::After a long days journey, the group rests. The sounds of the forest at night, the quiet sounds of the underdark, or the barren silence of the mountains accompany the crackle of the fire and the sizzling of cooking food.::
[This location shifts through time over the course of your journeys.]
::This is a solo ritual, Saubwa is going to keep all of his actions in this as secret as possible and will tell everyone that he needs some time to himself for a couple of days. If anyone insists on tailing him or joining him he will shake the tail and go to ground.::
Saubwa takes 7 days to complete this ritual. For the first 6 days leading up to the ritual he chooses one of the Fundaments of creation and will be throwing himself into activities to bring himself in alignment with the principals that he feels best suit the original Gods. Each day that he does this he will use his wild shaping to become a different person, one who seems to fit that principal. On each of the first 6 days he also wakes before sunrise and ritualistically bathes himself in purified water and anoints his forhead with a small amount of Earth's Water in the symbol of that concept in Celestial (for the Holy ones) or Infernal (for the Unholy ones) while meditating on that concept.
Day 1: Light, forms: Vegepygmy (plant type) female/day, Svirfneblin female/night
After preparing herself Saubwa sets up a mirror and positions it to catch all of the suns light then she sits in meditation facing the sun as it begins to rise, taking in all the colors that the sun reveals and relishing in the heat that it puts off. She spends the rest of the day in quiet communion with the sun, moving her’s and her mirror’s positioning so that they are always facing it, allowing it to provide her with the energy needed to sustain her. As the sun sets she begins the process of transformation so that as the last ray of light disappears over the horizon she is a creature born of darkness, one that has never seen the light of day. For the rest of the evening she actively avoids all forms of light, staying only in the shadows and wearing a cloak of the darkest black to cover herself and provide her with shelter from the light.
Day 2: War, form: Dwarven male
After preparing himself Saubwa meditates on the concept of war and violence with the rising of the sun then leaves to put himself in conflict all day. He will argue with everyone he comes across, hunt down and kill his own food, and will find someone stalk them and kill them taking with me their sword hand and not cleaning my blade. As soon as the sun begins to set he enters into a state of deep remorse and takes one of his daggers and breaks it as the light of the sun fades over the horizon. For the rest of the evening he wanders around preaching peace, abstaining from food, and settling any dispute that he runs across.
Day 3: Seasons, form: Human male. Spring-child , Summer-teenager/young adult, Fall-middle-age, Winter-elderly.
Saubwa begins the morning as a small child spending all morning in the state of carefree innocence of youth playing with cute animals, picking flowers, playing with other children. In the afternoon he blooms into the maturity of young adulthood, continuing to mature and change with the cycle of life including discovering intimacy, and makes love in the sunset. In the moon’s early light he moves on to the maturity of fall, he cares for the young around him, he harvests fruits, vegetables, and grain, and preserves them for the coming winter. At midnight when the moon is at it’s fullest he moves towards old age and with it all the wisdom and physical frailty that that entails.
Day 4: Desire, form: Human female.
After her morning meditations and preparations Saubwa sets off to make her riches. She practices the art of pick-pocketing all day, she steals or cons her way into getting whatever she sees that she wants and covets. She seduces men only to reject them or con them out of their belongings. She causes others to covet and crave her. As the sun sets, she finds a orphanage and donates all of her worldly belongings except for her weapons, magic items, and one coin that she stole to them. She spends the rest of the evening wearing rags and fasting.
Day 5: Life, form: Halfing male.
When his morning devotionals are over, Saubwa leaves to tend to the sick and the injured. He spends all day focusing all his energies on healing the sick. When the sun’s rays disappear over the horizon he slits he ritualistically cuts his wrists and uses bowls to catch his life’s blood (he is going to take himself to the cusp of death-0 hp and then he is going to stay in that state in a meditative state between life and death). Then at midnight he will use spells to heal himself enough to make it back to camp.
Day 6: Magic, form: Elven female.
As soon as the sun’s light touches the sky Saubwa will devote himself to the act of magical study. He will learn as much about the fundamentals and science of magic as he can. He will also spend all day with detect magic on, viewing the world with his mage’s sight on. Throughout the day to aid in his study he will expend all of his spells for the day. At nightfall he will eschew all of his magical possessions and with all of his spells expended he will travel back to the campsite using only mundane means, using torches, using the stars to navigate, and using only mundane tools to help him.
Day 7: Equinox, form: Natural form
Saubwa spends all day purifying himself, fasting, bathing himself with purified water, and meditating on all of his experiences from this week. As evening approaches he sets up a circle where he places candles in relative position to each other to mimic the placement of the Tombs of the Gods in the graveyard. On either side of the candle signifying Light he places the mirror and the cloak. On either side of the candle signifying War he places the bloody dagger with the hand, and the broken dagger. On either side of the candle signifying Seasons he places a newly bloomed flower, a ribbon from his lover’s hair, preserved fruit, and a burial shroud. On either side of the candle signifying Desire he places the stolen coin and nothing. On either side of the candle signifying Life he places the healers kit that he used to help in his ministrations and the bowl that contains his blood. On either side of the candle signifying Magic he places a magic scroll and a torch. He then takes a bowl and fills it with Earth’s Water which he uses to wash his hands and face, then takes a dagger where he carves the respective symbols for each of the concepts on the candles and rubs a small amount of Earth’s Water on each of them. As the moment between day and night approaches he lights incense in offering to the Principals of Creation and lights the candles, lighting the last one at the perfect moment where it is neither day nor night. He then closes his eyes and seeks a vision of the Principals of Creation, seeking answers and seeking communion yet expecting nothing while being open to anything.
Saubwa takes 7 days to complete this ritual. For the first 6 days leading up to the ritual he chooses one of the Fundaments of creation and will be throwing himself into activities to bring himself in alignment with the principals that he feels best suit the original Gods. Each day that he does this he will use his wild shaping to become a different person, one who seems to fit that principal. On each of the first 6 days he also wakes before sunrise and ritualistically bathes himself in purified water and anoints his forhead with a small amount of Earth's Water in the symbol of that concept in Celestial (for the Holy ones) or Infernal (for the Unholy ones) while meditating on that concept.
Day 1: Light, forms: Vegepygmy (plant type) female/day, Svirfneblin female/night
After preparing herself Saubwa sets up a mirror and positions it to catch all of the suns light then she sits in meditation facing the sun as it begins to rise, taking in all the colors that the sun reveals and relishing in the heat that it puts off. She spends the rest of the day in quiet communion with the sun, moving her’s and her mirror’s positioning so that they are always facing it, allowing it to provide her with the energy needed to sustain her. As the sun sets she begins the process of transformation so that as the last ray of light disappears over the horizon she is a creature born of darkness, one that has never seen the light of day. For the rest of the evening she actively avoids all forms of light, staying only in the shadows and wearing a cloak of the darkest black to cover herself and provide her with shelter from the light.
Day 2: War, form: Dwarven male
After preparing himself Saubwa meditates on the concept of war and violence with the rising of the sun then leaves to put himself in conflict all day. He will argue with everyone he comes across, hunt down and kill his own food, and will find someone stalk them and kill them taking with me their sword hand and not cleaning my blade. As soon as the sun begins to set he enters into a state of deep remorse and takes one of his daggers and breaks it as the light of the sun fades over the horizon. For the rest of the evening he wanders around preaching peace, abstaining from food, and settling any dispute that he runs across.
Day 3: Seasons, form: Human male. Spring-child , Summer-teenager/young adult, Fall-middle-age, Winter-elderly.
Saubwa begins the morning as a small child spending all morning in the state of carefree innocence of youth playing with cute animals, picking flowers, playing with other children. In the afternoon he blooms into the maturity of young adulthood, continuing to mature and change with the cycle of life including discovering intimacy, and makes love in the sunset. In the moon’s early light he moves on to the maturity of fall, he cares for the young around him, he harvests fruits, vegetables, and grain, and preserves them for the coming winter. At midnight when the moon is at it’s fullest he moves towards old age and with it all the wisdom and physical frailty that that entails.
Day 4: Desire, form: Human female.
After her morning meditations and preparations Saubwa sets off to make her riches. She practices the art of pick-pocketing all day, she steals or cons her way into getting whatever she sees that she wants and covets. She seduces men only to reject them or con them out of their belongings. She causes others to covet and crave her. As the sun sets, she finds a orphanage and donates all of her worldly belongings except for her weapons, magic items, and one coin that she stole to them. She spends the rest of the evening wearing rags and fasting.
Day 5: Life, form: Halfing male.
When his morning devotionals are over, Saubwa leaves to tend to the sick and the injured. He spends all day focusing all his energies on healing the sick. When the sun’s rays disappear over the horizon he slits he ritualistically cuts his wrists and uses bowls to catch his life’s blood (he is going to take himself to the cusp of death-0 hp and then he is going to stay in that state in a meditative state between life and death). Then at midnight he will use spells to heal himself enough to make it back to camp.
Day 6: Magic, form: Elven female.
As soon as the sun’s light touches the sky Saubwa will devote himself to the act of magical study. He will learn as much about the fundamentals and science of magic as he can. He will also spend all day with detect magic on, viewing the world with his mage’s sight on. Throughout the day to aid in his study he will expend all of his spells for the day. At nightfall he will eschew all of his magical possessions and with all of his spells expended he will travel back to the campsite using only mundane means, using torches, using the stars to navigate, and using only mundane tools to help him.
Day 7: Equinox, form: Natural form
Saubwa spends all day purifying himself, fasting, bathing himself with purified water, and meditating on all of his experiences from this week. As evening approaches he sets up a circle where he places candles in relative position to each other to mimic the placement of the Tombs of the Gods in the graveyard. On either side of the candle signifying Light he places the mirror and the cloak. On either side of the candle signifying War he places the bloody dagger with the hand, and the broken dagger. On either side of the candle signifying Seasons he places a newly bloomed flower, a ribbon from his lover’s hair, preserved fruit, and a burial shroud. On either side of the candle signifying Desire he places the stolen coin and nothing. On either side of the candle signifying Life he places the healers kit that he used to help in his ministrations and the bowl that contains his blood. On either side of the candle signifying Magic he places a magic scroll and a torch. He then takes a bowl and fills it with Earth’s Water which he uses to wash his hands and face, then takes a dagger where he carves the respective symbols for each of the concepts on the candles and rubs a small amount of Earth’s Water on each of them. As the moment between day and night approaches he lights incense in offering to the Principals of Creation and lights the candles, lighting the last one at the perfect moment where it is neither day nor night. He then closes his eyes and seeks a vision of the Principals of Creation, seeking answers and seeking communion yet expecting nothing while being open to anything.
-
Liquidprism
- Lost Soul
- Posts: 1509
- Joined: Tue Jun 17, 2008 11:40 pm
- Location: Behind You...
Is Paul simulating humping a log.
All things in moderation...Except syrup.
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Liquidprism
- Lost Soul
- Posts: 1509
- Joined: Tue Jun 17, 2008 11:40 pm
- Location: Behind You...
My back stories aren't hard to understand, or read. If you would like, I can start playing chaotic/neutral characters, and write pages upon pages, of their very relevant antics.
And each time I read that post, all I can envision is a robot humping a refrigerator.
And each time I read that post, all I can envision is a robot humping a refrigerator.
All things in moderation...Except syrup.
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<b>Take the Magic: The Gathering 'What Color Are You?' Quiz.</b></a>
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Liquidprism
- Lost Soul
- Posts: 1509
- Joined: Tue Jun 17, 2008 11:40 pm
- Location: Behind You...
Imoak stood on the cities wall, and stared into the night. The moon was bright enough to see by, but the massive framework that now domed the city shut out a lot of it. He sighed, and wondered what it might be like to be an elf, or a dwarf and peer through the darkness. In the distance he could here the mewlings of several cats, this caused him to wonder about their role in all these recent events. They had spoken to him after all, at least he was pretty sure he had heard them speak.
He shook his head and growled. Perhaps he and his companions were all going crazy, this business with deities was unsettling. Everything was changing, and spinning without control, he felt powerless.
His thoughts drifted upon his parties recent trip to what his companions had said was the moon. He looked up at that pale disk, and wondered about that. He felt nothing, it was too much for him to encompass he supposed. He moved on. He saw the muted image of a strange god with many parts, he refused to try and focus on even the memory any more. He remembered the god asking about his blade, his families’ sword.
Imoak knew that in all likelihood it was in fact the legendary weapon of Sabian. He had seen some of the research Yavell had uncovered. He had seen the properties of the blade as they had started to unfold. He grimaced. When Sabian herself had appeared in the sky to fight with her brother his heart had leap into his chest. He was terrified she would notice him, and the blade, and try to take it.
His hand moved to the veiled blade even as these thoughts sorted themselves out. It was the one thing in the world he claimed as his own. He had inherited it from his father’s body, and he had made an oath. What would that all mean if the blade was just snatched form him like a lost toy, suddenly found again? He hated feeling impotent, and like a game piece. He had stood his ground in the city. Standing by his comrades in the face of a gods wrath, but they hadn’t won that fight. The intervention of the other gods, and a loophole in some arbitrary set rules had saved them.
Imoak felt had to start doing something, and he had to do it soon. He pulled his sword’s hilt from its wrappings, and let them fall. He ushered the newest command he had uncovered in his meditations with the blade. From within the hilt, or more specifically the magical space therein the awesome blade unfolded. It took less than a second for all 7 feet of the blade to finish emerging and aligning. He held the blade in the dark, and admired its craftsmanship. He could see the design of it, and he could feel the power inside.
As he stared, his resolve hardened. This was his sword, once cast aside by a god, and then also by his family when his father was slain wielding it. It was not cursed, it was greater than curses, and deities. Imoak had touched its power before, bonding with it to trying and draw out its latent magic. He would make this blade his. It would be his first real act of defiance against the fickle gods.
The magic of the blade, and the storm in the core of his being pulsed as one, this was his weapon to claim. As he stood there he could feel something shift inside the weapons aura, he could see it as well, some of his recent training allowed him to do so. Its inner fire, changed into something more primal, something greater. He recognized the fury of a storm when he saw it. It was a fury he himself could barely contain. He had caused the shift with his will, and desire… what did that make him? What did it mean.
He stood holding his blade in concentration, waiting for something, but unsure as to what that something might be. A strange feeling gripped Imoak, like he was being watched. This did not occur to him however, for some time he was so engrossed with the moment. As the feeling took hold, he looked around peering into the night, trying to see through the dark. Movement caught his eye.
The faint wisps of a cloth, strangely luminous, disappeared around the corner of a building below the wall. Imoak was compelled to follow. He climbed down quickly, and moved with purpose toward the place he had seen the motion. As he got to the corner, and peered around it he noticed the cloth trail disappear once more further ahead. He resolved himself to the game, and took off after it. He didn’t like being interrupted, but this somehow seemed connected, though he wasn’t sure why.
After several blocks, prowling through a seemingly abandoned city Imoak came upon an opening in the permanent structures of the area. A central area, paved with stone stood barren to the night. His senses warned him, but heedless he moved forward into the vacant market. Silent figures emerged from the shadows around him. He took a guarded stance allowing his massive sword to take its rightful place in his hands. The figures, nine in number stopped their approach. The one foremost in his sight stepped forward only a step more.
“Greetings son of the desert.”, a low voice softy spoke.
“Who are you?”, was his only reply.
“Do you not recognize us, the patrons of the blade you carry? It is to us that you speak during your rituals with sword.”
“Patrons? I’m not sure I’m following.” Imoak stated in confusion, “I’ve never seen, or heard any of you before.”
“Perhaps, but we have been here none the less, and now we since within you a change. You seek something none before you have sought before.”
“Oh yeah,” Imoak challenged, “What’s that?”
“You seek to change the fundamental nature of 9 Saints of the Desert sword, you wish to truly claim it, and reforge it’s destiny, as well as your own.” The figure took another step forward, and motioned toward the sword as if to emphasize his words.
“How do you know this, when I myself only decided those things this very night?”
“We are linked to the weapon, just as it is linked to you.”
“Are you going to tell me I can’t do it? Are you here to stop me?” Imoaks grip tightened marginally more around the handle, and his tone was more than a little defensive.
“We are not here to stop you, but to give you are blessing. For too long the 9 Saints Blade has had its magic torn between this world, and another. Its power flows from two warring places, and thus its full potential is stifled. With your desire this can change. Its magic can unify, and open the door for greatness. All it ever needed was a desire to change it and the willpower of a powerful champion to act upon that desire.”
Imoak found he was having trouble finding his voice. This was all so sudden. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass him up however. This might be just what he was after. “So tell me,” He spoke as calmly as he could given his excitement, “How is all this possible, and why are you so keen to help.”
The figure paused for a moment, and looked up white orbs peered into Imoaks eyes from beneath the luminous shroud about its head, “As guardian spirits we are linked to this world, and as it suffers so do we. The order of things is off kilter, and something has to be done. As patrons of a weapon we understand that violence, and aggressive force is a necessary tool to enact such change. This blade, and its keeper can be an instrument of such ideals. We would of course give our blessing to anyone wishing to see this world saved, and those that would hurt it dealt with.” This last part was said with a menace that shook Imoak to his core. He felt it ripple through his weapon as well.
“Okay, so how does this all work? I want to make this weapon mine, and I want to see the gods pay for the horrors they have brought to this world. I need to know what I can do.”
“Of course warrior, we are here to help. You must listen to our counsel this night however, as once the blades magic changes we will no longer be bound to it, and our forms will disperse.”
“Wait, you mean you die if I change the magic within this sword?”
“In a matter of speaking yes, but it is the way of things. Life exists in cycles of change, and all things end. So do not worry. Concentrate on what we tell you instead, as it is all that matters. With this knowledge can you take claim what is yours.”
“Okay, I think I’m ready whenever you are.” Licking his lips, Imoak stood before the figure with his sword. He looked around at each of the nine figures, and then did his best to focus.
“To change the magic of the blade, you must enact three rituals. Normally such rituals would already have come to be, but this is a special case. You must choose the rituals needed to forge your weapon. Follow your instincts, and listen to the swords magic, it will guide you. As you complete each ritual your blade with begin to take its true form. Also each ritual will demand a sacrifice. Again you will know what to do when the time is right. Now hold in your mind the purpose you wish to instill in the blade. Feel the rhythm of its magic Stormdrinker, for it is your heart now.”
Imoak listened, and did as he was told. He held the sword before him, and thought of on his purpose. He thought about what he wanted, and how he would achieve it. Then he focused on the blades magic, and felt its pulse. He began to get vague flashes of others times, and a sense of his place with those moments. Perhaps these were the rituals the blade guardian spoke of.
“Stormdrinker, you can feel it. You can sense the changes within your sword. Now that you have instilled it with purpose… it needs a name. It cannot be what it once was. You must name your blade, to lend it power. Tell me what will the sword one know as The 9 Saints of the Desert now be called?”
Imoak thought, and was startled to find he knew exactly the weapons new name… or was it is true name? With little pause he spoke it aloud, “It will be called the Blade of World’s Wrath.”
The spirit nodded, and each of the others in turn did the same. That low voice spoke once again, “A fine name, and fitting of the destiny you wish to forge. So be it, from this day forward it shall be called the Blade of World’s Wrath. An instrument of this world acting through you, to thwart those enemies who have turned upon it.”
For the first time in a long time Imoak smiled. The storm rolled within him, but he wasn’t frightened by it. He could embrace a destiny, he was okay with the idea as long as it didn’t change who he was at his core. This was a big step in forcing things to change for him, as opposed to the other way around.
The spirit stepped forward one more time, getting right next to Imoak, who did not flinch. Its voice was but a whisper now, “Stormdrinker the trials have begun, and the blade is changed. We must depart. We give you our blessing upon the sword, which once we guarded. Do as you have always done, and we have faith you will succeed. We bid thee farewell.” With that the nine spirits began to fade back into the darkness, their luminous gowns dispersing to another world perhaps.
“Farewell, and thank you,” Imoak said softly.
He hefted his sword, and admired it under the glow of the moon. The strangest things happened to him at night, under the moon he mused. He also heard the soft mewling of the city cats again. And from the darkness around him he could see their eyes as well. Several sets peering out at him with a knowing look, which he found unnerving.
Imoak yawned, and realized it was getting really late. He rubbed his eyes, and uttered a command under his breath, the massive blade folded back into the hilt with its active magic, until only the handle remained. With a vague smile Imoak trotted back to his bed, escorted by a silent vanguard of small dark cats.
He shook his head and growled. Perhaps he and his companions were all going crazy, this business with deities was unsettling. Everything was changing, and spinning without control, he felt powerless.
His thoughts drifted upon his parties recent trip to what his companions had said was the moon. He looked up at that pale disk, and wondered about that. He felt nothing, it was too much for him to encompass he supposed. He moved on. He saw the muted image of a strange god with many parts, he refused to try and focus on even the memory any more. He remembered the god asking about his blade, his families’ sword.
Imoak knew that in all likelihood it was in fact the legendary weapon of Sabian. He had seen some of the research Yavell had uncovered. He had seen the properties of the blade as they had started to unfold. He grimaced. When Sabian herself had appeared in the sky to fight with her brother his heart had leap into his chest. He was terrified she would notice him, and the blade, and try to take it.
His hand moved to the veiled blade even as these thoughts sorted themselves out. It was the one thing in the world he claimed as his own. He had inherited it from his father’s body, and he had made an oath. What would that all mean if the blade was just snatched form him like a lost toy, suddenly found again? He hated feeling impotent, and like a game piece. He had stood his ground in the city. Standing by his comrades in the face of a gods wrath, but they hadn’t won that fight. The intervention of the other gods, and a loophole in some arbitrary set rules had saved them.
Imoak felt had to start doing something, and he had to do it soon. He pulled his sword’s hilt from its wrappings, and let them fall. He ushered the newest command he had uncovered in his meditations with the blade. From within the hilt, or more specifically the magical space therein the awesome blade unfolded. It took less than a second for all 7 feet of the blade to finish emerging and aligning. He held the blade in the dark, and admired its craftsmanship. He could see the design of it, and he could feel the power inside.
As he stared, his resolve hardened. This was his sword, once cast aside by a god, and then also by his family when his father was slain wielding it. It was not cursed, it was greater than curses, and deities. Imoak had touched its power before, bonding with it to trying and draw out its latent magic. He would make this blade his. It would be his first real act of defiance against the fickle gods.
The magic of the blade, and the storm in the core of his being pulsed as one, this was his weapon to claim. As he stood there he could feel something shift inside the weapons aura, he could see it as well, some of his recent training allowed him to do so. Its inner fire, changed into something more primal, something greater. He recognized the fury of a storm when he saw it. It was a fury he himself could barely contain. He had caused the shift with his will, and desire… what did that make him? What did it mean.
He stood holding his blade in concentration, waiting for something, but unsure as to what that something might be. A strange feeling gripped Imoak, like he was being watched. This did not occur to him however, for some time he was so engrossed with the moment. As the feeling took hold, he looked around peering into the night, trying to see through the dark. Movement caught his eye.
The faint wisps of a cloth, strangely luminous, disappeared around the corner of a building below the wall. Imoak was compelled to follow. He climbed down quickly, and moved with purpose toward the place he had seen the motion. As he got to the corner, and peered around it he noticed the cloth trail disappear once more further ahead. He resolved himself to the game, and took off after it. He didn’t like being interrupted, but this somehow seemed connected, though he wasn’t sure why.
After several blocks, prowling through a seemingly abandoned city Imoak came upon an opening in the permanent structures of the area. A central area, paved with stone stood barren to the night. His senses warned him, but heedless he moved forward into the vacant market. Silent figures emerged from the shadows around him. He took a guarded stance allowing his massive sword to take its rightful place in his hands. The figures, nine in number stopped their approach. The one foremost in his sight stepped forward only a step more.
“Greetings son of the desert.”, a low voice softy spoke.
“Who are you?”, was his only reply.
“Do you not recognize us, the patrons of the blade you carry? It is to us that you speak during your rituals with sword.”
“Patrons? I’m not sure I’m following.” Imoak stated in confusion, “I’ve never seen, or heard any of you before.”
“Perhaps, but we have been here none the less, and now we since within you a change. You seek something none before you have sought before.”
“Oh yeah,” Imoak challenged, “What’s that?”
“You seek to change the fundamental nature of 9 Saints of the Desert sword, you wish to truly claim it, and reforge it’s destiny, as well as your own.” The figure took another step forward, and motioned toward the sword as if to emphasize his words.
“How do you know this, when I myself only decided those things this very night?”
“We are linked to the weapon, just as it is linked to you.”
“Are you going to tell me I can’t do it? Are you here to stop me?” Imoaks grip tightened marginally more around the handle, and his tone was more than a little defensive.
“We are not here to stop you, but to give you are blessing. For too long the 9 Saints Blade has had its magic torn between this world, and another. Its power flows from two warring places, and thus its full potential is stifled. With your desire this can change. Its magic can unify, and open the door for greatness. All it ever needed was a desire to change it and the willpower of a powerful champion to act upon that desire.”
Imoak found he was having trouble finding his voice. This was all so sudden. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass him up however. This might be just what he was after. “So tell me,” He spoke as calmly as he could given his excitement, “How is all this possible, and why are you so keen to help.”
The figure paused for a moment, and looked up white orbs peered into Imoaks eyes from beneath the luminous shroud about its head, “As guardian spirits we are linked to this world, and as it suffers so do we. The order of things is off kilter, and something has to be done. As patrons of a weapon we understand that violence, and aggressive force is a necessary tool to enact such change. This blade, and its keeper can be an instrument of such ideals. We would of course give our blessing to anyone wishing to see this world saved, and those that would hurt it dealt with.” This last part was said with a menace that shook Imoak to his core. He felt it ripple through his weapon as well.
“Okay, so how does this all work? I want to make this weapon mine, and I want to see the gods pay for the horrors they have brought to this world. I need to know what I can do.”
“Of course warrior, we are here to help. You must listen to our counsel this night however, as once the blades magic changes we will no longer be bound to it, and our forms will disperse.”
“Wait, you mean you die if I change the magic within this sword?”
“In a matter of speaking yes, but it is the way of things. Life exists in cycles of change, and all things end. So do not worry. Concentrate on what we tell you instead, as it is all that matters. With this knowledge can you take claim what is yours.”
“Okay, I think I’m ready whenever you are.” Licking his lips, Imoak stood before the figure with his sword. He looked around at each of the nine figures, and then did his best to focus.
“To change the magic of the blade, you must enact three rituals. Normally such rituals would already have come to be, but this is a special case. You must choose the rituals needed to forge your weapon. Follow your instincts, and listen to the swords magic, it will guide you. As you complete each ritual your blade with begin to take its true form. Also each ritual will demand a sacrifice. Again you will know what to do when the time is right. Now hold in your mind the purpose you wish to instill in the blade. Feel the rhythm of its magic Stormdrinker, for it is your heart now.”
Imoak listened, and did as he was told. He held the sword before him, and thought of on his purpose. He thought about what he wanted, and how he would achieve it. Then he focused on the blades magic, and felt its pulse. He began to get vague flashes of others times, and a sense of his place with those moments. Perhaps these were the rituals the blade guardian spoke of.
“Stormdrinker, you can feel it. You can sense the changes within your sword. Now that you have instilled it with purpose… it needs a name. It cannot be what it once was. You must name your blade, to lend it power. Tell me what will the sword one know as The 9 Saints of the Desert now be called?”
Imoak thought, and was startled to find he knew exactly the weapons new name… or was it is true name? With little pause he spoke it aloud, “It will be called the Blade of World’s Wrath.”
The spirit nodded, and each of the others in turn did the same. That low voice spoke once again, “A fine name, and fitting of the destiny you wish to forge. So be it, from this day forward it shall be called the Blade of World’s Wrath. An instrument of this world acting through you, to thwart those enemies who have turned upon it.”
For the first time in a long time Imoak smiled. The storm rolled within him, but he wasn’t frightened by it. He could embrace a destiny, he was okay with the idea as long as it didn’t change who he was at his core. This was a big step in forcing things to change for him, as opposed to the other way around.
The spirit stepped forward one more time, getting right next to Imoak, who did not flinch. Its voice was but a whisper now, “Stormdrinker the trials have begun, and the blade is changed. We must depart. We give you our blessing upon the sword, which once we guarded. Do as you have always done, and we have faith you will succeed. We bid thee farewell.” With that the nine spirits began to fade back into the darkness, their luminous gowns dispersing to another world perhaps.
“Farewell, and thank you,” Imoak said softly.
He hefted his sword, and admired it under the glow of the moon. The strangest things happened to him at night, under the moon he mused. He also heard the soft mewling of the city cats again. And from the darkness around him he could see their eyes as well. Several sets peering out at him with a knowing look, which he found unnerving.
Imoak yawned, and realized it was getting really late. He rubbed his eyes, and uttered a command under his breath, the massive blade folded back into the hilt with its active magic, until only the handle remained. With a vague smile Imoak trotted back to his bed, escorted by a silent vanguard of small dark cats.
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Liquidprism
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Suck post internet.... haha
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::On his way back from his ritual, deep in thought, riveted with excitement about the changes to his blade, yet vigilant as always against danger, Imoak Stormdrinker notices something quite out of place. A beautiful woman dressed in a silver, iridesent dress, with pale blond hair and rigid blue eyes locked on him, stands alone in a deserted street, on his route back to the Inn. The moonlight, broken up by the Shield of Bulwark in places, lights her slender figure. She gives a look of recognition to him as he notices her, and gestures for him to come closer.::
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Liquidprism
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::Imoak, curious yet cautious, approaches the figure. Seeing her demeanor, he wracks his tired mind for some memory of her face. Confused, and overwhelmed the events of the night, Imoak waits for the woman to make the first move.::
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Liquidprism
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"Yeah, I am." Imoak answered warily. "Do I know you lady?"
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Liquidprism
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Imoak peered at the moonlit figure, with a bit of concern. "Your father sent you on a quest that involves me? You should know that I'm already on a quest, and its pretty important. Also, the last time a beautiful woman asked me for a favor..." He gave an embarrassed chuckle, "...well, lets just say I'm a bit more cautious now."
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::Her face flushes at this last comment::
"The quest is mine, thou art not so directly involved that thine own missions should suffer, indeed, for a time I wish to aid thee. My father's quest, one which I have pursued these many long years, has been delayed by the actions of another, and of thee. Indeed, thine indiscretions, that to which you refer, are directly responsible for this great breach in my mission."
::She blushes more::
"But I am no harlot, no tavern wench to be bought or sold for the cost of a meal, but nonetheless I need that which you have given for such a price, but I would pay a prince's ransom or make hard labor for many years to gain it, such is it's importance. You have unwittingly aided my mortal foe, and for that another woman would aim to slay thee, but not I; I would an ally make of thee, and thy trust, earn."
"The quest is mine, thou art not so directly involved that thine own missions should suffer, indeed, for a time I wish to aid thee. My father's quest, one which I have pursued these many long years, has been delayed by the actions of another, and of thee. Indeed, thine indiscretions, that to which you refer, are directly responsible for this great breach in my mission."
::She blushes more::
"But I am no harlot, no tavern wench to be bought or sold for the cost of a meal, but nonetheless I need that which you have given for such a price, but I would pay a prince's ransom or make hard labor for many years to gain it, such is it's importance. You have unwittingly aided my mortal foe, and for that another woman would aim to slay thee, but not I; I would an ally make of thee, and thy trust, earn."