Fluffy Sword
Be Cain Daar cambion rogue and all-around troublemaker
You wake up to the sound of noise. there’s a commotion outside. You reach down next to your bed and grope around to find your sword. Eventually your hand lands upon it’s grey fluff covered blade.
At your touch the sword opens the eyes and mouth set into it’s broad blade and waggles it’s crossguards, ‘fwuffy give daddy hugs?’
Cretinous weapon. You ignore its babbling.
You stagger out of bed and pick up the sword
‘yay! daddeh give Cwawent upsies! Cwawent wuv upsies! Cwawent wuv daddeh!’
You walk to the window of your room on the inn’s second floor and look out into the street. Some self-righteous knight has come looking for you
‘Big fwuffy’
Yep. That’s a fluffy warhorse he’s riding. What a schmuck.
“I seek the villain known as Cain Daar, to bring him to justice for his wicked crimes.”
Oh hell. Better go take care of this.
You pull your pants on and make your way doown the inn’s stairs. Clarent says a friendly ‘hewwo’ to every person you pass on the way; every single person.
Storming out the front dook, you approach the armored rider and his steed.
You size the knight up. He looks like even more of a schmuck xxin personxx up close.
‘big fwuffy am pwetty’ babbles Clarent
The knight stares scornfully down at you through his helm’s visor
‘fwuffy swowd am pwetty’ replues the fluffy warhorse
“I am Cain Daar. Who the fuck are you?”
‘Am cwawent. Big fwuffy be nyu fwiend?’
“I am Sir Hugh Boxxe. I have come to bring justice to the one who has been poaching in the king’s forest, robbing graves, waylaying coaches, and burning down orphanages.”
‘fwuffy am Wocinante. Fwuffy be noo fwiend’
“Oh yeah…” you laugh, “I forgot about the orphanages. That one was the best!”
‘hooway!’
“You can come with me quietly or I shall take you by force”
‘hooway!’
“I see…” you say
‘Cwawent wuv nyu fwiend! Dada! Cwawent nee giv nyu fwiend huggies!’
You lunge towards Sir Hugh “Then prepare to die!”
‘No! Nu wanna give nyu fwiend wowstesy owwies! Wan give huggies!’
You slash the side of the paladin’s mount, bringing forth a shower of blood
'hu hu! Cwawent nu wike boo-boo juice!"
'Why huwt Wocinante?" cries The wounded steed as it rears up to strike you, ‘Wocinante give sowwy hoofsies to bad munsta and meanie fwuffy’
As the steed rears up you leap forward and thrust Clarent into its soft underbelly.
‘Hu hu! Scawy! Dawkies!’ the sword’s muffled voice comes from inside the knight’s warfluffy, ‘Cwawent nu wike dawk! Ughhhh! Tummy skettis no taste pwetty! Hu hu hu!’
Scardey poopies spurt from clarent’s pommel. It doesn’t matter. You ignore it.
The warfluff is vertical, balanced on it’s back hooves. You caught it at the highest point of it’s movement and as long as Clarent remains jammed in his guts he can’t come back down. Sir hugh struggles to hang on. it is a simple matter to tip the fluffy onto it’s back.
Rocinante slowly topples backwards, pinning Sir Hugh under him and freeing Clarent from his guts. Clarent’s fluff is stained red with Rocinante’s blood and the base of his blade is stained green as well where Clarent has vomited on himself.
‘Why weggies no work’ exclaims Rocinante in a panic, his hooves flailing in the air and scaredy poopies erupting from his backside 'Huu huu! Pwease wowk weggies! Wocinante am scawed! Hab bad owwies!"
you stride up slowly and thrust Clarent into the side of Rocinante’s neck. Blood sprays out everywhere.
‘Daddeh! Hewp!’ croaks Rocinante, sobbing and releasing his bowels again in pain and fear, ‘Nee huggies! Fwuffy hab wowstest owwies!’
“I’m coming” replies Sir Hugh, struggling to extricate himself from beneath the panicking mount.
You stab rocinante’s neck again, and then a third time for good measure. Then a forth and a fifth. By this point he’s already dead buy it feels good to do it.
Clarent vomits on himself again, then begins to cry ‘huu huu huu! Big fwuffy have fowevva sweepies!’
You turn to Sir Hugh, who is still trying to extricate himself under the weight of his armor from his now dead steed.
“Vile fiend…” he begins to say.
You slot Clarent through the slits in his visor and push. The point goes through his eye and into his brain, killing him.
You sheathe your blade.
‘Huu huu! Dawkies! Nu want sowwy box! Nu am bad fwufffy! Huu huu! Cwawent am gud’
A menacing glare is enough to dissuade anyone who might still think to intervene. You make your way back to your room and go back to sleep.