Recent content by Thronesplitter

The sword ignited upon the warmth of her psyche, like coal and lamp-oil added to an already existing fire. "Tell me. Is this Lady truly able to spawn flesh anew? To transport a soul into a new vessel?" A dangerous green flare flittered up the blade, igniting each rune in turn, like a spirit...

To become someone new . . . was that truly possible? Could one shed the form they had in favour of altered flesh from a mere bargain, just like that? The tiefling spoke of rebirth, of gaining new memories and faces as easily as one might change cloaks or dresses. It left the blade wondering...

Demon blood. A curious vintage it had never had the chance to taste before. It did not know whether demonic influence thinned by generations of mortal child-rearing would render such a taste poorer or richer. Perhaps it would get to find out. The tiefling danced in circles around its wielder...

Such a pristine temple. Beautiful stained glass, tasteful columns and neat furniture. It would be an awful shame if it were all lit aflame. The sword could sense power here. It could smell it, as close to an imitation of that sense that mortals carried as it could ever mimic. The humble...

The verdure of greenery in this stone temple seemed more lush than anywhere else in this 'Malakath.' A pleasing aesthetic of ritualistically cut stone and hemmed-in willows, beds of red- and white roses, along with a scattering of purple ones, bespoke of the care and attendance to these grounds...

This gave the blade pause. It had never been to that deep place of the earth before . . . had it? The sword retained its silence for some time, listening with intent. Drinking in his anguished tones, his long pauses of hesitation. It had seen him fight and flight with deadly efficiency and...

As Tar went about the practicals of disembarking and merging with the populace of this port-town, Thronesplitter privately nursed a dark feeling, like grey clouds overtaking the clear blue sky of its previous joy. A creeping apprehension for the future, now that the immediate danger of dropping...

"Malakath . . ." It tasted the name. A name which seemed vaguely familiar to it . . . harsh, as no doubt its lands were as well. The drow's brief tension was cause for some amusement. Indeed, it had witnessed many a muttered soliloquy, as well as paid audience to the tracking and tracing of...

This was not Alliria. The sword had gathered as much by now, even if it remained ignorant of the layout of Arethil's capitals in this age. It had watched the drow for some time now. Kept its invisible tongue in check. And so far, it hadn't been left by the wayside. An improvement, to be sure...

Thronesplitter found itself spirited away once again, this time in another direction. It kept its proverbial tongue, not willing to risk a tantrum from a different owner. Not until it found itself in more civilised lands, at least, where it could rely on other hands possibly finding it. It...

The sword could sense his disorientation. His hesitation. While this individual might be a proficient warrior, it recognised a fish out of water when it saw one. It should know. It had been observing nothing but fish for the last few weeks, or however long it had lain down there. It lost count...

Its tip pierced through flesh, sliding between his ribs like a key, all while tearing through his innards. Gore bathed Thronesplitter, and it tasted glorious life again, all while spearing out on the other side of him like a dark fin bursting through a sea of blood. Tendrils of green flame crept...

The two opponents' laudable bravery turned their demise. The burning sword cut through steel weapons, black plate, leather, flesh and bone like they all belonged to the same soft matter, with a heat unknown to man. It left a slash of a sear through both of them, like the long stroke of a quill...