Belkar kicked Roy's skull. "Good job, idiot…" he grumbled, kicking the skull again. "Way to screw everything up…" Celia and Haley had gone ahead to check out a small hamlet they'd seen while scouting, and they'd instructed him to stay behind with Roy. And they'd also mentioned, as they left, that they'd be back sometime after dusk - several hours from now. "If you hadn't died, I'd be able to bask in the blood of my foes without getting FUBAR'ed by some old geezer's magic tricks. And I'll admit… it was fun to see you hack through folks with that big sword of yours."
Belkar looked over at Roy's sword, which had somehow ended up lodged between Roy's ribs. Boy, had that been fun to explain to a travelling Paladin they'd happened upon… Belkar found himself staring at the blade. "You know, I wonder how many people that thing has killed over the years. How many organs it has spilled. How much blood has drizzled down… down…" Belkar suddenly felt very sick to his stomach. Had thinking about a sword really made him feel like that? He knew he was a sick person, but was he THAT sick? Still… He was curious. The sword was generations old. Generations of adventuring. Generations of hacking through tasty little chunks of XP. Generations… It had probably done more killing than he could ever dream of. He felt jealous. He also felt… odd. "No. No, no, noooo…" Belkar shook his head. "There's no way a sword is turning me on…"
But he still couldn't stop staring at it. He found himself slowly approaching it, unaware of his actions. Slowly, he reached out a hand. For some odd reason… he wanted to touch it. He wanted his fingers to gently grace its cold steel surface. To softly carress the veteran blade. After all… what harm could come from just one touch?
An hour later, Belkar made Mr. Scruffy swear to secrecy the sights he'd seen that day. He also began to work on a cover story for why several health potions had suddenly gone missing during the girls' absence.