Traecon
Aloof, sarcastic, and remarkably laid-back, Traecon is a swordsman hailing from the uncharted desert of Liadain, looking for a life that he wants to live the way he wants. May it be adventure, or horror, full of tragedy or comedy, he cares only that he lives his life, and woe befall any whom dares rid him of the experience.
He was exiled out his nomadic desert tribe when he found himself grafted with a strange, silvery metal that turned his once brown eyes into a mercurial silver, enveloping his right arm into a silvery cast. Fearing he was cursed, the tribe cast him out, the man already an outliner among his people long before that.
Now, tales of a man with a silver arm have been spreading throughout Arethil, of his lackadaisical mood, his desire of expression, and a skill with a blade contrasting with his demeanor.
After an unexpected venture throughout the Forgotten City, the same place where he received silver metal cast, he has emerged a different man. A changed man. One on a quest to find the origin of said cast, and by proxy, the weapon he now carries on his back, restored to its true form.
Appearance
Wearing scarves and robes to protect him from the desert winds out of habit, he does not stand out from the crowd through presence or appearance. Colored light brown and with leather pants and shoes, he keeps a majority of his robes wrapped around his right arm, obscuring its appearance. He also wears a hood out of habit, to protect him from the sun, and conceal his face from those who are looking for him and his... limb. It does little to hide the nature of his mercurial silver eyes, and tufts of his gray hair from popping out the little openings in his ragged clothing. He is also sometimes seen with a sword strapped to his hip.
He is tanned so much his skin is nearly a permanent brown. It brightens to a softer shade when he is in any secluded area long enough, but it immediately converts back to the darker brown when he is out in the sun any longer than a day. He calls it a bodily defense mechanism. Mentally, he wonders if he is part shapeshifter.
His most striking physical feature, being his right arm, has the appearance of some...thing slowly claiming the limb, covering parts of his shoulder and chest in its silvery influence. Engraved with carvings and swirling designs, it is a most contrasting image to his desert dweller appearance, hence why he wraps it up. When he moves to reveal its true form, the silver ripples, the carvings and runes lighting up a bright, fierce cerulean. As a sword, it possesses two sides. One is black as night, and the other a much lighter shade of blue, engraved with the same carvings on its blade.
(War, also Concept art)
After an unfortunate incident in his journey to the Forbidden City, he has returned a different man. Armor covers his entire form, his head concealed by a black hood, trailing behind him in two trails of cloth. Within it, his skin has turned charred grey, burned and tainted by the tribulations he has endured. The sheer stress he had accumulated in those haunting tunnels and caverns has turned his hair ashen white, but his eyes are white pits, glowing with power, focus, and a damning determination. A power he has trained, and earned through a thousand and one deaths, honed to an unearthly edge.
A massive sword as tall as he lies sheathed on his back, aided by no holster nor leather, but by the connection he shares with the weapon. Faces of the tormented lay upon its metal, of anguished elementals used to fuel the blade's power of destruction. In combat, the faces bleed elemental power of fire, a remnant of the weapon's final victim.
On his left arm, lies an enormous gauntlet of strange origins, easily triple the size of any normal gauntlet. Lines of power and magic run along its surface and its inside, a conduit for the flames his sword can channel. Heavy as a greatsword, and yet, fused to the man's arm, to him it weighs just like a normal piece of armor, albeit armor he cannot remove. When using this armament for combat, the lines gleam a magma red, and with each strike, it erupts in molten rock and fire, scorching and brutalizing its target.
He is tanned so much his skin is nearly a permanent brown. It brightens to a softer shade when he is in any secluded area long enough, but it immediately converts back to the darker brown when he is out in the sun any longer than a day. He calls it a bodily defense mechanism. Mentally, he wonders if he is part shapeshifter.
His most striking physical feature, being his right arm, has the appearance of some...thing slowly claiming the limb, covering parts of his shoulder and chest in its silvery influence. Engraved with carvings and swirling designs, it is a most contrasting image to his desert dweller appearance, hence why he wraps it up. When he moves to reveal its true form, the silver ripples, the carvings and runes lighting up a bright, fierce cerulean. As a sword, it possesses two sides. One is black as night, and the other a much lighter shade of blue, engraved with the same carvings on its blade.
(War, also Concept art)
After an unfortunate incident in his journey to the Forbidden City, he has returned a different man. Armor covers his entire form, his head concealed by a black hood, trailing behind him in two trails of cloth. Within it, his skin has turned charred grey, burned and tainted by the tribulations he has endured. The sheer stress he had accumulated in those haunting tunnels and caverns has turned his hair ashen white, but his eyes are white pits, glowing with power, focus, and a damning determination. A power he has trained, and earned through a thousand and one deaths, honed to an unearthly edge.
A massive sword as tall as he lies sheathed on his back, aided by no holster nor leather, but by the connection he shares with the weapon. Faces of the tormented lay upon its metal, of anguished elementals used to fuel the blade's power of destruction. In combat, the faces bleed elemental power of fire, a remnant of the weapon's final victim.
On his left arm, lies an enormous gauntlet of strange origins, easily triple the size of any normal gauntlet. Lines of power and magic run along its surface and its inside, a conduit for the flames his sword can channel. Heavy as a greatsword, and yet, fused to the man's arm, to him it weighs just like a normal piece of armor, albeit armor he cannot remove. When using this armament for combat, the lines gleam a magma red, and with each strike, it erupts in molten rock and fire, scorching and brutalizing its target.
Skills and Abilities
Swordsmanship: His skill with a sword belies his appearance, capable of wielding one in either hand with equal dexterity, but not two at once. He claims to lack the endurance for dual-wielding, but his skill with one sword alone is a sight to witness. Witnesses to his swordplay claim he is like a specter, weaving between blows like he was the air itself, his own weapon flashing as he targets vitals and weaknesses. Unorthodox yet competent, he can cross swords with any other fellow warrior and be confident in his odds. He compliments agility with his swordplay, hence the claims he moves like a specter. Honing his reflexes and sense of perception with every fight, Traecon has a firm confidence and foundation in this combat art.
The sheer amount of combat and bloodshed he had encountered and unleashed in his journey in the city has turned this skill into a power of nigh-unstoppable might. No longer using the thin long reach of a longsword, the great blade he now wields moves like it were an extension of Traecon's own limbs, an executioner's blade cleaving flesh and bone like it were water.
Many a foe has fallen to this skill, and it is one of his most formidable aspects.
His size also betrays the man's agility, as he is capable of dashing over short distances, more than enough to close in on his enemy with almost blinding swiftness, even dodging a skilled fencer's strikes with all the ease a leaf may float in the wind. He even uses his bulk in his favor, using his armored mass as a battering ram to smash aside a fully armored orc, or even the feet-thick wooden gates of a wall (though this feat would require a running start)
Combine all this with his aforementioned sword skills, forced to develop, change, and evolve in response to his struggles, he is a literal whirlwind of biting sword's edge and unrelenting force capable of matching an entire battalion of soldiers. His combat acumen and sense of tactics have also risen, but it is only enough for himself to direct his attacks and pinpoint weaknesses, not enough for him to lead at an army. But considering his set of skills, this can be considered redundant.
And one final factor is the gauntlet on his left arm. An armament fit for a half-giant, it channels the flames of his sword, into explosive and flaming bursts, executed as punches and down-heavy smashes. This enforces the fact he fights one-handed with his greatsword, a testament to his strength and skill to use such a massive weapon like how a man might wield a normal sword. But this armament only sees use when he faces foes that he feels he is not a match for, or he feels the enemy requires a more... robust approach. Even a full giant cannot withstand a direct hit without sustaining damage, but it is easy to predict, counter, and even damage the armament itself.
(Darksiders, War's Gauntlet, Concept Art)
Many a foe has fallen to this skill, and it is one of his most formidable aspects.
His size also betrays the man's agility, as he is capable of dashing over short distances, more than enough to close in on his enemy with almost blinding swiftness, even dodging a skilled fencer's strikes with all the ease a leaf may float in the wind. He even uses his bulk in his favor, using his armored mass as a battering ram to smash aside a fully armored orc, or even the feet-thick wooden gates of a wall (though this feat would require a running start)
Combine all this with his aforementioned sword skills, forced to develop, change, and evolve in response to his struggles, he is a literal whirlwind of biting sword's edge and unrelenting force capable of matching an entire battalion of soldiers. His combat acumen and sense of tactics have also risen, but it is only enough for himself to direct his attacks and pinpoint weaknesses, not enough for him to lead at an army. But considering his set of skills, this can be considered redundant.
And one final factor is the gauntlet on his left arm. An armament fit for a half-giant, it channels the flames of his sword, into explosive and flaming bursts, executed as punches and down-heavy smashes. This enforces the fact he fights one-handed with his greatsword, a testament to his strength and skill to use such a massive weapon like how a man might wield a normal sword. But this armament only sees use when he faces foes that he feels he is not a match for, or he feels the enemy requires a more... robust approach. Even a full giant cannot withstand a direct hit without sustaining damage, but it is easy to predict, counter, and even damage the armament itself.
(Darksiders, War's Gauntlet, Concept Art)
Hardened Constitution: His vitality and strength is also unexpected for his size, as even a brute of an Orc can find himself equally matched against Traecon. As a weathered wanderer of a harsh desert land, his physique and constitution are hardier compared to most, physical traits he puts to use often. The physical strength of his form comes from the metal covering his arm, giving him more density, compacting his mass without his knowledge. He has a harder time swimming as a result, though he doesn't know how to swim period, rendering the point moot.
His resistance towards heat is also of note, having lived in a desert habitat for so long his physiology has adapted to high temperatures. In practice, he's less inclined to complain about the boiling sun on a summer day. It does nothing to protect him from fireballs. And of course, leaving him near the vicinity of a volcano or pit of magma will be harmful, as he never had the misfortune of encountering such constructs before.
Then comes his arm, a mysterious metallic substance functions as a cast. By itself, it is an adequate defense, able to shrug off weapons aimed at the limb with no visible injury, no matter the force used. However, Traecon can feel the phantom pain of such attacks, and should one be capable of severing or crippling the limb, he cannot use said arm until it has... metaphysically healed. Which may take weeks. Months even. It is also a handy defense against magic, but the weaknesses as before still apply.
When Traecon needs it so, the metal flows and ripples, taking the form of a two-colored blade, one edge a twilight black, and the other a cerulean blue, carved with marks and designs that make no sense. However, he can only summon this sword form once a day, after having a minimum six hours of sleep. The weapon requires Traecon's own soul as the trigger, and by visualizing a sheathe in his mind, Traecon can solidify it via holding his right wrist in his left hand as one would hold a scabbard. Pulling his right arm in an unsheathing motion, the silvery metal peels off his skin to form the weapon, leaving the original right arm intact and holding onto the sword's handle. Chalk-white pale, but still a healthy and functioning arm.
His armor, forged and molded from his own soul and essence, can tank even a dragon's scorching breath and emerge intact. An armament he has built to stand against the truly horrific and gigantic foes in his journey, it complements his own constitution, hardened more still into a physique befitting that of a juggernaut, unflinching in his path, and virtually unstoppable on a warpath. Its bulk alone increases his height and width to that of an orc, but to him, it is as light as cloth, allowing him to move like a leaf in the wind.
The silvery gray armor gleams a mottled steel in the light, and it radiates an electrifying energy that will send shivers from contact. From his black hood, a piece of cloth trails behind it, a silvery white compared to the rest of his dreary and dark color scheme. The only part of the armor that is different is the gauntlet, which glows molten red from the lines that streak down from the elbow.
But he still cannot swim, a weakness compounded by his weight. He will sink like a rock when in a deep enough body of water. However, his newfound power can somewhat counter this.
The silvery gray armor gleams a mottled steel in the light, and it radiates an electrifying energy that will send shivers from contact. From his black hood, a piece of cloth trails behind it, a silvery white compared to the rest of his dreary and dark color scheme. The only part of the armor that is different is the gauntlet, which glows molten red from the lines that streak down from the elbow.
But he still cannot swim, a weakness compounded by his weight. He will sink like a rock when in a deep enough body of water. However, his newfound power can somewhat counter this.
Immaterial Severance, Dreamsbane
The metal that enveloped Traecon's arm is no simple silver. It is an alloy forged in times long gone, with the ability to interact with the realms that are, and could be. In such lost times, it was used as the bane of nightmares and curses, banishing the malignant with its dual edge and calming the troubled minds of all who met its blade. But it also was a potent weapon of destruction, as its very presence was bane to the spiritual. Elementals and Wraiths alike met their end on the sword, and eventually the weapon was lost, after fatally wounding a particularly powerful elemental of fire, cast to the winds.
It was named Dreamsbane, the End of a Dream.
The weapon itself uses the wielder's soul, mind, and will to remain functional, and retains its sharpness even if such elements falter. However, it will lose its effectiveness against spiritual beings and simply become a sword. A curiously designed silver sword, but a sword nonetheless.
Vice versa, should the wielder's focus sharpen, their will tempered and steeled, the sword will evolve with this change, taking in the metaphysical properties of the wielder and applying it to itself. At the height of its power, used by a legend long forgotten, it possessed nigh-adamantine strength.
Traecon's mindset when he uses this sword enables much more inferior, but no less effective properties. He is capable of slicing through many kinds of defenses both magical and physical, and it possesses a durability more common to items forged with Mithril. However, after use, the drain can force him sleep for a guaranteed six hours - time where anything can happen. He can delay the sudden exhaustion, but his skills will be significantly hampered.
It can be broken, but with enough rest and time, it will reforge itself anew, using the wielder's soul as the resource. It is not to say it drains the user's lifeforce every time it is unsheathed, rather, it is as much a part of the wielder, and should it be damaged it will heal like any injury would. The time required is proportionate to the damage, however.
(King Arthur, legend of the sword, 3d image)
(Source Unknown)
But in the time of that hero, the sword was most commonly known as a weapon of war. The last wielder of this sword had drowned the entire world in conflict for the sake of fulfilling his own maddened bloodlust, driven berserk by the elementals he had slain. Although his goals were just, his heart had been consumed by the fiery wrath of the elementals killed in his conquest, burning down his emotions until only wrath remained, unable to distinguish friend from foe. In his now-ravenous battlelust, he found no peace, and with boiling blood, he scoured the world in search of conflict and war.
Bones of men, spirits, and elves were piled so high they could be mistaken for mountains. Blood flowed like rivers, culminating in a vast sea of crimson lifeblood fit to drown entire cities. And inspite of the carnage he wrought upon the world in his name, his rampage continued still, until he finally met his match against a conduit of a God, the great Fire-Lord Imamu himself. The ensuing war (For the raw scale of devastation could not be anything else) shook the world to its foundations, but eventually the warrior fell, taking the avatar of the god with him. The sword itself was cast into the unknown, into legend and fable.
A blade that thirsted for destruction, that which could cleave even the intangible and the in-between to taste conflict and further empower its wielder to heights unimagined, that was the blade Traecon has inherited, and it has now retaken its war-scarred form: a greatsword as tall as Traecon himself, the flat of its blade carved with runes of its original oneiromancy, empowered with the elementals it has slain. At its base, lays a single skull that is perpetually alight with flame and weeps molten fire - the weapon's last victim, now a conduit for the sword to unleash its own powers.
The runes that line its edge and metal have been affected by the burning essence of the Elementals it has slain, and thus gained an aspect of their being to enhance its already immense strength. It can harness heat, to sharpen its bite and cauterize any wounds it inflicts. Said heat can be taken from any source or action, such as one's body heat, or the friction generated by contact with either the air or the earth. At a high enough temperature, Traecon can even generate bursts of super-hot air so long as he strikes a target with sufficient force, similar to his gauntlet. Equally as powerful, but it must generate enough friction to do so. Such attacks are telegraphed, and can be evaded if one is knowledgeable enough, or quick enough.
It was named Dreamsbane, the End of a Dream.
The weapon itself uses the wielder's soul, mind, and will to remain functional, and retains its sharpness even if such elements falter. However, it will lose its effectiveness against spiritual beings and simply become a sword. A curiously designed silver sword, but a sword nonetheless.
Vice versa, should the wielder's focus sharpen, their will tempered and steeled, the sword will evolve with this change, taking in the metaphysical properties of the wielder and applying it to itself. At the height of its power, used by a legend long forgotten, it possessed nigh-adamantine strength.
Traecon's mindset when he uses this sword enables much more inferior, but no less effective properties. He is capable of slicing through many kinds of defenses both magical and physical, and it possesses a durability more common to items forged with Mithril. However, after use, the drain can force him sleep for a guaranteed six hours - time where anything can happen. He can delay the sudden exhaustion, but his skills will be significantly hampered.
It can be broken, but with enough rest and time, it will reforge itself anew, using the wielder's soul as the resource. It is not to say it drains the user's lifeforce every time it is unsheathed, rather, it is as much a part of the wielder, and should it be damaged it will heal like any injury would. The time required is proportionate to the damage, however.
(King Arthur, legend of the sword, 3d image)
(Source Unknown)
But in the time of that hero, the sword was most commonly known as a weapon of war. The last wielder of this sword had drowned the entire world in conflict for the sake of fulfilling his own maddened bloodlust, driven berserk by the elementals he had slain. Although his goals were just, his heart had been consumed by the fiery wrath of the elementals killed in his conquest, burning down his emotions until only wrath remained, unable to distinguish friend from foe. In his now-ravenous battlelust, he found no peace, and with boiling blood, he scoured the world in search of conflict and war.
Bones of men, spirits, and elves were piled so high they could be mistaken for mountains. Blood flowed like rivers, culminating in a vast sea of crimson lifeblood fit to drown entire cities. And inspite of the carnage he wrought upon the world in his name, his rampage continued still, until he finally met his match against a conduit of a God, the great Fire-Lord Imamu himself. The ensuing war (For the raw scale of devastation could not be anything else) shook the world to its foundations, but eventually the warrior fell, taking the avatar of the god with him. The sword itself was cast into the unknown, into legend and fable.
A blade that thirsted for destruction, that which could cleave even the intangible and the in-between to taste conflict and further empower its wielder to heights unimagined, that was the blade Traecon has inherited, and it has now retaken its war-scarred form: a greatsword as tall as Traecon himself, the flat of its blade carved with runes of its original oneiromancy, empowered with the elementals it has slain. At its base, lays a single skull that is perpetually alight with flame and weeps molten fire - the weapon's last victim, now a conduit for the sword to unleash its own powers.
The runes that line its edge and metal have been affected by the burning essence of the Elementals it has slain, and thus gained an aspect of their being to enhance its already immense strength. It can harness heat, to sharpen its bite and cauterize any wounds it inflicts. Said heat can be taken from any source or action, such as one's body heat, or the friction generated by contact with either the air or the earth. At a high enough temperature, Traecon can even generate bursts of super-hot air so long as he strikes a target with sufficient force, similar to his gauntlet. Equally as powerful, but it must generate enough friction to do so. Such attacks are telegraphed, and can be evaded if one is knowledgeable enough, or quick enough.
Personality
Aloof, sarcastic, Traecon can be summed up as a simple adventurer with no personal drive. He is not driven by motivation to prove himself, to spread word of his existence to all of Arethil, rather he simply wants to see and experience the kind of life he is living right now. A 'spur of the moment' person, in a sense. He takes great pleasure in simple things, gestures of kindness, acts of violence (the tavern brawl kind, not bloodspilling), and going to bed on a full stomach. He equally relishes harsh times, trudging through forests, sleeping on rocks and other uncomfortable places. He takes them and cherishes them for it is with such experiences he knows that the world is real, and not some fleeting dream. His expressions say it all, and while his tongue is known to be quite sharp, it is through his grins, chuckles, and the twinkling eyes that a viewer can see the man genuinely relishes the here and now.
Even in combat, this exhilaration shows, but at the same time, he expresses his excitement with verbal jabs and playful banter. Descriptions of his foe's appearance, compliments of skill - he has no problems running his mouth in a fight. It is when he unveils the Dreamsbane Sword he stops talking, as he is facing foes that will kill him, or he himself is ready to kill. His mind sharpens and hardens to a state he does not prefer, as it is akin to the times he spent in the tribe, but it is safely said when he unsheathes the sword, the foe is in for a bad time. He is no stranger to fighting for his life, or fighting for survival. It is how he survived the desert trek to the eastern parts of Arethil, and it is that same mentality he applies to fights with the Dreamsbane in hand.
Even in combat, this exhilaration shows, but at the same time, he expresses his excitement with verbal jabs and playful banter. Descriptions of his foe's appearance, compliments of skill - he has no problems running his mouth in a fight. It is when he unveils the Dreamsbane Sword he stops talking, as he is facing foes that will kill him, or he himself is ready to kill. His mind sharpens and hardens to a state he does not prefer, as it is akin to the times he spent in the tribe, but it is safely said when he unsheathes the sword, the foe is in for a bad time. He is no stranger to fighting for his life, or fighting for survival. It is how he survived the desert trek to the eastern parts of Arethil, and it is that same mentality he applies to fights with the Dreamsbane in hand.
Reforging himself in the flames of tribulation have not been kind. Gone is the man who strove to indulge in sensation, vice, and enjoy the simple things in life. A cold, rage-filled warrior remains, bound by honor and tempered with experience. With molten fire in his veins, he is in pursuit of a shadow, one that darts between the annals of history, for it is the only thing he had recognized as a constant in his ventures.
He will rarely speak on topics, only offering callous, cold, and even cynical retorts in conversation, his tongue as sharp as his oversized sword.
But not all of the fun-loving adventurer is gone, as whenever he tries and sees the new and unexpected, he is expressive in a way so human it clashes with his appearance.
He will rarely speak on topics, only offering callous, cold, and even cynical retorts in conversation, his tongue as sharp as his oversized sword.
But not all of the fun-loving adventurer is gone, as whenever he tries and sees the new and unexpected, he is expressive in a way so human it clashes with his appearance.
Here and Now
Traecon was born to a woman and a man in an nomadic, unnamed desert tribe. The union was planned, and executed with almost machine-like efficiency. He was born under a starry sky, and if one of the tribe members bothered to notice, a streak of light shot across the midnight as the first cries sounded within the tent. It was a premonition that this child would not be like the others, in either temperament or mind. But they did not know, and thus reaped the consequences to follow.
He rose with the morning dawn, the sunlight as always, welcoming on his skin. It seemed a wholly different sensation compared to the same sun from that desert. A soothing balm, opposed to having a bloody fire searing his skin. The rock beneath him was cool, moist from the morning dew that dripped from the trees above. He blinked as a droplet fell on his nose, startled at its coldness.
He could have laughed, for the sensation was not old, but it still felt as new everytime it happened. Granted the first time he swung his sword about in a frenzy, fearing an attack, but that was neither here nor there. Now it was a simple pleasure, another reminder he wasn't in that -
"You are to obey!"
"We are all One in the Grand Unity."
"Do as you are told! Follow your given Path!"
He twitched, banishing the memories. Good mood soured, but he was still good. He settled for a smile, ear to ear.
"A fine morning indeed."
He rose, right arm creaking and cranking with the motion. It really was a curious thing, this. He had found it whilst setting up the tents for the tribe all the way back then, and it coiled and wrapped around the arm like it were some kind of creature. Now his limb was covered in it. It made for a handy defense, that was for sure. Didn't prevent the pain, but it served well.
He fell off the rock and landed in one smooth motion, wondering what the world would let him experience this time. He had already learned much, and still this different world surprised him with all its colors, its people.
He grinned wider, the memories fading away to be replaced with anticipation. Eagerness. He wanted to see how it would change this time. What he would see, feel, encounter. Just another face of this wide, chaotic, absolutely colorful world he had been thrust into, from the mindless, autonomous hands of that tribe he no longer called home. Nah, he didn't have a home at all, so he needed to find one!
He had to find a tavern! Then start a brawl, pickpocket some coin for his food, then go out for hunting! Or questing. Whichever came first. He didn't think that far. But hey, once he had his fill of food, mayhaps he could find a swordsman willing to fight!
He had a new sword to try out, and his right arm could use the practice. Not the one he broke yesterday, but the one that the silvery stuff formed into.
He rose with the morning dawn, the sunlight as always, welcoming on his skin. It seemed a wholly different sensation compared to the same sun from that desert. A soothing balm, opposed to having a bloody fire searing his skin. The rock beneath him was cool, moist from the morning dew that dripped from the trees above. He blinked as a droplet fell on his nose, startled at its coldness.
He could have laughed, for the sensation was not old, but it still felt as new everytime it happened. Granted the first time he swung his sword about in a frenzy, fearing an attack, but that was neither here nor there. Now it was a simple pleasure, another reminder he wasn't in that -
"You are to obey!"
"We are all One in the Grand Unity."
"Do as you are told! Follow your given Path!"
He twitched, banishing the memories. Good mood soured, but he was still good. He settled for a smile, ear to ear.
"A fine morning indeed."
He rose, right arm creaking and cranking with the motion. It really was a curious thing, this. He had found it whilst setting up the tents for the tribe all the way back then, and it coiled and wrapped around the arm like it were some kind of creature. Now his limb was covered in it. It made for a handy defense, that was for sure. Didn't prevent the pain, but it served well.
He fell off the rock and landed in one smooth motion, wondering what the world would let him experience this time. He had already learned much, and still this different world surprised him with all its colors, its people.
He grinned wider, the memories fading away to be replaced with anticipation. Eagerness. He wanted to see how it would change this time. What he would see, feel, encounter. Just another face of this wide, chaotic, absolutely colorful world he had been thrust into, from the mindless, autonomous hands of that tribe he no longer called home. Nah, he didn't have a home at all, so he needed to find one!
He had to find a tavern! Then start a brawl, pickpocket some coin for his food, then go out for hunting! Or questing. Whichever came first. He didn't think that far. But hey, once he had his fill of food, mayhaps he could find a swordsman willing to fight!
He had a new sword to try out, and his right arm could use the practice. Not the one he broke yesterday, but the one that the silvery stuff formed into.