Stories Always Begin At A Tavern [closed]

The rain would not stop.

Storm's been going on since lunch, I reckon. Every time I checked, the roads were a bit too muddy for travel. As much as I wanted to get back home to my compound in Concordia (or what might have been left of it, if the Rangers finally grew some fucking balls and stormed the place in my absence), I couldn't find a covered wagon or a coach that would be willing to drive all the way to the harbor in this weather.

...Honestly, that was fine. I could wait. Part of me hesitated to return to the Ranger outpost.

I was staring at a blank check. I had been given a chance to start fresh. Let everything go. Begin anew. Catch a merchant freighter to Keribas or something, explore the other side of the world. See what I could learn and become when I wasn't being tied down by the litany of mistakes I've made, bridges I've burned, and crimes I've committed against man and nature. Amari was nice enough to give me a couple changes of clothes and have the Hand armorer pound out a new mask for me to cover my hideous face with.

Everyone who would've cared enough to ask would've learned that I was well and truly gone. I could be free of all of them. Nobody had to know that I was back, having risen from the ashes hung around the Ar'Tuel's neck. Philomel, Lichensith, Aurelianus, Vincent Cain, and whoever the hell else shared drinks and problems with my tangled mess of an ass.

Nothing had to change. Well--almost nothing; would just need to get my boat ticked change from Radasanth to Somewhere Vaguely East, I Don't Care Where Thank You.

And yet...

I couldn't.

Had to go home.

Had to make sure. Had to check on Hyperion.

She'd either be there, rooted by the front door, awaiting my return after all these months... Or she'd be long gone, having long since given up hope and moved onto a more peaceful life elsewhere, likely staying far away from monsters such as myself. Maybe she opened up a bakery or an alchemy shop or something. She always did like baking consumables of both kinds.

"Another one, if you'd please," I called out over the deafening silence inside the tavern, raising my empty glass high in the air. The portly man simply nodded and poured another frosty mug of amber ale.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, relentlessly pounding the roof with each drop. Hopefully the storm would end by the morning.

Rosellia staggered through the rain, disorientated, confused and lost. It was truly an odd experience, the Tainted Blade was still copping with it's meat puppet. Being a living creature was complicated, difficult, there were so many things it had to deal with; hunger, thirst, sleep, strange urges, strange feelings. Living was frustrating at first, irritating, it didn't understand these revelations, it didn't want to have to deal with them, it was much simpler just being a blade. Unfortunately the reality wasn't so kind, this twist of fate that had been thrust upon it was something it had to deal with.

Rosellia's soaked frame dragged her true form behind her, gifted by the tainted blade with the ability to wield it properly, it didn't have to drag it, but it's meat puppet was lacking. It needed to eat, after a long time of wandering the woods to find civilization it arrived realizing Rosellia was hungry. It began searching for a place to eat, some place that had food, this need needed to be met. The Tainted Blade didn't understand the common sense of this strange world, of this other side, but it knew how food worked... It thought. Pushing her way into the tavern, Rosellia's robe was soaked down to her traveler's robe, her white hair matted to her skin from the rain water flushed flat against her face and back. Her bright golden eyes weren't concealed though as they drifted through the tavern, seeing only one other person.

With Madison being the only other person, Rosellia didn't have many options. With the Tainted Blade under her arm, she walked towards Madison with a faint smile. "Excuse me-- May I borrow this?" She spoke, trying to reach around Madison. The softness of her chest pressed to the woman's back, the warm wet feeling of her abundant chest pressed down against her as an arm reached over her shoulder. Despite asking politely the woman didn't wait for much of a response as she tried to lean down over Madison's shoulder. With no understanding of things like personal space or acceptable social behaviors, Rosellia tried to lean down and take a sip from the girl's mug.

If Madison didn't protest, she'd lean a bit further, trying to tip the girl's mug a bit further taking a big gulp, but upon realizing that the liquid wasn't the food it required, it didn't continue pillaging the poor girl's drink. Instead, as if disappointed Rosellia's brow furrowed. "Not food?" She asked, as if she didn't understand what food was. The deranged and demented response of someone who'd never eaten in their life time. The Tainted Blade had some knowledge, clearly not enough to adapt completely. It wanted to ask the woman about 'food' but at the same time, that would be the same as admitting that it wasn't what it seemed. While it was already obvious it didn't want to needlessly expose it's true identity any more then it already had.

My fingers were wrapped around the bottom of my mask, pushed halfway up my face so I could drink from the glass without spilling everything everywhere when I heard the telltale click of the door opening, followed by the downpour outside for several seconds before a second click sounded.

Setting my drink back on the table and sliding my face back in place, I saw the tavern's new arrival. A woman, soaked to the bone, her platinum hair a mottled mess as lingering drops of rain cascaded down her locks. She was tall, tan, and shapely--her curves accentuated by the drenched silks that clung to her skin, leaving very little to the imagination. The visitor had a sort of lost and confused look on her face as her eyes scanned the tavern.

Had this been any other night at the tavern, all activity would've stopped while everything with a penis basked in her glory and scanned every inch of her body with greedy, lustful eyes.

But since it was just me, I just sorta... returned to my drink and dove back into my book. The barkeep must've been married, and probably suspected his wife had superhuman intuition with how quickly he returned to polishing glasses.

I got about two paragraphs and a bit of dialogue further before I heard the woman ask me a question. Before I could turn and respond with some quality Madison snark, I felt an odd sensation that completely made me lose my train of thought. Two warm, soft, fleshy mounds were pressed against my shoulder and neck. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the mysterious lady reach around for my beer. But instead of pulling away to drink it, she leaned in even further, nearly doubling me over the surface of the table.

Now... Several months ago? I would've crushed every bone in her arm before her spidery fingers could've wrapped themselves around the mug. I would've burst from my chair in a cloud of acid, plague, and vines and torn her limb from rapidly melting and bubbling and smoking limb. I would've feasted on her remains and left the mess for the barkeep to clean up--assuming he hadn't already scurried away to find a new pair of underwear to replace his freshly-filled set.

But instead of all that, I just sorta... sat there and took it. Like a house cat that clearly doesn't want to be pet, but just understands that this is its ultimate fate and has learned to accept it.

Death and a prolonged revival sure mellowed the shit out of me, apparently.

The words dripped off my tongue slow and flat. "Uhh... Can I... help you?"

Her reply was swift and unsure as she set the mug back down, clearly surprised and dissatisfied with the local brew. "Not food?"

I blinked. Twice. Three times. The rain continued to pound on the roof over our heads. Outside, the winds picked up slightly, signaling that this was going to be an even longer night than planned.

"N-no, sweetie," I managed to blurt out after a moment. "That's beer."

I still hadn't turned around. Still couldn't, to be more accurate. Her chest was still glued to the back of my head.

Decided I should probably change that somehow. "Do you need food or something?" I'm pretty sure the barkeep saw the quiet desperation in each of my four glowing amber eyes. "Jack, could I get a couple sandwiches over here, please?"

The way I saw it, the blonde could've used every little bit of help she could get. Especially if she was confusing beer for food. No, of course it's not food, girl; this is a different kind of nourishment. One for the spirit, not the body. If she didn't know that--despite looking like she was of age at a first glance--then hoooooo boy. Amnesiac? Maybe just fresh off the boat and a little too innocent? Possessed, maybe?

So long as she got her knockers off me before I started to cry, I could deal with whatever.

Maddison's few assumptions didn't even come close to what the woman's condition was at the moment. Whether she was dead or alive was anyone's guess, by now it was practically a technicality where the answer was somewhere in between. Rosellia's body was perfectly alive by normal standards, no matter how one probed, how one searched she would just be an average girl with perhaps a few mental abnormalities and damage what one might guess at being a soul. The reality was though that her body was a tool, a vessel that, when damaged, could be repaired after a day like a car or a machine it wasn't hard to maintain and rebuild when it was broken or destroyed. The complicated methods of the Tainted Blade's Netherworld were mysterious in that respect.

Naturally though, being told what she'd tried was beer, she was disheartened. Her stomach rumbling against the girl's back making her answer clear. Though in regards to her condition, it was certainly not something so cliche, in truth, the Tainted Blade had seized it's current wielder after growing dissatisfied with other warriors throughout history. In the end, the blade decided to try and become it's own wielder and raise up it's own barer for a change. Upon acquiring the ability to understand the world around it, it began trying to move in that direction at least.

"Ah-- Thank you. It's been tough between traveling and finding ways to feed myself. It's just a little harder then I thought to be off all alone." She spoke, trying to slip into a chair beside Madison. Close enough to sit hip to hip with the woman. A small smile on her face as she thought a bit about how her world had changed so quickly that she had problems adapting.

Trying to wring out her hair, she swung it to one side, away from Madison to make sure the poor girl didn't get splashed, she was content despite still being wet from the rain. The feeling of being alive, of feeling the cloth against skin, of feeling the moisture in the air, seeing, hearing, tasting and touching was all refreshing that she didn't understand the burdens of dealing with it constantly. Unfortunately it was so interesting and new, she was constantly in awe and surprised, 'unique and interesting' were words she couldn't stop saying and thinking, the poor girl was practically enthralled.

Looking down at the sandwiches when they did happen to arrive though, Rosellia would glance up at Madison. As if questioning her in silence, she wasn't sure if it was food or not, she inquired with a curious gaze. The Tainted Blade wasn't naive or stupid, but it was a worthwhile question it believed. It couldn't risk it's body becoming damaged from it's own ignorance.

I breathed an inward sigh of relief when the woman finally lifted the weight of her chest off my neck. Gods above, it's always so horrifying when people don't understand personal space! Like, if I wanted to feel someone's floppy milkbags, I'd reach out with my own two hands and give them a good squeeze! Please refrain from making me uncomfortable by draping them all over me that I lock up and become the perfect shelf for your chest. It's inconsiderate.

The barkeep finished piecing together a pair of sandwiches and sauntered over to my table, dropping the pair of plates in front of me. The blonde pulled up a chair, scooted it incredibly close to mine, and sat down.

A casual glance around the tavern confirmed my original suspicion--every other chair was empty, every other table clean of mugs. Not a single soul outside of mine, the owner, and the strange woman. And yet she decided to share a space with me. Again, she decided to share my space with me. If I rocked to the side a little bit, I would've knocked her onto the floor.

I didn't notice it until the soft thunk of it hitting the edge of her seat broke the silence, but the woman wore a sword strapped to her back. It looked like a big slab of metal wrapped in a sheathe, threatening in its size and weight alone. Somehow, the blonde was able to move pretty freely, considering how nasty it looked to carry. It was a surprising she wasn't doubled over whenever she walked. Even more curious that she didn't give her shoulders a break and let it rest against the table while she relaxed.

Needing something to take my mind off this weird little night, I turned my attention toward my sandwich. It was a neat little thing, a couple slices of white bread holding a small stack of lunch meat and two slices of cheese. I wrapped my briar-knit fingers around it, careful not to spill anything. It was then that I noticed the blonde out of the corner of my eyes, looking at me rather... expectingly?

I wasn't sure how to feel. I just sat there, wondering what was going through her mind. "Yes. Food," I said as a sort of test, waving my sandwich around in the air between us.

Gods, I hope she wasn't expecting me to feed her.

My free hand shifted my metal facemask up enough to expose the mossy surface of my jaw and a row of sharpened teeth. Just enough space for me to shove a couple bites of incredibly basic but adequate sandwich into my mouth. I let the mask drop back down as I chewed my food.

I felt that familiar ping of curiosity in the back of my mind. Maybe I was just starved for conversation, maybe I was a fucking idiot. But either way (probably both, to be honest), I found myself asking the question.

"So," I started awkwardly, my mouth still full of food. "What's your story?"

With the answer Rosellia naturally turned to the sandwich with a quizzical expression. She'd retained a great deal of her body's skills and knowledge, but that largely pertained to techniques and materials, the rest was lost among the vague haziness of the Tainted Blade's time as an inanimate object. In truth it wasn't amnesia, instead it was more likely to say it was only two weeks old, it's human puppet was a lot older, while the blade that acted as it's core was even older by centuries, perhaps millennia, but it had only been aware for a few weeks. The knowledge it acquired on it's own was painfully minimal at best, so guessing amnesia wasn't a bad conclusion.

Rosellia picked up the sandwich to examine it, it seemed basic, rustic, she didn't hesitate to cram it into her mouth ruthlessly. Oblivious to concepts of table manners or moderation, the Tainted Blade had come from a world of savages and cruelty. On the other side where force and strength decided all things, where violence was justice and the law only applied to the weak, the Tainted Blade had never experienced the more moderate and passive side of life. Though when asked for her story, she glanced towards Madison with the sandwich half crammed into her mouth to the point her cheeks puffed out. After a while of forcing it down, she finally exhaled a sigh when she could breath again.

"Haa..." She exhaled in relief before a faint smile came to her face. "Well, I can't say it's terribly important. Despite looking like this, I'm much younger then I appear." The blade admitted upfront, it lacked common sense and knowledge that even a toddler or infant might know just from instinct alone. Since she was asked, she felt the need to explain that fact, things like not knowing about food, or personal space, or laws or standards-- even morality was something she was largely oblivious to. "From what I know, this wasn't the place I was 'made', I was 'made' on 'the other side' and ended up here long before I was 'born'. I'm not really used to this yet, it's strange, weird, to just suddenly realize 'I'm alive'... 'I can think' is so troubling. I mean, what do people do with their lives?" Rosellia asked with a mellow chuckle as if the question was silly.

After all, people had goals and ideals and dreams, but to the Tainted Blade who was an object, money was useless, food wasn't really enjoyable, alcohol was more detrimental then it was useful. What did it have left to look forward to? What else did people spend their life to pursue? It slaved and labored to wrack it's mind for an answer that was unique to it, something that even it could enjoy.

What's the word I'm looking for here...

...Disgust?

I mean, sure; that'd suffice. But I think I'm looking for something a bit higher on the scale.

...Horror, then?

Yeah, that'll work.

I stared on in utter horror as the strange blond woman picked up the sandwich and shoved the entire thing into her mouth. Pretty sure that if she could've unhinged her jaw to make it all fit, then she would've done just that. It was a wonder that she didn't suffocate on the damn thing while she slowly worked at it, grinding it into a pulp that she could actually force down her gullet. I was kind of half-expecting a comical bulge traveling the length of her neck as she finished her food.

Meanwhile, there I sat, taking reasonable bites, chewing the recommended twenty-six times before swallowing, and washing the taste of lunch meat off my tongue with a swig of ale. No mess, no strangeness, no chance of dying again, no odd looks from the barkeep that weren't related to my "skin condition".

"Another one, please," I asked the man, raising my empty glass in the air. I had a feeling I was going to need many more if I was going to get through the night.

The girl with the sword began to tell her tale, which was disappointingly short. Picking up on the words she chose and their meaning, it didn't take someone as well-read and into the strange and mysterious as myself to put two and two together. The likely answer? She was a weapon possessed, or one that was enchanted with the essence of life. Or, to be more accurate, she was a puppet used by the sword to move around from place to place. It was not unheard of; I had a few books squirreled away that whispered of such blades existing. Never thought I'd come across one, despite the high density of Weird Shit that walked this planet. I mean, I'm a walking anger cactus that was killed for a bit by her best friend, the ticking soul bomb, for crying out loud.

Normally I would've just nodded, happy for the droning of another living being to help drown out the downpour outside. But in the case of this girl--sword, whatever--my curiosity was piqued. You never know when you're going to come across another opportunity like this.

The barkeep approached our table and set a fresh ale in front of me. "Thanks," I said with a nod before I turned to face the blond. "I'll admit, I've studied some very dark and mysterious things in my day. I feel like I have an idea what you might be, but I won't say it. It's not my business, anyway. But usually, when something like yourself appears in the world, it's with a specific purpose in mind by the gods, or whoever kicked you our way."

An unreadable amber light flickered in my eyes. I was hungry for answers, my curiosity unwilling to be easily sated. "Can you think of anything at all? Anything in your memories, or in your memories?" Implying that the two might be separate--something imprinted in the girl's mind, or in the sword's spirit.

"Gods?" Rosellia scoffed, but the reaction was awkward. It was clear the Blade had trouble properly communicating it's effort to mock the very thought of it being ushered anywhere by such beings. On the other side there were many 'gods' each one just as gaudy and offensive as the last. Powerful beings that hoist themselves up as superior for a few generations before being dragged down and butchered with it's slayer being propped up as the next Hero for a generation until they rise to the same level. It was a vicious cycle, one the blade looked upon with mockery and disgust. How many supposed 'gods' had died on it's edge alone? How many had designs for it while being pulled down from their thrones soon after? As far as it was concerned the gods on this side would be the same, the more awe they were viewed with-- that merely meant they were doing their job a bit better then those on the other side.

Shaking her head, Rosellia snapped back, realizing that the Tainted Blade had been too lost in it's frustrations and disapproval, it had forgotten to lead Rosellia along to continue the conversation. "Erm... I don't think it was 'gods' who were responsible, at least, they never really seem to be the type who would do something so strange." She admitted with a dry laugh trying in vain not to let the disdain for those hypocritical figures show. "In 'my' memories... They're hazy. Before I was 'born' often it's only vague impressions or brief flashes of 'somethings'. It was a skewed place, dark and light, burning and freezing all at the same time... there was something in the air, thumbing and pulsing, it effected everything, plants, animals, humanoids... in the early stages, survival was difficult, life was so pathetic, so weak and frail. Most died just trying to adapt to the harshness of the world around them, everyone had to fight for another day, another week of living, preying upon anything that could help them survive. As time passed, the strong lived longer and made the weak stronger, directing the week like limbs they grew stronger and claimed to be superior. Rise and fall, the weaker became strong, the strong became weak, some stayed the same, others passed in peace but there was always killing, always struggling-- Everyone struggled." It spoke.

It's words were harrowing, grim as it spoke of a chaotic world where there was nothing but constant pandemonium, constant fighting and slaughter. Blood poured into every gutter on every day, there was no money-- people just took what they wanted, no laws-- the strong just did what they wanted, no towns, no jobs, no fun or joy, there was just no time to build, no time to experiment if they wanted to survive the disturbed atmosphere. "My earliest memory was being pulled from another's body, being wielded and killing others. The thirst for blood was infectious but not overpowering, how to say-- it was good to feel needed?" She explained with a mellow smile. "My wielders got weaker as time passed though, the glorious days of heroic figures storming the strong to try and usurp them had led to people becoming crafty rather then powerful... It's a shame, I remember my first feeling was anger and disapproval, I didn't like my role any more, and then, I was here, in some small village, just stuck in the ground." She admitted with a bitter and dry expression.

I gave just the most imperceptible raise of my glass before pulling another sip of ale from it. "I know how you feel about the whole 'nice to be needed' thing."

But did I tell her--it--what I was needed for? Well, Rose was awfully forthcoming with "her" own past, and nobody else had walked in from the storm. The barkeep probably had an ear out for whatever conversation we were having, but that was more an involuntary habit of the job. I tended bar a couple times, and found myself flitting between different threads of conversation, my imagination running wild to plug in the holes of bits I missed to make patrons' stories far more interesting.

Fuck it, I decided. If he ratted me out, I'd just kill him, pump his corpse full of cordyceps, dust him off, and put him back behind the counter to resume life as if nothing happened.

"There was this shadowy group of assholes I used to work for," I began between bites of my sandwich. "Real black ops kind of things. Pulling strings behind the scenes, knocking off targets, affecting trade routes for our financial benefit. Y'know the fun stuff. Anyway, their leader, this silver-haired assassin bastard, he takes note of me as I'm making my way through the world. I'm an alchemist of sorts. Brew poisons, mostly."

And plagues, but I obviously left that bit out.

"They were effective, so he brought me in to be his potion master. Paid me a decent amount, too. Gave me a real sense of purpose, y'know. My family disowned me after a violent misunderstanding, so I was wandering around for quite a bit, picking up odd jobs, wondering when I'd be able to settle down. So, of course I took him up on his offer."

I shot a flickering amber look the barkeep's way, making sure that he wasn't paying attention. Bless him, he took the hint and decided to duck into another room to check on his stock of alcohol.

"One day, I get this special order. We're planning something big. No, bigger than that. Bigger. I get my instructions, and I get to work. About two months later, an infestation of rats bearing a new strain of plague is reported as the cause of about half of the island nation of Eiskalt dropping dead. Ruined their farmland and tainted their water sources, too." I took another drink from my mug, preemptively washing the sour taste of that whole episode out of my mouth. "And then, my usefulness spent, I was cast aside. Like a weapon. No offense."

I left out the bits where the clan's leader was having a mental breakdown and needed to be put in time out for a year in his own dungeon before allowing my laziness to force everyone else's hands and remove me from my post. As it turns out, I'm a pretty shit leader. Not nearly as effective of a monster when left to my own devices without a guiding hand to aim me at the next target.

"But since then, I've sort of found my own way, I suppose. Traveling the world, perfecting my formulas, discovering new ones, collecting books and other weird shit along the way..." And then I got to thinking. This sword, the thing that was possessing this Rose girl, was so used to doing one thing and only one thing that I began to wonder if it had any other desires. Anything that it wanted to do; not because it was being told to, but because it had a legitimate desire to.

And so I asked it.