"'Cause Flik and I decided to separate for a while. There are some graves here I need to kneel at before I get on with my life, eh? You're getting cranky in your old age."

The old man grunted. "It's because you swing me all wrong, mortal. Who ever heard of hitting a FurFur with the blunt end of a sword? Bah!"

Venomous was something I could do without. I learned quite a while back that I wanted less and less to do with the old man the further and further away I got from Neclord. Always talking back, commenting on my fighting skills, picking on my runic abilities, nag nag nag nag nag. Always with those glowing eyes and that sadistic, venomous smile. More of a twisted, metallic grin which angered me beyond belief.

"And another thing- what the hell is with this fire rune? A fire rune? Such common fare is not meant for an icon of war such as myself. I demand its removal immediatly- do you understand me, mortal?"

"Hey, old man, I got a name. It's Viktor. Use it. If you'd bother to tell me your name, I might not call you old man so much."

The old man's eyes flashed with a silver defiance; he chuckled. Burned me up inside- he always talked back, always chuckled. Sarcastic. Venomous. I didn't need that.

"Yes, yes, Viktor, I know your name. I don't care for it much. Maybe if you had a name more befitting of a great swordsman- Arthur or Beowulf or something along those lines- I would use your meaningless, earthly name."

"No one gets to pick his own name, old man."

We travelled to Kuskus... it was the closest town to North Window and, besides, a tremendously talented blacksmith named Tessai was said to live there. I wasn't a stranger to Kuskus- exactly- but I hadn't been there since I was a teenager. The name Tessai came to me through the grape vine... I didn't remember him from my childhood days in Jowston. Then again my family never really bothered to forge weapons.

The kid behind the anvil didn't look like he knew what he has doing. He was scrawny and had thin, blonde hair, not a muscle on his body I could see. He had blue eyes and stuttered when he talked. Didn't even look like he could swing the damn hammer.

"I hope you're going to have him remove this accursed rune, mortal," said the old man. The kid couldn't hear him, I knew, so I didn't bother to roll my eyes. The old man hated it when I ignored him- it made him feel unwanted and unneeded. How right he was.

"Hey kid," I said, obviously intimidating the poor, hapless urchin. "Is the smith Tessai around?"

"N-no," the kid replied, wringing his hands together like a nervous chipmunk. "M-Master Tessai is gone on a j-journey of enrich-chment. B-but I can help you."

I wasn't sure if this prepubescent whelp's boasts of greatness were true, but due to his physical stature I wasn't willing to bet anything on it. I cursed under my breath. I should have had Mace bang me out a blade before I left Toran Castle for the last time. I figured the hell with it, I'd give the kid a chance.

After all, if his sword turned out to be crap I could always just hang out with the old man a while longer. Shudder. Cringe. Wince.

"Can ya forge me a two-handed sword, kid? I got five thousand potch for your troubles. But I need the sword- absolutely, positively need the sword in two weeks. How fast can ya swing that hammer there, kid?"

"I c-can have it in two weeks, m-mister. For five thousand potch, s-sure."

He cocked his head to one side, noticing the gold and silver sword hilt peeking out of the scabbard across my back. "Mister, I could j-just sharpen that sword for you."

"Believe me," I said as I counted ten five-hundred potch coins out for the kid. "this is the last sword I would want you to sharpen."

I left Kuskus in high spirits. It would be a new beginning for me. A fresh start, a clean slate, without Neclord and without the old man and (God bless him, but he was obnoxious) without Flik.

"Now what was that about? You don't really think that crater-faced punk can possibly appreciate a fine tribute to swordsmanship as myself?"

"No, but I'm sure he knows what it's like to be nagged by an old man. He's a blacksmith apprentice, after all."

The sky painted itself with darkness just as the last remnants of Kuskus sunk into the horizon behind me. Being such a civilized track of land, I didn't have to use the old man much. In fact, the paths between Kuskus and North Window are so well travelled that I find them timid. Timid enough, in fact, that I felt better leaving the path entirely for greater monster exposure.

Not this time. I stuck my happy feet to the path, pointed directly toward the Cave of Wind, a natural cavern south fo North Window. The old man complained the whole way about lack of action, lack of use. As if he were deathly afraid of rust. He insulted me, poked fun at my sudden change of attitude towards my usually war driven tendancies.

Venomous.

I bloodied the old man's blade a few times in the cave, though certainly he enjoyed it much more than I. Tired of war? Never. I was born for it. But me and the old man didn't get along. Flik once babbled on something about a warrior and his blade, living in synch, one mind, one soul. The old man had an old, tired mind and a shattered, soiled soul. It was time for our paths to split.

The final gallery of the cave, a great crevice in the side of the mountain, was a windy vista looking over the entire peninsula of North Window, the silent battlefields of wars gone past, the remains of a once loving, comfortable and prosperous city, the vast crystalline lake. From this high up, it was difficult to tell that North Window was now just a graveyard of broken stone and scorched dreams, from here I could imagine it was the bustling port town that was my home. It was like looking into the past, like I could step through the mountain's gaping maw and ride the chilling winds to my father's doorstep.

I took the old man from his vantage point in my sheath and slid his sneering blade into a tiny niche in a rock there and said, "Go back to sleep, old man. Maybe it's time both of us take a rest, eh?"

The old man was silent as I walked away- maybe out of disbelief, maybe out of relief for being rid of another pathetic, undeserving mortal master.

Wait, that's not right. I was never a master of the old man. I was merely hosting his virus. A few of us wondered if our leader McDohl was slowly becoming infected by his Soul Eater during the War of Liberation, but never once did I stop to think that the old man had been eating me alive from the inside, gnawing at my bones.

As I leaned against the rocky entrance to the Cave of Winds, I suddenly remembered that North Window lay in ruins, and I had quite a while until I'd have another sword.