Prologue
It was a well known fact that in the world of Rune-Midgard, no one can hear you scream "WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE?" Usually, said screamer was a mere whelp fresh from the nest, out in the great wide world to make their fortune. Usually, said screamer attracted unwanted attention with his or her scream, and was soon devoured by the native flora or fauna. Life's a bitch that way.
This was not a usually case, however. Said screamer looked far too old to have been a mere novice, and a bit to old to have been a swordsman. From the heavy armor he wore, one could have identified him as one of Prontera's Lord Knights, a symbol of mankinds' might. However, the wearer himself looked everything but the part. For starters, he was far too scrawny looking to have been wielding the Muramasa at his side or the lance on his back. Freakish red eyes that glowed in the dark and messy silver hair would have connected him more to demons than humans. To top it off, he couldn't have been older that mid-twenties, yet he wore the uniform of Prontera's finest. May god-poing have mercy on us all.
"Cross, we are on our way to your goddaughter's seventh birthday in Lutie. Being the stupid sonovabitch you are, you got us lost on the Lutie plains in the mother of all blizzards, where we have been unhappily wandering for the past three hours."
The speaker was clad in the garb of a swordsman, and was easily the shortest swordsman that ever was. At five feet, he had been mistaken for a child more than once, much to his dismay. It usually took a couple of whacks with his tsurugi to convince people otherwise. The Little runt made up for his lack of strength and speed with volume and stunning endurance. Paired with his spiky green hair, he became known by his friends as "vegetable boy".
"Zephyr, I recall YOU being the cheapskate who refused to pay a priest for a warp."
"Them fucking clergy members are milking us for our money!"
"…isn't your entire family devout church-goers?"
"See! That's why my families so poor!"
Cross sighed. Talking to his companion was like talking to his pecopeco. Neither made much sense to him, but at least he could barbeque his peco without fear of legal action. Why he even brought the moron along was beyond him. Perhaps Zephyr was smoking his herbs a tad to close to Cross.
"Hey, the snow's stopping." Cross observed.
"Fucking wonderful, any moment now, the goddamned sun's gonna come out, and we can climb a motherfucking palm tree just like back in Comodo!"
As the snow cleared, no palm trees came into sight, though there was a rather hungry looking Sasquatch. From the way it was eyeing them, it wouldn't have taken a genius to guess what it was thinking.
"We're in luck, it looks like a vegetarian. Your problem Zephyr."
"I'd love to, sir, but my sword-arm's still frozen to my dick when I whipped it out to take a leak, so you're gonna have to deal with it."
This earned him a stare. On closer inspection, his hand was indeed in his pants. (zipped up, thank god-poing for small blessings)
"Didn't your momma teach you not to piss in your hands?"
"Fuck you, sir."
Mr. Sasquatch was getting impatient by this point, and was bringing one of its ham-sized claws crashing down upon the Lord Knight in a blow that would have crushed him like a bug. But no Lord Knight worth his salt would have been caught in so clumsy a blow. As he calmly isdestepped the attack, he drew his Muramasa from its sheath and severed the great beast's head from its body in one fluid motion. Blood gushed forth from the stump like a fountain to stain the landscape.
"Your one sick man, sir." Zephyr growled. Blood by the gallons always made him queasy.
"Least I don't touch myself in public."
"Bastard."
