“All along, I been waitin’ for a sign that my work is true, and I’ve got this feelin’ that you boys might just be that there sign.” the tall woman announced to the tiny room. Mu was startled by the woman’s volume, as he had expected such a small hut to warrant a much smaller voice. The small jester still snored loudly, propped up against the back wall.

“Ye see, we been havin’ some problems here in the wild wild south,” her booming voice continued. “Thee beautiful Elder Village has been magic free for almost four centuries! Got the most beautiful city walls I ever laid me eyes on! They keep magic from enterin’ the city! But they’re fadin’ fast. I even heard rumors o’ the dead comin’ back to life!”

Lacking much patience after the last few wasted days, Mu interjected, “Aww man, listen…I hate to be that guy, but we really do need to be on our way,” The warrior hefted his jester over his shoulder again and stood up, almost hitting his head on the roof. “It’s really nice of you to think we’re your sign and all, it really is, but we’ve got this thing to deliver, this really odd thing, and I really want to go home, but I can’t until this is done, so it’s a little time sensitive,” he rambled. “So if you don’t mind —“

Sheila blocked the entrance with her immense size, proving intimidating even to a man like Mu. The smile had vanished from her face, and her eyes expressed a cold seriousness that caught the large warrior well off-guard. “I know what it is ye boys carry.” she stated in an ominous tone. Mu noticed her voice was slightly more leprechaun-like than before.

The room fell silent for a few moments, as the fighter awaited any kind of an explanation. Mu still did not understand why this sword seemed to be so special, but this was the second person to point out the weapon, specifically claiming to know its origins. Finally, the large warrior decided to play into the woman’s game. “So…what exactly do you know about this sword?” he asked, still entirely perplexed.

“O’ boy. That ain’t no sword ye have, laddie. That there’s a legend as old as Mount Eris is high. O’ I feel sorry for ya boys, ‘cause there’s a storm brewin’ and you two be at the very center o’ it.” she continued solemnly. “That sword in yer very hands is none other than Duilcron.”

Mu’s eyes grew wide. “What??” he shouted, snapping his jester from his deep slumber. “I don’t want this! I’ll…” he began to ramble, stumbling over his own words, “I’ll…I’ll just get rid of it! Right? I’ll just throw it right back out into the ocean, and no one ever has to speak of this again.” he said desperately. Mu dropped his jester in his panic, but did not notice the man at all as he simply continued to take out the beautifully wrapped weapon.

“Ye know that ain’t how it works, laddie,” the woman voiced, “it’s jus’ gonna find it’s way back ta the two o’ ya. But ye already know that, I hope.”

“So what, I’m just cursed now?” Mu asked exasperatedly.

“Cursed be one way o’ lookin’ at it,” Sheila chimed, her leprechaun-like accent only growing stronger. “But it’s sure to make for a crazy story.”

Mu dropped his head, looking at the cloth-wrapped sword in his hands. The legends of Duilcron spun in his head, and the warrior thought of all the lives through the generations that it had saved. But creeping in the back of his mind, something else lingered. Terrible darkness had been spread across the world with this very weapon; the very same darkness that was now slowly beginning to spread deep within Mu’s mind.