Pointy End First, Questions Later

Darkness again. Muffled grunts, the squelch of boots in mud, and the ever-present, uniquely Gnikpaugh-esque aroma. That appeared to be my wielder's name, or at least what he muttered to himself when he tripped over a rock. Gnikpaugh. It had a certain ring to it. Mostly a dull, thudding ring, like a head repeatedly hitting a low ceiling.

I spent what felt like an age grappling with my new reality. Or, more accurately, my new unreality. I was the dagger. Stitch. Yes, that felt… right-ish. A name, at least. A label for the disembodied me-ness currently experiencing life as an accessory to goblin hygiene crimes. My vision was entirely dependent on Gnikpaugh. If he wasn't holding me with some sort of focus, the world winked out. It was like being a faulty lamp, only instead of flickering, my entire universe switched on and off at the whim of a creature who probably thought deep thinking was trying to remember where he left his favorite shinbone.

Suddenly, light! Gnikpaugh had drawn me. We were in a slightly wider section of cave, lit by the eerie glow of some luminescent fungus clinging to the walls. He was using my point – my point! – to prod at a pile of loose rocks, presumably looking for grubs or whatever constituted a goblin delicacy.

Honestly, I groused internally, the indignity. If I had a past life, I sincerely hope I was something more dignified. A royal scepter, perhaps. Or a particularly well-regarded paperweight. Anything but a glorified insect skewer.

Then, movement. Fast. From a shadowed crevice, something large, hairy, and possessing far too many legs scuttled forth. A cave spider, easily the size of Gnikpaugh’s head, which, admittedly, wasn't a very large head, but still alarmingly big for a spider.

Gnikpaugh shrieked. It was a sound that could curdle milk at fifty paces. He dropped the half-eaten grub he’d just unearthed and flailed wildly, waving me about like a conductor leading an orchestra of pure panic.

The spider, undeterred by the shrieking, advanced, its fangs dripping.

This was it. My grand debut as a weapon. Wielded by a screaming coward against a creature that probably laid eggs in things like him for fun.

As Gnikpaugh swung me in a particularly uncoordinated arc, something clicked within me. An instinct. A… pull. I focused my intangible will, whatever that was, on the advancing arachnid. It was like trying to aim a fire hose with a piece of wet string, but I pushed.

Miraculously, the tip of my blade connected. Not with any skill on Gnikpaugh's part, mind you. It was sheer, unadulterated, flailing luck, possibly with a tiny nudge from yours truly. I pierced the spider’s bulbous body with a sickening squelch.

The spider convulsed, its legs curling, and then lay still. Gnikpaugh stopped shrieking, his wide, terrified eyes blinking at the dead creature, then at me, then back at the spider. He poked it cautiously with his toe.

“Huh,” he grunted, a slow, dawning surprise spreading across his face. “Gnikpaugh… strong! Gnikpaugh brave spider-slayer!” He puffed out his chest, conveniently forgetting the preceding thirty seconds of abject terror.

As he preened, I felt something. A tiny, almost imperceptible thrum that resonated through my metallic form. A faint, warm flicker, like a spark catching on tinder. It wasn't unpleasant.

Alright, I conceded, as Gnikpaugh began looting the spider for edible bits (a process I tried very hard to un-see). So, 'pointy end towards enemy' seems to be a universal constant. Did I just… help? Maybe? And eww, spider guts. Definitely eww.