The Blade King

[Aktherion]

"This?" the tall man sighs, "this is the one who is to be my worthy opponent?"


his long, keen, blade touches your chin, lifting your head so as to get a better look at your face.


you stare back at the man who murdered your family, his gaunt features portraying his cold demeanor and cruel disposition.


his shoulder length black hair frames his youthful angular face, a stern look permanently etched into his features. his cold silver eyes glare at you almost daring you to make a move. he kneels next to you and grasps your chin and looks you over, memorizing your features.


he lets your head hit the floor, it slaps wetly into the pool of blood welling up beneath you. the dead forms of your parents lie over you, protecting you to the last.


"child," he says, looking over his shoulder at you as he walks away. "be sure not to disappoint me."


he leaves you to pry yourself out from under your family's bodies.

 

[Tiny Dancer]

Their bodies were still warm. Warm but wet. Drenched in each other's blood and now trickling down from their open wounds as though even in death they wished to protect me from this evil. Did Evil have a name, for it sure as hell had a face. I had seen it. The coldness in the silver eyes that stared into my very soul. The touch of metal that met with my chin caused me to raise my head just a touch. Fear melded with anger. This being had done the unthinkable, and yet took the time to mock me...the lone survivor. What could he mean that I was a worthy opponent? He knew nothing of me, nor my family. Their deaths were nothing but notches on his belt. Life meant so little..to so few. My face was caked in dirt and mixed with the spray of my parent's blood. And while I may have looked to be defeated, there was a deeply rooted belief that I held onto. This was not my day to die. No. Though my face hit the floor when he withdrew his blade - landing in a pool of blood, he would not see the flash of determination in my eyes.


He was now walking away with a throwaway comment left to torment me still.


A hand clawed into the damp earth; wet with blood and tears. Another hand digging in and then with all the force I had inside me, I dragged my body out from under my parent's death embrace. It took a good two minutes to free myself. The longest two minutes of my life.


Only when free, I pushed myself up into standing. With no weapons in which to attack this hideous man, all I could do was mentally tear him apart in my mind. He did not deserve my words. No promises would I make him. Instead I stood there - glaring. My body trembled - fists clenched so tight you could make out the whites of my knuckles through the blooded skin.

 

[Aktherion]

the man disappears into the distance, flicking the blood off his sword and casually sheathing it. It's his indifference, his indifference is the most maddening part. He doesn't see you as a threat, or even as a nuisance. he sees you as nothing. The blood of your parents drips from your hands and face, the massacre around you becoming harder to see as the sun sets behind you. Your Family's retainers cast about almost effortlessly by the stranger. you see the shadow of the wreckage that was your family's carriage cast over you. The temperature drops. and the woods grow quiet. deathly so... the woods seem to grow closer, faces seem to appear in the bark and the noises of the creatures of the night begin to grow close.


you feel eyes all around you. watching, waiting for you to drop your guard...

 

[Tiny Dancer]

Was this man without honor? Without any sort of moral code? From what I had seen, he acted out the part of one that just went about his way as though this was merely a common occurrence. There was no looking back - just shaking off the blood on his blade and sheathing it into his leather holster. How could he be so cold? What was worse was, this man....this creature had torn through his families home and left nothing alive...but me. Everything and everyone I had come to love and know, was nothing more than a wretched pile of corpses that littered a ravaged home. As the lights began to fade, it was as though through the eerie whispers of the wind howling through the grand hall was singing its own requiem. Life and laughter would never again fill this once grand home. It was a shell...as hollow as how my heart now felt.


Blood did continue to drip from me, as I stood there in the dim light. The air that swirled around me was like the gnarly hands of the Angel of Death. Closing around me if I dare not to move from the spot where I stood.


What was I to do? A boy...alone now.


There was only one thing to do. Follow the man that had brought my life to ruin. For I made a promise to myself in that moment. One day I would be the one that holds my sword to his neck and ask the question that he asked me.


"Is this the opponent to be worthy of me?"





Outside of the estate house, I ventured forward though it was hard not to drag my feet. To run and catch him up would show that I was eager to be at his side. No. I would follow like the ghost of my former life, till the day I could reclaim my title and restore my home to its former glory. I was aware of the eyes that followed my steps. The nights creatures did frolic in this my melancholy...my eternal sadness.

 

[Aktherion]

The Man stops and you feel his gaze land upon your soul. you feel uncertain as to weather or not following this man will be the end of you. but he does not turn to address your presence. a chill runs down your spine. he does not slow his pace and as you follow him you see the flickering lights of the town of Gilgham off in the distance. the town itself smells of soot and the heat of a forge. As you recall from what your father told you, there is a rather predominate dwarven community there. and even in the creeping darkness of approaching nightfall you can hear the echoes of hammerfalls signaling that the smiths and craftsmen are hard at work.


the man stops. looking over the moderate trade town.

 

[Tiny Dancer]

The blood of my dead parents now starts to harden against my skin. Drying due to the chill of the air. It's sticky and I know that I must smell quite bad, but there would not be a chance to bathe, to wash their crimson mark from my skin. Up ahead, the man simply stops in his tracks, but utters no words in my direction. I am nothing to him as he must know that while he lives, I must go on. Somehow my fate is now intertwined with his. Not by choice though. I come to stop and it is then that I feel it. The cold ice like trickling down my spine. It is the most terrible feeling. What would be sweeter, would be death itself, at least then I would be in the arm of a savior. A winged angel that has black wings. I cannot envision anything holy that would dare come near. Soon he is away again, and the pace is not slow. At this I must increase my own speed and it was when I came over the next hill, that I could smell the burning fires of the blacksmith's stores. The metallic ting as metal is struck...shaped by specialist craftsman who for hundreds of years had perfected their skills. It is here in this place, that my Father had bought and traded for many weapons, which sadly did not get to be of use in the end. More like adornments on the manor walls. What good is a weapon, is if it is just to be admired - and never put to use.


The lights of homes, and drinking taverns shows that there is life in this village, unlike that of the home I have left. Did this man intend to bring his evil down upon them? These innocents. I look at him and wonder...what is in his mind? Has his blade not tasted enough blood already?

 

[Aktherion]

the tall man adjusts his gauntlets, the plates clattering against each other as he shifts inside his armor. "boy." he says, his voice heavy, but silky and regal. "if you intend to follow me, know that I will not make any efforts to keep you out of harms way, you chose this path, and now you must decide... do you possess the conviction and perseverance to do what you must? or will you ever be the mewling child of Sir Arondite?" he scoffs, drawing his blade and driving it to the hilt into the tree next to him. "your father was a great swordsman, I pray i am not wrong about you."


he strides down the hill to enter the forgetown, the sword still lodged into the tree, casually abandoned.

 

[Tiny Dancer]

So easy it was for this man to brow beat a child that had just lost his parents in the most horrific way possible. I froze in place when I heard the sound of his armor clatter together as he turned to face me, and finally address me in a manner that was a little surprising. Saying that if I had any intent to follow, that he would not dare to even raise a finger in my defense. To do that, I would need to learn to protect myself on my own. He was giving me a choice. Chose the path. Either follow him with conviction and perseverance or take the road that led to nowhere. No family did i have now. He had made sure of that. Again he degraded me, insinuating that forever more I would be the mewling child of Sir Arondite. I could feel my fingers drawing into tight fists - hard enough for my nails to pierce my flesh. A boy in a simple tunic was no match for an armored warrior, that was certain. But I had the conviction alright.


With a light scoff in my direction, he slammed his blade into the tree nearest him and then offers another throwaway comment, but it was what he said, that brought a look of confusion. Did he just say that my father was a great swordsman? I had only heard the fire side tales of his exploits, never seeing him in combat training, as I was kept in a different part of the manor to him.


"I pray I am not wrong about you..." His words were all I was left with to ponder, while the blade was still wobbling slightly from the strike into the tree. Did he just leave that for me? I stayed in my place a moment or two more...then raced for the tree and with blooded hands, I tried hard to pull it free. But damn, he had wedged it good and tight. It would take all my might. My feet planted against the base and with a hard yank, it came free - sending me backwards and landing with a dull thud against the earth. Slightly winded, it took a minute before I scrambled to standing. I could not help but gaze over the blade, taking in the etchings by the smith who had created it. One like this was worth a year's wages, maybe more.


The man had already left me behind, and so it was now I truly began the journey that left my former life behind.


My head bowed, I took the first step. The first of many. It wasn't long before I caught him up. Not walking at his side, mind you. But a few paces behind. He would be well aware by now that I was indeed joining him on this trek into the village ahead of us. My eyes peeled the scene through my blood soaked fringe. Anyone that dared look at me, would be able to see that I had been in some sort of stoush, only it was the aftermath of my parents death. What did this village have that attracted the man, or was it just the need to find a place to get a meal, and wash before the journey continued?


"What did you know of my father? You say he was a great swordsman, and yet you killed him." I had the right to know why he did what he did....and why I was still alive.

 

[Aktherion]

Despite the lateness of the hour the Town seems very much alive. the heat of the many forges displaces the cool night air. the very night itself seems abuzz with loud and raukus conversation from the many burly dwarves who've set down for a drink, discussing work and techniques. the Air smells heavy of cooked meat and ale. your head grows a little fuzzy from the aura of it all. you notice that the man has stopped in front of one of the taverns. the door seeming to glow with the warm lighting of inside.


"In the past, I thought your father to be the one who would put me out of my misery, to put an end to me." the man's brow furrows, belying his feelings of irritation. He opens the door to the tavern and looks your way, holding the door open.

 

[Tiny Dancer]

Bathed in the warm glow of the inner fires of the tavern, I stared at the armored man with of wariness when he said that he believed that it was my father that would put an end to him. Going as far to say he was living a miserable life. Course, this was spoken of in a past tense, and it was my father that fell to his blade. His expression showed one of irritation, but at the same time he held the door to the tavern open for me. I hesitated a little, but it was the strong smell of cooked meats and ale that drew me inside the tavern. I did keep my eyes on him however as I passed under his arm and into the crowded room. Filled to the brim with raucous laughter and singing. A place of festivities, of passing on stories told from one generation to the next. Here amongst the drunken dwarves there was almost a feeling of comradery between men.


There was an empty table that was over in the corner of the room, and it was here that I went to sit. Watching to see how the dwarves reacted to the armored man. Would they greet him with a warm welcome, or watch him with nervous eyes?

 

[Aktherion]

the Armored man strides in behind you, the bar growing quiet for a just a moment as heads turn to look at the strange man as he enters the establishment before gradually resuming in the festivities. he follows you to the small table in the back corner of the room and, heavy metal armor clanking like a great machine, sits down across the table from you.


his arms rest on the table with a solid thunk. The look on his face is no longer one of anger or irritation. but one of sadness, a forlorn expression falls across the warrior king's visage.


"A long time ago, I trained your father..." the stranger begins. "He..."


A loud bang sounds above the laughter and merriment of the bar as 4 brutish figures enter the pub, slamming the doors hard against the stone walls. their stature says human, but the sheer mass of their forms tells otherwise. these are orcs, wandering barbarians from more northern lands, what could bring them this far south?


the foremost figure lowers his hood to reveal a scarred face and another hush falls over the patrons. his lower canines jutting from his mouth almost like tusks and greenish skin setting him a stark contrast from the tanned dwarves in the tavern. the orc quitely approaches the bartender and whispers a quiet exchange of words. You see the bartender nod in your direction.


The man, either through negligence, or indifference, pays the group no mind.

 

[Tiny Dancer]

Just as I had suspected. The armored man that had brought me to this tavern drew attention from all around. A lull forming across the interior of the room, as eyes were all cast in his direction. Ever step he took created a loud clanking from the metal of his armored plates striking one another. Once he had reached my small table, he sat opposite me, the great thud of his arms landing on the table causing me to jump a little in my seat. He was truly an imposing figure - one that commanded respect from the locals. I scanned his facial features, to see if he was still angry, and yet the look was one that spoke of sadness unsaid. He spoke of how a long time ago, he had trained my father. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. He knew more than I had imagined. Being a Master swordsman....a warrior king. But his words died away at the arrival of a large group of orcs, that barreled their way through the entrance. I knew...as others did, that they generally did not venture this far south of their lands - unless they had a damn good reason too.


I didn't mean to take my eyes off the Warrior King, but, my curiosity as this untimely arrival had me watch them closely to see if they might bring harm to the patrons. One...that stood out from the pack, lowered his hood to reveal a scarred face that was so intimidating that the crowd again fell silent. The group approached the bar, and then spoke in hushed tones to the bartender, that pointed to our table.


What was I to do? I looked back at the Warrior King and saw that he was not even paying attention to them now. Were the orcs after him? Or...were they after me? I pushed back my chair and rose to standing. Not to run...but to face this coming threat. They were enormous creatures - green and vile looking. If they drew their weapons, than this tavern was about to become a blood bath. I clutched the hilt of the blade that I had pulled from the tree. Inside, my mind was racing and I looked back at the man, to see how he would respond.


@Aktherion

 

[Aktherion]

the orcs spied the large frame of the man's armor. Sitting as relaxed as he was in his seat. The pungent smell of ale in the air wrapping the whole scenario in an almost warm haze. Despite this, the feel of the situation tensed again as the group approached. The largest Orc put a hand on his shoulder. "Word around 'ere is dat your da blade King." He said, his thick broque unfamiliar to your ears, making him sound almost pirate like.


"I have had many names over the time I've lived on this earth" the man replied, flagging a barmaid down for a drink. "Blade King being the most common. Why?"


The Orc snarled an angry snort, and turned to his mates. You notice that the dwarves begin to leave. In twos and threes. "Did'ya 'ere dat mates, this 'uman has da guff to tink e's da blade King!" He gestures to the almost empty bar and drops his cloak, revealing a scarred back adorned with a tattoo of a skull made of swords. He laughs heartily and turns back to the man. "Listen 'ere 'uman, I'll let it slide cause you're new around 'ere, but I'm da blade King and I don't wot like people trying ta steal my funder." He smiles expecting a fight. Looking over the man for signs of tension. You wonder as to what the man's reaction will be, expecting a massacre.


"Then you can have it," the man calmly replies, not even bothering to look at the Orc as his drink is set down in front of him. "it's a rather worthless title anyway."


The Orc blusters at the man having the audacity to call his special title 'worthless'. He roars in rage and pulling a dagger from his buddies hand he moves to stab him.


Time slows, you don't even have the wherewithal to call out to the man. The fight seems to happen in slow motion as the man snaps the metal handle off his mug and jams it up into the orcs eye. The Orc recoils and as he clutches at his face, the man snaps his wrist, taking the dagger and slitting the throat of the friend who handed it to the Orc, the other orcs begin to draw their weapons but to no avail, one catches the dagger in his ear and the other has his windpipe crushed. The man sits down again as the larger Orc drops to his knees screaming. The man sips his drink from the broken mug. And looks up at you.

 

[Tiny Dancer]

The bravado of the leader of the Orcs was enough to set everyone on edge. His followers clearly aware that he considered himself to be the Blade King, not the man that i had followed from my destroyed home. The brutish leader of the Orcs was paying attention to no one but the blade king, who treated the Orc with veiled contempt - siting that the title was not of any significance, and that the Orc leader was welcome to call himself that. You could say that this was an intelligent way to get the Orc to let his own pride and self belief cloud his better judgement.


The great roar of rage, after being well and truly put down by the Blade King, was enough to blow back my wayward hair from my face. I even copped a bit of spittle for just being there...standing in awe and feeling it in my own waters that this situation was about to get pretty ugly.


The next moment, it was on. Though the fight was so fast that it was over within a matter of seconds. The Blade King used a broken mug handle to inflict a serious wound, that rendered the Orc partially blind, and only increasing his fury ten fold. Next, you hear the great sound of bone breaking, as the Blade king then took the opportunity to not only seize a dagger and break the leader of the Orc's wrist, whilst slitting the throat of a poor unfortunate and witless orc. There was the terrified sounds of screaming, along with the god awful gurgling of an orc drowning in his own blood. All this...and the man - the Blade king simply sipped his drink from the broken mug and looked up at me, as I stood there through all this.


You could say I was simply dumbstruck by what I had just witnessed. A right royal pub brawl, and over before other patrons even moved from their seats. Blood now seeped into the cracks on the floor, and I looked at the other orcs that had seen their leader fall to his knees.


There was no doubt, that the man at the table, was the true...and only Blade King.


@Aktherion

 

[Aktherion]

The leader of the gang looked up at the man, his eyes bloodshot and burning with rage. "Ooh da 'ell are you?" He hollers as his surviving buddies pick him up off the floor. He stumbles as he stands still clutching his injured eye. He spits blood from his mouth and glares at the armored man.


The man smiles dismissively and standing, turns to face the orcs. Not wanting a repeat of a second vago the orcs take a step back from him. "My name is Abbadon, I am a knight from eons gone past. I have ended the lives of countless men far more worthy than you" he takes a step foreward making the ground seem to shake as he brings his full aura to bear down on the orcs, the building seems to grow smaller as if Trying to contain the massive martial aura emanating from this man.


His eyes, cold, like steel. Affix their gaze to the Orc, stunning him and freezing him in place. Abbadon grips him by the throat, lifting the gurgling Orc high into the air. Feet brushing the ground.


You feels large hand on your shoulder the cold press of steel against your neck. "D-don't move, you 'ear!" The Orc says. "Let 'im go or we kill da kid!" Abbadon smirks, "boy, if there were a time to start your journey into my kind of life. This would be it."

 

[Tiny Dancer]

If ever there was a time, that I had to think fast, it was now. Though the Blade King, (who had just given out his real name as Abbadon) - had an orc by the throat and dangling in the air, I found myself to be now threatened in the worst way. Again...a blade to the throat by an orc who had also placed his hand upon my shoulder. Now, I may be small...and I may not have the strength or size of the mighty Abbadon, but I had one thing that they didn't count on. I had no fear for my own life. I had seen death...stared into its face. My fear had died with my parents, and now this worthless orc thought he could try and use me to bribe a man, who I knew had no soul for empathy. I had turned my head enough towards the large gnarly fingers of the orc that rested on my shoulder and I bit down hard as I could. At the same time, I took a back step with my right foot and stomped with all my might. The aim of this was not only to startle the orc into withdrawing both his hand and backing away with hopefully a broken toe or worse, but also enough to make him withdraw his sword. If he did, I would spin on my left foot, and with the blade that I held in my right hand, I would thrust it deep into the orc's gut with all the force I had. Adrenalin; being my power. My heart pounded near out of my chest - my eyes wide and I snarled angrily, though to the large orcs this might not have sounded threatening.


@Aktherion