Thank you so much! It's only my second attempt at writing, so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

The battle that had been raging around me for the last hour was finally nearing its gruesome conclusion. The last of the goblins trembled on his knees before me. The sharp copper blade on my legendary sword, “Double Edge”, glistened in the sun despite the grime and goblin blood encrusting it. It is the strongest, sharpest sword known in all of Edoch, and you’ll hear songs of it in every tavern from coast to coast. It has taken the lives of many creatures, both good and evil, since its creation by The Blacksmith Bard himself 300 years ago. It not just an immaculate killing machine; it’s enchanted to enhance its owner’s prowess in battle by tenfold.

It also won’t shut the fuck up.

“The standards for knights these days are appallingly low. Aren’t you embarrassed? This would’ve ended 30 minutes ago if you could see your own prick past your gut, you fat fuck,” my sword bellowed, loudly enough to be heard across the entire battlefield if not into the village. Knowing the truth in its words, my traveling party erupted into laughter. Even the doomed goblin spent his last seconds chuckling.

“Oh fuck you, Dub,” I muttered.

Anything more only encourages the abuse, and in the 3 months since I paid a crying orc 6 coppers for it (which in retrospect should’ve been suspicious), Dub has already ruined my once proud reputation. It told anyone who would listen about my irritable bowels, small member, and peculiar masturbation habits. I made the mistake of bringing it with me on my last visit to my mother, and I will not repeat the vile things it said of her.

While my family calls me Hector, I used to be known in town as “Sir Quicksplit” for my dexterity with the blade; I’m a fierce warrior even without Dub’s enchantments, and I WAS a knight well respected in all circles of society. After hearing Dub’s stories of my last bout of intestinal distress, my comrades have taken his suggestion of addressing me as “Sir Quickshit”. From his scabbard on my fine leather belt, he announces my every erection to all within earshot. I’ve been told that even the ladies of polite society sometimes refer to me as “Little Hector Erector”. Ironically, wielding a legendary, enchanted sword has the same devastating effects on my reputation as it has on my foes.

I am a sight to behold when wielding Double Edge. I slice through flesh effortlessly, slinging blood off its impeccable copper blade across the battlefield. I dance among my foes, decapitating and maiming them before they even consider striking. Fear fills the eyes of all who gaze upon me as I glide among the bodies, some dead and the rest soon to be dead, once ending the lives of 6 foes with one forceful swing. Until Dub shouts something like “Jab it in them! The gods know the maidens will never let you jab them with that forest of hair hiding your cock” or “his mother shall be wailing the way you did when Seraphina took her leave of you- you know she lies with Sir Thrasher now, right?”. I walk away from the battlefield victorious, only to walk into taverns to hear bards playing the song Dub wrote:

“Sir Hector Erector, strong and quick,

So fat he cannot find his prick,

Near the privvy he must stay,

Lest he shit his britches away,

The maidens will not pay him mind,

And so his hand must pass his time

Double Edge longs for a worthier touch

Are you the next to suck this much? ”

I attempted to sell my glorious yet terrible sword to the local trader, but as soon as he heard Dub’s voice viciously mocking “Sir Quickshit Slowbrain” for being foolish enough to think we would part, he backed out of the sale. I offered my fine blade as a gift, but no one would receive it lest they become the next pariah. I tried to abandon it on the battlefield, but when I returned to my hut, I found a gaping hole in my roof and Double Edge planted firmly in my bed. It seems I’ll be the wielder of Edoch’s finest weapon for years to come. Fuck.

Thank you!

Edit: This is literally my first time to write for fun, so constructive criticism is appreciated!

Another normal night was in the works. Cooking over the campfire has been my nightly ritual since I started squatting in these woods three months ago. The people in the nearest village warned me not to come here; they say it's home to a trickster spirit, but I've never been superstitious so I paid their warnings no mind. I still can't decide if that was a good idea or not.

I stirred my chopped veggies as they sizzled in the cast iron skillet. Food is never scarce in a forest when you know what to look for. The smell of my impending meal reached my nostrils: sunchokes, wild onions, and fennel. I plucked the skillet from the fire and very tenderly scraped a bit out onto the glowing coals for whoever shares this forest with me, as has been my habit since the first week here. It seemed to calm the smoke, and more importantly, it usually made me feel less alone. It was then that I heard something that I hadn't heard in weeks: a voice.

"You know, I would very much prefer my food unburnt," it said from somewhere behind me, in an accent that belonged in a Shakspearian parody. Startled, I slung the food from my skillet and prepared to hit whoever approached.

"Well you didn't have to throw it on the ground,” muttered my uninvited guest, scrambling from the shadows to pick up my dinner and shovel it into his oddly gaping mouth. Though it had a human form, its skin was the color of ash and its eyes looked like glowing coals. As I moved forward, armed with a skillet, its scalp ignited into flowing hair made of flames. It cowered back as I screamed, its hair extinguishing with a sizzle.

“Who are you? WHAT are you?!” I bellowed into the empty night, certain that this one would be my last.

“I am the Fritz, and I’ve decided I like you. Put down the weapon, lest I decide I do not”.

Stepping backwards, I lowered the skillet. The Fritz continued eating, ignoring my presence and my frantically muttered questions. When it finished, it turned to me, its eyes no longer glowing but instead black as virgin coal. “I am the Fritz. I am the Fire and the Forests burnt long before this one sprouted. I have always been, and I always will be. And while I appreciate your offerings, I prefer my vegetables raw as they cook from my touch”.

This was no hallucination. As The Fritz approached, I could feel heat radiating from its body from yards away despite its small stature. It reached directly into my fire and grabbed a small, glowing chunk of log. Finally processing the creature’s request, I quickly ran to my modest, hand dug root cellar for some fresh sunchokes. When I returned, all that remained of it was a series of small, charred footprints in the grass and a large, raw, glowing diamond carefully placed in my skillet.