‘Oh, what fresh paradise is this?’ the small pig farmer murmured.

A bright and musical voice answered him, it was merely inside his head:

‘We are the Nymphs of Nineodon, the maids of the mind. What handsome traveller adorns this landscape?’

Tubberwood giggled. The sword on his back remained calm, actually the steel had turned cold but Tubberwood did not notice this due his own raised temperature.

‘I-I am Tubwod B. Clac, son of Brwod B. Nlac,’ were his exact words.

The nymphs circled him and Tubberwood turned along them with adoring expression in his face. Finally one of them stopped in front of him:

‘Come with us and we will show you all the pleasures you are due, after so many years of yearning. Telluranda Haupt is not you wife, is she?’

‘No, she’s … she’s my neighbor,’ Tubberwood managed to stutter.

‘Poor little pig farmer. Come,’ said the nymph and suddenly Tubberwood was floating along the nymph convoy deeper into the dark forest. He was in such a comfort that he fell asleep and already dreamed about what he thought was coming for him. Even the ice cold Sword of Nuthin on his back couldn’t wake him up. It took a while before he was awakened. He heard soft chanting:

‘Arise. Arise, Tubberwood B. Clanc, son of Barewood B. Clanc.’

‘I am aroused, thank you. Do your worst,’ Tubberwood giggled and opened his eyes.

He was in a cage. It was golden and his backpack and sword were missing. Turning his head he saw them in the hands of the nymphs who were fiddling with the pottery. The Sword of Nuthin was hanging in the air and dodging a curious nymph but not attacking, it seemed totally frozen.

The Nymphs of Nineodon were apparently having a potterware party since they were eagerly reviewing and showing off the handy bowls and plates of Amialda, Tubberwood’s wife.

‘Erm, excuse me,’ Tubberwood tried through the golden bars, with the spell now totally gone.

The nymphs sounded strange. Away was the brightness and the echo of their voices, instead he heard grunting. One of them turned to face the cage and Tubberwood winced.

‘What?’ the nymph demanded with grunting voice.

Tubberwood did not reply since he was horrified. The nymph was now old, nearly toothless hag, totally yellow, with a few grey hairs and still in inappropriate veils, revealing the bony structure and the sacks of ages hanging over her belly. At last Tubberwood replied:

‘Aargh!’

‘Well, that’s not very nice of you, young man. Now, if you please, we will pickup the nice set of dishes you will be chopped into,’ the nymph laughed and the others joined, showing themselves being similar old hags everyone.

‘Not to worry, before that you will get the pleasure of us,’ the nymph continued.

Tubberwood prepared a skilled and versatile speech for objection:

‘Aargh!’

The nymph sighed.

‘Alright, leave the bloody pottery, let us have a bit fun with this handsome …’

She did not finish her sentence. Instead the nymphs were suddenly back in form of hovering, beautiful maids. Some clamor could be hear from the forest and a troop of most handsome and shining knights appeared on their mighty horses. Their leader declared:

‘We are The Knights of The First Flame! We are here to claim our own, The Nymphs of Nineodon, as our obedient and dutiful wives!’

Now Tubberwood followed an unusual scene to unfold in front of him. One by one the knights were seduced, except their leader who demanded:

‘Who shall perform the rite for our joyful marriage? Is there a wizard, a sorcerer, a priest, even a diminutive witch around?’

‘Erm,’ said Tubberwood B. Clanc, raising his arm.

‘And who might you be? Are you a mighty priest, an indefatigable wizard or perhaps an invincible sorcerer?’

‘Erm, I’m a pig farmer and I can perform the rite if only …’

Before he finished there was a whizzing sound of  a longsword and the lock of the cage fell off.

‘Very well, be it a pig farmer then. The bond of our marriage will stand in front of you.’

The nymphs seemed not to resist the choice, they were hastily forming pairs with the shining knights and the leading knight got his own bride also. Tubberwood stood down from the cage, grabbed the Sword of Nuthin from the air, and settled in front of the marrying pairs. His sword was now glimmering and he raised it above his head:

‘By the name of the mountain Gods, I now pronounce you as husbands and wives. May your offspring have teeth and all the beauty they deserve to inherit from you. You may now kiss your brides.’

Thus said, the most gentle kisses were exchanged and the Nymphs of Nineodon suddenly ignited and burned away, screaming as they went. The leading knight fell onto his knees:

‘No! Not again! What is it with our fate, are we not allowed with these beauties?’ he lamented.

‘Does this happen often?’ Tubberwood inquired.

‘Every hundred and fiftieth year. We are The Knights of The First Flame and we are battle-worn virgins. The mighty prophecy has stated that we are to marry The Nymphs of Nineodon but they keep flaming off, our First Flames! Oh, our fate worse than that of a pig farmer at a town market!’

‘Hurm,’ said Tubberwood, ‘I should be going.’

‘Wait, is that The Sword of Nuthin?’ the knight suddenly asked.

‘Why, yes. It stays with me. Wanted or not.’

‘Then you shall have this,’ the knight said and picked up a pendant from the ashes on the ground, left by his nymph.

‘What would I with that?’

‘It’s The Pendant of Badsync and you better carry it in your neck. Thou shall be protected even more effectively than with that sword. Fare you well, little pig farmer. We shall withdraw into our castles for the next hundred and fifty years.’

Having said this The Knights of The First Flame retreated into the dark forest, beaten and sad. Tubberwood shrugged, took a glimpse into the pendant which flashed and Tubberwood felt warm as he remembered where it had been before …

‘Yuck!’ he realized but still wore the pendant.

He collected the pottery back into his backpack and was all prepared to continue. Except that he had no clue of his whereabouts. He tried to follow the knights but there was no path. Actually there were no paths at all around the lair of the nymphs. No wonder, they were flying ones, you don’t need a path. What then, a flight beacon? Tubberwood felt a tug on his neck and The Sword of Nuthin also woke up, hovering in the air in front of The Pendant of Badsync, pointing to a certain direction.

‘Alright, you two. Calm down,’ Tubberwood said and started at the direction of the dense and dark forest. At least his sword was illuminating the surroundings and prevented the worst stumbling until they found a path. His both assistants were again agreeing with each other and Tubberwood obeyed. He arrived to a roadsign, which was suspiciously large in the middle of the forest.

‘Kingdom of Rucedom … Never heard. Not my direction,’ Tubberwood muttered and turned back but the sword was suddenly in front of him. And pointing to him with that certain glimmering attitude.

Tubberwood sighed and obeyed.

The Pendant of Badsync jumped happily hanging there from the neck of Tubberwood B. Clanc. The weather had been clear for some time but now the dark clouds started rolling overhead and the air turned cold. Tubberwood was now walking through a landscape of cut down forest. Rolling hills with myriads of sad stumps. Something landed on Tubberwood’s nose and melted away but was followed by another. Soon it was snowing, luckily there was no wind. Tubberwood lifted his collar. The thermostat of The Sword of Nuthin seemed to work and it was warming the little pig farmer. He walked another hour until from a top of a hill he saw a village beneath him.

‘Rest and recuperation it is. Perhaps a burning Heckenfrieder and a couple of cold ones,’ he stated happily to the sword and the pendant, ‘you will allow me such a little relief, would you?’

He got to the front of Unintentional Unicorn Inn and turned to go in. The sword and the pendant stayed lifeless. He collided with a cloud of heavy smoke and smooth babbling of the different creatures occupying the half-dark space decorated with random timber arches splitting the room into smaller parts. He managed to locate the counter behind of which two goblins were about their toilings with the customers. He hit the counter with a silver coin. The other goblin arrived patiently:

‘Whatcha drinkin?’

‘A burning Heckenfrieder if you have such a thing. And be ready with another, this daler should do it,’ Tubberwood declared without second-guessing.

As the goblin went to prepare the explosive, Tubberwood suddenly felt a huge palm on his shoulder.

‘Why, a Heckenfrieder fellow!’ boomed a big human soldier wobbling next to Tubberwood, ‘I knew you were not from these lands, friend. What brings you to Rucedom?’

Tubberwood was not in the mood. Not yet.

‘My own business, if you please,’ he muttered and received the burning Heckenfrieder, taking a long swig.

He stood a moment staring to nowhere with blank eyes, then spat the fire out and flapped his elbows like a chicken during a flying lesson. After a short pause Tubberwood took another and another swig until the first drink was consumed. The human watched his ritual eyes wide:

‘I say, you people are some work. You know what that would do to my guts?’

‘I‘d shay, you’d have a new one torn,’ Tubberwood was getting into the mood now, ‘I am Tubberwod B. Klank, shon of Bearwood P. Kankl. Who are you? Bartender, my other Keckenringer! And a pint to my new friend, eh?’

‘Tullamus Tyr, at your service. A proud soldier of late king Prathus I of Rucedom, may he ride with Qarkares up there!’

‘The king is dead, long live the king!’ Tubberwood was now in speed but a bit stunned since the whole inn seemed to join his cheer and couple of more soldiers appeared and he was carried to a table in the corner.

‘Why, more friendsh? Skåeudal, ye mighty warriors!’ he declared and the inn cheered again.

He did not pay attention to the soldiers’ stare. These were consuming their pints very patiently and staring at his Sword of Nuthin and Pendant of Badsync. Finally Tullamus Tyr said to little wobbling pig farmer:

‘You know what?’

‘What ish it, more pintsh? I’m a bit limited what … comes to my … monet .. monetary shtatush. Aw Amialda! Oh Telluranda!’

‘We will make you the new king!’ Tullamus Tyr declared and the inn cheered.

‘It’sh a deal! Long live the new me, I mean king!’ exclaimed Tubberwood and despite the overall cheering passed out.

To be cont’d