I exist only to destroy.

Shelby knew she was right about her master and his limited choice of companions.

The latest addition to their numbers was called Stafpain or Stappain…

She crooked one of her flails in thought.

It was Staffany — definitely Staffany.

She remembered one of the little softies talking about how his mother spawned a female and named it Staffany.

I will fill the world with pain and watch the suffering of the damned.

She shrugged the way giant snails did.

Staffany — what a strange name for a stick.

I am a staff of pain and power. Soon I will overwhelm that little mage and rule over the world!

She thought It was a bit dramatic for a stick. It probably talked to some of the prisoners in her master’s head — making it go insane.

Her master probably pitied the failed stick. He even made the Siege put metal shells across its length making it seem more valuable than it is.

Do not ignore me, you pathetic creature. I am a weapon of power — made to subdue the world.

Yes, it was insane and delusional. Shelby thought it probably didn’t know it was a mere farming tool.

I am no farming implement — I am a staff of power!

She remembered the first time her master used a similar tool. They swept across the fields outside cutting the sticky flowers. Her master was laughing — he was so happy.

She should probably ignore it — the way her master did. The smaller snails and the little softies in their home couldn’t hear it, and she was starting to wish she couldn’t either.

Don’t you dare ignore me! I will bathe you in pain and suffering!

It was indeed a bit itchy.

Her master placed it on top of her — and she asked him if he could place it on her shell because it was irritating. It was probably made out of the poison oak that she learned about from the turtle’s memories.

Needless to say, her master was aghast by his action. He placed the stick on her shell and apologized for his mistake.

Shelby wondered why her master would give intelligence to such a thing. The turtlestones were not for everyone — especially not a mere stick.

It couldn’t move, touch things, or eat. Could it even see?

“Stick, can you see?”

No, it answered, sounding subdued.

No wonder it was so mad.

“Shelby will provide eyes if you stop yelling all the time.”

***

Gwindin noticed the staff on top of the giant snail as she walked towards the Corner Shop — it was a wizard’s staff.

She could feel the pulses of power emanating from it, as if there was a wild beast struggling for freedom within it. As far as she knew, binding elemental forces within a staff was no easy feat. Only the greatest of wizards wielded elemental staves — but somehow, the staff before her seemed more formidable. It felt old — as if it was older than the world itself.

Why would the Scourge leave his staff unattended?

Gwin approached the snail to get a better look. Her fear of Shelby waned after seeing the snail play catch with the Scourge. It also felt ridiculous to fear a snail that children regarded as a pet — no something else. The children treated the snail with reverence — like an elderly family member or a mentor.

Could it be?

She shook her head. The insanity that surrounded the Scourge was pulling her in.

The snail waved one of its flails as she neared. It kept turning to the staff, as if aware of the power inside it. Gwin saw the ethereal blade protruding from one end of the staff.

The Scourge’s wizard staff was a scythe.

Gwin reached out to touch it, intrigued by the strange staff. Putting it on display seemed like an invitation to inspect it — and she would not pass up the chance to inspect such a marvelous magical implement.

Her hand was inches from the staff when she felt it. She recoiled in shock.

This was no staff or scythe — it was pain given form.

She imagined the torment that would have befallen her had she touched the cursed thing. No wonder the Scourge left it lying around. Anyone who dared to pick it up would be wracked with pain and suffering — most likely convulsing on the ground.

He was probably out there waiting and watching — baiting them to touch it so he could watch their suffering.

Could that thing even be held? Even its wielder would not be spared from the pain of touching the damned thing. Did the wizard’s first attempt at a staff produce a cursed item?

“A scythe,” Dallarath chuckled. “why am I not surprised?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Gwin turned to the half-elf, signaling him to keep his distance from the magical implement.

“Why are you so afraid of a staff?” the gruff voice of Siege bellowed from behind the elf.

The dwarf approached the snail, giving it a pat. Surprisingly, the snail did the same to the dwarf — even ruffling his hair.

Siege picked up the staff.

Gwin expected him to drop on the ground convulsing, but the dwarf just stood there. A slight shake in his arm was the only indication that something was amiss.

“Woo! That’ll wake ye up in the morning.” Siege smiled at her before placing the staff on the snail. “I helped make that — the staff is perfectly safe.”

Gwin wondered if that were true. She saw the dwarf miss a step as he walked past her, as if his knees suddenly turned to jelly. No — she would not be touching the staff.

Her two sisters approached her, done with checking the wagon. Remilla seemed cheerful, but Aven’R seemed tense — as if wary of what was to come.

“Jeremy sure is nice,” Rem gleefully proclaimed. “He even got us the biggest wagon he could find.”

Gwin couldn’t help but agree — it was, indeed, a large wagon. Too large for just their party. It would take a tandem of horses to pull it, and it wouldn’t be moving fast. She thought the Scourge would value speed — especially since they were attacking a cultist base.

Sebas and some of the older boys emerged from the back of the Corner Shop™ carrying what seemed like wooden platforms with holes in the middle.

The butler approached Dallarath, but Gwin noticed his acknowledging nod to the dwarf.

“Master Jeremy informed me that your party would rather share the spoils than serve as hired adventurers.”

“That is so, Sebas.” Dallarath proclaimed. “Seeing as we would be battling cultists — our party would need to take a more active role and a riskier one at that.”

Sebas frowned, as if considering or evaluating their party.

“What of the shares?”

“Equal shares,” Dalarrath answered “Loot is to be divided then each person gets a share.”

Gwin tensed, expecting the butler to explode. Their party discussed their terms before heading to the Corner Shop™. The loot was to be divided into eight, with the Scourge getting three and their party getting five. Why was Dal pushing it?

“Master Jeremy would not be happy,” Sebas started, “but it should be fine.”

He gave Dallarath a small pouch and motioned to one of the kids.

"The healing drops would have been free if you were hired adventurers — but now I can only provide them to you at a discount,” Sebas looked glum. “There are ten drops in that pouch — two for each of you, costing a total of 200 gold. Of course, you can return any unused drops as long as they are in good condition.”

“That seems fair,” Dallarath remarked, his shoulders slumping a bit.

“We’ll also be charging your party 10 gold each for transportation,” Sebas added. “It would take two days to reach the cultist base using conventional means, but the master intends to take it before dusk.

“You’ll charge us gold for using a wagon?” Aven'R complained.

“Of course not,” Sebas seemed outraged. “Lucas will be driving that wagon. It will probably reach the cultist base long after the fights have ended. No — we will be providing faster means of transportation.”

One of the boys arrived atop one of the smaller snails. He stood on a wooden platform that was lodged on the snail’s shell. The hole on the platform fit perfectly onto the shell and several ropes secured it to the shell as well as provided handholds.

“Horses would alert their sentries, so snails are the way to go,” Sebas smiled. “In the future, you can also rent our snails for 10 gold for an 8-hour trip or 15 gold for the whole day. Each snail can carry two to three passengers — though you will be standing on its back instead of sitting down, which is a wonderful way to experience their speed."

Dallarath merely stared at their snail rides. It looked like he wanted to protest — but the butler’s lengthy exposition gave him no chance to get a word in.

“There are five of us and only three snails,” he pointed out. “Our party would be doubling up, with Siege riding alone — so that’s just 30 gold, right?”

***

Four snails sped silently along a rough overgrown road. They were headed to Tully, an abandoned mining settlement miles from Bountiful.

Jeremy hoped Sebas would come. His butler’s fancy door trick only worked on places he had already visited — and having ready access to a place so far away might be handy in the future.

He gripped his staff, savoring the pain. His father told him that overcoming pain and suffering — then triumphing over them — was what separated humanity from beasts.

Jeremy wanted desperately to feel human — and the pain… well, it didn’t help one bit.

Pain was pain. How could it make someone feel human?

He should probably try it on some other people to see how it worked — or if it worked, at all. Fortunately, there would be no lack of volunteers in the cultist base.

Malice would be there — the pesky stain that even his father couldn’t seem to get rid of. Jeremy wondered how he would fare when it came time to face him.

Malice was centuries old.

The inner circle of the Serpents of Prophecy shed bodies the way snakes shed their skin. It was almost impossible to get rid of them.

They were like liches with their periapts — only worse. They retained their human appearances, but decades or centuries of exposure to mana eventually warped their souls.

Jeremy wondered what warped demons. Infernal mana was pure. Maybe a bit fiery — but pure nonetheless, especially when compared to the mana of the world.

It was probably the work of those invisible jerms.

Hell had very few of them, especially the fiery ones. Sure, plague demons would create a lot of them — but those jerms stayed under their control and didn’t mess around with mana.

Yes, it was definitely the jerms.

His life ward intensified once again — subconsciously influenced by his musings.

The staff in his hand pulsed with power — reflecting his determination to carry out his mission and stay away from jerms.

Jeremy set his mind back on the cultists. Rats in their nest were no more dangerous than ones out in the open — this nest just has one rat that was bigger than the others.

At least now he had a stick to whack it with.

He practiced swinging his staff — switching its form from scythe to glaive as he imagined reaping the lives of cultists.

It was then that he noticed it — the small change to his staff.

The mithril band now had a gem embedded into it — and inside the gem was what seemed like a small piece of stone.

The stone darted around the gem as if wanting to escape. It looked like — no, it couldn’t be.

Who put an eye on my staff?