I do not remember when I truly awoken. It was in the past, the very distant past. I know I was forged in the great city of Elunshell, once great city that is. It has since been sacked and pillaged and all that remains is ruins which the forest grows upon. My maker, an apprentice smith when I was forged, turned into one of the many masters. I know he died peacefully, for I was on one of the many to attend his funeral. I was long and slender, well balanced and decorated with fine inlays, and many a foe did fall to me and my wielders. All but a few worthy of my prestige. One even had me enchanted, to never dull in edge or shine. I barely remember my first wielder, I was with him for years before I was passed to his successor, and to his, and hers, and his again. It was sorrowful when his line ended on that horrid day. I do not know how the battle fared, for we fell to the first volley of arrows. I was recovered by whom I thought was one of our scouts, she was not. She was a thief and a harlot, and the only redeeming quality she possessed was she never took the life of an innocent. 
She'd use me. To steal from those who she chose, and to "relieve" herself when she could. I lost track of how long this took place. Her last theft was too close for her comfort, the former drew a dagger and made a lunge. He missed. Striking my pommel and marring my then perfect finish and creating a burr. That night she "used" me, harder and rougher than she usually would. That burr cut her, and she grabbed my blade to remove me from her. I bit deep into the flesh of her hands, revenge for the perversion and horrendous acts she forced upon me, but the deed was done. By the morn she was ill, by the next night she was dead. Night turned to day and day to night as I waited for my next wielder, as her body began to rot and stink. It was a child, a poor child, who found me. Wondering where the smell was coming from. That was the first time I fell in love. He made serious thoughts of selling me, I'm glad he didn't. He was from a poor family, and he would sneak away with me and watch the guard do their drills, mimicking them. I was oversized in his small hands, too heavy for his small arms.
He made a good adventurer and a better husband for his childhood love. From simple beginnings to rich endings, he gave the land he earned to his eldest son, and me to the youngest. I was in their line for seven more sons, not quite the seventh of the seventh, but we were there when the orcish warchief fell to him and his companions, ending a threat before it could materialize. 
They would be dead within the year from the cursed plague the orcish shamans put on our lands. 
Then the conjoining of lands happened, or as the humans call it the Konvergence, with emphasis on the khu sound instead of the vhr like proper beings. I had passed from wielder to wielder at this time, each not more or less worthy than the last, bought and sold when the "newer" weapons became available. I was then bought by the nation's armory. I was with many other proper, older, weapons. I naively thought we were being prepared for war, each of us inspected and handled with care. It was not a war we'd fight though, to my horror we were to be melted down, "reforged" into new weapons. The ones I was sold to acquire, I feared for my existence. Was my fate to be forgotten and lost to all but the Gods? I was found by the smith who was to destroy me. For he was a dabbler in the arcane arts and somehow, possibly the will of the Gods, noticed I was different from the other unfortunate weapons. He secreted me away, and brought me to the enchanter who was his teacher. He saw that I was who I am and went to lengths to tey and preserve me. They went to the forges making the "new" weapons, what strange machines they were. They made it so I would still be one of the new weapons, but remain what, who, I was, am. My hilt was unwrapped, but not discarded. My pommel and its jewel was unscrewed, but not rendered. My guard was unseated, and it was the most painful experience in all my memory. I felt naked, exposed, abused, and violated. The smith and enchanter working together through the entire process. My blade was made part of the barrel, they took care to ensure my inlays remained in their perfection. My guard was made into a new shape, still retaining its purpose. My hilt was worked into the wood that would be the new grip. My pommel was secured into the stock, it still served its purpose of balance and beauty. I remember the whole process, the enchanter said I needed to, and the smith said I was now something more. He called me an Shinnafain Eyrynnhv Model 3, a "bolt action long rifle chambered in 8x45 rimmed". These words confused me, but the two explained in simple words that war has changed. No longer was it honorable martial combat, where the skilled survive and the weak die, as if war was ever honorable. I was made for war, fought in war, and lost wielders to war, it was rarely honorable. Instead it has changed to fighting at a distance, "shooting" from cover and hiding and running. I did not understand. Shortly after I was tested, they moved an odd handle attached to a hinge up, pulled it back, and put a strange spike inside me, it wasn't unpleasant. The smith then moved the hinges forward and down again, I could feel my new inside's click into place, and he moved me to his shoulder and pressed a lever near my guard towards him. What happened next startled me, it did not feel bad, it made a loud explosion of a thunder claps, pushed me and the smith back. No, I pushed us back, but with that the smith seemed happy. Then be polished, oiled, and made me presentable, for I was to be the crown prince's personal rifle in his campaign against those who oppose us.
 He was the worst of all those who handled me. 
He fired me twice in our, thankfully short, time together. I awaited the ones whom would be my next wielder. To my disgust it was an animal, barely above sentience, a human. 
You.
You are not the best wielder I've had, but by far not the worst. You are more knowledgeable than I thought, more competent than I hoped, and more caring then I could imagine. You are the first I've ever revealed myself to. And I'm not saying that because I didn't know I could do that either. 
So Mr.Anon of the Anon line, what's your story?