Barclay made his way to the cove with uncertainty and hesitation. He’d signed up for this whole thing that was true, but there had been a certain degree of assuming sensible things about the venture involved when ultimately seemed like it might not be sensible at all. When they’d mentioned fighting the shadows, he’d imagined a more detached technological solution than kitting them out in weapons like a ragtag militia. It was his own fault for letting his imagination run wild and he would deal with it the way his family had dealt with anything for generations – with decorum and duty. If they wanted him to wield a talking weapon for a living, then he would do so to the best of his ability and with rapt attention to anything that the organisation could offer to help him. He’d filled his pockets with the pamphlets they’d been offered and tried to prepare himself for what he’d been told to expect.

The cove itself seemed deceptively normal, a large stone space filled with square tablets inlaid with images of various weapons of all shapes and sizes. There was a set of enormous roots growing through the wall on one side of the room but other than that there seemed nothing much out of the ordinary to be found.

Barclay’s hands felt warm in their gloves and his nerves were running high, but as always he displayed nothing of it on the outside, externally calm and composed.

Taking a deep breath, he moved, looking over the first on the shelf, a stone depicting a small gun. It seemed like a useful weapon and he reached out to touch it, hurriedly withdrawing his hand again as the tablet seemed to repel him by force. He made a sound of surprise at this, wondering immediately if there was some sort of electrical charge involved or some other special effects trickery.

<>

The voice was like a rumble, a low rolling growl of sound that he felt below his feet and in the walls. It spoke in a language he shouldn’t have understood but did, the meaning feeling as if it travelled straight into his brain. It trailed off, followed by a long deep inhalation and then returned like a wave, almost unbearably loud.

<>

Barclay looked around fearfully, unable to tell from whence the sound came.

“Me?” he asked. “Why me? Who are you? Where are you?”

A laugh, another rumbling sound that shook him.

<>

One of the tablets felt like it drew his eye more than the others, a strange hooked weapon which seemed to beckon to him just by existing. He moved nearer, leaning in close to inspect it, realising as he did so that it had a scythe on it, an unconventional weapon to be sure, and one he hadn’t even considered as a possibility from all of this.

<>

So used to taking orders since he was very small, he didn’t even hesitate, stretching out his hand to touch the topmost edge of the strange tablet. The moment his fingers brushed it there was a jolt, a sensation of tremendous energy which lanced through him. For an instant he was a lightning rod, a conduit to something much more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced. It took his breath away like a punch to the chest and he gasped. It was almost involuntary that he reached out his hands to steady himself and when he did he found himself holding the weapon which had been engraved on the tablet, only writ large, imposingly sharp and embellished with a gleaming set of runes.

<>

“Oh my.” Barclay said aloud, uncertain what was even appropriate to say in such a situation. “You are very sharp. Do I carry you around all of the time?” That didn’t seem practical and he certainly hadn’t seen anyone carrying around a weapon on the way here.

<> it said and as if triggered simply by the words he thought of it and the weapon was gone. Well, not entirely gone but reduced down and stowed elsewhere.

“Ouch!” Barclay exclaimed as ridding himself of the weapon was accompanied by a very sharp pain under his shirt. “What on earth did you do?” He asked, raising his hand to one of his nipples and hissing in pain.

Again that laughter, rolling through the world like distant thunder. <>

Barclay flushed bright red, never the sort of person for tattoos or piercings and completely scandalised by this turn of events.

At the very least he could hide it, he supposed, a small mercy all told.

“We shall go.” He said brightly, to an accompanying chuckle, and together they both went.