Private Tales Doused Glory

[Thronesplitter]

Fish had perculiar mannerisms. It had never had the chance to observe them so closely. Or for so long.

Schools of them sifted around it, larger ones eating smaller ones, smaller ones flitting between one another, in an endless, meandering circle of natural cycles.

It was enough to drive one mad.

Half its blade sunk into the muck below the obscure lake, a heap of dead fish surrounded it, roasted by its hot steam. The fires of the sword flickered and occasionally wrestled with the water, translating into a curious flashing of green from the lake at night - as if green lightning arced below its star-studded surface. In the day, nothing but faint mist of heat and hissing bubbles heralded its presence.

It couldn't end like this. Shouldn't. A fate worse than death, observing a black bottom of meaningless movement. Oblivion was almost preferable to this incessant observation. Sometimes, the water was clear enough for it to almost see the stars and moons above, or to feel the shine of the sun's rays on its steel blade.

One day, however, something did disturb the surface. Something larger than a pike, even.

The blade dared not hope for release.

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

Spoiler

A tall and haggard looking male drow pushed through a bit of brush. His square frame loosely protected by scraps of armor that had seen better days. Hells, most of him had the worn look that 'better days' had been a long time ago. Every inch of bare skin mottled with some form of scar, chunks missing in a few key places.
A grimace darkened his features as he squinted into the angelically lit clearing.
More bad luck. They would see him far too easily if he skirted the lake edge

More pursuers. Even long after Tar had parted from the group of adventurers who helped them breach the surface He still could not shake the hounds. Of course he knew exactly why. A gruesome bit of spell work seared into the back of his right shoulder. So long as held power each unfortunate assassin he dealt with would be replaced with another eventually. It was the hint of a fresh batch of stalking hired knives that had driven him to keep moving despite the mercilessly bright day.

He hesitated for a brief moment on the direction then decided to take a gamble. Tar took a deep breath and dove into the lake. Initially he had intended to dive deep and simply hold his breath in the hopes in might throw their tracking off. Then a glint of something lodge in the bottom caught his eye.
Something enchanted.
With nothing to lose really he swam down for a closer inspection.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Yes. Yes, this was it. It could see now - arms and legs, clearly swimming towards it. It would have to weaken its flames, so as to not scald this individual with boiling water. But it kept emerald lights dancing and flickering down its blade, green as fortune, coyly glittering through its runes. A beacon to guide this blessed soul towards its hilt, through the sift of the lake.

Through the water, the drow would be able to see runes etching out the length of a massive blade, its dark steel nearly invisible in the black waters, half buried in the bottom. However, it did reflect the gold of its pommel, where a crown of clawed edges perched, guiding hand to hilt with its glitter.

Just a few yards more . . . nearly there . . .

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

As the blue fog of distance shortened. Tar could make out that the well spring of magic bubbling forth was sword shaped. it's runes shimmering in emerald hued promises.
His fingers, what remained of all seven of them, gripped the pommel tightly. Tar's boots dug into the silt of the pond scum as he braced against it. He wasn't even half sure why he was trying to pull it out. What good would another sword do him. Even if it did appear to have magic qualities it wasn't a guarantee that he would have any idea how to wield them. He half expected the sword to activate some horrid defense measure and burn him with the heat roiling about it's shaft.

As if to remind him of his precarious fate two arrows broke the serene surface of the lake and plunged far too deep for comfort. Given the direction it seemed they had more guessed he was down here than accurate pin pointed where he was. That made sense. footprints into the lake but no water trail leading out. damn. Tar planted his feet again and yanked hard to loosen his impulsive prize from the bottom.
Freeing with it a murky cloud of silt and nearly letting free his held breath.
Now did he try to swim out the other direction from whence the arrows had come or directly at them and hope to surprise them?
It would be hard to do anything stealthily while dragging something this huge up to the surface.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

Finally.

The blade burst free from its prison of Gaia's greedy clutch. The full glory of its length came to the fore, and then, the emerald lights intensified, crystallising into searing runes, bathing the blue gloom of the lake in a brilliant malachite glare, as if the colour of that precious gemstone transmuted into pure light.

Spoiler: Music

It could feel life pumping through the scarred hand that held it - the few, precious fingers there clinging onto it with all the strength they could muster. This hunted soul had been prey for a long time - it could taste every scar, every mutilation, every ounce of fatigue, as if they slathered its own, perfect form.

Indignation. That is what it felt on behalf of its new wielder - the wielder who had saved it from eternal, obscure torment.

And oh, did it aim to show its gratitude.

A nimbus of the sharp, green light formed in an orb around the drow's form, acidic flames coiling impossibly through the water like luminscent snakes. None of these heated claws touched Tar, but rather punished the environment around him - that natural gaoler that had overseen its prolonged humiliation.

On the surface, the water hissed like a beast in pain, steam rising in a great cloud of mist, obscuring even the banks of the lake. The archers' eyes squinted and searched, finding it difficult to parse a fleeting silhouette from the craze of fog and underwater light. Oily, infernal flames licked and crackled like green will o' wisps on that misty surface of water - beckoning souls to their doom.

The voice hissed into Tar's mind like steel fresh from a forge quenched in water, mirroring the fuming lake, all scalding intensity and predatory fury.

"Flee no longer. Fight."

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

The water was suddenly alight with mystic green flame. It took all of Tar's focus not to let this development scatter his focus.
A voice cut the fog of his confusion and the need for air. It was right, he should settle this. Even if other's came it would buy him time and solace from constant fleeing.
He pushed his way to the surface toward the archer. Up to the bank of the lake.

There had turned out to be three, an archer, a dual wielder of knives and a swordsman. All dressed in the black armor he was plenty familiar with. No words were exchanged. There was no bargaining to be had, and Tar knew that surrender would have only meant a swift death. As his eyes met theirs he could see that this roaring green display of power had thrown a wrench in their plans. The group of assassins hesitation was brief. A testament to their training even with such flames blazing they could not retreat.
The dual wielder and the swordsman advanced on him with unrelenting determination.
Tar grit his teeth and swung with the full extent of his strength. His will to live against theirs.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

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 with glowing ink on two unfortunate pages. Blood hardly spurted, wounds cauterized immediately on impact. Not that it would have helped either of them, as Tar cleaved them both in half at their waists.

Tar might as well have cut butter. And despite the blade's meagre meal, it felt some life once more, biting into these hunters like it was malnourished.

Only the archer remained, who decided on the wise tactic of backing off and loosing an arrow from a safe distance.

Green flame disintegrated the arrow, turning it into scattered particles of burnt wood and steel tip, spraying over Tar with but the memory of its deadly intent.

The flames lowered, turning into a thin, ethereal thread around its blade. It didn't want for this one to die so quickly. It wished to taste and swill his blood like it was fine wine, though he probably was of no great quality.

The man broke into a run, trying to escape.

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

The damage was much more than Tar had anticipated. Sure he had swung plenty of swords in his life but none so easily or with such force. Each time he lifted it, it was as if the sword itself were following through, let alone the arcane magic spilling off of it.
He was momentarily stunned by the carnage he had wrought. Enough that the archer nearly had a chance to escape into the tree line. No that wouldn't do. It would buy him a lot less time if that hound manage to go sniveling back into the underdark. Tar doubted that the archer would be shown mercy if they really didn't manage to retreat all the way back, but they didn't want to risk them tattling about this strange new advantage they had found. The green flames were too distinct. If the archer made it back to report what they had seen then research might be done and a hound with a suitable counter sent.
Better to cut them off before that possibility.

Tar pursued them with an all out run to close the distance between the two. The archer was quick footed but Tar's single focus charge was gaining on him quick. He slashed through brush as they entered the trees, not allowing the archer to try to throw off his pursuit.
It was a short chase. One misstep on the part of the archer. Tar closed the remaining gap and plunged the sword into their back.
Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

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 below his skin, before searing through his eyes and mouth, scorching both, as if the essence of the sword overtook him.

Not quite as lavish a feast as some previous victims. The more power they held - or the more they *thought* they held - the greater its famine was sated. It drank not only life, but vigour and authority as well, ideas and forces nebulously woven into flesh and bone like beautiful tapestry.

This one's colours were dim and muted, much like the banners of the previous slain souls. They might be dangerous and skilled, but ultimately servile and cowardly before greater forces.

As Tar's shaking arms withdrew Thronesplitter, the sword anticipated greater meals to come. So long as this drow kept remaining . . . instrumental.

However, trapped in muddy waters for an ungodly amount of time, had granted it some time to reflect. If nothing else to occupy its mind. But it realised that of all its previous wielders, it had burned quite a few bridges - once even literally. Mortals were ever a fickle lot, and if it were not to end up in some *well* next, it would have to learn to coax them, to play to their tune. And after all, who knew what this hunted drow might desire?

So perhaps as an experiment, it opted for silence, for the time being. Doused its flames to a small, harmless glow, before even its runes snuffed out, rendering it almost plain as any other sword - with only smoking corpses remaining as a memory of its power.

A bitter lesson had been learned from that damnable bard. Revealing its true nature and desires could be risky. Much as it enjoyed sharing its authentic assessment of the world, it would have to wait, patiently wait -- and see what this one might do . . .

Feyrith

 

[Feyrith]

The feeling of sinking a sword deep into a man's back was not new for Tar. Yet there was a freshness to the strange power of this sword. Somehow exacting far more damage than any ordinary sword would.
Some might have questioned what evils created such an item, others might have felt a thrill that spurred on greed. But Tar, exhausted Tar, He just felt the dull appreciation for a useful tool.

He watched the sword simmer down and cool into an ordinary sword. Just another piece of sharp metal.
Tar looked at it for another long moment, then he decided to take it with him. It had been useful, no reason to throw it away now. Perhaps there was the danger of curses, but this Drow had seen his fair share of ill fate already. Tar adjusted his grip to more comfortably carry it and looked up to squint at the sun. Traveling on the surface was disorienting. So many directions one could go always. So many decisions to make constantly.
He longed for tight passageways and the fog of darkness.
It took Tar some time to re-orient to the path he should take. The hounds had chased him off course.

Thronesplitter

 

[Thronesplitter]

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 of the sun's rise and fall so easily.

Perhaps a small nudge would suffice. It had heard of a fabled city, to which it sought to reach.

"Alliria . . ." it whispered into his mind with the gentle caress of a healer to a distressing patient. It aimed for such quietude as to be nearly mistaken for some internal thought of his own. "To the east . . ,"

East, north, it forgot. It could be so terribly difficult keeping track of the locations in this new age. But east was certainly the opposite direction of where a former wielder had attempted to take it and pawn it off. The further away it could get from this Vel-place or another, the better.

Feyrith