Red Glass

01. Not Finished

"Ashes of battle suffocated the frozen air like black snow. Thieves scurried like vultures seeking their prizes for sacrilege and disdain; wedding rings, pocket watches and blades that shine like the silver for which souls are traded."

The tavern table filled with hankering ears, enough to keep a story tellers tongue wet with ale and coffin varnish.

"It flew upon the battlefield from the Heavens as death: a hurricane cutting down all champions without care for colours nor cause. She was possessed, a demon, and brought Hell with her!"

"A wench!?" Scoffs one of the ale scented herd in a moment of tanker tilting.

"Well, my fellow conniseir of fine tales, with exellent posture I might add, please, allow me to indulge...

Her husband was a farmer, a man known for wisdom and kindness. People called him Sunny on account of his constant smile. One dark morning, Sunny returned home with a chest he had found washed up on his land. Ancient according to the runes carved on all sides, crafted in black polished rowan wood and locks that took the blacksmith thirteen days to unfold against warnings of omen.

The trunk contained a silver woven chainmail sleeve sealed at both ends, enveloped within: a sword unlike any other. The spearhead pummel to the tip was a single shard of black diamond forged into a curved blade, elegant as a swans neck stretched out towards the furthest stars. As long as a tall man's arm with perfect balance at the black ivory pointed handguard. An edge able to cut through the very air, the black glimmer, golden thread handle wrap, it was easy to become bewitched into forgetting the nature of a dancing cobra.

It is said that before the day the box opened, Sunny had never held a weapon but was unable to ever to let go of this mistress. He refused to sell it, refused to store it. He would take it to work to cut crops, take it to bed to protect his family. A good sword is worth more than the things it could be traded for he thought, his wife disagreed. Well known for kindness and wisdom, it is truly unusual to see such a man attached to something made for carnage. He changed almost immediately, his smile was the first thing the world lost that day. Patience thinned while impulses toward violence prevailed. Truly the sword without a sheath tasted blood frequently and cast a shadow of fear.
Sunny's wife was loving and loyal, she begged him:

'Just let the weapon go, pawn it, bury it, give it away or throw it away, anything please just let it go, it's tearing us apart! You have changed. Our children are frightened of you, I'm frightened of you!'

Her words were leaves in the wind without hope for help. Everybody talks, everyone saw their family fall apart but no one could have predicted the fire. The cottage, the stables, the fields; everything caught ablaze. The population fought to extinguish the chaos but by the morn only her and the sword could not be found amidst the ashes. All thought one day her body would show up but today she was no ghost. Her name was Nyla of Sunnyfarm."

The story teller victoriously took a gulp of mead in patrons the attentive silence... broken with laughter. The veteran bard felt smug to see someone else ridiculed for a change by the savage locals. Iced winds cut through the mockery with mighty force as the heavy tavern doors swing open. Silent eyes dart at the shivering, eclipsing presence. Hair like raven feathers, infinite black lashes, pale smooth skin, clearly sleep deprived, certainly hungry.

limping to the bar seemed halted the hour with silent scrutiny even from the faro table. Between the magnetic beauty and repelling companion she protected fiercely, only the blood dried between her unbreakable fist kept curious seated. It was uncommon for travellers to enter The Bragging Dragon given its obscure location between opposing tribes and trade routes, more so a lone woman unless looking for work but such an artefact could never be prized by 'entertainment' no matter how beautiful. Paying no attention to the cowering figure making a swift exit from a crowded corner she sits, slamming gold adorned severed fingers on the counter. Eyes calling on the red curly haired worker she taps impatiently for first class service.