Many Chroniclers start speaking of the Immortal Lords choosing their own mark on time depending on what sort of story they wish to convey. I however, am interested in Truth, and for that reason I begin my recounting on the day these extraordinary individuals first met; that fateful day when the Sky Bled Fire.
It was the year 331 IC, on the day of Midwinter. All nations and races throughout Kjeldorn celebrate the Winter Solstice and the island of Havnor—seat of power of the Firstborn Empire—was no exception.
At the time, Midwinter was devoted to the goddesses Hredd and Eostre in a symbolic manner that signified Hredd, the goddess of winter, passing lordship of the year to Eostre, the goddess of spring. Many terrible events occurred all over the world that day, but our focus shall be the Black Tower and the events that transpired therein.
The Black Tower was a fortress built with the intent to protect the south-west regions of Havnor. It was also a military academy that trained not only officers and soldiers, but also the mighty Repulsar Knights. The fortress itself was surrounded by minor communities and hamlets basking on the protection of the mighty castle.
The Midwinter Festival was an important event for Black Tower. Soldiers and officers would graduate from the military academy and would be sworn into their duties. The Midwinter of 331 IC was special for two more reasons. One of them was that this would be the first time in four years that new warriors would be admitted to the prestigious, elite Order of the Repulsar Knights. The other was a phenomenon, the triple lunar eclipse; an event that last occurred ten thousand years ago.
As I’m sure you understand, dear reader, it was a day of great joy and celebration that for many marked the dawn of a better tomorrow. Such is always the naïveté of mankind.
His Highness, Vass Jaquel Draracle, the Duke of Draklund, was having his morning exercise out in the woods that surrounded the Black Tower. Vass had elite combat training in the army, and his devotion to Tir—the god of justice—from an early age led to the Church of Tir singling him out for spiritual empowerment. Vass had felt the Calling, and passing through the sacred rites of Investiture he gained the power to channel divine magic through his prayers. Coupled with his military skills, he became a paladin.
It was a strange day for Vass. Today he would be made a member of the Order of Repulsar Knights. He would officially become a high-ranking commanding officer tasked with the quest to repulse the enemies of the Firstborn Empire. Not only was it a career-making advancement, it was also a dream coming true; Vass had long yearned for the chance to roam free on Havnor dispensing justice and smiting the foes of peace. And if one considered the fact that only a handful of Repulsars get sworn in every few years then it could also be seen as a reward for his achievements in the Firstborn Empire.
However, despite all the elation and excitement for his advancement, he was troubled. The past weeks he had a recurring dream—a nightmare really—which started with him in the woods riding and exercising as he did every morning, and invariably ended in a mountain of corpses amid the ruins of a devastated Black Tower.
Further distressing was his appearance in the dream. In some he wore robes covered with an odd symbol. In others the symbol was on a ring he wore or a medallion. In others still, he had paint himself with the odd sign. More unnerving were the ones were his entire body was tattooed with the emblem.
Vass drew the symbol in his journals which I have since perused. I have magically inscribed its appearance for you.
With this uncanny combination of eagerness and unease, Vass Jaquel Draracle rode back to Black Tower to prepare for the ceremony…
Bangor Winterhowl and Kang Razorfrost were an odd pair. Both could evoke the magic power of the Primal Spirits; Bangor was a shaman and Kang a berserking barbarian. There the similarities ended. Bangor Winterhowl was a dwarf, while his companion was a jiax (what in other worlds is known as a goliath).
The two companions had spent some time together adventuring. Kang was a, seemingly simple-minded, mercenary selling his fullblade and his considerable bulk to the highest bidder. His competitive nature was such, that he deemed all the dangers of his homeland conquered by his might, which is why he sought battle and adventure elsewhere. Bangor had his own reasons for following the life of a sellsword; he was an outcast of noble dwarven Wolf Totem Clan but the reason why would be revealed later.
Their journeys had brought them to Havnor and on the horizon before them they could see the mighty fortress of Black Tower looming gloriously before the immobile sun of Dawn, casting a long shadow towards the duo.
“Do you know what that place there is?” asked Bangor.
“A castle,” his jiax companion replied.
Bangor sighed. “Yes, I can see that, I meant do you know which castle?”
“No,” Kang replied.
“You’ve never been here either then?”
“No,” the jiax repeated in his deep monotonous voice.
Bangor nodded his head deep in thought.
“You worry,” Kang commented.
“I no longer feel the spirits. They are silent—perhaps even scared. Something’s about to happen.”
“I sense nothing different.”
“You’ve never been the most perceptive when it comes to the spirits, my friend,” Bangor said, “but it might be nothing. Let’s get to that castle, I can see lights. Mayhap they are preparing a celebration for Midwinter.”
And so they continued onward towards the Black Tower…
Baron Andrion Von Montarius of House Dragomir had just entered through the gates of Black Tower. He was a member of a stregoni diplomatic delegation led by his father, Ombertus. As his father made the proper arrangements with the officials of Black Tower, Andrion surveyed his surroundings.
It was apparent that the festivities would soon begin. The stregoni had planned to reach this place last night, but they got delayed when one of their wagons broke one of its axels.
Andrion quietly hoped that this diplomatic mission would ease his mind and reached for the amulet he wore underneath his shirt.
Right, he thought, this marks a new chapter in my life. Hope it turns out better than the last one…
Vass Jaquel Draracle had just left his personal quarters. After he had arrived on Black Tower he reported to Justin Agravain, a senior Repulsar and fellow paladin whose beliefs and teachings had profoundly influenced Vass’ approach to paladinhood.
Though he was supposed to head for the local temple, where servants would prepare him for the ceremony, he received a message that Agravain had asked to see him again in the main tower. Perplexed by this, Vass headed there immediately.
To the young duke’s surprise it was not Agravain who was waiting for him, but High Commander McKenzie himself.
“I thought His Wellborn, Lord Agravain had called for me,” Vass commented.
“Yes,” McKenzie replied smiling, “I’m sorry about the trickery.”
The two exchanged brief pleasantries regarding the ceremony and Vass’ ascension in the Repulsar Order. They also discussed about Vass’ associates, for Vass Jaquel Draracle was only one of three individuals who would be made Repulsars that day. The other two were Prince Tristan Keint and Duchess Brianna Galena.
Typically, knights who manage to enter the ranks of the Repulsars are well over 35 years of age. Tristan Keint—who was something of a rival to Vass—was in his early thirties. Duchess Brianna was 25, and Vass was 26. This made all three of them (and particularly Draracle and Galena) some of the youngest Firstborn to ever join the Order.
“But surely,” Vass commented, “You did not ask me here to speak of Brianna or Tristan.”
“True,” McKenzie replied, “I was asked to do a favor and that’s why we’re both here.”
Vass waited for McKenzie to continue, intrigued.
“I have a gift for you, Vass,” McKenzie said motioning to a rectangular wooden box behind him. “Not my gift, mind you, I’m just the one who delivers it.”
At McKenzie’s urging, Vass opened the box. Within he could see a large piece of cloth wrapped around something long and thin. From the colors, Vass could tell the piece of cloth was actually a flag bearing the coat of arms of House Draracle, and he could also tell that it was wrapped around a sword.
Vass unfurled the banner and gawked at the sword hidden within.
“This…”
“Yes,” McKenzie confirmed with a smile. “It’s the Sword of Volaran.”
The longsword was a masterpiece. Its hilt and guard was in the shape of an eagle stretching its wings, its pommel shaped like a pair of talons ready to grab something. The blade was hidden within an elaborate scabbard.
“Your family’s heirloom is impressive,” McKenzie commented.
“But, how did you…?”
“Ah, well, a relative of yours is a good friend of mine.”
Vass raised his eyebrow and turned to the commander. “…Soleanna?”
McKenzie cleared his throat. “Yes, she and I are old friends. She asked me to give this to you as a present for your admittance to the order.”
The Baroness Soleanna Volaran-Draracle was Vass’ aunt, and the young man couldn’t shake the impression that she and McKenzie had a sexual affair. Soleanna had an impressive carnal appetite and by that point Vass had simply given up on any attempts to get to know her lovers. The baroness had cared for Vass ever since he came on Havnor from Draklund at the age of 8, shortly after his parents’ death.
“May I?” Vass asked McKenzie showing him the sword.
“Of course.”
Vass unsheathed the longsword and stared at it in amazement. The blade resonated in his mind, overflowing with emotion and a desire to fight darkness. This came as no surprise to the knight, he knew the blade was sentient.
“You may not believe this,” Vass said, “but this is actually the first time I actually see this sword up close, I’ve only read about it.”
“Same here,” McKenzie said.
Vass concentrated on the blade; a longsword was not his favorite kind of blade and he knew of the blade’s unique powers. Suddenly, the sword, whose true name was Corona, began to vibrate in Vass’ hands as tiny hidden gears in its interior spinned furiously. Hidden extradimensional compartments opened, and dozens of pieces of blade and handle appeared, moved around, and locked together like puzzle pieces. Within seconds, the blade had transformed into a bastard sword.
“That’s… unique,” McKenzie said amazed.
“True,” Vass said. “I knew I could make it change shape, but I never imagined the effect would be so…”
“…Weird?” McKenzie asked.
“Elaborate,” Vass replied with a smile. “Guess I was just expecting a flash of light or something, this was like some clockwork machine.” As he completed the sentence, he felt a surge of pride coming from the sword.
“Well,” Vass said lowering the blade, “I guess I should be going.”
No comments:
Post a Comment