The camp was a system, as Hugh understood it, something like a living organism. It needed to eat, it needed to cooperate within itself. The intention behind Hugh’s efforts the last days had been almost opaque to him, a vague feeling of goals, but with a limited sense of the greater purpose he was working towards. He felt as if he had set a small stone at the top of a mountain and innocently nudged it off the side. He watched while it gathered speed. He watched as other stones began to move in turn.

Hugh worked with the others to prepare the camp evening meal, but the growing paranoia of Grumb slowed their efforts to a crawl. No ingredient could be used without passing Grumb’s inspection, a gauntlet that found more fault than not. Any blemish, discoloration, or imperfection on anything was taken as evidence of corruption. Tools were cleansed, triple checked, then cleansed again, all to the bafflement of the other assistants, who nonetheless obeyed without question. As the time of the hunters return neared the only complete dish was a large pot of stew with a rather impoverished water to ingredient ratio.

In the meantime, Jessi had been at her work. He’d surprised himself by the amount of detail he had been able to recall when he fed her insatiable lust for sordid gossip; and as that well grew empty, found a deeper store of half-truths, leading implications, credible fabrications, and outright lies.

The words had simply come to him without deliberation or intention, like the conversations one has in a dream. Hugh’s occasional glances to the camp saw her acting as a one-woman rumour mill, moving from cluster to cluster, sowing discord in her wake.

And it was into this, that the hunters returned.

They came over a rise, flush with excitement and chattering about the hunt. Game birds bounced from many saddles; along with a few of the notoriously clever semi-aquatic swamp pigs; but the real success came from with the pair of riderless horses dragging a sledge bearing a rather obscenely sized giant toad. A man comprised solely of faults could never challenge his birth. This is his strength, this is what we must break.

“Grumb! We conquering heroes return! What feast have you prepared for us tonight? There’s no need to scrounge, we can spare a few of the hens, it’s not as if we have a lack!” Roderick shouted, pitched to rally a cheer from the riders with him.

But after a weak ‘hail’ from the cook, Roderick finally really looked at Grumb. The day’s stress had taken a toll. Roderick gestured him over and the two conferred quietly. Hugh looked on from a distance. The returning riders were reintegrating into the camp and already the tensions which had been left to simmer all day were coming to a boil.

Hushed arguments became louder accusations became screamed denunciations. Well, would-be leader of men? What is your answer? We have made a dozen cuts, none lethal, but to stem the bleeding requires sacrifice.

“It seems there has been some trouble with the stores!” Roderick said, projecting through the camp, “But no matter, the game we took today will make for fine rustic fare!” He chooses the lesser evil, not that they will thank him for what they take as their due. Their memories will be of what they lack.

Roderick spent the rest of the evening resolving conflicts before they became duels, massaging egos until they released their bluster and venom. It was not an opportunity to build social capital, but to spend it.

One such example was when Hugh saw Roderick speaking with Teman, the sharp-faced noble, until they eventually shook hands; Roderick left the conversation with a bitter twist to his expression, which made Teman’s all the sweeter. Shortly afterwards Teman approach Patril and publicly return his auble, swearing friendship and remorse. This and a dozen other deals were made to put out the fires Jessi had gleefully lit.

A day’s hunt and naught to show for it but full bellies for fickle allies. If this continues you will leave this hunt indebted and eating horses. It is impossible to project strength when all can see your weakness. Now, what is your move?

Hugh did not have to wait long, as Roderick took a central position to the crowd and called for their attention. He waited until even the murmurs grew quiet. He’d chosen his position well, sitting just behind the glow of a dying fire, his dark clothes blended with the night leaving only the light which still caught on his skin. A face surrounded by shadow, there was nothing to focus on but his expression, and his voice.

“Friends, allies, rivals...subjects,” the last said with a rueful smile, garnering a laugh from the crowd, “it appears to have been a trying day,” another laugh, more forced this time. “Life ever differs from the plans we make for it. This is something we have all experienced, perhaps some more acutely than others,” that rueful smile again, as if to say ‘I’ve had a bad turn of luck haven’t I? But that’s all it is, just a bad turn’.

Then Roderick moved and the light recast on his face, shifting half of it into stark shadow to rival the dim light of the flickering flame. His voice, until then whimsical, deepened and strengthened. “My father took me to this very marsh to hunt for the first time at fifteen. He wanted to test my mettle; to see what character existed in the lowborn bastard who had the audacity to claim his kinship. He was always a man to test others, he cared about knowing the true worth of a person. There was a morning he left his retainers behind, taking only me—an unskilled youth. We travelled in silence. He led, and I followed. I was afraid of broaching the distance between us, I didn’t yet know who I was to him you see, whether he would choose to be my father. On this hunt, we came across a white alligator resting on a shore. It was beautiful. A beast shaped by the fallen gods in a moment of rare tenderness. I saw in his eyes a desire for it unlike any other, but also, a hesitation. He glanced at me and I knew he felt that I was not up to the task, but more-so, that I could not be risked in such a venture. He turned to go, and I knew that he was showing me I was his son.”

Roderick fell silent and cast his gaze down into the gently crackling fire. The listeners remembered for the first time in minutes to shiver in the night air. The spell began to break.

“...But I was discontent.”

Roderick stood and reclaimed every eye in an instant. “I would not hold him back, that I swore, and before he could stop me I ran forward and thrust my spear into the creature! I wounded it gravely, but it was not a mortal blow. It turned and gave me this.” Roderick lifted his shirt to reveal a stretch of knotted scar tissue on his side, and the crowd gasped. “My father pulled me away even as the beast fled for the water and berated me for the risk I took...But on his next hunt, I accompanied him, and I continued to do so until the end of his days. We never did find the alligator again, despite our best efforts. I was not ready then, I think.”

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Roderick slowly reached into behind his back and drew something forth in a tight fist.

“I am now.”

And there in his palm, glowing in the firelight for all to see, sat a pale white alligator scale.

----------------------------------------

Our march through the forest continued with minimal interruptions. Terrence made good on my suggestion and was making polite interested sounds while Elyondril spouted the most eye-watering racial tirades I’d ever heard of. By his judgment the entirety of humanity, while not entirely worthless, would really be better suited as some kind of particularly troublesome livestock. As he spoke however, I could see he was bringing himself around to the idea that even that was perhaps too generous.

Partway on our journey Roam claimed to see a mark left by Lone and briefly disappeared to investigate, only to return disappointed. The cut-mark he thought he’d seen had really been just a bit of naturally damaged bark.

“Roam misses his missus!” Bone-Head said while sidling up to me.

“This missus dismisses misty misses of missed missus! Missus’ mister’s mistake: this miss isn’t missable,” Funny-Bone said as they flanked on the other side.

Bone-Head’s eye-socket shadows narrowed. “I bet you think you’re funny bone.”

“I know I’m Funny-Bone!”

Commence teeth chattering.

“What can I do for you Bones?” I asked, before they went and lost themselves in another routine.

“That’s right Bone! Shame on you for cracking jokes to distract poor Funny-Bone! I got a serious inquiry to make you know!” Funny-Bone mock scolded.

Bone-Head gave me a steady look in response to this, as if to say ‘can you get a load of this Bone?’.

“I was wonderin’ if I could take a gander or four at your magic sword?” Funny-Bone blithely continued.

I considered. I did need to evaluate the properties of the Laughing Blade, and the Corps had a thousand years of experience to back them up. Besides, if there was anyone who seemed a good fit for the blade...it was this pair.

I drew the sword and introduced it, “The Laughing Blade.”

Funny-Bone accepted the proffered blade and stared at it reverently. “The legendary blade! The stories were true, it is beautiful!”

“You know it?” I eagerly asked.

“Never heard of it in all my life.”

I grimaced, “You think you’re so funny, bone.”

But Funny-Bone didn’t take the bait, and continued to stroke the blade happily. Bone-Head watched his wife even more intently than she handled the sword, the shadows that rested in his skull swirling with the intensity of his attention.

“Show me how it works!” Funny-Bone said suddenly and thrust the sword back into my hands.

I glanced minutely at Bone-Head, but he continued to give the fullness of his attention only to Funny-Bone.

“Alright Bone. I’ll warn you, I don’t fully understand it myself, but maybe you can give me a hand.”

Before I even finished the sentence a disembodied skeleton hand was slapped onto my shoulder.

“Want another?” Funny-Bone grinned (yes skeletons always grinned, but she managed it anyway).

I groaned, I should have seen it coming.

Funny-Bone and I experimented with the Laughing Blade while we marched. Once I explained the basics of the sword, as I understood them, Funny-Bone was eager to provide an endless array of jokes, quips, puns, riddles, and extremely dirty limericks at a breakneck pace to facilitate the testing. Over the course of our efforts we learned three core principles of the Laughing Blade, and a medley of minor rules.

The first: the Laughing Blade had preferences. It liked jokes about swords, cutting things, weapons, violence, and associated puns. One really good joke about human experience would get it to laugh as hard as a really bad sword pun. It didn’t care at all about sex jokes, unless there was some kind of innuendo involving swords.

The second: the Laughing Blade cared about both quality and quantity of jokes. Each joke told while wielding the sword would make it laugh harder, becoming more difficult to grasp with each added gag. Good jokes made it laugh harder than bad jokes. It did seem to have an absolute max of about five jokes before it stopped laughing any harder.

The third: if the Laughing Blade was laughing, any motion made with intention would cause the blade to change to suit the purpose of the intent. In our observations these changes included: growing both longer and wider; shrinking; creating shock-waves; growing so hot a heat shimmer appeared in the air around it; screaming loudly in Elskia’s voice (no articulate words); and, most significantly, becoming ludicrously sharp.

The last was a source of some entertainment.

“Sword walks into a bar, barkeep says ‘what’s a curved sword like to drink?’, sword replies ‘sip o’ tar, and whisky’. Barkeep shrugs, figures a walking, talking sword can order whatever it likes. Brings it a whisky with a bit of tar in it. Sword smashes the glass, says ‘what the hell is this? You got something against scimitars?’”

The Laughing Blade hummed, and I made an overhand slash diagonally through a boulder. I didn’t feel even an instant of resistance. After a moment of stillness, the chunk I’d cut from the stone slid from the bulk and thudded to the ground. The cut surface gleamed in the evening light, and a closer examination showed my reflection looking back at me with an expression of bemusement.

“Now that’s a cut clean enough to eat off of!” cheered Funny-Bone.

I passed the sword to her, and just like every other time she happily accepted. I watched while she demonstrated far greater swordsmanship skills than I possessed, running through imaginary enemies with violent grace; but, just as every other time, she didn’t make a single joke.

Bone-Head sidled up to me and we watched Funny-Bone chase a group of scrabbling Numbskulls around. Whenever she caught one she would expertly slip the blade through their ribs and swing them over her head to pile-drive them into the ground.

“Two-three hundred years back, got hit by a corpse behemoth. Damaged some of her runes,” Bone-Head said.

I nodded, there wasn’t anything for me to say.

“Elyondril is a fine hand at restoring the work, but there’s only so much to be done. Kept her from going all the way Numbskull, but enchantments don’t recognize her anymore, not enough her left.”

“Seems like enchantments don’t know everything.”

It was his turn to nod.

We stood in companionable silence.

Funny-Bone roared her triumph as she managed to launch her third consecutive Numbskull into a tree.

The squirts bubbled excitedly at the show and I reached down where they nuzzled at my fingers. Little suck ups, I thought fondly, but didn’t move my hand; even when one of them dribbled a little too aggressively and I felt it drip down my palm.