| ID: 748007 | |
| Legendary Weapons, Volume 1 | |
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NPC
Level: 1 HP: 63 Aggression radius: 0m |
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Dialogs: Elyos Storyteller's Handbook: Legendary Weapons, Volume 1 Legend of the Dragon Sword From fire and ice. From craft and ambition. From light and dark. I emerged after years of gestation, whole. New to the world, I sought a companion. My companion would be fierce and brave. Would work to ensure Drakan order and dominance over Atreia. Would be strong in battle and stronger in purpose. Those who had crafted my body and called my soul offered me their chosen Champion, a renowned warrior they believed would be my match. But I could see the corruption in his soul. Weak, cowardly, crusading only from a fear of disappointing others rather than from a strength and desire to spread Drakan glory to the corners of the world. I ignored this Champion for the squire who attended him. Small and yet untested, the squire radiated promise and verve. With my makers' prayers still whispering along my blade, I beheld him. Annunaku, my shield. I would be his sword, and together we would expand the Drakan Empire and defeat any who stood in our path. My crafters' offered Champion reached out for me with a posture that radiated entitlement, but I leaped off my altar, past him and into Annunaku's unsteady hand. Years later, Annunaku told me that he'd been afraid for his life, that I would cut him down for disobeying his mother to become the Champion's squire. My crafters' Champion whirled around to face Annunaku, no longer a squire but a threat. Sword unsheathed, the Champion drove forward into us furiously, but I blocked him at every turn and soon he began to falter. He had expected a quick victory over his own squire, and he had not thought what a difference I would make. Here was further proof of his unworthiness, thinking only of the prestige I could bring him and not of my purpose. Parry and block. Thrust and shield. As our first engagement progressed, Annunaku and I flowed together ever more smoothly. He began to trust me to guide his hand, just as I judged him worthy to guide our lives. The battle-song rang through our blood with each clash of sword to steel. Together, we put the Champion on the defensive, while my crafters stood silently to witness this battle in their Great Hall. I was shaped in the Abyss, forged in Balefire. They would abide by my judgment and the outcome of this fierce combat. When the Champion of duplicitous soul finally fell to the floor, bleeding from gaping wounds and arms barely attached, we knew we had won. In concert, Annunaku's will and my own joined, moving our arm and blade in one clean, strong stroke. We severed the head from the body, precluding any craven begging for mercy. From that day forward, we were inseparable. We could not distinguish where Annunaku ended and I began, for our thoughts were always joined and our purpose always single-mindedly pure. We fell in love with a woman, strong of heart and devilish of intentions, and we had three children. None could stand before our combined might, for we had trained long and from early age to forge ourselves into a single entity, the perfect Drakan soldier-emissary. We were Annunaku and Saruluda, the Drakan Sword, and we struck swiftly into the teeming pits of humanity that craved our race's destruction. All beings grow old, however, even my strong and pure Annunaku. I could still slice our enemies like claws through wind, and other blades still shattered when they met me hard and fast. But Annunaku would collapse as soon as was safe, wheezing breath and rubbing his battle wounds. I could feel his shame at his grizzled body's failings and his sorrow at holding me back, but he would not articulate those feelings. To think them would be to acknowledge the truth, and so he kept it from himself and grew slower and feebler. Young and impatient though I may have been, even I knew we could not remain on the fields of war, making mud of the ground beneath our enemies' feet. So I spoke our first and only lie, wishing to return home to watch our great-grandchildren grow. Lie or no, we went. And as he teasingly presented me to each of the eight children, smearing my sheen with childish not-gore, I felt something other than glory and honor warming my hilt. So our years grew, but still Annunaku dwindled. Warriors visited the age-blind Drakan, mouths asking for war stories while eyes revealed true purposes in their covetous gazes upon my ever-sharp body. These had forgotten that I chose my own companion, not any natural-born Balaur. On the day that Annunaku did not wake on Atreia but amongst the stars, I broke myself into eight pieces. What no Human nor Drakan nor new Empyrean Lord could do, I did unto myself. Eight pieces, one to follow each great-grandchild. But the sundering weakened my abilities. I could not act when Nusku married badly. I could not speak when Ashnan fell to an assassin's dirk. Even I, great Saruluda of everything and nothing, can make mistakes. In impotence and grief, I sat in empty rooms, on island shores, in pockets of Drakan not of my blood. Until somehow all my pieces were again in one place. I drew strength from the ancient energy that resonated amongst my shards and again I flexed my will, knitting together steel and soul, destruction and revival. I had come back to myself, diminished from my time sundered, but strong in knowledge and experience. I wasn't alone. A young Drakan had brought me together, and I was impressed by her dedication to finding me. We bonded on the spot. Her name was Nanshe, and she had great dreams and plans. Her first idea was to seek out a new politician, Ereshkigal, and link our lives to his. We sallied forth and soon found our fame again under the name of The Drakan Sword. And so it went. Brilliant Nanshe died, and again I split into eights. An irony that I had first committed this self-murderous act by will alone, but my will was no longer steely enough to keep me together. Next was Sherida Seraphim-bane. Then Uttu, who harnessed the shipbuilders. Tiglath the Conqueror. Warassuritha the Armorer. Shubnalu. Ibi. Ziyatum. Weaker and weaker. Lonelier and lonelier. And now the Humans are ascendant, and I am known only as the Dragon Sword, a useless letter-opener. When can I rejoin Annunaku? Nanshe? Never. There is only the oblivion of eight, and nameless battles. Today, I hang on a wall, sense enough still remaining to rail against my situation, bound to one who does not hear me. Legend of the Giant's Orb The Armorsmithing masters sat at their high table looking down at Nanus like he was a sylphen that had found its way into a smelting pot. "Don't get nervous," thought Nanus, sweating profusely. "You already have one mastery in Cooking, and the Cooking masters looked just as dour." "We have inspected your Armorsmithing project," the High Inquisitor proclaimed. Remember, this was long ago, before the Cataclysm, and becoming a Craft master was different then. You had to present your mastery project to a panel of current masters who picked apart your work, deliberated, and then decided if your crafting was worthy of the title. "Cooking master Nanus, it is the judgment of this board that you are not fit to join us. Your Armorsmithing Handicrafting leaves much to be desired. See these weak points?" Here the High Inquisitor pulled apart Nanus's painstakingly crafted breastplate with his bare hands. "See the lack of fluidity in the design, which will lead to jerky motion followed by erosion when worn?" Here, the High Inquisitor pointed out joints that were just squares butting against each other rather than smoothly bendable mesh. "Go home Nanus," said the High Inquisitor sternly. "Roast some Porgus. Steam some vegetables. Enjoy your talents. But know that Armorsmithing is not one of them." Nanus did not go home. First, he went to his workshop--rented in town--and threw out all of the armor he'd worked on so far. Feverish and flush, he sat at his workbench and began to design a new suit of armor. This would be the strongest, the smoothest, the best armor that anyone had ever seen. Sketch after sketch, each one tossed aside on paper that cost far more than any Armorsmith's raw materials. Finally, Nanus threw down his writing implement and realized that he needed a break. "A short rest, and then I'll come back fresh and full of ideas. The Armorsmiths will have to acknowledge me." Nanus went to the bar. He fell deeper into his cups, telling all and sundry of his Armorsmithing sorrows. Til, though he might have imagined it in a drunken haze, a fellow drinker told him that he could do this. That he could become an Armorsmith. "Go you down beneath the Joyous Glade," said the miner. "There, you'll find an underground cavern. Hunt until you find the square room--you'll know it when you see it. In the center of the room is a rock that emits light as bright as the Light of Aion. I bet you'll be able to make some blazing hot armor with that!" In the morning, Nanus awoke with a screaming headache, but his mind already raced with the possibilities of this glowing orb. He rejected his designs of the previous day, and immediately went to the Joyous Glade and begin digging. Covered in dirt and sweat, exhausted from a kind of labor that taxed his muscles, Nanus broke through to a long, filthy tunnel. Without stopping to rest, he followed it as it turned into a stone corridor, and then into colossal hallway with floors of marble and walls covered in painted reliefs depicting Aion bequeathing wisdom to famous philosophers. Though he saw no lights, Nanus could study the reliefs in detail. How could this be? He would find the source of this light! Continuing on, Nanus found a small, square room, and at its center was a shining pile of rocks. Here lay a material so magnificent, that Nanus felt guaranteed success for any armor he forged with it. The rocks overflowed with life energy and radiated a powerful force. No sooner did he touch a rock than the chamber began to vibrate. Stones fell on his head as the ceiling shook free. Walls began to buckle. Nanus ran for his life, gripping a shining stone tightly in his hand. Safely up and outside in the miraculously undamaged Joyous Glade, Nanus collapsed to the still-shaking ground. He coughed as the dust from breaking stone rose up into the air, and opened his hand to view his prize. In his palm was a lump of ordinary rock. Once home, Nanus polished and polished. He washed and tumbled. But in the end, Nanus's rock was extraordinarily ordinary. With a rough shape and no distinguishing features, the story of its origin outweighed the worth of the piece itself. No one understood why Nanus risked his life for just a rock. Then came the war stories. One soldier said he'd seen Nanus's nephew disemboweled by a Balaur and then recovered in moments to smite down his would-be killer. Another legionary spoke of cuts that disappeared. Somehow, over centuries, the tales of miraculous healing on the battlefield became connected with Nanus's rock--now called the "Giant's Orb". Glory-hunters. Valor-seekers. Death-fearers. They all wanted the orb, but only one could hold it at a time. Each owner's luck didn't last long. The Giant's Orb was easy to drop during battle, and the unknowing soldier who trusted in its regenerative properties could die of now fatal wounds. Fakes sprang up all over--even in Sanctum--and soldiers trusted in their useless promises. No one knows where the Giant's Orb is now, but I've heard tell that the Balaur got a hold of it. Having seen their dead enemies get up to fight another day, the Balaur were not alarmed but crafty. Their interrogators coveted the Giant's Orb, plotting to keep captured Humans alive, suffering until they broke and told the interrogators everything they knew. We can't know for certain that the Balaur have done this. But we do know that the Giant's Orb no longer belongs to an Elyos. End of Elyos Storyteller's Handbook: Legendary Weapons, Volume 1 To be continued in Volume 2. | |
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