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Chapter 1 - Cuts and Bruises

The great stained-glass windows of the Brightwin Cathedral were the talk of the town since their installation some two decades prior - tourists, pilgrims, and other manner of gawkers would travel from miles just to take in their depth of colour and vivid imagery. Goreblaster was not one much for the arts, but that wasn’t the primary cause for his ragged body to come bursting through the large window, sending shards of colourful glass spreading to the street below like an elephant sneezing out a split kaleidoscope.

The barbarian rolled as he struck the cobbled street on this dark evening, bathed in the amber light that now spilt from the open window of the Cathedral, stumbling onto unsteady footing. Streaks of crimson marred his muscled torso, tiger stripes of blood from the vengeful glass he so ignorantly broke through - then, as a shadow loomed into the lit opening, the cause of his crime against the arts became clear.

A floating figure obscured the glowing radiance of the holy building (very apt), wearing a dark purple robe of ornate design, grey beard and hair hanging long, with a foul aura of naughty magic surrounding them. Green brackish energy crackled around their wrinkled hands.

“Foul magician,” Goreblaster spat his own blood to the floor, totally one of the least places you’d want it, “You cannot defeat the spirit of this fine town of… Brightwin, with your evil destruction!” He winced over to Percy, his lumpy manager hiding behind a short wall giving him the thumbs up.

“You are nothing but a simple-brained has-been,” the wizard cackled. “What makes you think your brutish ways could defeat my impressive magicks?”

The barbarian put his hands on his hips, and puffed out his muscles, their screaming due to the many lacerations only audible inside his own head. “You will find out any second now.”

“Huh?” The crazed arcane user settled his feet down on the ledge of the broken window and folded his arms. “Planning some kind of secret attack, from all the way down there?”

“Annny second now,” Goreblaster repeated, tapping his furred boot on the stone street, words escaping through increasingly clenched teeth.

“Well I’m not coming down there, not when I have the high ground and-” the wizard paused as a scraping sound above him drew his attention away, like an amateur artist running out of that one paint colour you really need to finish the piece.

A streak of blue light fell from the apex of the pane-less window, opening a window of pain for the wizard as Pureheart, the magical sword, dropped straight down and embedded into his skull. The mage staggered from his perch, like a drunken parrot, the sword-shaped beak lulling his flightless form towards the ground below.

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“Curse you, Goreblaster,” he cursed Goreblaster, with a curse - dark energy crackling from his hands and arcing through the air unto the unsuspecting recipient.

The barbarian cringed and waited for something to happen. He felt normal enough - tired, sweaty, and bleeding profusely, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. Regular workday for the heroic monster-slayer, he reasoned, wiping his hand through his long black hair. Stumbling over to the fallen wizard, and removing his sword from the crumpled mess of limbs with a juicy crack. Pureheart was held aloft, as he declared his victory to the built-up town around him.

“The evil wizard has been defeated; you are now free,” he bellowed - to the distant chorus of cheers from those watching with bated breath, landing the biggest catch of their lives.

“Sir?” Percy nudged the barbarian, “You are looking rather pale.”

“What’s on sale?” Goreblaster slurred, as he slowly dropped to the floor like a really self-conscious log, the warmth of sleep coming to him.

Until he awoke! Which for him felt like instantly, but it was now daytime - and he was on some kind of soft mattress instead of the rough streets. A light breeze carried through the open window and ran over him, silken sheets falling from his bandaged body as he sat up.

“Oh, hi Percy,” he noted, rubbing his bleary eyes, his assistant/manager sitting on a decorated couch across the room. “And hello strange gnome,” he nodded at the foot-tall bearded creature sitting next to his travel companion.

“It’s been two days, Gore,” Percy sighed, removing his spectacles to give them a wipe on his jerkin, casually revealing the most gorgeous bright blue eyes on this side of the world. “Henry has been here all this time.” The glasses were returned, turning the ocular peepers of the ball-like man into small dark dots.

“What did you want, Henry?” Goreblaster asked, rolling his own eyes - not insecure by any means. He was used to his fair share of fans after doing a job, people wanting his services, or to be serviced. He was in the mood for neither of these things, and unless the tiny, grouchy-looking person wanted to bring him unquestionable amounts of food, he wanted to keep face-time to a minimum.

“I am here to annoy you,” the gnome hummed, folding his small arms.

Goreblaster waved him off. “I already have Percy for that. No offence, Percy.”

“None taken, Gore,” he lied, his spectacles hiding the single, lonely tear forming.

“I am here to annoy you,” Henry repeated, in a slightly higher-pitched tone.

“Consider your task complete,” the barbarian shrugged, casually gazing around the small room for sight of his sword.

“I am here to annoy you until you die!” The pitch of the declaration reached a squeal, that burrowed into the ears of Goreblaster like a worm. A really annoying worm.

“Unless you would like to shake hands with Pureheart, until you die, I would urge your to reconsider,” Goreblaster seethed from behind his teeth, the chompers holding him back from the full force of his unprofessional opinion - he didn’t want to lose a fan after all.

“I am here to ann-”

“Goreblaster,” Percy interjected. “I think this has something to do with the curse. Remember?”

He did, and he had never before come across a curse that he could dispel with a punch.

With a crack of his knuckles, he stood up from the bed.