Thronesplitter

Biographical information

Birthplace Unknown Born Died Age Unknown Home None Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Sentient weapon Sub-Race Gender None Height Mass Hair color Eye color Skin color

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Artifact Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Created on Avatar Chatgpt

Thronesplitter, the sentient blade, the killer of kings, the prophesied weapon of old, never sleeps. It is cursed with eternal consciousness: Second by long second, moment to moment, it constantly observes, watching time slowly tear across the world, a sentience trapped within an immaculate piece of runed steel.

Naturally, this existence might drive most mad. But the sentient sword nurtures its sanity by its thirst for royal blood and its vague, unrefined hope of one day, possibly, finding release. Either that, or fulfilling its purpose, bringing its journey to an end.

It remembers not why it was created or what it might have been before. Only vague memories flash before its mind. But whatever its past, it has retained an arrogance and blood-thirst worthy of the monarchs it hunts. It revels in sowing discord and chaos, and especially in testing the mettle of its wielder. Through a wielder, it gains a psychic connection to the world of flesh - a glimpse into a life of touch, smell and taste. And perhaps more importantly, it gains stimulating company and a pair of legs to transport it.

Though it will not hesitate to consume any wielder it deems unworthy in its signature green flame.

Thronesplitter is a long, impressive greatsword, fit for a two-handed grip. Its pommel bears the vague resemblance of a crown of old, with a hilt that once bore immaculate leather, now eaten away by the centuries. The gilded gold of the cross-guard and pommel seems almost faded with time, yet no less brilliant and detailed in their decorations, depicting forgotten figures and ancient symbols. But the eye is quickly taken away from these ornamentations to the brandished danger of its runed blade.

The runic glyphs on its smoke-coloured steel glow and hum with power when the green, acidic fires of the blade ignite. These runes remain constant and searing with intense heat, a tapestry of strange letters in the midst of the inferno that can engulf this sword.

Even its flames seem strange and unnatural, ranging from a bright, regal jade to a mysterious, oozing teal, at times dancing and curling seductively around its forms, and at others, greedily devouring anything unfortunate enough to be close to its jaws of fire. The flames seem capable of burning and lingering on surfaces normally impossible for fire to feed on: Earth, stone, water, air - even shadows themselves seem occasionally to fuel this otherwordly flame. Another source of sustenance for Thronesplitter remains magic, as its terrifying flames seem capable of eating away at the spells of others.

- Spontaneous ignition and control of fire and heat in the vicinity

- Capable of killing or injuring creatures normally immune to regular steel

- Magic devouring

- Can protect its wielder with a nimbus of flame, sometimes capable of incinerating projectiles in flight (such as arrows), while preserving its bearer

- Psychic connection and limited telepathy with whoever carries it

- Preternatural sense of magic and other unnatural entities

Thronesplitter speaks in sibilant, husky tones, mostly reminiscent of an elven male, though it can be difficult to tell, at times. Its arrogance and sense of superiority is palpable, as is its dry wit and demeaning attitude. But underneath this mask of self-importance, an undercurrent of manic obsession and desperation can be felt by the canny observer, permeating its whole being. In the end, it is a lost soul that has forgotten itself, warped by agonising years of solitude, seeking to reunite with its past or carve out some sort of bearable future.