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Part 3 - The Quest for The Holy NailEdit

Chapter I - In which Herrol is greatly praised for his featEdit

"That was...beautiful," said the sword.

The stables were, at long last, clean. The Sun Person and the sword could do nothing more than to watch, dumbfounded and mesmerized as, with a determined, slightly vacant stare, Herrol cleaned the stables as only he could. In a manner that would leave even the greatest of wizards feeling powerless and inferior, against such a display of raw Might and refined Grace. But now the deed was done, and they showered Herrol with praise.

"I must agree...you cleaned this stable like...like...Oh, by the Gods! Never before now has such a magnificence been on display!" said the Sun Person.

"Such grace! Such splendour! If I had anything even vaguely resembling tear ducts I would be crying of joy right now," said the sword.

"All of the amazing works of my noble race pale in comparison to what you just did. For aeons the Sun People will sing hymns remembering the great feat accomplished here!" said the Sun Person.

The horses whined in visible glee. Truly, happier horses are unknown in all the rich History of the Cosmos.

"Do not praise me, my fellows. I did nothing but my job. This gift was granted to me by the Gods and it would be a sin not to exercise it to the fullest of my capabilities and my Will," said Herrol, lordly towering over the mere mortality of the Sun Person.

"Truly only those who have witnessed this act of supreme Might can even begin to comprehend your stupendous Destiny," said the Sun Person.

"I knew you were really worthy of being the protagonist of the Greatest Story of All Time," said the sword.

Tears in the eyes, the Sun Person elegantly bowed in front of Herrol's undeniable superiority.

"Okay, this is getting boring. Mathias, what do you think we should be doing next?" Herrol asked the sword, exasperated.

Chapter II - In which our Heroes set out in a Sacred QuestEdit

Our heroes walked away from the magnificent visage of the fortress of Havar-Kunumeria. They had spent the night in the luxurious sleeping quarters of the Sun Peoples, drinking themselves to sleep with the divine lime-flavoured soda of the Gods. The Sun Peoples served their every need during the night, grateful for Herrol's magnificent job at the stables.

By the morning, they were forced out without breakfast. The Sun Peoples needed to return to their eternal vigilance, lest the demonic hordes come pouring unopposed once again into Gargathor. Herrol was starving.

"Well, at least my next task is pretty straightforward, from your description of it," he told the sword.

"What?!" exclaimed the sword, "Did you pay attention to any of what I said?"

"...Sorta."

The sword somehow sighed. "It couldn't be less straightforward if it tried. You have to find a sacred relic no one in Gargathor has seen for at least two thousand years. Then you have to steal it from the hideous monster that is most likely guarding it. Then you have to bring it to the Tall Tower in the Mountain of Regrets.

"See? It's straightforward when you think about it. Find the Holy Mail..."

"Holy Nail," the sword interrupted.

"Find the Holy Nail. Take it. Bring it to some tow...Holy Nail, seriously?"

"It's the mummified nail of Saint Kalespius of Hiovar, the man who converted the barbarians of the Salty Wastes to the Gargathorian Cult. It's all we have left of that holy man. And they say that it's a potent fount of magickal power. They say Kalespius used his divinely enchanted nail to awe the barbarians by taking bunnies out of hats and making women levitate. Among other miracles."

"Whatever," Herrol shuddered, "Pretty straightforward, at any rate."

"Suit yourself. We should begin our quest at the monastery that last housed the Nail. It isn't far from here. It was still standing, last I heard of it, but I have no idea if it's still there after a thousand years. If it is, we can ask people around for information."

Chapter III - In which our Heroes stop at an innEdit

After travelling for several hours, Herrol and the sword came upon a small wayside inn. The memory of not having breakfast still in his mind, Herrol decided to stop for the day. He had pilfered some of the Sun People's Golden Daggers of the Light when they weren't looking, and hoped the owner of the inn would accept them in lieu of money. The lack of those weapons would only be noticed three hundred years later, when it would allow the demonic hordes to once again invade kingdom, and bring about the most terrible reign of terror since the times of the Recording Industry Association of Gargathor.

"I really think we shouldn't be stopping at inns unless strictly necessary. All the good heroes are capable of living in the wilds for days without resorting to such mundane establishments. If you're hungry, why don't you hunt a rabbit or something? I believe hunting a rabbit would be good fodder for at least one chapter. We could use that as a metaphor for your power over the death and the life of people. Or you could just show off your heroic forestry and hunting skills."

"Or," Herrol offered, "I could sleep in a half-decent bed for a change. Really, if you want to live in the wilds, I can stick you on the ground over here while I go inside. Maybe then a bear attacks you, and we get enough fodder for another chapter."

"Is that wit I detect?", said the sword, jovially, "Well, not exactly wit...but you're certainly trying, and that's good to hear...fine, let's go in. But leave me at the bar and order me a beer. I don't sleep."

They passed the doorway of inn. It was a lively place. There were badly-made paintings on the shoddily-whitewashed walls. An ugly chandelier, perilously dangling from the ceiling, barely illuminated the room. And a crappy harpischord-player presented his shitty versions of famous Gargathuan drinking songs. And then there were the people. Drunkards, all of them, singing, dancing, yelling, clapping, drinking. Nice guys, really, once you got to know them. Mike, the barman, could do this weird thing with his eye when he...but I digress.

As he entered the room, one of the men hugged Herrol tightly, "I love you man! I reeaaaly do! Believe me!", he managed to kiss Herrol's cheek despite his best efforts, "You're not like that snake of a wife! No sireee...I feel like...like we really have a real connection, you know? I love you man. I mean...like...a lot." and then he fell to the floor, and vomited. Just a little.

Mike was really tall, and bald, with a scruffy brown moustache that covered his lips entirely. He always wore stained white shirts. Really stained. "Eh don't mind Jimmy!" Mike said, "He gets a bit clingy when drunk, which is almost always nowadays...And what brings you here, stranger? I got mostly clean glasses and mostly clean rooms. I can even get you a mostly clean girl depending on how much you're willing to pay," said Mike, in that Mike style that any scholar of the old texts would recognize.

"Eh...yes, I'd like a room for the night. The cleanest one possible...does this establishment accept Divine Golden Daggers? Because in... the far-off land where I come from, this is the only currency we know," Herrol told Mike.

"Ah, a Killagorian, eh? Don't get many of your kind here, mister. Sure, the rates are one dagger for a room and two bottles of beer. Two, and you also get a crate of whisky."

"I'd like just the room for me, and a beer for my...friend," Herrol set the sword on the counter, "Just...I dunno, pour the beer on him, or something, I guess."

"Actually, the beer needs to be poured on the blade, for me to actually taste it," said the sword, "Pour it slowly, I absorb liquids very slowly."

The song and dancing stopped. Everyone looked wide-eyed at the point in the room where the sword talked. Mike started stuttering, and said, "By the Great Astrologer of Heaven! It's you!"

Chapter IV - In which our Heroes investigate around what was once a monasteryEdit

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