Curse

SOT · Aug 16, 2005, 02:55 PM // 14:55

Year of the blade, month 2:

I encountered a most noble-hearted lad in the Piken Square district. He was short on words at first, but much on heart and stout warrior finesse. I took it upon myself, as I was without activity or plans for that hour and day, to escort the warrior to his goal, finding the ghost of Althea.

Setting out, it was a veritable slaughter. My mighty chaos axe sliced through the Char line as if they were made of doylak fat, and We had many a spoil from our duo-war as we marched a swath of death through the valley on the outskirts of the Diessa Lowlands.

Bloodgrazz Garfang fell before my mighty chaos axe, and the combined might of Gafnab The Great's fireball of doom.

This day was a first for us as partners in mayhem, and it was good!

SOT · Aug 16, 2005, 02:57 PM // 14:57

My travels took me to a dark moment. I had been marching alone for days, out beyond the Great Northern Wall, close to Piken Square, slaughtering those Char dogs in my wake and leaving their gear behind out of spite for the mangy curs who would surely follow in their stead. I took a head or two, and as the days became a full week, I found myself in need of a camp.

I setup my bedroll beneath the sign that pointed to the Diessa Lowlands, and took refuge under what shade I could find, namely my own armor, and set to taking a short nap.

I had no sooner committed to this quiet time than when a large scream of rage and pain came over the rise to my immediate right, followed by the flailing body of a Char Martyr thudding onto me from on high.

Grunting with annoyance and sudden adrenaline, I used my swirling axe attack, which I seem to favor these days, to get the now lifeless heap off of me and rise to my booted feet. I scanned the rise from whence the beast's body had flown. Nothing. I scanned around behind me and to my left, to make sure the entire thing had not been some ruse to lower my guard on that flank, then chanced a look down at the Char Martyr. He was headless, and the word 'fate' was carved into his hide, like a cattle brand.

Suddenly aware I may be amongst a guild of enemies who felt I was trespassing, I steeled myself for battle, and prepared to bring hell up from beneath the feet of anyone who would dare harm me or disturb my rest. My ire strong, I turned to look up the rise again -

An arm shot up in front of my sight, and a scream of agitation sounded as just another massive, armored arm slammed against my helm, knocking me to the ground, dazed and momentarily unawares. I heard, faintly in the distance, the sounds of many in battle. Many in battle, it seemed, against one foe. In my mind I wondered at the might of one who could so causually toss me aside like a bag of soil and then proceed to take the fight to a swarm of what was obviously a Char Warband that had rounded the bend.

Looking up, I noticed that upon wondering those things, an eerie silence had descended upon the surrounding area. I stood. It was then that the face of a silvery WYRM appeared to my right, with the unmistakable markings of a helm. Behind them, the unmistakable eyes of a warrior human male.

"Well met, friend", the newcomer said in a voice like sandstone and fire. "I am Sir Typhoid, and I just handed your life to you in the face".

I realized instantly that I would like this fellow. His straightforward, in your gauntlets style was unmistakable. I took note of the name, and tucked away my questions for another time, such that I hoped would come. I still knew not if he was friend, or foe.

"Well met to you as well, mighty one, for surely I would have fallen in sleep if not for my lax vigil. I am Sir Decadence, and I owe you a debt of gratitude and service."

We stood there a long moment, sizing one another up, but not seeming to be threatened, and not seeming to be threathening. It was he who spoke first, something that, in his nervous mannerisms, he seemed unaccustomed to doing. Ah, something else to like about this one, he speaks little and acts more.

"That Char warband and its leader had been tracking you for several days my friend. They appear to have been singling you out for your death. I am curious what you could have done to distract such a large portion of the beast's spearheading legions, to come hunt for one lone, apparently always lone, man in the wildnerness outside what remains of the city. Have you lost your company of men or are you a mercenary? A bounty hunter perhaps?"

I inhaled slightly and offered a suggestion, before answering:

"You need to see a healer, that arm took an arrow pretty deep. I myself was out here-"

He cut me off with a slight nonchalant flinging of his wounded arm:

"Through the bone, in one side out the other, but I have no time for such nonsense. The last thing that creature thought was how my axe spilt his consciousness into the sand at his feet. Fair trade I would say. Excuse me, mighty one, carry on..."

Impressed as I was with this one and his warrior's attitude, I had to not smile, for fear of causing insult.

I responded:

"I have been killing Char since I left the city 3 weeks ago. After the first week, when my wife and my child were killed by a Char Chaot cluster, in front of my very eyes, I began killing the rat faced demons with glee. I have been leaving all their bodies in tact, and all of their gear, weapons and runes in tact, to intimidate, annoy, and basically demoralize the beasts and their kin. It seems to have worked more than I would have wanted."

"Aye," he replied, "They would have killed you outright. They had a Shiverpeak Warrior with them. He was speaking in their native tongue, and the Char seemed to genuinely fear this being."

"Aye? That is truly odd an occurance. What on earth would the horsemen of the summit reagion be doing down here where nothing grows and snow is a fantasy?" I said with sincere puzzlement.

"I have no idea, but whatever the reason, he seemed to want to have your head. Those Char had all manner of fighting enchantments upon them, their armor, and their weapons. They were literally prepped as if to end a major campaign of the war, but were all out to find you. I find that to be slightly important, but not knowing why escapes me. Your response tells me you have not been at this a long time. I would bid you a fond greeting, and would like to tell you about the Black Hand of Fate, which I serve..."

He spoke for what seemed so brief a time, but in that time, I came to feel a calling in my warrior's heart of hearts. He told me of the Great Design. He spoke of the Ordained Murder, and the Ushered Inevitability of all that is fated to be, and in that moment, I took up the banner of the Black Hand of Fate...