The Saga of Stormblade.
-----------------
Entry VII: Innocence Avenged.
------------------
This tale contains a spoiler for one of the game deeds. It also contains
offensive language and violence. Please do not read if you are easily
offended, or do not wish to get the spoiler.
------------------
Prolog: Revelation.
-----------------
Walking into the schoolyard, I immediately spotted him. The young,
agitated orc was a sorry site to behold, with his bruised face and fearful
eyes. He was dressed in the vest and helm that were common gears for all new
students, but he had no weapon, not even a pocket knife. Small for an orc,
the youngling looked up at me with fear in his eyes, and, admirably, a trace
of defiance. I had no particular love for his race. In fact, I had destroyed
enough of them, yet this tiny creature looked so pitiful that I could not
help but to smile gently upon the creature reassuringly.
Leaning forward, I greeted the young orc with my gauntleted fist pressed
to my breastplate, for I had no desire to extend my hand to such vile race,
pity or not.
"Hail, young one," I tried to make my voice less contemptuous, but even I
could hear the distaste in my tone. 'Oh well,' I thought, 'He's just going
to have to deal with it.' After all, he was quite lucky that I did not
strike him down like I had done to so many of his kind. "It is brought to my
knoledge that you have been wronged?"
The orcish child looked at me in puzzlement, not comprehending my way of
speech. He was, obviously, not instructed in the art of High Speech. Sighing
to myself, I switched to more common tongue, "I've heard that you are having
problem with the school?"
This time, the orc's eyes blazed with anger, and in a winy voice, he began
to tell me of his trouble.
Hopping up and down, he yelled, "I came to learn fight, they took sword!"
"Who took your sword?" I asked, trying not to let the winy sound of his
voice get to me.
"Human... Bad human thinks he's tough! 'Oh he orc he must be bad guy nyah
nyah'."
"I will get it back for you." I said.
"Oh you human you must be smelly."
Well, my armor did smell a bit, but I got his point. Not all human
smelled, and probably not all orcs were evil. In my younger days, I might've
debated the point, but I knew enough to recognize the wisdom in the young
orc's rant.
Pointing at himself, the orc said, "Oh he just little he get beat up."
Anger took over, and the orc went on shouting with a trace of madness in his
eyes. "Oh you old and in mud school you can't get in Mud U haha!" Throwing
his head back, the orc cackled with insane glee. Stomping about, the orc
looked generally pissed.
He was still shouting as I turned and walked away. "I get it back I get it
back and then I'll show him..."
-----------------
End Prolog.
-----------------
Chapter I: Redemption.
-------------
I gaze hard at the leader of the guards. 'I dare ye not cast such a spell
in the name of thy god, for the spell will certainly harm thy own kind!'
'Step away from the human, Sarina!' He shouts, not slowing the weave.
To my horror and surprise, the young djinni holds her spot, protectively
before me. 'I shall not allow ye, in my presence, to harm my charge who I
have just healed!'
His lips pull back in a faint smile. 'Very well then. For the fate of a
traitor is no short of death as far as the temple law declares!' Then, he
releases the spell...
I see the spell coming, as clearly as I see the defiance in the young
healer's eyes. I see the spell of harm, and place my own shield before the
girl's body, knowing all the while that it is not enough... What can I do?!
No time to push her aside, no time to move myself before her, for although
the spell seems to come at the speed so slow, it is actually travelling at
the speed of light.
The scream, oh the scream! It's Sarina, the young healer who has just
healed me, and oh how she screams! Then the spell hits me, right through her
falling body it passes and hits me with none of its dreadful effect lost. Oh
the pain, it's unbearable!
Blood... Blood is everywhere. My blood, and hers! I see her falling to the
ground at my feet. Her face, so pale... Her blood's pouring out of her small
body... Why is she still smiling up at me? Red, my vision is turning red...
The bloodfever, it's taking me in, and, I, welcome, its, embrace!!!
****************
Dead, they're all dead now. Bodies everywhere, torn from limb to limb. The
smell of blood is so thick. My sword, it's so heavy and slick with the blood
of the guards. My hands, they are bloody too. It's what I am used to, what I
am made for... Killing. Yes, I am good at such, but can I protect and save
as well? No. She's dead. She who has died to defend her belief. She who has
died because I, the last son of Stormblade, failed to defend her who healed
me... No...No...Nooooooooo!!!!!
-----------------
"Noooooooooo!"
"Arise, Master Stormblade... In the name of Dentin, arise!"
The echo of the scream, my scream, rang in my head, and I felt the gentle
hand of the priest shaking me, gently but assertively. Sitting up, I
surveyed my surrounding. Traces of sunlight streaked into the room from
shaded windows, and I saw that I was in the small chapel waypoint, south of
the graveyard of Thalos. I had apparently slept on one of the chapel's many
long benches. My bones and muscles were stiff and aching, and my face was
wet with sweats and tears - the memory of my nightmare. I was a sorry sight
to behold, and not many people would've been able to identify me as the
well-known, harden warrior who was known as The Blade Seeker, if they were
to walk into the chapel right at that moment.
The priest, a holy man of goodness, gazed down at me with kindness in his
wise, old eyes. He looked to be a man of middle age, yet something terrible
had turned his hair white and made his eyes looked as though they had
witnessed all the pain and suffering in the world. He was just a lad when he
first settled in this chapel, and never was there a man more faithful and
kind such as he. The horror that changed him forever took place about a
decade ago. It was an event so singular and horrifying that it deserves a
tale of its own. All that I'd say now is that many priests had gone down to
the levels that were hidden below the chapel, and this man who now stood
beside me was the only one to return. What had befallen the rest, he would
not say for fear of the words themselves would recall the dreadful memory of
those long, dark hours of which he knelt in prayer behind an overturned
sarcophagus, heard and witnessed the creatures of the night, while these
same creatures roared for his blood. "Ye are restless, Master Stormblade."
He stated matter-of-factly.
"aye," I answered as I stood up and stretched. My wounds had healed while I
slept, or maybe the good priest had healed me, but that wound upon my heart
throbbed like an asp's bite.
Not in the mind for words, I walked stiffly over to the corner where my
armors and sword lied and, slowly, I donned my battle gears. With my sword
and flute case strapped to my back, I turned and found the priest still
watching me with those soothing eyes of his, and was suddenly overwhelmed by
a desire to fall upon my knees and beg for forgiveness which he could never
grant. "Father," I began doubtfully. "I fear that I have wronged..."
The priest nodded and kept his eyes on mine. "We all have been, and will
be, tis the weakness of mortal heart."
"My hands... They are bloody." I said, gazing down at my gauntlets, the
mithril gleamed in the thin light. No trace of blood was left upon my
gauntlets of course, but I think he knew what I meant.
"And that pains thee?" He asked with something akin to amusement in his
eyes. "Ye of the follower of the Goddess of Insanity, a warrior who lives by
his fame and skill with arms, ye who laugh death in the face, and ye are
pained by the blood thy hands hast spilled?"
"Nay," I looked down, refusing to meet his gaze. "Tis the blood that spilled
due to my failed attempt to protect..."
"Ah," understanding dawned in his eyes. "We hast all failed one or more in
our past. Even skilled warriors such as ye cannot save all."
"Indeed, but for all thy philosophies dost not quell the pain that eats at
my heart like the poison of a serpent."
"To that," the priest said sadly, "My only counsel is for thou to find ways
to serve and protect others, and hope that the deeds thou complete in the
name of goodness will cleanse thy soul. Go now. I shall pray for ye."
He was still looking at my back as I strode through the chapel's door, into
the golden light of the morn.
-------------
West of the city of Ralnoth, on the edge of the small forest, a watch
tower stood idly on the border between civilization and the wilderness of
the western plain. From atop the tower, one could see over the west citywall
and observe what was taking place in the city itself. To the south, one
could survey the swamp and the abandoned castle of the Mad Alchemist, and to
the north, the rusty gate of the city's huge cemetery provided a gloomy
view. The mean purpose of the tower however, was to keep a close watch on
the west plain, just encase any unseen threat was to approach Ralnoth from
that direction.
The tower itself was a construction of thick tree trunks, bound together
by heavy ropes. Four sturdy wooden posts were set firmly into the ground,
and there was a long ladder lashed to the eastern side of the tower which
provided a long ascent up to an open-air hut, situated at the highest point
of the construction.
Two guards were appointed to guard the tower at all hours, and one of the
three specially trained highwatch scouts was to remain on duty atop the
tower for at least eight hours a day. Due to the great vantage view from the
top of the tower, the highwatch scouts seldom missed any news that was going
on around the area, making them a great source for information.
----------------
After leaving the chapel, I journeyed north from the Great Southern Road,
past the fallen city of Thalos and the famed Monk Tower, and after a full
day of travel, I arrived in Ralnoth. The journey was long, but it gave me a
great oppertunity to think about what the priest had said. The pain of the
failure still clawed at my heart, but at least now I knew I had hope.
The Southern Road was quiet at this time of the year. Not many people
would travel in the area for awhile now due to the countless rumors
surrounding the annihilation of the djinni race. The most believed, and
probable, of these rumors was the tale of a great demon invasion upon the
sanctuary of the djinnis', but of course, I knew better. Rumor also had it
that, after witnessing the gruesome execution of his four champions, the
djinni headmaster had gone insane with fear and was attacking anyone and
anything that came into his sight. Well, maybe one day I would have to do
something about the crazed djinni, but at this moment, he was not my
priority.
Night had fallen when I walked through the southern gate of the city of
Ralnoth, but the streets were crowded with adventurers, thieves, and
merchants of various trades. Some of these adventurers I recognized and
hailed, and some appeared to know me, although not all of them greeted me
with friendly glances. Guards and sentries patrolled the streets, mostly
mercenaries with rough backgrounds and little skills. These guards were
useful only in numbers or when facing off with children and inexperienced
adventurers, but mostly they tried hard to keep out of the ways of
short-tempered rogues and wandering warriors. Despite their efforts to keep
peace with the many battle-harden killers whom wandered the city, these
guards were, at the best of times, barely civilized. Thus, it was not
uncommon for one to come across discarded cityguard's equipments and corpses
in dark alleys and back-streets.
The huge Unholy Temple of Dentin situated in the center of the city. It
brightened the Central Square with its many magical lanterns and torches.
There were many activities going around the temple at all times, but my
interest lied strictly on the saloon which was located southeast of the
Unholy Temple, across from the Clerics Guild. After a whole day of
travelling, I was not going to deny myself of at least a mug of ale and a
warm meal.
A big man greeted me at the entrance of the saloon. He was a hand taller
than I, and was built like a golem, but despite of his great size and
warlike appearance, Roan was a lamb at heart. The saloon owner had hired him
to keep the saloon in good order, and that he did well.
"Master Stormblade! Welcome back!" The big man roared and clapped me on my
shoulder, nearly knocking me onto my knees.
"It's good to be back." I said, nodding at the big man.
"You do be seeking ales and a maiden for the night?" Roan said, and I wished
he would keep his voice down.
"Actually," I said, "I just need a quick meal and a mug for the road. I am
not staying in town this eve."
"Ah!" Roan said with delight. "More adventures eh? How exciting. Well, in
you go now, Master Stormblade, we just got a new shipment of the most tender
griffin steaks!"
"Um," I said as I walked past the small giant. "I have had your griffin
steaks before. I think I will be quite content with beef."
After a satisfying meal at the saloon, I set out towards the west gate of
the city. First, I made a quick stop at the armorer's place and left him my
helm to be repaired. Thus, with my sword strapped to my back, along with my
flute case and shield, I left the city and entered the western forest. The
forest was quiet and dark in the heart of night, but that did not concern
me. Walking slowly, I allowed myself to relax in the darkness. My trained
ears could hear sounds of small animals moving about in the forest, and
there was a light breeze that eased my mind of the pain. Reaching up with
one gloved hand, I trace my finger along the long scar on my cheek,
remembering all too well, the life and world I had left behind. In that
other life, other world, I had walked through a dark forest just like this
one, except I was not alone when I did. My friends, practically my only
family, were with me then, and twas then that the goblins had lured us into
their trap. I could still remember the rage of the battle that followed, and
the pain when one of those foul creatures brought its runed blade down upon
my face. Oh what I would give to be back in that battle, among my friends,
but alas, TORA was no more, and I was alone in this world where pain and
suffer would never end...
My train of thoughts was cut short when I spotted the watch tower ahead.
Two guards were lounging against one of the wooden beams, passing a bottle
back and forth between them. They were dressed in the standard leather
armors of Ralnoth's cityguards, but they had the look of mercenaries. What
made the whole situation worse was the fact that they were obviously quite
drunk. As I approached the tower, one of them leapt to his feet.
"Who goes there?!" the guard shouted, his hand dipping towards the sword at
his waste.
"Pharel Stormblade of Blackwind. I come in peace." I answered, walking into
the circle of light casted by their lantern. "I am here to converse with the
highwatch..."
The two guards first looked at one another, and started whispering
excitedly in each other's ears. Their next move however, was quite
unexpected, for they both stepped forward with drawn blades and barred my
path.
"What's this outrage?" I asked, puzzled by the aggressive behavior.
"Silence!" The guard who first spoke up sneered at me. "You are wanted for
the murder of Lenier the ranger-trainer, scum of Blackwind!"
A light began to dawn in my mind. These men had heard of the death of
Lenier the Rangers Guild's master and, with their nerves boosted by the
liquor and their judgement blinded by the prospect of bounty, they were
going to try to take me in. No, maybe they weren't even thinking about
taking me in, for I had not heard of any order for such action. It was clear
to me that these mercenaries would try to dispose of me and just take my
head to the city council and demand payment.
"Lenier fought me in a duel, and died a honorable death. Wouldst low lives
such as ye denounce his honor and call this murder?" I said calmly, pointing
out the true event.
"Ha!" the same guard spat. "Save your excuse for the executioner to hear!"
Well, at least I did try to reason, and I was not in the mind to let these
men trifle with my patient. Taking a step back to give myself room, encase I
had to draw my blade, I looked into the speaker's eyes and said softly, "and
how do you propose to take me in?"
A flicker of doubt past over their faces, but in the end, the liquor and
bounty won out. Raising his blade, the speaker stepped forward, the point of
his blade inches away from my throat. "I order you to submit yourself and
your blade under my custody! Now hand me your sheathed blade!"
"No," I said simply.
"What?" the guard was taken aback, obviously not expecting someone to refuse
when a sword was being pointed at his throat.
"I said, no."
"I will have your blade!" he roared, not liking the fact that he was failing
to scare me. "Hand me the blade, or die!"
"As you wish," I said, and with a fluent motion, I ducked beneath his sword
and placed my enchanted dagger into his guts. The man screamed in pain as I
wrenched my blade free of his body, his sword fell from his hand with a
clink. In the corner of my eyes, I saw the other guard hesitate before he
too joined the battle. With the first guard holding his guts and groaning in
pain, and the second guard's hesitation before attacking, I had ample time
to replace my dagger and draw the long elven blade from its sheath. Turning
at the waste, I parried the second guard's stroke with the side of my blade
and, continuing my own swing, my blade glided along his and scratched his
sword-hand. With a yelp, he leapt back, barely holding on to his sword.
Stepping forward to press my attack, I did not sense the other guard in time
to avoid his trip. Kicking my legs out from under me, the man sent me
crashing to the ground. Unfortunate for him was the fact that I did not
loosen the grip on my sword as I landed, and the fact that he was already
fatally wounded by the stomach wound which I had inflicted with my dagger.
Having retreaved his own sword, the guard stabbed madly at the spot where I
went down, but I had already rolled away. With my back against the earth, I
rolled on one shoulder and lashed out with both legs in a devastating double
kick which by chance, struck him in his wounded stomach. With a scream, the
man dropped his sword for the second time and staggered back. Sensing the
movement in the air to my right, I rolled and avoided the thrust of the
second guard's blade. I spun in a half circle, still laying on the ground,
and tripped my assailant. 'Have a taste of your own medicine!' I thought as
I rolled to my knees. With one fatally wounded guard in front of me, and a
tripped one behind, I quickly decided my next move. Grasping the hilt of my
sword with both hands, I put all my weight behind the swing. My blade flared
with its enchantment as it whooshed through the air in a left to right
diagonal course. The long elven blade passed through the body of the guard
before me at the waste, cleaving the man in half, and continued downward in
a circle and ***massacred*** the other guard who was just getting to his
feet. I was showered by a jet of blood as the two halves of the dead guard
fell to the ground, his guts spilling out in a gruesome display of crimson
heap. This was not even a battle. This was a slaughter. The guards were so
overmatched that they did not even trigger my bloodfever. Wiping the blood
off of my face with my cloak, I stood up and turned to face the remaining
guard. My last swing did not kill him, but he was fatally wounded and had no
fight left in him.
"Have mercy!" he cried.
Walking up to the man, I grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look up
at me. "The wind of darkness has none," and I removed his head with a clean
sweep of my blade. Letting the decapitated head fall to the ground beside
the headless torso, I started to climb the ladder.
The eve cloaked me like a shroud as I ascended slowly up the ladder. My
armor and shield made the climb rather tedious and more than just a little
dangerous, but I just gritted my teeth and continued on. The wood growned
and creaked beneath my weight, and as I started to get used to the upward
motion, I became better at climbing.
***You learn from your mistakes and become better at climbing!***You gain
98000 experience points!***
Finally reaching the platform, I pulled myself bodily over the guardrail
and stood, panting heavily. 'I must be getting old.' I thought gloomily to
myself as I leaned my back against the rail.
"Have a care!" a voice called out as I observed a tall man come striding out
of the hut. "Your armor and steels are heavy, your person's stout, and the
rail has not seen repair for aeons. Have a care!"
He was about my hight, with slight build and a spring in his steps. He
wore light leather armor and a white tunic with the mark of the highwatch
guards, a rising sun, emblazoned upon the breast. A heavy-duty crossbow
rested easily beneath his left arm, and I saw the hilt of a short sword
protruding from his belt. The smile upon his lean feature was that of
amusement, and he came forth with his right hand extended towards me. "Such
skills with a blade! Such ferocity! Ye are a true man of the sword! To who
do I be having the luck of addressing?"
To which I bowed and replied, "Pharel Stormblade of Blackwind. I have come
in the name of peace, alas peace was I denied."
The man, after looking me over for a second or two, bursted out into
genuine laughter. "Ye may have sought peace," he said, still chuckling, "yet
peace hast never been thy design." Getting himself under control, he bowed
and said, "I do be called Faerine. Faerine Fleetfoot at thy service."
"Well met Faerine Fleetfoot, Ranger-commander of the Ralnoth Highwatch
Guards." I saluted him, addressing him by his proper title. "And now," I
continued, my eyes on his, "do I come in and share thy fire, or will thou
raise the alarm and place me under arrest for the death of those two down
below?"
"Quoth arrest my duty be, then arrest must I venture." he replied, his eyes
never dropped their amused gaze. "Quoth murder be done, then an arrest must
I risk. However," and here he smiled good-heartedly, "twas the battle had I
witnessed, and heard the words exchanged, and the poor lads didst bring
themselves the end they deserved. Come, Pharel Stormblade of Blackwind,
Seeker of Blades and the Guardian in Silver, I be proud to have thou share
my fire!"
"Wouldst thou have coffee?" Fleefoot offered as we sat down by the small
stove in the center of the hut.
"Nay ye have wine?" I asked, feeling the chill of the night draining away.
"Nay," the man laughed and pushed a mug of dark liquid toward me. "Tis not
permitted on duty."
"Twas not the case with those two lying below." I said, removing my
gauntlets to allow the warmth from the steaming mug to warm my hands.
"Some of us," Fleefoot grinned as he sipped at his mug, "do not follow the
proper code."
"And ye doth?" I asked somewhat cheekily.
"Aye," he answered and took another sip.
After a comfortable pause, the scout looked at me and nodded. "Now then,"
he said, "Tis not that I do not enjoy the company, yet I've a feeling that
ye hath not traveled the distance for idle words, so let us get down to
business, for the night is long, and I have yet ticks of watch to stand."
----------
"So ye seek deeds. Deeds of goodness?" Fleefoot asked after I revealed my
reason for visiting.
"Aye."
"Let us see then," he said, withdrawing a small notebook from the inside of
his tunic. "As ye know, we of the scouts hear strange tales and rumours, and
many of which might lead to great deeds and adventures."
"Fame and greatness I seek not, just a peace of mind." I replied as he
thumbed through his records.
"Here we've a few cases which no one hath yet accepted," he grinned,
replacing the book.
"And I shall hear of them." I said, leaning forward to listen.
"There are rumours of an orc child who hast raised disturbance near the
Ralnoth School for Newbies. The child claims that he hath been wronged by
human, yet due to his race, no one hath yet acknowledged the claim."
"An orc child? Seeking teaching from Ralnoth? This is most interesting." I
said, my interest roused.
"Also," the scout continued, "a great fire hath taken place far west of
here. Rumours tell of a whole village perished in the fire. Look here..." He
stood up and strode over to the guardrail.
Getting up and following, I saw him pointing westward into the distance.
"Traces of smoke can still be beheld beneath the blanket of night."
Indeed, as I peered into the night, I could see snaking shadows of what
looked to be the remain of a fire.
"Tis a remote village that hath no connection to trades or royalty, thus no
one hath journey out into the west land to investigate the fire." Fleefoot
said as we reclaimed our seats by the stove.
"I think," I said as I pulled on my gauntlets and stood up. "I'll begin with
the young orc's claim."
As I stood up and prepared to leave, Fleefoot raised a hand. "These are
not deeds of venture, and might not be of thy type. A warrior of thy fame
should consider investigating the
annihilation of the djinni race."
"Nay," I replied, walking towards the ladder. "I hath just returned from the
djinni territory."
"Ah!" Fleefoot came to his feet excitedly, "Maybe ye can shine some light
upon the rumour then?"
"Rumour of?"
"Of a great demonic invasion that wiped out the four djinni trainers and
left the headmaster crazed..."
With my hands on the rail, I turned and gazed deeply into Fleefoot's eyes.
"No demon. No invasion. They have been devoured by the wind." Then, I left
him, still standing, his mouth agape.
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