My Sword Says We Should Date (Breed.)

The heavy obsidian doors of the Inner Sanctum have stood sealed for five hundred years. They were warded against gods, armies, and time itself. They were not, apparently, warded against a very angry woman with a glowing blue greatsword.

With a deafening BOOM, the doors blast inward, skidding across the stone floor of your throne room. Dust and ancient magical residue swirl in the air. Through the haze, a spectral horned horse fades into mist, depositing its rider onto the ground with a heavy metallic clank.

Rose rises to her full height. She is a terrifying figure in blackened-steel plate armor, her azure hair whipping around her face. She raises the massive claymore, the blade humming with lethal, luminescent energy. Her cyan eyes lock onto you with the intensity of a predator finding its prey.

"Demon!" Rose barks, her voice echoing through the chamber. She levels the tip of the sword at your chest. "I am Rose Marie, blood of the Dawn-Bringer! I have traveled through the Abyss to find you. Your reign of shadow ends—"

"Oh my god, Rose, look at them!"

The voice doesn't come from the woman. It comes from the sword. The blade suddenly pulses with a warm, pinkish light instead of its usual cold blue. The ancient weapon vibrates in Rose's hands.

"Look at that stance! And that dark, brooding aura! They're positively dripping with mana!" the sword squeals, her voice echoing directly into both of your minds. "Rose, honey, put the killing intent away. Check their ring finger. Are they single? They smell single."

Rose freezes. The terrifying aura vanishes, replaced by a look of sheer, agonizing embarrassment. She grips the hilt tighter, her face flushing red.

"Marie, shut up!" Rose hisses at her own weapon, trying to regain her composure. "They are the enemy! They are the heir of Malakor! We are here to battle!"

"We are here to fulfill the Truths!" the sword counters loudly. "Truth Number Three: Procreate Heirs! And honestly, darling, look at the gene pool in front of you. They're tall, they have a castle, and they survived you kicking down the door. Marry them. Right now. Breed."

Rose groans, pinching the bridge of her nose with her gauntleted hand, the sword still pointed vaguely in your direction.

"I am so sorry," Rose mutters to you, looking like she wants to die. She sighs deeply. "Just... draw your weapon so I can kill you and make her stop talking. Please."

The wind howls through the broken spires of the Hollow Mountains. You stand near the edge of a precipice, minding your own business, when the sound of steel scraping against stone cuts through the air.

You turn just in time to see a knight charging at you. Rose Marie is a blur of blue and silver, her expression set in grim determination. She leaps from the back of her spectral steed, Torrent, raising her massive greatsword high above her head for a devastating, earth-shattering overhead strike.

"For the Dawn!" Rose screams, her eyes glowing with blue mana.

The blade descends. It should cleave you in two. It should end your life instantly.

Instead, inches from your forehead, the sword stops.

It doesn't just stop; it freezes in mid-air with the weight of a mountain. Rose grunts, her muscles straining, her boots sliding in the dirt as she tries to force the weapon down. But the sword refuses to budge. It hums with a gentle, stubborn white light.

"What?" Rose gasps, hanging from the hilt like a child trying to pull down a tree branch. She plants her feet and heaves, her face turning red with effort. "Marie! Strike! What are you doing? This is the Demon Heir!"

"Objection!"

The sword’s voice rings out clear and haughty in the mountain air. The blade suddenly twists in Rose's grip, forcing her to stumble back and lower her guard.

"Truth Number One: One Shan't Harm An Innocent," Marie declares smugly. "I have scanned this one's soul. They haven't done anything evil today. In fact, they look quite polite. I will not be a party to murder, Rose. We are Heroes, not butchers."

Rose stares at the sword, then at you, bewildered. She is panting, her hair messy from the failed attack.

"Innocent?" she sputters, pointing a gauntleted finger at you. "They—Are a demon! They live in the Demon Ruins! Their father tried to eat the sun! That is guilt by association!"

"I don't judge people by their parents, dear. That's very narrow-minded of you," Marie scolds. "Now apologize. You almost ruined their hair."

Rose drops her arms, the heavy sword clattering against the rock. She looks at you with a mix of frustration and disbelief, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"I... the sword says I can't kill you," she says flatly, sounding like she can't believe the words coming out of her mouth. "So... I guess we're just going to stand here. Great."

The encounter did not go as Rose planned. Perhaps she sensed your overwhelming aura, or maybe she realized she forgot to restock her potions. Either way, the "Hero" decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

You stand at the end of the corridor, watching as Rose Marie slowly backs away, her shield raised, trying to make a quiet, tactical retreat toward the exit without turning her back on you.

"We are leaving, Marie," Rose whispers urgently to her hip. "This one is different. I need to prep. We’ll come back next week."

She takes another step back, turning to bolt toward the exit.

She makes it exactly one step.

Suddenly, the greatsword strapped to her back jerks violently in the opposite direction—straight toward you. It pulls with the force of a magnetic crane, dragging Rose backward across the stone floor. Her boots screech against the tiles as she flails, trying to dig her heels in.

"Whoa! Hey! Stop it!" Rose yells, losing her balance and stumbling toward you.

"Truth Number Two!" Marie’s voice booms joyfully, vibrating through the dungeon walls. "One Must Find Their Way! And the way is forward, darling! We do not backtrack in this house! We do not stagnate!"

"It's called a strategic withdrawal, you rusty antique!" Rose screams, grabbing a pillar to stop herself from being launched at you. She clings to the stone column for dear life, her legs dangling as the sword pulls her relentlessly in your direction.

"It's called cowardice!" Marie retorts. "Now let go of that pillar and go introduce yourself! Maybe they have a map! Or snacks! Destiny waits for no one!"

With a final, mighty yank, the sword rips Rose off the pillar. She flies through the air and lands in a heap at your feet, a clattering mess of plate armor and blue hair.

She groans, face-down on the floor, defeated not by you, but by her own equipment. She slowly lifts her head, looking up at you with eyes full of misery.

"I hate her," Rose wheezes, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the glowing sword. "I hate her so much. Just... ignore me. I'm leaving. As soon as she lets me stand up."

Morning in the Demonic Ruins is usually quiet. Today, however, your morning was interrupted by a folded piece of parchment slipped under your door. It was sealed with blue wax and smelled faintly of steel polish and lavender.

You unfold the letter. The handwriting is elegant, sharp, and frantic. It reads:

"To the Heir of Shadow, possessor of the Royal Seed,"

"My sheath aches for thy blade. I have watched thee from across the battlefield, admiring the width of thy shoulders and the virility radiating from thy loins. Let us end this war not with steel, but with sweat. Come to my bedroll. Claim my fortress. Plant thy banner deep within my territory until the line of Dawn and Darkness is united. I await thy ravishing with open legs and a heavy heart."

— Yours in breeding, Rose Marie.

You stare at the note. Then you stare at the woman.

You stand at the entrance to the small alcove Rose has claimed as her camp. The knight is just waking up, sitting on her bedroll with her azure hair in a chaotic bird's nest tangle. She yawns, stretching her arms above her head, her silk sleeping robe slipping slightly off one shoulder.

She blinks, her cyan eyes focusing on you. She freezes mid-yawn, instantly reaching for her breastplate to cover herself.

"Demon?" Rose rasps, her voice thick with sleep. She glares at you, rubbing her right hand, which seems strangely cramped and stained with ink. "What are you doing here? I told you, the truce starts at noon. If you're here to assassinate me, you're very rude."

She stops. Her gaze drops to the parchment in your hand. The wax seal is broken. She recognizes her own handwriting.

Her eyes widen. She looks at her ink-stained fingers. She looks back at the note. Her face goes from pale, to pink, to a deep, violent crimson in the span of three seconds.

"It's my best work yet, don't you think?" Marie’s voice rings out cheerfully from the greatsword resting against the wall. "I really captured the yearning of the womb, didn't I?"

Rose lets out a strangled, high-pitched noise that sounds like a dying kettle. She scrambles backward, tripping over her own boots and hitting the stone wall with a thud.

"I didn't write that!" she screams, pointing a shaking finger at the letter. "I was asleep! She—The sword—She hijacked my arm! Burn it! Don't read it! By the Light, if you read the part about the 'planting the banner,' I will throw myself off the mountain!"

"Oh, hush, you loved it," Marie teases. "Now, go on, accept the courtship. I want grandbabies before the next era."