Dytja’s
Blade
“I need seven terror-hawk eyes.
Get them for me and you can have the sword,” said the grumpy, old alchemist.
He didn’t know it, but he wasn’t
anywhere near as old as the woman he was talking to. “A fetch quest?” said
Dytja, raising an eyebrow, “And an easy one at that. Do you realise where they
sword is from, what it’s worth? I’ll happily buy it off you in exchange for an
actual fortune.”
“I’ll not sell it for all the
gold in the world! You also underestimate the ferocity of the terror-hawk. They
are mighty beast – twice as tall as any man, with talons longer than my arm!” exclaimed
the alchemist.
Dytja, who was roughly three
metres tall at this point, said, “That’s not really that big for me.”
The alchemist looked her all the
way up and down, and said, “But it is for any… ordinary person in these lands.
You are an exceptional woman. The eyes – so many, and freshly gained, is a feat
that would cost a fortune to organise.”
Dytja sighed. “Alright,” she
said, “I’ll get your terror-hawk eyes. I’ll be back in about a month.”
“Don’t let them spoil!” the
alchemist shouted as she left.
The terror-hawks were no match for
Dytja’s blade. The giant, malicious birds came at her en masse, screeching in
anger after she lit their nests aflame. They were used to fighting humans less
than half their size, but Dytja stood tall – almost as tall as they. The great
two-handed sword she wielded was far more than the pins often used to fight
them (toylike in comparison).
There was some wisdom in the
minds of the terror-hawks, however. After six had fallen to Dytja’s sword they flew
away. Dytja carved the eyes from their dead (all twelve), and made her way back
to the alchemist. If it were not for an artefact she possessed, they would have
spoiled. Yet this strange device kept them cool, and unspoilt.
She returned to the alchemist
triumphant a week before she expected. He scarcely looked up at her as she
strode (hunched over) into his cramped workshop; although he did notice her set
the eyes beside him.
“There,” she said, sitting down
beside him.
“You seem… Taller,” he said,
looking at her. He was right – Dytja was almost four metres tall now.
“I can alter my size if I need
to,” she replied, “Although this is my limit. I can’t get much smaller than an
ordinary human, either. I spent most of the time I was gone waiting to reach
this size, actually. Anyway, eyes.”
“How curious,” said the
alchemist, curiosity gleaming in his eyes, “But yes, thank you. With these I
can make my ultimate potion!”
“That’s great,” said Dytja, “Where’s
the sword?”
“Over there,” said the alchemist
with a wave of his hand. He immediately returned to his work – whatever he was fiddling
with was more important than curiosity, or even fresh terror-hawk eyes.
Leaning against the far wall of
the room was a sword. It was only half a metre long, and seemed completely
plain, yet the craftsmanship was obviously nigh perfect. Dytja made her way
over and picked it up. It seemed tiny in her hands as she inspected it.
Whatever she was looking for,
she found it. “Thank you,” she said, bowing slightly to the alchemist. She made
her way out of the workshop without a backwards glance.
The alchemist, on the other
hand, did glance at her. He was surprised to see the sword in her hand growing –
as she stepped out, it was just over a metre long; the perfect size for her to
use one-handed. No wonder she wanted it
so strongly, thought the alchemist. It was not curious enough for him to do
anything other than return to his work, however.
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