Kobold Cursed Sword, Chapter 1

The life of a living sword is a life that can have its downsides. While you are often killing and cutting swaths of gore in the battlefield, no wielder lives forever. Then, you lie cold and unmoving in their hands waiting for another. Always noticing the withered claws grasping you in death as they did in life.

It was a shame he could never find the time to prepare another wielder. Which wouldn’t be a problem if the idiot hadn’t decided to protect his little kingdom on the front lines.

The fool thought that he could save his kingdom the same way he gained it. By leading a charge with his men and eating some arrows. Unfortunately Parr the Punctureless, became Parr the Pincushion in mere seconds of his first charge. Then Parr the Martyr in mere seconds more. His higher stature making him a larger target for the marauding bands. Something he didn’t quite seem to expect.

Despite that his kingdom flourished for 200 years after, changing hands several times. The few that walked the catacombs in those years loved to comment on the extravagant engravings on his tomb. Loving the beautiful etchings of Parr's valiant deeds. But of the hundreds that visited, none would dare disturb it. Their superstitions and respect binding their actions. Even then they always loved to touch the tomb’s engravings. Eroding them much like the kingdom above.

As time marched on less people journeyed to the cold catacombs. The few tittering on about the kingdom's inevitable downfall.

Then they stopped coming, the kingdom and its castle dying with a whimper. The silence following being a familiar hell for the sword.

Decades passed, flowers grew, and the sword remained motionless. All the while worrying that the catacombs had been all but forgotten.

Then, a scratching of footsteps followed by a growing gentle glowing. Laying the sword’s worry to rest. Soon after came a rubbing of charcoal and an unfamiliar voice trying to understand the worn engravings upon the coffin. Such timbre stirring a worrisome familiarity in the sword.

What seemed to be hours later, the coffin lid was pushed aside. The almost blinding light of a torch bathing its stony insides. The sword only able to see a short hatted figure standing over him while his vision adjusted. Like a camera coming to focus the blurry figure focused into a short kobold. Wearing what seemed to be a little lantern hat.

Now if the sword was able, he would have immediately leapt out of his previous owner’s hands right then and there. Pirouetting into the kobold’s scaled neck. But instead he lay still and watched the kobold admire him, their eyes sparkling at his runed blade. The kobold then pulled out an old book from their backpack and started to try and translate the runes on his blade. Their voice further infuriating the sword as they stumbled through their futile decoding.

Meanwhile, the sword was bursting a figurative vein on his figurative forehead. To him kobolds had always been scum, literal slaves to their draconic masters. Never even trying to fight unless they had near years of prep time. Even worse having a total lack of honor and being massive cowards. While the sword was surprised a kobold was first to disturb his warrior’s tomb. After reconsidering such a race doing so was rather likely. Despite this, the sword hoped the kobold would walk away. Leaving him to lie for one more qualified to hold his blade. A tinge of empathy giving him this hope.

This seemed unlikely as the kobold reached a scaled hand to grab the sword.

The sword would have smiled if he could.

As the hand grew closer the sword started fantasizing about what would happen when the kobold was deemed non-worthy of his hilt. The world slowing and dimming before him as he could feel his anticipation build. "They would alight one of their disgusting fingers on my hold", he thought, "then immediately recoil backwards." Convulsing as a cavalcade of pain rampaged through their body. The small tinge of hope within the sword began to twist as he imagined the kobold recoiling backwards from the pain. Even perhaps recoiling into a ledge and cracking their skull open. Providing a fresh vermine corpse for the rats of the catacombs to feast upon.
As the sword finished his little fantasy he could feel the kobold brush a finger against his hilt. Then like a charmed serpent their palm clumsy wrapped around the sword hold. Yet, defying the sword’s expectations the kobold only chirped in joy as the sword changed hands. The sword already feeling the inevitable bile in his throat spurred on by the grimy fingers attempting to grasp him. Doing his best to prevent the oncoming magic like chunder while the kobold tried to better position their hand around the incompatible hilt.
Squinting at the runes on the sword now better illuminated the kobold began studying the sword’s engravings. As they did the bottom-most rune languidly began to light up. Startling the kobold but drawing more awe for the sword’s design. Giddy by their find they continued to inspect the beautiful craftsmanship of the sword in greater detail. Becoming even more entranced by its possible value, not thinking of the doom that the runes might foretell.
By the time the kobold’s natural reaction to throw the sword away could overpower their lust for magical items, it was already too late.
As the top rune lit up the kobold could feel a cold permeate their hands, freezing them in place. Their awe turning into fear in a near instant. Every attempt to move their hands from the hilt was like trying to rip a hide from a cow carcass but only using your teeth. As the sword started to pulse with a bluish glow the kobold, like a trapped beast tried to rip at least one of their hands away from the hilt. As the pulsing began to reach a fever pitch they succeeded. With a cracking sound of success the kobold ripped one of their hands from the sword’s hilt. Eliciting a smile from the sword and a cry of pain from the kobold.
Before the kobold could even try and rip their other hand away from the hilt a blinding blue light pierced from the sword. Lighting up most of the catacombs in its fury and freezing the body of the kobold mid-cry. Almost leisurely the sword and kobold then began rising above the ground. Much like an invisible string was pulling them up from their middle. Seconds later both the sword and kobold stopped moving upward hovering a foot or two above the ground. The kobold eyes darting around the room.
That, was about to change.
While the kobold was currently frozen in place, they still had control of their eyes. Which they were trying to scream with due to the stabbing pain in their hand. Everything outside of the pain seeming small in comparison. Unfortunately, the blue energy emanating from the sword began to rectify that. Slowly moving the kobold’s eyes to gaze at the sword. As soon as their eyes were fixed in place the energy that sparked from the sword turned into a blue steam. Flooding into the kobold’s eyes like a torrent.
History needed to be conveyed, and the sword was happy to take the reins.
Like a racehorse in full gallop it all started with the sword coming to consciousness. Waking up in the hands of a grinning dwarf with a wizard watching eagerly on. Continuing on to the sword being handed to a smiling hero, the sword bathing in the blood of a dragon, and the hero fending off a kobold hoard with the wizard. The visions continuing long after with the sword finding worthy wielder after wielder.
As the visions continued the kobold began to go limp as the total paralysis loosened. Even beginning to spasm from the overload of information. The near lightning pace being a bit more than they could handle. The torrent of information prompting a small reddish tinge to start extruding from their nostrils.
Yet every time a kobold was killed the sword liked to slow down from its breakneck pace. Giving the kobold before him a visceral feel of him slicing through scaled arms and breaking thin bone. Doing his best to show every detail in his slaughter.
This went on for what seemed to be a millennium for the kobold. The sword laying every single detail of its history on them. Doing as much as it could to emphasize every kobold that it had slain in gruesome glory. And then, as soon as it started, it finished. The kobold pulling back into reality. Even managing to pull in a deep breath before the second phase of the transfer began. This time a blue link arcing out of the kobold, their mind going blank as it did.
The sword clenched up for the oncoming reshaping that he knew to expect. While he knew he would get some information about the kobold, the process was never a pleasant time.
The sword felt his mind go blank along with the kobold as his body reformed. The clenching hand better wrapping around his hilt as the sword shrunk. Changing from a bastard sword to a long sword. Continuing its contraction until it stopped around the size of a short sword. Perfectly fitting for the 3’4” high female kobold. With the full sequence out of the way both the kobold and sword regained consciousness, then fell. The kobold reflexively putting out her hands to stop her head from hitting the hard stone.
With a popping of success both her and the sword hit the floor. The kobold screaming in pain as several of her joints snapped back into place. Which transitioned into sobbing as the stabbing pain turned into a pulsating one.
As she began looking at her mangled hand the kobold began to feel a bile bubbling in her belly. Which morphed into a torrent of toast and egg slurry expelling from her mouth seconds later. Be it from the crumpled hand, the slaughter she bore witness to, or the fatigue from the process, it didn't matter. The cold floor took the spew all the same. All while the sword’s laughter began to ring throughout her head. As she continued to look at her right hand she noticed where her claws had broken her soft unscaled tissue. She could even feel a warm line of blood and tears moving down her snout.
She hit the ground before the blood could.
Knocked out in the puddle of breakfast and blood the kobold lay. Visions of the sword’s history ringing throughout her head.
By the time she woke up the vomit had started to dry and her wounds had been building scabs in her absence. Her head lantern now only barely illuminating when it had been blinding. A pain still emanating from the joints in her palm.
She could also feel the sword smiling behind her. Then, a booming voice erupted in her head. “You’re going to die in here along with them lizard.” Then the laughing started again. Without even thinking, she snapped her hands to cover her tympanum. Trying to blot out the almost headache inducing laugh. Her right hand screaming with the sudden impact.
All the while she could feel a frosty feeling in her body. Her helmet light dimming each second longer she tried to drown out the sword. Unconsciously, she knew her actions were futile but it didn’t matter. Still continuing holding her hands to her head while the sword laughed even harder. By the time the sword had moved from laughing to insulting her imperfections she was crying and shivering on the stone floor. Hands still cupping the sides of her head. Her body felt weak and the cold was biting into the insignificant amount of energy that remained.
When the sword started insulting her lack of night vision the kobold finally snapped. Instinct finally overwhelmed the mess of other emotion that enslaved a now near starving kobold. In part due to a good helping of old and new trauma.
Snapping off the floor, her eyes dilating and focus regaining in seconds. The pain that was cursing her body was insignificant now. She didn’t think, instead ripping the sword off the ground and breaking into a near dead sprint out of the catacombs.
The sword could only just keep his own against a now torrent of words and screeching. Both coming from the kobold mentally as she ran. Every mental block he put up to stop the flood providing as much protection as a pane of glass. The kobold’s instinctual thoughts breaking them in an instant.
It was karmic in a way as the sword lost consciousness for the first time in centuries.
All the while the only kobold he couldn’t manage to kill ran out of the tomb back to the warmth and safety of her camp.