about the wise old mentor. There needs to be at least some warmth and character development before you kill them off.

However, the Green Rider series by Kristen Britain is a superb example of doing the opposite. Here, protagonist Karigan is given an enchanted broch and a message for the king by a dying Green Rider, whose place she takes in the order. The dying rider literally bursts out of nowhere, and Karigan is thrust into a new world of peril and magic with this burden. The author’s subversion of the trope works because it throws us right into the action, using the mystery and danger of the situation to get the reader excited.

4. As an aspect of ‘the call’ 

We all know what ‘the call to adventure’ is, right? It’s that thing that gives the protagonist a poke towards the plot. To leave behind the mundane and embrace the fantastical and wonderous. It’s the first proper step on the Hero’s Journey.   

One of the most iconic moments in Star Wars is when Obi-Wan hands Luke his first lightsaber, which also used to be his father’s. Suddenly, the Force becomes a lot more real, now that he’s holding a magic glowing space-sword.

A special item can act as a way to facilitate a call to adventure (‘It’s dangerous to go alone and unarmed! Take this with you.’), promising a little of the journey ahead and what is to come. It can also help to define the protagonist. Harry Potter starts to feel like a proper wizard when he gets a wand for the first time.   

Taking it all away

If you want to really mess with your protagonist, consider employing the wrecked weapon trope. This is a way to throw a severe setback at your hero. It falls somewhere between the Challenges and Temptations and the Death and Rebirth parts of the Hero’s Journey. When you destroy your hero’s favourite toy (their parent’s sword, their magical doodad, their mystical panther statue, their trusty gadget), you force them to reevaluate who they really are.

It’s also a great way of making an enemy look like a badass. If you thought the hero was strong, how tough is the antagonist who can take all that away from him?

At the risk of sounding self-indulgent, here’s an extract from my own book, Brigandine:

We exchanged blows, rapid strikes from the wrist and elbows. [Captain Rigal] was incredibly quick, moving far faster than his age should have allowed. Each time our swords rang together, my arms and back screamed in protest, but I forced them to keep going. Once again, he danced out of my reach.

A strange mewing sound came from his throat and he reached down to stroke the face of a soldier sprawled bleeding out in the street. I took the chance and charged him, sword held forward like a lance. I crashed into him like a bull, burying the tip of my sword up and under his breastplate, splitting the mail undershirt and into his guts.

He staggered back, shrieking, and ripped the sword from my hands. He fell to a knee before rising up again, black blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. His face twisted up in a smile, and his pallid skin seemed far too big for him. He grasped the sword and ripped it out of his belly, showering the street with a cascade of foulness.

He moaned deeply, eyes closed in private ecstasy before he brought my sword up and shattered it against his knee.

‘Poor little Ulf . . .’ He stepped towards me, the tip of his longsword dragging on the ground.

‘Was that a special sword?’ His eyes fixed on him as he slowly paced, tilting his head. His mouth twisted up further showing a hideous maw of misshapen teeth. ‘A present? From your brother?’ He opened his mouth wide and charged towards me.

Suddenly, Ulf is in big trouble. Captain Rigal isn’t just some nameless cultist of the Black Ram. He’s a threat hard enough to take the best Ulf can throw at him, then snap his sword like a twig.

This technique needs a buildup for the payoff to work: you need to establish the protagonist’s special item as important and useful. Otherwise, you end up with the Worf Effect (shudder).

Author R.A. Salvatore waits two and a half books before Ulgulu steals and breaks protagonist Drizzt’s scimitar. But the payoff was brilliant because as the drow’s enchanted equipment rotted away, it showed him as vulnerable and alone, as well as the Underdark life he was leaving behind.

In the end…

Don’t think that you have to give the whole game away when a special item is first found. Having the true significance of an object reveal itself later is a classic of the genre for a reason.