The Nonstop Bloodshed IX - Round 1: Titan Mart

The very cheek of it. Pyrfaen muttered to herself for like the twentieth time, and then putting on a mocking haughty tone of voice she repeated: Ignore the man on the horse: The words of the man who had brought them here.

"Leave it Fanny." Sur Gregor the Indefatigible (though he would insist you just call him Greg, or at the very least you drop the completely fictitious 'the Indefatigible') half-heartedly replied. "S'not worth getting all bent out of shape over."

But it's so disrespectful. Pyrfaen insisted. You're going to be a Great Hero. You can't have people talking to you like that, it's just not done.

"I'm still not sold on this whole hero thing." Greg replied. "I'd settle for being able to get back home with all my bits and pieces still attached."

Don’t worry about it, the sword sang soothingly, it’s perfectly normal to have some reservations when faced with the call to adventure. With time, and ample encouragement of course, I’m sure you’ll blossom into the Hero you were always destined to be.

"Yeah, well, we'll see." Greg had, in the couple of short days he had owned Pyrfaen, learned it was useless to argue with her, and anyway he was more focused on trying to make sense of the strange place they had been brought to. The Impulsive had called it a super market but he could see no stalls or merchants looking to peddle their wares. At first he hadn’t been able to see anything in fact, and it was only through his capability for movement that he realized he must have left the dark place where they had been held.

Using Pyrfaen’s gentle glow to illuminate his surroundings, he initially came to the conclusion that he was in some kind of dungeon. All the signs were there; long thin corridors, darkness and strange devices mounted upon the walls that looked like traps just waiting to be sprung. All that it was missing were the monsters that one typically guarded such a setup, well, that and the smell; dungeons were seldom this clean.

You should just march back there and say to that ruffian; ‘Listen here, I’m going to be a Great Hero one day and you had better take me seriously’. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle at her imitation of a bold heroic voice, which elicited an irritated harrumph in response and then she fell into a sulky silence.

Greg pulled on Amanda’s reigns and she trotted around the corner into the next corridor. He had to abandon his already shaky dungeon theory the moment he came to an intersection and saw the hundreds of corridors all lined up to the left and right of him. Dungeons were almost never so open plan. Such a vantage also revealed that what he had taken at first glance for solid walls were actually thin flimsy structures.

Holding her like a torch (she gave an undignified tut at this treatment), he brought Pyrfaen close to the wall of this new hallway. It was like an enormous shelf of books, except the books were too thin and made of plastic. Maybe this was an enormous storeroom, Greg wondered, or perhaps even a treasure vault. With his free hand he grabbed one of the plastic rectangles and pulled it from the shelf for closer inspection.

What in the seven hells is that monstrosity? Pyrfaen screeched. On the front of the not-a-book was a picture of a bright orange lizard in a garish Hawaiian shirt.

“I do not know, but I hope never to meet one.” Greg jammed the rectangle back amongst its brothers, and with a flick of the reigns Amanda cantered down the end of this corridor and into the next. Pyrfaen hummed quietly to herself as they passed more objects they didn’t understand, and Greg grew anxious. There was a faint noise, something toppling somewhere behind them.

Did-

“I just don’t understand it.” Greg interrupted. “If this Impulsive chap wanted to see us fight each other why part us? Why dump us into this house of mystery?”

That would hardly be a True Heroic Saga. Pyrfaen chided, That sounds more the tale of an exterminator, or at best an honourless sellsword! That last word dripped with disgust. Hardly worthy of a Great Hero like Sur Gregor the Indefatigable!

Greg rolled his eyes. “What is it about our task that makes you believe it is heroic?” He snapped. “Murdering people just because someone told us to sounds decidedly unheroic to me.”

Being informed of villains by a figure of power and authority is a reasonable starting point for a Heroic Quest. Pyrfaen explained. I don’t doubt they must have done something to deserve it… Though she sounded like she did doubt it, at least a little.

“They were encouraged to kill us as much as we were encouraged to kill them.” Greg retorted. “How does that fit into your fairytale interpretation of our situation?”

I-it’s probably a test, Pyrfaen sang uncertainly, a means by which a True Hero might prove themselves so that they might go on to fight an even greater threat. I’m sure The Impulsive will intervene before any of us really gets hurt.

“You really are deluded.” Greg laughed. Pyrfaen bristled hot and bright in his hands. “Ouch!” he yelped and dropped her to the floor. “There’s no need for that.” With a sigh and a wordless grumble Greg climbed down from Amanda and picked up the Legendary Sword from a small drift of plastic not-books she’d landed in. As he turned to climb back atop Amanda Pyrfaen’s light illuminated something behind him. He slowly raised the sword before him to reveal… something.

A… a… a… Pyrfaen hesitated. A Manticore! she eventually decided.

The thing was about the size of a large dog. It was black, with six legs and it seemed to be made out of sinew and bone. Where most things had a face it had only tentacles dripping thick off-black venom.

“I don’t think that’s a manticore.” Greg said, perhaps a little too loudly. Immediately its tentacles splayed open revealing a razor maw beneath and it screeched; a noise that made nails on a chalkboard sound like your favourite song. Amanda neighed loudly and took off down the aisle in a panic.

“You know this is all your fault, right sword?” Pyrfaen tutted irritably and began to sing a soft yet invigorating aria; at once Greg could feel her power flowing through him. His lip twitched upwards in a sly half-grin; finally, he thought. He’d been beginning to wonder if she was to be of any use at all. He gripped her with both hands and raised her towards the definitely-not-a-manticore. “Come at me beast!”

The thing seemed to take a hesitant step back at his yell, then replied with a screech even louder and more unpleasant than its previous.

“Hah!” Greg bellowed. “Methinks this hound is all bark and no bite.”

It reared up on its hind legs and spat a gob of that thick off-black venom at him. Greg quickly stepped backwards in an attempt to dodge, but his foot found no purchase amongst the scattered heap of plastic boxes. He fell backwards, landing with a handful of cracks informing him he’d damaged a number of the mysterious treasures of the super market, but no damage to him except to his pride. Pyrfaen struggled to maintain her composure as she toppled from Greg’s hands onto the floor next to him; she managed to maintain her beautiful song with only the slightest stumble, though she did for a couple of verses insist upon referring to Sur Gregor as the Maladroit.

The creature surged forwards with surprising dexterity, hissing and spitting goop as it climbed atop the fallen knight. Greg grabbed it by the neck before it could get too close to his face and take a bite out of him. Its tentacles twitched and thrashed wildly mere centimetres from his face, and he had to squirm away from the gobs of venom that dripped from its slathering maw. Further down he could feel claws scratching at his armour. The creature’s neck was thin; almost thin enough to wrap his entire hand around, but no matter how hard he choked it it didn’t seem to be affected. A neck as thin as this… with one good slice he’d be clean through and that would be the end of that.

Hesitantly he withdrew one hand from the creature’s neck, it thrashed harder but he was strong enough to keep it at bay, and reached off to his side to where Pyrfaen was singing enthusiastic but largely unhelpful messages of support. As he fumbled he could feel his battered armour giving way to the creature’s claws. Pyrfaen started singing directions and within a moment he had found her. He gripped her as firmly as he could with one hand and brought her around against the creature’s neck, withdrawing his other hand just in time. It was a clumsy movement, but it packed enough power to knock the beast into the wall next to him, and gave him a moment to clamber to his feet.

Pausing only for a second to get his balance, Greg grabbed Pyrfaen with both hands and swung down. She slammed hard against the metal shelving just a moment too late; the creature skittered along the side of the shelving unit with the same speed and ease as if it were moving along the floor. In its wake it left great gouges in the metal shelves, and more scattered plastic boxes.

It took Greg a second to prise Pyrfaen loose from the shelving, and when he did he looked up to see a thick gob of venom coming right at him. Unwilling to attempt to dodge in such precarious footing, Greg swung Pyrfaen at the hurtling goop. Her song came to an abrupt end in one shrill shriek of disgust. As it wasn’t a solid mass he didn’t manage to knock the venom away, but he did through sheer luck manage to block the part that would have hit him in the face. Some splattered onto one of his pauldrons where it began to sizzle alarmingly.

Then the monster was running for him again. Greg braced himself. One clean hit to the neck was all he needed. It screeched as it leapt for him, he swung Pyrfaen in a perfect arc and she slammed into the creature’s neck with a sickening thud. Momentum propelled the thing forwards to crash into Greg, and he stumbled backwards but somehow managed to stay upright.

He looked down at the creature; Pyrfaen hadn’t managed to slice all the way through like he’d expected and now the creature was just sort of hanging motionless from the blade. Oh well, a victory was a victory he supposed but he was still disappointed in the efficacy of this so called Legendary Sword.

Pyrfaen cleared her throat, or given that she didn’t have a throat she made an approximation of the appropriate noise. If you’re not too busy daydreaming would you mind removing me from this manticorpse. Greg reached out to dislodge the creature, but flinched back as it snapped back to life. It flailed, twitched and hissed impotently while he held it at arm’s length. Pyrfaen screamed melodically, which only seemed to spur the thing on.

It was an effort just to hold Pyrfaen up with the heavy creature thrashing on the other end of her. With as much effort as he could he drew the sword back and swung her as hard as he could against the metal shelving, forcing the blade through what was remaining of the creature’s neck. Pyrfaen clanged against the metal shelving, which wobbled only slightly under the impact, and the creature’s body and what could be called a head only in the most charitable circumstances fell to the ground. Alarmingly its body climbed back onto its six sharp legs without too much trouble while thick olive blood seeped from its open neck.

“Oh give me a break!” Greg yelled in disbelief. The beheaded monstrosity shrank back at his voice, turned a full 180 degrees and fled, only banging into the shelving once or twice in its haste to get away. “Hah!” He bellowed more enthusiastically. “And let that be a lesson to you!”

Hoo rah.Pyrfaen sang rather unenthusiastically. Greg looked down at her to see she was dripping with olive blood and in places still splattered with the off-black venom.

“Fanny, I’m afraid if you don’t like getting dirty you picked the wrong profession.” He replied distractedly. “Listen I thought you were supposed to be a Sword of Legend?”

I am a Sword of Legend Pyrfaen bristled.

“Well how come it took you two good swings to cut through that creature’s neck?” Greg asked. “My other sword-” hmph “-would have cut through that in one.”

Well yes there are other swords in the world sharper or stronger than me I suppose. Pyrfaen retorted irritably. But Whoreblade’s never going to sing for you; she’ll never document your exploits in a saga worthy of the Old Heroes themselves. She can’t energize and invigorate you during battle, or distract your enemies or pretty much do anything but cut the things you swing her at.

“Hmm.” Greg looked down at her contemplatively.

And you know, adventuring can be a very lonely business. Isn’t it better to have a blade that you can share a laugh and a joke with at the end of a long battle; one that will always have your back and stick up for you through thick and thin? Surely that kind of blade is worth much more than a worthless inanimate floozy.

“Can I sharpen you?” Greg asked.

Certainly not! Pyrfaen snapped. How would you like to be dragged back and forth against a stone until your body had been worn away into a more desirable shape?

“I guess I see where you’re coming from.” Greg said eventually. “But I don’t really need a blunt chatterbox sword…”

Oh, not good enough for you am I? Pyrfaen sneered. Better than a genuine Sword of Legend are you, well don’t let me hold you back Sur Hero. Just leave me here amongst this junk. Clearly this is where a genuine Sword of Legend belongs.

“No, hey, look… I’m sorry.” Greg backtracked hastily. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent travelling companion.”

No. Don’t do me any favours O True Hero.Pyrfaen was hot in his hands once again and he was forced to let her go. I know where I am not wanted thank you very much. I’ll just wait here for a True Hero to come and pick me up.

For a minute Greg stared down at the stubborn sword, not for a moment did her brightness dim in the least. Eventually he sighed, muttered under his breath and then turned and headed down the aisle that Amanda fled down.

He’ll be back. Pyrfaen crooned softly. He won’t be gone five minutes before he realizes what a good thing he had. Just you wait and see.