Entry for the Swords Online contest

Bloodrisen the Slaymate, the Angel of Slaughter. In the lands of Thelas, few even dare whisper the name Bloodrisen, especially among the various assassin groups that plague the backstreets of her cities. Some say this man is nothing but a mere ghost story meant to scare the new recruits of Guardsmen and rogues alike. But unlucky for them, I am very real.

Being Dalish-born means I have lived quite the life of hardship. When I was very young, our aravels were loaded with ironbark and we were trying to avoid our normal routes to the local village for they were always generous with their provisions and hospitality in exchange for our potent materials. I was still just a young lad then, learning the trade routes from my father and the mannerisms of humans. We were at the head of the caravan then, and then I heard a strange whistling sound, then a thud.

I looked up to my dad to ask him what it was, but stopped in mid sentence. He had a strange grimace on his face and he reached out to me with a shaky hand, then fell to the ground with a sickening thud. My eyes widened in fear, three arrows were protruding from my father’s back, I heard screams of terror from the other aravels, and my mother ran out of hers and called out to me. I could only turn my head to her, my feet rooted to the spot as if the demons of hell reached from the ground and held me there. I remember that everything went as if in slow motion, my mother running towards me, tears pouring down her amber eyes, then her beautiful almond shaped eyes widening in terror as a burly human bandit leapt in front of her, brandishing a bloody dagger, and then her pleading cries of sorrow as he gut her with a psychotic laugh. As my mother fell with her entrails showering out of her, I snapped out of my stupor as if I just came out of some hypnosis, and with a cry of agony I charged that bandit with my small dirk. I leapt on his back and used my knife to slit his throat wide open, his choking cries of pain spurting bubbles of blood from his grizzled face. What once was cynical joy was now a satisfying look of agonizing pain. I jumped off of his back and watched the cur clutch at his throat trying to stuff his severed windpipe back in his neck. I must admit, I kind of enjoyed watching this degenerate flail in utter despair as his last moments flickered from his pupils. Hearing another death cry from my kin snapped me out of my trance and I took cover under the closest aravel, dragging the nearest corpse so I could hide out as a stiff.

I silently watched the gory scene as the rest of my kin got slaughtered right before me. The soulless bastards raped the women in front of husbands, killed the children and elders, and took everything. The bandits all had a sense of amusement as they cut my clan’s ears off, gouged out eyes, and mutilated the corpses. Luckily I was out of their sight for all of this.

After the bandits had their fill of blood, carnal pleasures, and plunder, they just left, leaving the bodies of their victims strewn across the West Road. I crawled out of my miserable cover when I thought I was safe. I looked around me at all the death that plagued the road. In the light of the setting sun, in had an eerie calmness to it after the carnage of earlier. I went to my mother’s body, which was already being picked at by crows. I chased them off, the winged rats squawking angrily being driven from their meal, but soon perched on another corpse. My father’s body was nowhere to be found, probably mutilated by the hands of those brigands. Something snapped inside of me, like an inner demon was suddenly unleashed from its shackles. I found the body of the murderer who killed my mother, I took my knife and stabbed the corpse to every piece of his body I could find. I stabbed his face until it crushed in, I pulled his organs out and threw them across the fields. After hours of mutilating this corpse I finally collapsed to the ground in tears, punching the ground in utter sorrow.

I spent the rest of my adolescence in Denerim as a pickpocket. I had a signet ring from the bandit I killed, and felt like Denerim was the place to find out where these bastards operated and exact my revenge. I spent years living in the cold streets of alienage, sneaking out at night to pilfer minor things or getting into bar fights over my heritage. Every waking second spent in Denerim fueled my hate for those disgusting humans, and forged my will to find those bandits and murder every last one of them.

But I do remember one moment of my life that I found as a stroke of luck. While sneaking around the marketplace for a coin-lined pouch to slip my fingers into, a huge ruckus was being caused by the local weapon smith’s stand. Some human was kicking around a dwarf, complaining that the dwarf was cheating him on Dark Iron splint mail. But it wasn’t the abuse of the diminutive armor smith that boiled my blood, it was his ring. I’d recognize that insignia blindfolded, that hideous snake coiled three times around the pinky with tiny egg-shaped ruby in its mouth. The next thing I remember, was me being dragged off of the man with a club in my hand, and how I got a club I don’t know, but I do remember someone telling me I ripped it from a guardsmen’s belt who was about to break up the fight.

I spent the rest of the day in a cold cell with the armor smith, apparently he incited a riot and I was his accomplice. He told me his name was Barvel Steelfist and that he never seen one of the knife-ears ever help out a dwarf before. He told me that I was welcome at his stand any time, if we weren’t hanged my the morning.

Thus began my friendship with Barvel. He was a seasoned soldier, and a very fine artisan. He taught me how to fight with a blade, and how to drink. He kind of adopted me since he told me he had never had a son before, and well I was close enough for him. The old dwarf was aging though, and shortly after me passing the years of young adult to a full fledged man, Barvel was bed-ridden. He called to me that night, and told me over the years he had been working on a special present just for me, called it my inheritance for being the finest son he had ever had. He pointed to a chest in the corner that I had never noticed before. I opened it and found a set of armor and two longswords. He told me that it was a set of dragon scale leather armor and two dragon bone swords. He told me he had received the materials from a traveling adventurer years ago, but he had never returned, and he wished for me to put them to good use, even hinted at taking out a certain group of thugs with a wink, before quietly passing on.

Fast-forward two months. I had been tracking the movements of these bandits to their secret hideout in the outskirts of Denerim. It was a large farmhouse, two stories with few windows. The moon was in a strange eclipse that night that blocked out all light long enough for me to make my way across the field before filling the air with a pale light. I climbed the stone wall up to the second story window. I checked the room to make sure no one was in before I lifted the window open and snuck in as quiet as a whisper. I slowly made my way to the door, and I could hear voices coming from downstairs.

I slowly opened the door, and slowly made my way to the stairs. I looked down to see two men standing at a door, half asleep, perfect timing for me I guessed. Like a graceful tiger I bounded down the stairs in two leaps not making the slightest noise, and I slowly turned, and charged at the two guards, my blades out to my sides like deadly wings. Before they could blink their heads dropped to the floor, their bodies flopping on the ground like fish. I kicked open the door, the twenty men in the room looking up in surprise. Their stupid drunken looks, dirty filthy stinking humans and their stupid faces. Needless to say, only one person walked out of that building tonight, and the rest of the house was painted in the blood and entrails of filthy humans. Their souls would never be missed, in fact, I took enjoyment filleting their degenerate bodies to ribbons,

Since then I have built a reputation as a murderer for hire, even the Crows fear to cross my path when it comes to catching prey, and I am especially known to bring back the target in one pouch of gory pieces.

Kothar

“Hey you there sire, yes you with the tribal fur cloak and strange helmet! Come hither, for your bravery on the field of battle today inspired my to write a bardic song of your courage and strength! Now what kind of malady has accursed you to cause your body to be like this? Or are you one of those Yuan-ti lizard men?” The bard paused for a moment, dragging a chair next to him.

“Come come sir, I have no ill intent to you, I just merely wish to record your tale for generations to come!”

My name is Kothar. My name is curse as well as blessing. In language of my ancestor, name means Demon. I am called demon for my brutal way of combat. I like to hold onto my enemy as I bite face off, maybe rip throat out with claws. In common man tongue, I am called barbarian, fighter of rage and fury. I am not common man, I am called abomination, freak, and sometimes……demon.

It all began before I was born. My mother, a strong painswoman, fell in love with warrior from other tribe. My mother was strong warrior, she save this man from two tigers with her bare hands. This man say he was from Dragon Talon Clan, my mother never heard of this tribe before, but offer him bed and rest to treat injuries. During night, mother fall in love with man, they make love, but something strange catches eye of my mother. The man shadow, was not shadow of man, but of dragon. My mother, she does not care, she love man with all heart. Man say he is dragon who is cursed to be in human body, he say shaman cast evil spell on him. My mother keep this secret from rest of tribe, she did not believe her people would understand situation. This man live with tribe for many months, he marry mother, but one day he disappear with trace, and crush mother’s heart.

The next day, I was born. During birth, my mother die of complication, and tribe elder see me as birth of demon child. Tribe people shun me, I spend childhood being teased, bullied and abused. But I bullied, teased and abused back. I get into many fights, and when I turn ten, village elder cast me out of village for breaking other boy’s arms and knees. I learned how to fend for self in the wild, I hunted using my bare claws for I had nothing when elder shun me. For six years I lived in forest near the plains, living off land and teaching myself how to survive. When I was fifteen, I was stalking elf hunter because he killed the deer I had been tracking for six hours. When he stopped for rest, I made my move and jumped out at him. We battled for many long minutes, and when it seemed I has upper hand, ground gave way and I fell into large hole. I woke up in cavern, with the elf I had tried to kill bandaging my leg. He told me I had broken my leg, and that if we made it out he would take me to healer to fix it. We spent four days in cavern, and this man help me walk. He told me that I was not demon like my tribe told me, but I was part dragon, and he even taught me how to speak dragon speak and elf speak. He say that I should be proud to be what I was because my family was blessed with dragon blood. I told him he should not speak of what he did not understand.

He laughed and told me that I did not understand my own life. He also taught me the beliefs of Tempus, and of fearless battles. My time spent with this elf man opened my eyes to many new ideas. The first time in my life I was treated like actual person instead of monster, and it made me forget of my hatred towards people.

When we finally got out of cavern, he took me to his village in the forest. His people treat me kindly, without fear or prejudice. His shaman of the Elf gods fixed my leg, and the elf warriors taught me how to fight better with my claws and teeth, teaching me their ways of close quarters fighting. I live with tribe for one year, and on night of sixteenth birthday, many creatures attack village. They were frightening creatures, not of living. They were walking skeletons and corpses, and my friend and I fought valiantly to defend village. This man left village by himself after we had fought, saying it was his destiny to find the man who sent the creatures to attack village. I offered to go, but he refuse, saying that he needed to go alone.

I left village soon after friend left on his journey. I traveled for another year, and soon found myself at large village. I thought I would find the same welcome I had at Evertree Village. That was mistake. I was shunned like demon, at the inn I was treated like orc. People ran away in fear, or cursed my existence. One man even drew sword and threaten to kill me. When I refuse to leave, he attack, and I rip arms off. The guards treat me like criminal and try to capture me. I flee village, with hatred once again in my blood for human.

Another year of a vagabond’s existence I lived. Until I found this city, where my existence is not shunned but appreciated only for my skills in battle. And bard, that is my story for your silly song. And maybe I shall continue my lonely existence, but before I die, I will find father, and rip his throat out myself for cursing my life.

History of Bloodrise

Bloodrise the Slaymate, Marionette of the Troupe of Despair, Count of the blasted lands of Nyshra. Lord Zaxel Coldstar. I have gone by all of these names in my time. Ever since that faithful day two thousand years ago, a night that robbed me of my life, my mortality, and my sanity.

I remembered it was raining, the bitter wind and cold night made the rain hit me like a million shards of glass. I was an Elven Lord, fighting my way through this downpour to the nearest inn. I was in the lands of Kervaldur, a quiet domain with little to offer other than bleak mountainsides and freezing weather. This wouldn't sound like a likely home for a lich lord, but my sources of information were never wrong. The next town of Juthra, was hiding this lord of undeath.

Every step I took seemed to make it rain harder, make the slashing wind stronger, and the night sky even darker, to where I felt like I was walking in a dark void. I pressed on, remembering my purpose, and the lives I would be saving kept my resolve. After what felt like days, I finally saw lights in the distance. Another short while, and I was trudging along past the main gates of the small town, the town guard not even bothering to check me, trying to stay out of the rain.

After a few minutes I finally found the inn, a small two-story building with the sounds of laughter and merriment ringing from the doors. I pushed my way in, dripping wet from the torrent of rain. The merriment seemed to die out almost instantly at the sight of a foreigner, but then as quickly as it got quiet, the bard began playing his hurdy-gurdy and the inn went back to normal. Seeing a fireplace I immediately made my way to it's comforting embrace, the warmth returning feeling to my sore limbs. After a few minutes, a pretty barmaid approached, looking no older than sixteen she gave me a quick glance up and down.
"Can I get you something sire?" She asked with a rosy smile.

"Could you get me some warm wine and whatever meat and cheese you have" I replied through chattering teeth.

With a polite nod she walked off, taking a couple more orders before disappearing behind the bar, I returned my attention to the fire, some of my clothes under my elven plate armor drying up, I decided to pull up a chair and rest my road-worn legs. I had been walking for almost a week, traveling from my home of Evertree in Nyshra. A small brigade of undead warrirors and beasts attacked the borders of my homeland, led by a Lich of considerable power. A seer of quite repute had told me many years before a time would come when I would have to defend my home and country against an evil of great power, and only I would be able to face it. We were successful in defeating the minions, but the Lich escaped, and I began my three year pursuit of the foul being. All of my leads brought me to this town, and here I would end an evil that threatened my home.

The barmaid soon returned, with a tray of smoked rabbit and a steaming goblet of red wine, she gently rested the tray on my lap, and handed the goblet to me with an intoxicating smile.

"That will be two silver pieces milord," she politely extended her hand.

I pulled out a small gold coin instead and placed it in her hand.

"Please also get me a key to a room, and keep the change milady," I quietly replied.

She blushed a deep crimson from the tip she had just received and quickly rushed back to the bar. I slowly ate the bits of meat she brought me, the tender bits of rabbit were satisfyingly warm and juicy, along with the wine, made a fine dinner. Looking back at this I regret that my last meal as a mortal was as frugal as it was. But I could not forsee what the gods had in store for me that night, that faithful night that would change me forever....

(to be continued)

History of Vyth Kepesk

History of Vyth Kepesk (Steel Storm)


I have been bred for my role. Since birth, like my fathers before me, I would become the next vassal for our god, Bahamut. On my birth night, a chill wind blew out the torches of the villagers’ vigil. The moon went into a strange eclipse, darkening the night sky into a void of space. Some say the strange whispers of celestial beings filtered through the crowd into my parents’ hut. Some say it was Bahamut himself, coming to bless the occasion. Some say it was Tiamat, trying to prevent another holy warrior of Bahamut from coming into this world. Nonetheless, the strange darkness passed over as quickly as it had come, and the vigil torches burned brightly again.
No one could explain this occurrence, but my birth went without problems. As soon as I lived through my first season, I was sent with my father to train in the woods. For two years, my father and I fought for our lives in that forest. We lived with just the clothes on our backs, and the strength of our will. At three, my body was already building to a warrior’s stature, fit to start my training as a Zealot of our Liege.
At the age of four, my father gave me a sword and shield to start my battle training. Once again, we braved the creatures of the forest for another two years, and during this time my father taught me the sacred battle prayer of our people, to be recited during each battle and with each repeat to grow in fervor until our enemies tremble with our battle cries.
“Through my will and arms, I shall fight in his name. No matter the odds,
I shall persist until death. My blade be his divine judgment unto thy enemies. My shield be his unnerving hand to protect thy allies. I shall vanquish all who seek to conquer the defenseless, and I shall seek to liberate those in the shackles of contempt. I am his harbinger, and with my liege with me, I shall know no fear.’

With each affliction or wound from fighting, bred my strength. With each near death encounter, bred my iron will to survive and to shrug off the punishment. I was trained to carry out my patron’s divine will, and that was to free this land from the oncoming evil in it’s future.
My father also told me great tales to learn upon. But the one that stands out the most is about a certain sword:
Many many years ago, before the first Paladin of Bahamut existed, ruled a king of all those who were of Draconic blood. He united dragon kind under one mighty kingdom in the mountains, where magnificent towers of sorcery were built, and where magical wonders beyond the imagination of man were born. One of these wonders was the sword of the Dragon King, Maekrix Caex, or the Lord’s Blade in the tongue of man. It was said that the sword was made from a horn of Bahamut himself, through the promise that this King shall become his Vassal. This blade was revered among the dragon kin for it was rumored that the one who wields it, gains the powers of the first Paladin of the Platinum Flight. For many hundreds of years, this king reigned, until the jealous Tiamat influenced a faction of the dragon kin to revolt against the king. In a short year, the once mighty kingdom of the Dragon kin fell into chaos. In the most titanic of clashes, the Dragon King fought against the Vassal of Tiamat. Their blows against each other tore the earth under them asunder. The two warriors fought until exhaustion, until they eventually felled each other. The war around them continued, until no side could claim victory, just broken groups of dragon kin retreating from the horrors of their war. The magical wonders that the kingdom once harbored were rumored to be destroyed or hidden away, and the Dragon King’s sword was never to be found.
My father always told me of how many paladins of Bahamut go to search for the Lord’s Blade, and all have failed. He said only one who is truly devoted himself to the Platinum lord can find the sword, and be deemed worthy. And with his words, I do search for this blade, for I feel that through my travels, my only reason for living is to uphold the Holy Voice of the Platinum Lord.
When I turned twelve, I was made ready to begin my travels. My father told me I was destined for things far greater than sitting in a village, and told me to remember, only one who is truly worthy in the eyes of Bahamut can find the Lord’s Blade. Through my years of travel, I am not in constant search of the blade, in fact I am in search of where I can uphold the ideals of Bahamut, and provide protection to the weak or those in need. That’s where I find myself today, in my group of warriors, protecting this town from the growing evils of the world. Perhaps I shall be found worthy by my lord one day, but until then, I am his Harbinger and I shall know no Fear.

Samurai Fight

Alright, my first story to put up on this blog....

Their only light was the full moon, casting an eerie glow across the plains. The stars dazzled brilliantly, further illuminating the night sky. The chill autumn wind cut through the air, biting at the faces of the two warriors only ten paces apart. One stood facing the east, adorned in brilliant armor made from the scales of dragons, his helmet carrying the very visage of the beasts he hunted. On his back was a massive sword the size of a full grown man that glittered a pale blue in the moonlight. Hanging from his belt was a bastard sword, the pommel made from the fang of a red dragon he felled some time ago. Facing the west stood an Elven warrior, wearing a simple chain mail armor that glowed a faint light. He wore a longsword on his right, and a short sword on his left, his head bore only a white headband, his eyes focused on his adversary with a cold stare.

The wind once again blew between the warriors, leaves from an autumn tree fluttered around them. Neither warrior moved, both stood unflinching, the biting cold, their stone cold gazes fixed upon each other. There was a visible energy flowing between the warriors, causing a stillness in the air that silenced all around them. Even the wind seemed to die out, the powerful will of the two men stopping even nature herself.

In tandem, both drew their weapons. The dragon warrior unsheathing his massive blade, and the Elf swordsman drawing his two blades. Neither took a step forward or back, both just stood in their battle stances. Both men closed their eyes, playing out the battle between them in their minds.

“I am a Dragon Samurai. I have the plane touched blood of Elven royalty. I have fought countless dragons and fiendish beasts in my time. I can not lose this fight. The lives of entire cities depend on my protection, this foe stands in my way to keeping their lives safe, I will not lose.”

“I have trained in the art of swordsmanship my whole life. This man is the best in the world, I am here to show I have surpassed him. My whole life of training, all those years being ridiculed for being of Elven blood, now comes to this moment. This is my destiny to win this fight, I will not lose.”

Both warriors opened their eyes, neither submitting to the willpower of the other. Both took a small step forward, then, a flash. Both warriors stood where the other once was, their weapons forward from their attacks against each other. They held their poses for what seemed to be eons. Then, both slowly turned around to face each other once again. Weapons raised, they charged each other, blades clashing against each other, some glancing armor, no blows hitting home. The battle raged on, the two warriors clashed like mighty gods, their blows rocking the earth with each strike. The both charged in again, then, another flash;

“I have won.”

“I…..have……failed.”

The warrior dropped to his knees, blood flowing freely from the fatal gash across his stomach. The other slowly turned to face his dying opponent, gave a quiet salute, and slowly continued on his way, to continue his journey.