Story #2 - Avatar Mine

Avatar Mine

Brinxxx smiled as his axe effortlessly sheared the top half of the Mage's body into two neat pieces. Another quick cut sent the torso, head and arms – still sliding apart after his first slice – tipping off of the waist and legs and onto the straw floor of the hut.

He had easily tracked the Mage here, thanks to a handy vial he had picked up two towns back. It was odd – merchants always seemed to have what he needed, exactly when he needed it most.

Finding himself rooting through the Mage's pockets brought his attention back to the moment; he didn't remember kneeling down or sheathing his axe in the sling on his back, but combat often made him a bit hazy.

The two pockets near the hips held nothing, so he reached for the right torso half and pulled it across the floor. Along with a sucking sound as the last of the Mage's lifeblood seeped out into the rough straw was the distinct clang of metal and his eyes lit up.

Raldan's Decimator.

It had to be.

This was the only reason he had sought out the Mage – no Kings were looking for his head, no Queens needed him eliminated to start or end a war – there was a chance he held the fabled axe.

Reaching deep into the chest pocket, Brinxxx could feel the smooth bone of a carved handle and shuddered at the magic thrumming across his fingertips. With a firm grip, he pulled back quickly and a glowing, double-bladed Bluesteel axe as tall as his muscled seven feet popped free from the Mage's robe.

Huh.

Magic.

Pulling his own axe from his back he compared it to the new one he had acquired. His current blade had been forged in fires of the Stained Cavern, attended by Forgemaster Philomine himself. Carved entirely from the souls of Metallon orphans, the Steel Servitor was a testament to the pain and suffering of the Metallon young, and inky black shadows surrounded it to make that point clear.

The Decimator, meanwhile, was emitting a steady pulse of blue, an icy rage that spoke of long and bloodless days in the pocket of the Mage.

Both made Brinxxx feel strong and healthy, their weight in his hands giving his form more vitality, but the Decimator made him feel quick and light where the Servitor gave him only the knowledge of the terrible burden it bore.

Tossing the Servitor aside as if it were offal, he turned to leave. His gold pouch was light, but no merchant would want such a blade, no matter its source.

One step toward the door and his path was blocked by a woman in a pale white robe, hands extended in front of her and a nimbus of shimmering pink light playing at her brow. Without thought, he released the Decimator from its new home and cut downward, meeting the middle of the woman's head.

As if it had encountered nothing the axe slipped through her form to the floor, burying itself deep in the planks under the straw and sending Brinxxx toppling to one side as he fought to regain his balance.

Leaping to his feet Brinxxx was met by the handle of his axe, its deadly metal edge held in the slender hand of the woman in white. He grabbed it from her and rammed it home; she was obviously a witch of some kind, and those could turn a warrior to stone if they spoke out of turn. He would wait.

“Brinxxx,” her voice was light and musical, with harmonies overlapping harmonies to produce a remarkably beautiful result. “I come bearing what you have lost.”

Her left arm slipped into her robe and emerged with a softly glowing crystal no bigger than the pinky stub on his right hand, a crystal she extended toward him. With delicacy uncommon for one of his class, he took the small crystal from her palm.

“Farewell, Brinxxx,” her voice dwindling as if riding hard away from a stream “and good luck.”

A sudden compulsion seized him, a desire to shove the crystal into his pouch and leave, get back to town and be done with this journey, but he fought it down. Instead, he opened his palm wide and brought the crystal as close to his face as he dared.

The compulsion pulsed again – this crystal must surely be worth a fortune – and anger ignited. No! He would not give it up!

Summoning all his strength, he crushed the crystal in his hands.

Light and sound blazed from his grip and the small shack disintegrated around him.

* * *

Brinxxx the Penitent adjusted the gray woolen cloak at his shoulders and strode out into the misty rain. His brothers awaited him, staid and silent, to make the morning's rounds. They never spoke, but he did not require them to; his purpose had been washed away and clarified in a single instant, and he would spend the rest of his life atoning for the error of his ways.

He was fortunate that fate had seen fit to grant him another chance – merchants had been only too happy to accept his lifetime of ill-gotten gain at a significant discount and others of his old kind had been eager to take the coins he freely gave away.

Brinxxx had been saved.

* * *

“What the hell is this crap?” The young man's voice rose an octave in the small room as he read the email again. He had seen a listing for the item – figured it couldn't hurt to tell the game company he had lost it even though he'd never seen it – but it wasn't supposed to do this. Was it?

Tabbing back to the game, he jammed the Move key down.

Nothing.

Inventory, Attack, even Quit – all useless.

Brinxxx, mightiest Warrior in Galdonia walked in circles, singing.

- D