Lunch Turns to Legend

Stormand wasn’t looking for a sword. He was looking for lunch.

Pig, his ever-loyal Dirt Pig, had his snout to the ground, snuffling excitedly. The scent was unmistakable - a smoked sausage, perhaps buried in some traveler’s abandoned pack. But when Pig dug it up with wild enthusiasm, it wasn’t a sausage at all. It was a smoking sword.

Stormand sighed. “That’s not a sausage, Pig,” he muttered, pulling the hilt free with his sausage-like fingers. The moment it hit the air, the blade erupted into flames, singeing the tips of his beard.

He squinted at the glowing weapon. “Bit flashy, if you ask me,” he grumbled, but tucked it under his arm anyway.

Pig snorted, already sniffing out his next lead, and the pair trudged off into the desert, leaving behind a faint smell of burnt hair.

Entered by: 0xcaf6…AB7b