The Tragedy of The Twin Sisters
A short story by Laydralae
Preface
This is my last entry on the subject. I have spent over 30 years of my life researching this legend. And although I have not found all the pieces, perhaps this will inspire younger scholars to complete my work. So to accommodate you, dear reader, I shall not suffer you to search for my other papers that are scraps compared to this. This, what I believe is the most complete compendium of the infamous story. We have all heard versions of it as children, it is inspirational as it is depressing. A reminder of the evil in our world, that we all capable of, and that every light casts a shadow. But now I am getting elvish in my writing again.
This is intended to be as unbiased as possible without my thoughts on the unknowns being apparent. I want the mysteries to be mysterious in the hopes that younger generations can solve what I could not. I enter into my twilight years soon, any investigation into the past I do must be from within the confines of my library. I will offer popular speculation and opinion of today’s academia, but nothing more concerning thus. So I suggest you find your chair, pour your wine, and ready your hanky. What is likely my last contribution to the pursuit of knowledge, I present to you my understanding of the series of events known as The Tragedy of The Twin Sisters.
- Senior Magus Promellious of Tytyllius, 4th Era Year 283
This is intended to be as unbiased as possible without my thoughts on the unknowns being apparent. I want the mysteries to be mysterious in the hopes that younger generations can solve what I could not. I enter into my twilight years soon, any investigation into the past I do must be from within the confines of my library. I will offer popular speculation and opinion of today’s academia, but nothing more concerning thus. So I suggest you find your chair, pour your wine, and ready your hanky. What is likely my last contribution to the pursuit of knowledge, I present to you my understanding of the series of events known as The Tragedy of The Twin Sisters.
- Senior Magus Promellious of Tytyllius, 4th Era Year 283
The Fury of Brothers
Chapter One
Back before the human kings, before The Exodus, over ten thousand years ago there were the defining beings of the age: The Elves. Wait, before you put this down, this is not a love letter to the “glory days” of the elven kings that humans never even got to experience. Many stories on this tale skip this part with a sentence or two along the lines of “An angry king made two swords and they were powerful magic elven swords, and they got lost in a tomb somehow.”
But I understand why most of the stories start out that way, because trying to find all the scraps and clues that reveal the all too crucial beginning was hard. Very hard, most of the work was done by myself and some very loyal, well paid assistants. But the truth was there, it still is out there. Maybe we will not find it until our understanding of magic matches that of the elves, but it is there. You just have to be determined to find it. So, what I believe is THE MOST important part of this tale: how the swords of myth came to be.
In the 2nd Era, or what the natives of the time called The Age of Elves, there was King Lyliannyn (Lie lee an nine) Bearoak, Son of Relyn and Suiliina. Okay his surname was not “Bearoak,” it was Garagakatymii (Gah rah gah kah tie meeee), but I figured you would rather know his Avalonian translated surname then the alien elvish one. He was a very important figure during his time, and often has entire shelves dedicated to him, what with elves being long lived, so go look him up at your local library. It is also important to note, for those who do not know, that elves choose their surname themselves instead of inheriting it from their parents.
King Lyliannyn was also known by his peers both domestic and abroad as The Bear That Is Tree (author’s note: elves are weird), Gentle Animal Tree Fierce, and Stubborn Animal Tree. No, I’m not translating those back again for you, look them up yourself if you really want to know. King Lyliannyn had sired two sons, twins, and had tried his hardest to sire more children, any children. Due to weird elvish law adoption wasn’t acceptable yet, especially among the nobility, so that wasn’t an option.
And not for the lack of trying either, records suggest he laid with his wife many many many times, unusual for elves really, concubines, priestesses, and still could not father any additional heirs. Peculiar he must have seem at the time, as most elves would typically only sire one progeny at a time if at all, and twin births were even more rare than it is among humans! But to know his sons was to know his fears, and I’ll put it plainly. His sons were terrible people.
Kylliinae (Kill eeee nay) Strongtall and Malloura (Mall aura) Patientspider were sworn rivals, although never with the intent to kill. Murder was the highest offense among their kind. As their self-chosen surnames suggest, Kylliinae was strong and tall, even by human standards, and Malloura was patient and cunning. Both would try to, for lack of a better word, prank the other and as adolescents while not princely behaviour was understandable being children. But as they got older their pranks got more dangerous, potentially so for standerbys.
They both had a cadre of spies, informants, and “loyal” servants who probably worked for both brothers under constant duress. They also each had their posse, a close circle of thugs of the brother’s type who backed their leader up and jeered the other group. Had this continued longer than the king later allowed, they might have even turned into gang leaders against each other. They liked to be made aware when the other was out of the palace in public, and attempt to out do or humiliate the other. Often this lead to brawls in the market streets, and what are the guards to do against their liege’s progeny?
Kylliinae was uncommon among elves, a strongarm, a thug. He was brutal and blunt, often explaining the W’s on how he would harm his lackeys if they failed him. He had one of his thugs in charge of carrying his large greatsword-- custom ordered, because elves don’t make swords that big without being paid specifically to make one-- that was almost equal parts axe and sword with its wide blade.
Malloura was uncommon in a different way. Many elves were scholars and artists even as a hobby, but Malloura made professionals look like hobbiest in his chosen fields of practice. A venerated master of alchemy-- elvish alchemy not our terrible excuse by comparison mind you-- anatomy, poison, magical theory, the list goes on. He had a new tower built into the castle just to serve as his private library only he could use and filled it with books from all over the world. It presumably left with the others during The Exodus, to the sadness of many a scholar.
Malloura was however very lithe and agile, unlike his strongarm brother, and carried on him at all times his dirk and rapier. Their street fights were often always the same: Kylliinae swinging his oversized sword and Malloura moving out of the way at the last second just to taunt his brother. This would continue for several swings and then Malloura would poke his brother over and over and over. Sometimes he mixed it up by running circles around him looking for a let down of guard, then a small cut with his dirk. This would anger Kylliinae who would swing his sword to kill but cleave cobblestone, as Malloura outsmarted his brother again by anticipating his moves.
I don’t intend to paint Kylliinae as an incompetent fighter, far from it. He was hailed across the twelve kingdoms as one of the greatest warriors in the land thanks in part to killing the most demons a while back; more on that later. But Malloura was the brains of the two and knew the psychology of his brother. It is believed he often knew of Kylliinae’s actions before Kylliinae did. At this point, the cleaved cobblestone, the guards could not stand by any longer and break the two up under threats to involve their father. A dance played so many times, and the brothers started to get bored. Nobody liked them when they were bored.
King Lyliannyn was actually given his surname by his father, partly out of Lyliannyn’s stubbornness in wanting to take only the most appropriate name. And stubborn he was. On issues he believes are important, he would not back down ever. The brothers redeemed themselves in his eyes and got more leeway after the Culling of Cultwood, a minor event in elven history that is important to our story. You see, there were rumors coming from secluded forests and mountain regions of warlock covens gathering and cults forming. And warlocks mean demons.
But clearly they were just rumors, the elves defeated the demons a long time ago at the end of the First Era. This was probably the line of thinking among the kings and nobles across the twelve kingdoms, but not Lyliannyn. He did not wear the overconfident hat easily. He needed proof that a new cult movement had risen, but how? Then he had what seemed like the best idea at the time: get his sons to stage a fight to infiltrate the cult. What could go wrong?
His sons’ feud was infamous, surely the cult members must know. He staged the whole event as thus: A white stag has been spotted near Cultwood, the first bowhand to hand over its antlers will be awarded a stag’s bounty. If you want to know why we don’t see white stags for the last ten thousand years, ask the elves. There was no stag in truth, and the father told each of his sons this in private so they both understood. He had hoped this would get them to work together by looking like they were fighting again. So the hunters and our princes set out to hunt the stag, with the brothers aware of their mission. And then it became a race.
The first bit of excitement in years, a new dance, a new play, the brothers were thinking how to out do the other no doubt, while all the hunters were out hunting snipe. They knew the consequences for failing their father the king. They intended to complete their task, I hope. Malloura used magic to conjure a phantasmal stag and send it off into the wood to hunt it. When he caught up to it his brother charged and cleaved it in two, grabbed the head half and ran back towards the palace. Malloura was upset, and fired a root spell to trip Kylliinae. This stopped being staged the moment that happened.
Kylliinae went into a rage, swung his sword randomly as Malloura laughed and dodged easily. He ran away into the trees and spied from a distance. Shortly after an elf with a bad smell approached the angered prince and asked “Why do you hate your brother so?”
“I just do, it’s complicated.” Kylliinae replied.
“Do you know what is not complicated? Murder.” the elf whispered.
“You speak of treason peasant.” Kylliinae shot him a furled brow but the elf was smiling.
“Then don’t kill him, sacrifice him. The ones I serve would reward you greatly. You could have the strength and speed of titans! No one would be a match for you.” He whispered promises into his ears, dark promises of power and glory.
“You’re right… I would be unstoppable…” Kylliinae replied.
“Then bring him here, say you found the coven, and you need his help to destroy it. We will reward you well.” And the elf was gone when Kylliinae turned around. He frowned, and then chased after his brother.
Malloura had caught up with some hunters and was boasting about how he had vexed his brother again. The hunters feigned interest, knowing all too well who they were dealing with. An urgent Kylliinae came thundering through the trees.
“Spider! Spider! I found… it. The Stag. We can get it, together brother. Like father wanted.” He said, in between captured breathes. Malloura raised his eyebrow, knowing what his brother meant but unsure if he was being sincere. The hunters looked upset, as they were likely to not be allowed to accompany them.
“Very well… let us go claim our prize…” A cautious Malloura replied.
“Yes, let us claim our prize.” Kylliinae grinned. It disturbed Malloura, his grin. Rarely did his brother grin, and it never meant good things. They walked through the forest for over an hour before being ambushed by warlocks. Malloura shouted to defend themselves and started flinging spells and counterspells at the opponents, who slowly overwhelmed him. He had assumed his brother was fighting, and he stopped to turn and see Kylliinae staring into his behemoth of a sword, and an elder warlock standing beside him. Malloura knew he was beaten, betrayed, and enraged that his brother would side with demons.
“This? This is how our game ends!? With you betraying our people and giving into the darkness!? You would submit to evil to defeat me?” Malloura questioned.
“I would do anything, to defeat you brother.” He looked up and said, “Don’t make this difficult, it would be a shame if the sacrifice had broken bones.”
Kylliinae tied up his brother well, making sure to prevent him from satisfying the somatic components of his spells, and gagging his mouth to prevent the vocal components. But Malloura could, at great cost, cast spells without these. Kylliinae knew this, surely he must have. The brothers were escorted into their camp and brought before a Pain Mother, more powerful and dangerous than most succubi.
“You lead this coven, succubus?” Kylliinae asked.
“Only as a delegate. I serve a higher master. And soon so will you.” She said, getting up from her seat. I won’t describe her attire for the sake of any children reading this, but she was shall we say, “vulnerable.” And being a female succubi higher up the chain of power, she was… gifted in various respects. She approached Kylliinae and moved to an embrace, but he held firm. “In fact, there are many benefits for our loyal servants. You may even receive such a gift later tonight.”
Grimaced, Kylliinae said “I would like nothing more, milady.”
“Good, then let’s not delay! This powerful wizard you brought before us will do well. He will summon a powerful general and our foothold will then be in earnest.” She squealed. The warlocks started to get to work, preparing a circle of power for the ritual.
“Forgive me milady, but my brother will not summon anything for you.” Kylliinae explained ignorantly.
“Of course he won't, or we wouldn’t have to kill him. But his death will fuel the spell, and open the portal.” She explained.
“His death… Will summon a demon general…” Kylliinae repeated, seeming a bit dazed and conflicted. Malloura started shouting through his gag, but couldn’t be understood.
“Yes, a balor warlord named Kyg’ryth The Black Death. He who has seen thousands of worlds burn. And his power alone is enough to summon armies. The elven lands will burn, then the rest of this miserable world. And you could watch it all, from the comfort of my bed if you do this one tiny task.” She thrust a dagger into his hands. It was a demonic rune blade, he had seen them before in illustrations and was fascinated with their potential. But he knew that to wield one was to lose your soul too as it claimed the souls of its victims. He moved towards his brother, tied up and on the circle, the warlocks started chanting.
“When you get to the shadowlands, find Shayly. Tell her I’m sorry.” That’s it! A clue! Malloura knew this Shayly, Archsorceress and mistress of metamagic! Still alive and well they both knew, and the one who taught Malloura the secrets of silent and still spells. Malloura nodded, as if to say he understood. The succubi motioned for him to strike as the warlocks came close to ending their spell, and strike Kylliinae did.
Though perhaps not whom the coven was intending. Few things can harm demons, truly. Cold iron, holy light, demonic rune blades. Did I mention dagger throwing was Kylliinae’s favorite sport? Did I mention he won gold medals every Festival of Body? Did I mention the rune blade was perfectly weighted? The blade found its mark between the succubus’… assets. She screamed, and began to assume a far less comely form.
The warlocks moved to intercept Kylliinae and capture him, and then the tent was gone and smoke was in its place. Malloura had silently cast a fire immunity spell while Kylliinae threw the dagger, and knew very well his brothers natural resistance towards heat. He was hardier than most of their kind, he would survive a maximized empowered silent still quickened fireball. The warlocks were not so fortunate. Grabbing his blade and cleaving expertly he downed the warlocks swiftly, then moved towards the screaming demon, no longer comely and now a vision of claws and terror. Did I mention his sword was forged of cold iron?
“YOU FOOL! DISPERSE ME! SLAY ME! SLAY A HUNDRED! SLAY A THOUSAND! IT MATTERS NOT, FOR WE ARE LEGION! AND YOUR WORLD SHALL BURN!” She started producing a flaming aura, but Kylliinae just smiled.
“For the love of Audune, shut up!” Her head did not roll very far. The other demons and warlocks in the camp started to charge, but by now Malloura had freed himself and was standing beside his brother. They looked on into the charging wave of demons, summons, and distant warlocks.
“Vengeance later?” Malloura asked without looking away, starting to channel a spell.
“Later.” Kylliinae replied.
It was late into the evening when they returned, the hunting parties had left early this morning. The guards were being organized into search and rescue parties when a very bloodied and burned twin brothers marched into the city, wounded, but tall and proud. Kylliinae was dragging his sword behind him, the iconic pure white blade now a dark sanguine. Over his shoulder was a large sack, most likely conjured by his brother; such a feat was easy. One may not know the contents of the large sack, but we dear reader may guess. They did not stop until they came into the throne room to face their relieved father and mother.
“My Lord, Liege, Father, and King. My Lady, Liege, Mother, and Queen.” Kylliinae shouted as he approached. By now servants were tending to Malloura with wet towels, as being dirty was unacceptable for him. “We have returned from our hunt and have brought back your bounty.” He let loose the bag and out rolled dozens of severed demon heads, still smoldering, including the head of the succubus. “Here is your proof, father. Let us gather the kingdoms and march upon their ilk. We can slaughter them like the cretins they are!”
The gathered court sat or stood in shock. But the father smiled, pleased that not only was he right, but that his sons could work together for a common goal. Perhaps they were not lost after all. “I also bring an artifact of the damned, a demonic rune blade.” He pulls out the dagger, wrapped in cloth. “So that our artisans can dispose of it properly.” The king stood up smiling and walked towards his son going for an embrace.
“I am proud of you, both of you, that you could put aside your differences and work together for the greater good.” He replied, patting them both on the shoulder. “And we will rally the kingdoms, but you deserve rest after such a battle. You need not join this campaign.” He replied with a smile.
“Thank you! I’m going to my chambers, if you disturb me you better have been summoned or expected.” Malloura said dismissively, waltzing off towards his suite.
“Thank you, father. But I will join you. No demon shall rest easy while I still draw breath.”
“That is noble of you, and you are proud and strong, but your injuries-”
“To Oblivion with my injuries! Let it be a problem for our healers. I will join you on this campaign, you can not deny me. It is my right as your son and as your knight.” Their stubborn eyes locked and words were shared mentally no one else could hear. After a long conversation in the span of moments, the king did concede.
“Very well, my eager demon slayer. You will be my hand for this campaign. But only if you are well rested and healed by the time we march on the morrow. And it is late, you must go now.” The king ordered.
Without protest the prince went to his chambers and summoned a priest to tend to his wounds. With the bounty of demon heads King Lyliannyn had all the proof he needed to invoke the ancient treaties and sound the call to war. All twelve kingdoms brought their full might to bear, and swept through their lands and lands below in search of any sign of demonic influence or corruption. Warlocks were captured, demons slaughtered, and Prince Kylliinae made his father proud. A mood that would not last…
Unknown to many of our time is the ancient and crippled civilization of Peng Wai was at the height of its power around this same time. Across the great sea, to the west was an alien world with spices, silk, and tea, and one could only get them from Peng Wai as the goods could not flourish outside of their lands. They also had an abundance of precious minerals: silver, gold, platinum, diamonds, and sapphires. And the elven kingdoms coveted these goods.
But The Immortal Emperor had declined to open free foreign trade. Instead there was strict control on how much of each good could be sold to foreigners. And much to the elves’ dismay they could not secure a trade contract despite generations of negotiations. And I will remind you dear reader elves are long lived. King Lyliannyn had decided one of his first acts after succeeding his mother was to establish open trade between Peng Wai and his kingdom. He figured if he narrowed the deal from everyone to just his people, it would be easier.
Lyliannyn spent much tax gold in his artisans crafting fine art as gifts to the peng wai emperor. He commissioned his royal smiths and artificers to craft high quality magical circlets, rings, and swords. Many of these items were crafted in pairs, and were often called Sisters in relation to each other. But more than this, Lyliannyn had sent groups of his most loyal, trusted, and skilled artisans abroad with large sums of gold with the mission of studying, learning, and living Peng Wei art, culture, and customs. He demanded they not return until they knew the ancient culture as well as they knew their own. It was around the time of the successful demon purge that many of the artisans started to return home, and that a dignitary from Peng Wei was with them. The first Peng Wei dignitary to visit elvish lands.
Lyliannyn began stirring his kingdom into fierce preparations. Every citizen was to be familiar with Peng Wei law and customs, so that no one would accidentally offend the dignitary. Artisans started crafting high quality goods in the Peng Wei style, in the hopes of impressing the dignitary. But the King made it clear that his people were not adopting their culture, but showing their respect for it. He had books and plays written telling of elven legends and dramas. New sculptures of heroes of yore were erected and made to glisten in the sun.
When the ships returned home, the king, his wife, both sons, and half his court were waiting to greet the dignitary on the docks. A tour of their country, and of the capital city was conducted. Artisans were displaying their goods, both elven and peng wei and some goods featuring both styles. A massive dinner party was held in his honor, and much to everyone’s delight the princes behaved themselves. They knew how important this was, they would hold their own tongues for now. But they were growing bored, and no one liked them when they were bored.
After several months of show and negotiations, the dignitary boarded his ship and returned home. After nearly a year of silence they had sent a messenger to Lyliannyn. The Immortal Emperor was pleased with the dignitaries report, and was sending the final delegation that must be appeased if the trade contract was to be established: the heir to the Immortal Throne, Crown Princess Mei Ping Teng Lian Fu Sei III and a cadre of diplomats and ranking officials. Here is a tip for you readers, the longer someone’s name is in peng wei, the more important they are to their rigid social structure.
A similar party was thrown, but more grand. The king made sure that the princess was treated higher than himself, in the hopes it would appeal to her. She too was shown around their land, and he had sister rings made for her with elven artificer enchantments. As many students in magical history knows elven enchantments were often intelligent and the rings obeyed mental commands to alter their wearer’s appearance in clothes, cosmetics, and even slightly alter the appearance of one’s build. As was common among the peng wei elite while in public, the princess showed little to no emotion but thanked the king for the rings and put them on. She experimented with them over the course of her stay.
For the dinner party a grand feast was held, where each course was symbolic to the peng wei people and prepared by the elven chefs who had studied their culinary arts. Among the peng wei, culinary skill and expression was among the highest, noblest, and purest forms of art. It was necessary that this dinner party be perfect. If only the king had not required his sons to be there.
The twins had played no pranks on each other since their escape from the warlock coven. They were trying to out do the other in respecting their father. But even for the Spider was patience wearing thin. Against both their better judgements, they had separately decided that tonight, the all important dinner party, they would resume their games. And now I must explain Malloura’s hatred of yams. You see dear reader, when Malloura was a small child fate conspired for any bad news to come, to come for him while enjoying a meal. And each time the only constant of the meal were yams. The young Malloura developed an irrational hatred of yams and was one of the kinks in his mental armor.
Kylliinae had threatened the servants to make sure that every dish to be served to Malloura was to have yams. If his brother flips out over something so inane, the crown would surely be mine must have been the thought Kylliinae was thinking. But Malloura had a similar thought. He enchanted a set of dinnerware to alter the taste of the food, and had ensure his pawns would set them at Kylliinae’s seat. The stage was now set for everything to go wrong.
Kylliinae sat in wait for his brother to flip out, as each course had a single, perfectly cooked yam on his plate. But the Spider did not react knowing what his brother was trying to do. Yet still each yam must have been painful. Meanwhile Malloura waited with baited breath for his brother to react to the aweful tastes of the foreign cuisine. But the Strong endured, probably aware nothing was wrong and it was just the peng wei food.
The final straw came with the final course when both brothers had awaited with anticipation and desire. A pie sort of pastry, with berry filling. But for Malloura came only a bowl of yams, and with Kylliinae the pie exploded sending hot filling across the table and burned several guests. The music stopped, everyone looked in horror at the brothers, who glared at each other. Before their father could say anything the two were on top of the table locked in swords and in a rage.
It is at this point where many scholars argue over what really happened. A direct telling would be “And then the King shouted his sons down.” but is too vague on the meaning of the word “shout.” Did he simply yell at them with such ferocity that they paused? Or did he literally shout at them with such force, and likely magic, that they fell down or off the table? I will allow you to decide. The king was furious, and the princess insulted. Without saying a word she and her entourage got up and left, went straight to their ships, and left for home. Several months later the King received a letter from the emperor that they would not now or ever have trade relations.
As the brothers composed themselves and prepared to return to the safety of their rooms, their father demanded them arrested and thrown into the jails for treason. Placed in separate cells directly apart, they were treated as criminals in all respects. Finally after two weeks, a humbled king came down to apologize to his sons for his outrage and said he had commissioned a pair of sister swords for the two. He handed them the swords by the scabbard, careful not to touch the handle, and the spoiled brothers fell for the trick and drew them expectantly. But then they saw the elvish runes on the swords and looked at their father in horror, who had gained an evil grin.
“Now, should you two ever fight, never will be it with blows of the body. Should you strike the other, all that you love will be destroyed.” He said and walked away. Free to go, but too dumbfounded to move, the brothers stared at their cursed weapons in rage and fear. For you see dear reader, these were the Twin Sisters of Fury, a pair of elvish swords with unique properties.
First, who ever grips the handle of the sword has the sword bound to them until death. Anyone else who attempts to grab the handle will find the sword unwilling to be moved. Second, should the bounded wield an object with the intent to harm, their bound sword would appear in their hand and the object would fall to their feet. Third, the blades were incredibly sharp, so sharp that you could cut yourself just by polishing it. And finally, the blades could cleave through stone, steel, and bone, like it was flesh. The only thing it could not cut through was the scabbards made for them. But the most deadly enchantment of all: should the two blades ever meet, they would destroy themselves in a blast so large and volatile, it could turn a large hill into a crater and everything within the radius to dust, including the swords themselves.
Slowly, this had forced the brothers to accept peace with each other. And by the time their father passed away and their cousin crowned the new queen, the brothers had become partners in war and diplomacy. Their greatest act together was the formation of the Elven Republic, a democracy of elected representatives to replace the monarchs of the their kingdoms. When the brothers passed away, both within the same year, they were both entombed within the same structure and buried with their cursed blades in the hope they would never be disturbed. And when the elves committed their grand Exodus all those years ago, the blades were forgotten and left behind.
But I understand why most of the stories start out that way, because trying to find all the scraps and clues that reveal the all too crucial beginning was hard. Very hard, most of the work was done by myself and some very loyal, well paid assistants. But the truth was there, it still is out there. Maybe we will not find it until our understanding of magic matches that of the elves, but it is there. You just have to be determined to find it. So, what I believe is THE MOST important part of this tale: how the swords of myth came to be.
In the 2nd Era, or what the natives of the time called The Age of Elves, there was King Lyliannyn (Lie lee an nine) Bearoak, Son of Relyn and Suiliina. Okay his surname was not “Bearoak,” it was Garagakatymii (Gah rah gah kah tie meeee), but I figured you would rather know his Avalonian translated surname then the alien elvish one. He was a very important figure during his time, and often has entire shelves dedicated to him, what with elves being long lived, so go look him up at your local library. It is also important to note, for those who do not know, that elves choose their surname themselves instead of inheriting it from their parents.
King Lyliannyn was also known by his peers both domestic and abroad as The Bear That Is Tree (author’s note: elves are weird), Gentle Animal Tree Fierce, and Stubborn Animal Tree. No, I’m not translating those back again for you, look them up yourself if you really want to know. King Lyliannyn had sired two sons, twins, and had tried his hardest to sire more children, any children. Due to weird elvish law adoption wasn’t acceptable yet, especially among the nobility, so that wasn’t an option.
And not for the lack of trying either, records suggest he laid with his wife many many many times, unusual for elves really, concubines, priestesses, and still could not father any additional heirs. Peculiar he must have seem at the time, as most elves would typically only sire one progeny at a time if at all, and twin births were even more rare than it is among humans! But to know his sons was to know his fears, and I’ll put it plainly. His sons were terrible people.
Kylliinae (Kill eeee nay) Strongtall and Malloura (Mall aura) Patientspider were sworn rivals, although never with the intent to kill. Murder was the highest offense among their kind. As their self-chosen surnames suggest, Kylliinae was strong and tall, even by human standards, and Malloura was patient and cunning. Both would try to, for lack of a better word, prank the other and as adolescents while not princely behaviour was understandable being children. But as they got older their pranks got more dangerous, potentially so for standerbys.
They both had a cadre of spies, informants, and “loyal” servants who probably worked for both brothers under constant duress. They also each had their posse, a close circle of thugs of the brother’s type who backed their leader up and jeered the other group. Had this continued longer than the king later allowed, they might have even turned into gang leaders against each other. They liked to be made aware when the other was out of the palace in public, and attempt to out do or humiliate the other. Often this lead to brawls in the market streets, and what are the guards to do against their liege’s progeny?
Kylliinae was uncommon among elves, a strongarm, a thug. He was brutal and blunt, often explaining the W’s on how he would harm his lackeys if they failed him. He had one of his thugs in charge of carrying his large greatsword-- custom ordered, because elves don’t make swords that big without being paid specifically to make one-- that was almost equal parts axe and sword with its wide blade.
Malloura was uncommon in a different way. Many elves were scholars and artists even as a hobby, but Malloura made professionals look like hobbiest in his chosen fields of practice. A venerated master of alchemy-- elvish alchemy not our terrible excuse by comparison mind you-- anatomy, poison, magical theory, the list goes on. He had a new tower built into the castle just to serve as his private library only he could use and filled it with books from all over the world. It presumably left with the others during The Exodus, to the sadness of many a scholar.
Malloura was however very lithe and agile, unlike his strongarm brother, and carried on him at all times his dirk and rapier. Their street fights were often always the same: Kylliinae swinging his oversized sword and Malloura moving out of the way at the last second just to taunt his brother. This would continue for several swings and then Malloura would poke his brother over and over and over. Sometimes he mixed it up by running circles around him looking for a let down of guard, then a small cut with his dirk. This would anger Kylliinae who would swing his sword to kill but cleave cobblestone, as Malloura outsmarted his brother again by anticipating his moves.
I don’t intend to paint Kylliinae as an incompetent fighter, far from it. He was hailed across the twelve kingdoms as one of the greatest warriors in the land thanks in part to killing the most demons a while back; more on that later. But Malloura was the brains of the two and knew the psychology of his brother. It is believed he often knew of Kylliinae’s actions before Kylliinae did. At this point, the cleaved cobblestone, the guards could not stand by any longer and break the two up under threats to involve their father. A dance played so many times, and the brothers started to get bored. Nobody liked them when they were bored.
King Lyliannyn was actually given his surname by his father, partly out of Lyliannyn’s stubbornness in wanting to take only the most appropriate name. And stubborn he was. On issues he believes are important, he would not back down ever. The brothers redeemed themselves in his eyes and got more leeway after the Culling of Cultwood, a minor event in elven history that is important to our story. You see, there were rumors coming from secluded forests and mountain regions of warlock covens gathering and cults forming. And warlocks mean demons.
But clearly they were just rumors, the elves defeated the demons a long time ago at the end of the First Era. This was probably the line of thinking among the kings and nobles across the twelve kingdoms, but not Lyliannyn. He did not wear the overconfident hat easily. He needed proof that a new cult movement had risen, but how? Then he had what seemed like the best idea at the time: get his sons to stage a fight to infiltrate the cult. What could go wrong?
His sons’ feud was infamous, surely the cult members must know. He staged the whole event as thus: A white stag has been spotted near Cultwood, the first bowhand to hand over its antlers will be awarded a stag’s bounty. If you want to know why we don’t see white stags for the last ten thousand years, ask the elves. There was no stag in truth, and the father told each of his sons this in private so they both understood. He had hoped this would get them to work together by looking like they were fighting again. So the hunters and our princes set out to hunt the stag, with the brothers aware of their mission. And then it became a race.
The first bit of excitement in years, a new dance, a new play, the brothers were thinking how to out do the other no doubt, while all the hunters were out hunting snipe. They knew the consequences for failing their father the king. They intended to complete their task, I hope. Malloura used magic to conjure a phantasmal stag and send it off into the wood to hunt it. When he caught up to it his brother charged and cleaved it in two, grabbed the head half and ran back towards the palace. Malloura was upset, and fired a root spell to trip Kylliinae. This stopped being staged the moment that happened.
Kylliinae went into a rage, swung his sword randomly as Malloura laughed and dodged easily. He ran away into the trees and spied from a distance. Shortly after an elf with a bad smell approached the angered prince and asked “Why do you hate your brother so?”
“I just do, it’s complicated.” Kylliinae replied.
“Do you know what is not complicated? Murder.” the elf whispered.
“You speak of treason peasant.” Kylliinae shot him a furled brow but the elf was smiling.
“Then don’t kill him, sacrifice him. The ones I serve would reward you greatly. You could have the strength and speed of titans! No one would be a match for you.” He whispered promises into his ears, dark promises of power and glory.
“You’re right… I would be unstoppable…” Kylliinae replied.
“Then bring him here, say you found the coven, and you need his help to destroy it. We will reward you well.” And the elf was gone when Kylliinae turned around. He frowned, and then chased after his brother.
Malloura had caught up with some hunters and was boasting about how he had vexed his brother again. The hunters feigned interest, knowing all too well who they were dealing with. An urgent Kylliinae came thundering through the trees.
“Spider! Spider! I found… it. The Stag. We can get it, together brother. Like father wanted.” He said, in between captured breathes. Malloura raised his eyebrow, knowing what his brother meant but unsure if he was being sincere. The hunters looked upset, as they were likely to not be allowed to accompany them.
“Very well… let us go claim our prize…” A cautious Malloura replied.
“Yes, let us claim our prize.” Kylliinae grinned. It disturbed Malloura, his grin. Rarely did his brother grin, and it never meant good things. They walked through the forest for over an hour before being ambushed by warlocks. Malloura shouted to defend themselves and started flinging spells and counterspells at the opponents, who slowly overwhelmed him. He had assumed his brother was fighting, and he stopped to turn and see Kylliinae staring into his behemoth of a sword, and an elder warlock standing beside him. Malloura knew he was beaten, betrayed, and enraged that his brother would side with demons.
“This? This is how our game ends!? With you betraying our people and giving into the darkness!? You would submit to evil to defeat me?” Malloura questioned.
“I would do anything, to defeat you brother.” He looked up and said, “Don’t make this difficult, it would be a shame if the sacrifice had broken bones.”
Kylliinae tied up his brother well, making sure to prevent him from satisfying the somatic components of his spells, and gagging his mouth to prevent the vocal components. But Malloura could, at great cost, cast spells without these. Kylliinae knew this, surely he must have. The brothers were escorted into their camp and brought before a Pain Mother, more powerful and dangerous than most succubi.
“You lead this coven, succubus?” Kylliinae asked.
“Only as a delegate. I serve a higher master. And soon so will you.” She said, getting up from her seat. I won’t describe her attire for the sake of any children reading this, but she was shall we say, “vulnerable.” And being a female succubi higher up the chain of power, she was… gifted in various respects. She approached Kylliinae and moved to an embrace, but he held firm. “In fact, there are many benefits for our loyal servants. You may even receive such a gift later tonight.”
Grimaced, Kylliinae said “I would like nothing more, milady.”
“Good, then let’s not delay! This powerful wizard you brought before us will do well. He will summon a powerful general and our foothold will then be in earnest.” She squealed. The warlocks started to get to work, preparing a circle of power for the ritual.
“Forgive me milady, but my brother will not summon anything for you.” Kylliinae explained ignorantly.
“Of course he won't, or we wouldn’t have to kill him. But his death will fuel the spell, and open the portal.” She explained.
“His death… Will summon a demon general…” Kylliinae repeated, seeming a bit dazed and conflicted. Malloura started shouting through his gag, but couldn’t be understood.
“Yes, a balor warlord named Kyg’ryth The Black Death. He who has seen thousands of worlds burn. And his power alone is enough to summon armies. The elven lands will burn, then the rest of this miserable world. And you could watch it all, from the comfort of my bed if you do this one tiny task.” She thrust a dagger into his hands. It was a demonic rune blade, he had seen them before in illustrations and was fascinated with their potential. But he knew that to wield one was to lose your soul too as it claimed the souls of its victims. He moved towards his brother, tied up and on the circle, the warlocks started chanting.
“When you get to the shadowlands, find Shayly. Tell her I’m sorry.” That’s it! A clue! Malloura knew this Shayly, Archsorceress and mistress of metamagic! Still alive and well they both knew, and the one who taught Malloura the secrets of silent and still spells. Malloura nodded, as if to say he understood. The succubi motioned for him to strike as the warlocks came close to ending their spell, and strike Kylliinae did.
Though perhaps not whom the coven was intending. Few things can harm demons, truly. Cold iron, holy light, demonic rune blades. Did I mention dagger throwing was Kylliinae’s favorite sport? Did I mention he won gold medals every Festival of Body? Did I mention the rune blade was perfectly weighted? The blade found its mark between the succubus’… assets. She screamed, and began to assume a far less comely form.
The warlocks moved to intercept Kylliinae and capture him, and then the tent was gone and smoke was in its place. Malloura had silently cast a fire immunity spell while Kylliinae threw the dagger, and knew very well his brothers natural resistance towards heat. He was hardier than most of their kind, he would survive a maximized empowered silent still quickened fireball. The warlocks were not so fortunate. Grabbing his blade and cleaving expertly he downed the warlocks swiftly, then moved towards the screaming demon, no longer comely and now a vision of claws and terror. Did I mention his sword was forged of cold iron?
“YOU FOOL! DISPERSE ME! SLAY ME! SLAY A HUNDRED! SLAY A THOUSAND! IT MATTERS NOT, FOR WE ARE LEGION! AND YOUR WORLD SHALL BURN!” She started producing a flaming aura, but Kylliinae just smiled.
“For the love of Audune, shut up!” Her head did not roll very far. The other demons and warlocks in the camp started to charge, but by now Malloura had freed himself and was standing beside his brother. They looked on into the charging wave of demons, summons, and distant warlocks.
“Vengeance later?” Malloura asked without looking away, starting to channel a spell.
“Later.” Kylliinae replied.
It was late into the evening when they returned, the hunting parties had left early this morning. The guards were being organized into search and rescue parties when a very bloodied and burned twin brothers marched into the city, wounded, but tall and proud. Kylliinae was dragging his sword behind him, the iconic pure white blade now a dark sanguine. Over his shoulder was a large sack, most likely conjured by his brother; such a feat was easy. One may not know the contents of the large sack, but we dear reader may guess. They did not stop until they came into the throne room to face their relieved father and mother.
“My Lord, Liege, Father, and King. My Lady, Liege, Mother, and Queen.” Kylliinae shouted as he approached. By now servants were tending to Malloura with wet towels, as being dirty was unacceptable for him. “We have returned from our hunt and have brought back your bounty.” He let loose the bag and out rolled dozens of severed demon heads, still smoldering, including the head of the succubus. “Here is your proof, father. Let us gather the kingdoms and march upon their ilk. We can slaughter them like the cretins they are!”
The gathered court sat or stood in shock. But the father smiled, pleased that not only was he right, but that his sons could work together for a common goal. Perhaps they were not lost after all. “I also bring an artifact of the damned, a demonic rune blade.” He pulls out the dagger, wrapped in cloth. “So that our artisans can dispose of it properly.” The king stood up smiling and walked towards his son going for an embrace.
“I am proud of you, both of you, that you could put aside your differences and work together for the greater good.” He replied, patting them both on the shoulder. “And we will rally the kingdoms, but you deserve rest after such a battle. You need not join this campaign.” He replied with a smile.
“Thank you! I’m going to my chambers, if you disturb me you better have been summoned or expected.” Malloura said dismissively, waltzing off towards his suite.
“Thank you, father. But I will join you. No demon shall rest easy while I still draw breath.”
“That is noble of you, and you are proud and strong, but your injuries-”
“To Oblivion with my injuries! Let it be a problem for our healers. I will join you on this campaign, you can not deny me. It is my right as your son and as your knight.” Their stubborn eyes locked and words were shared mentally no one else could hear. After a long conversation in the span of moments, the king did concede.
“Very well, my eager demon slayer. You will be my hand for this campaign. But only if you are well rested and healed by the time we march on the morrow. And it is late, you must go now.” The king ordered.
Without protest the prince went to his chambers and summoned a priest to tend to his wounds. With the bounty of demon heads King Lyliannyn had all the proof he needed to invoke the ancient treaties and sound the call to war. All twelve kingdoms brought their full might to bear, and swept through their lands and lands below in search of any sign of demonic influence or corruption. Warlocks were captured, demons slaughtered, and Prince Kylliinae made his father proud. A mood that would not last…
Unknown to many of our time is the ancient and crippled civilization of Peng Wai was at the height of its power around this same time. Across the great sea, to the west was an alien world with spices, silk, and tea, and one could only get them from Peng Wai as the goods could not flourish outside of their lands. They also had an abundance of precious minerals: silver, gold, platinum, diamonds, and sapphires. And the elven kingdoms coveted these goods.
But The Immortal Emperor had declined to open free foreign trade. Instead there was strict control on how much of each good could be sold to foreigners. And much to the elves’ dismay they could not secure a trade contract despite generations of negotiations. And I will remind you dear reader elves are long lived. King Lyliannyn had decided one of his first acts after succeeding his mother was to establish open trade between Peng Wai and his kingdom. He figured if he narrowed the deal from everyone to just his people, it would be easier.
Lyliannyn spent much tax gold in his artisans crafting fine art as gifts to the peng wai emperor. He commissioned his royal smiths and artificers to craft high quality magical circlets, rings, and swords. Many of these items were crafted in pairs, and were often called Sisters in relation to each other. But more than this, Lyliannyn had sent groups of his most loyal, trusted, and skilled artisans abroad with large sums of gold with the mission of studying, learning, and living Peng Wei art, culture, and customs. He demanded they not return until they knew the ancient culture as well as they knew their own. It was around the time of the successful demon purge that many of the artisans started to return home, and that a dignitary from Peng Wei was with them. The first Peng Wei dignitary to visit elvish lands.
Lyliannyn began stirring his kingdom into fierce preparations. Every citizen was to be familiar with Peng Wei law and customs, so that no one would accidentally offend the dignitary. Artisans started crafting high quality goods in the Peng Wei style, in the hopes of impressing the dignitary. But the King made it clear that his people were not adopting their culture, but showing their respect for it. He had books and plays written telling of elven legends and dramas. New sculptures of heroes of yore were erected and made to glisten in the sun.
When the ships returned home, the king, his wife, both sons, and half his court were waiting to greet the dignitary on the docks. A tour of their country, and of the capital city was conducted. Artisans were displaying their goods, both elven and peng wei and some goods featuring both styles. A massive dinner party was held in his honor, and much to everyone’s delight the princes behaved themselves. They knew how important this was, they would hold their own tongues for now. But they were growing bored, and no one liked them when they were bored.
After several months of show and negotiations, the dignitary boarded his ship and returned home. After nearly a year of silence they had sent a messenger to Lyliannyn. The Immortal Emperor was pleased with the dignitaries report, and was sending the final delegation that must be appeased if the trade contract was to be established: the heir to the Immortal Throne, Crown Princess Mei Ping Teng Lian Fu Sei III and a cadre of diplomats and ranking officials. Here is a tip for you readers, the longer someone’s name is in peng wei, the more important they are to their rigid social structure.
A similar party was thrown, but more grand. The king made sure that the princess was treated higher than himself, in the hopes it would appeal to her. She too was shown around their land, and he had sister rings made for her with elven artificer enchantments. As many students in magical history knows elven enchantments were often intelligent and the rings obeyed mental commands to alter their wearer’s appearance in clothes, cosmetics, and even slightly alter the appearance of one’s build. As was common among the peng wei elite while in public, the princess showed little to no emotion but thanked the king for the rings and put them on. She experimented with them over the course of her stay.
For the dinner party a grand feast was held, where each course was symbolic to the peng wei people and prepared by the elven chefs who had studied their culinary arts. Among the peng wei, culinary skill and expression was among the highest, noblest, and purest forms of art. It was necessary that this dinner party be perfect. If only the king had not required his sons to be there.
The twins had played no pranks on each other since their escape from the warlock coven. They were trying to out do the other in respecting their father. But even for the Spider was patience wearing thin. Against both their better judgements, they had separately decided that tonight, the all important dinner party, they would resume their games. And now I must explain Malloura’s hatred of yams. You see dear reader, when Malloura was a small child fate conspired for any bad news to come, to come for him while enjoying a meal. And each time the only constant of the meal were yams. The young Malloura developed an irrational hatred of yams and was one of the kinks in his mental armor.
Kylliinae had threatened the servants to make sure that every dish to be served to Malloura was to have yams. If his brother flips out over something so inane, the crown would surely be mine must have been the thought Kylliinae was thinking. But Malloura had a similar thought. He enchanted a set of dinnerware to alter the taste of the food, and had ensure his pawns would set them at Kylliinae’s seat. The stage was now set for everything to go wrong.
Kylliinae sat in wait for his brother to flip out, as each course had a single, perfectly cooked yam on his plate. But the Spider did not react knowing what his brother was trying to do. Yet still each yam must have been painful. Meanwhile Malloura waited with baited breath for his brother to react to the aweful tastes of the foreign cuisine. But the Strong endured, probably aware nothing was wrong and it was just the peng wei food.
The final straw came with the final course when both brothers had awaited with anticipation and desire. A pie sort of pastry, with berry filling. But for Malloura came only a bowl of yams, and with Kylliinae the pie exploded sending hot filling across the table and burned several guests. The music stopped, everyone looked in horror at the brothers, who glared at each other. Before their father could say anything the two were on top of the table locked in swords and in a rage.
It is at this point where many scholars argue over what really happened. A direct telling would be “And then the King shouted his sons down.” but is too vague on the meaning of the word “shout.” Did he simply yell at them with such ferocity that they paused? Or did he literally shout at them with such force, and likely magic, that they fell down or off the table? I will allow you to decide. The king was furious, and the princess insulted. Without saying a word she and her entourage got up and left, went straight to their ships, and left for home. Several months later the King received a letter from the emperor that they would not now or ever have trade relations.
As the brothers composed themselves and prepared to return to the safety of their rooms, their father demanded them arrested and thrown into the jails for treason. Placed in separate cells directly apart, they were treated as criminals in all respects. Finally after two weeks, a humbled king came down to apologize to his sons for his outrage and said he had commissioned a pair of sister swords for the two. He handed them the swords by the scabbard, careful not to touch the handle, and the spoiled brothers fell for the trick and drew them expectantly. But then they saw the elvish runes on the swords and looked at their father in horror, who had gained an evil grin.
“Now, should you two ever fight, never will be it with blows of the body. Should you strike the other, all that you love will be destroyed.” He said and walked away. Free to go, but too dumbfounded to move, the brothers stared at their cursed weapons in rage and fear. For you see dear reader, these were the Twin Sisters of Fury, a pair of elvish swords with unique properties.
First, who ever grips the handle of the sword has the sword bound to them until death. Anyone else who attempts to grab the handle will find the sword unwilling to be moved. Second, should the bounded wield an object with the intent to harm, their bound sword would appear in their hand and the object would fall to their feet. Third, the blades were incredibly sharp, so sharp that you could cut yourself just by polishing it. And finally, the blades could cleave through stone, steel, and bone, like it was flesh. The only thing it could not cut through was the scabbards made for them. But the most deadly enchantment of all: should the two blades ever meet, they would destroy themselves in a blast so large and volatile, it could turn a large hill into a crater and everything within the radius to dust, including the swords themselves.
Slowly, this had forced the brothers to accept peace with each other. And by the time their father passed away and their cousin crowned the new queen, the brothers had become partners in war and diplomacy. Their greatest act together was the formation of the Elven Republic, a democracy of elected representatives to replace the monarchs of the their kingdoms. When the brothers passed away, both within the same year, they were both entombed within the same structure and buried with their cursed blades in the hope they would never be disturbed. And when the elves committed their grand Exodus all those years ago, the blades were forgotten and left behind.
The Warlord Blackwall
Chapter Two
Herschel Bracken was the son of a noble, had a bit of an anger problem, and was madly in love with a girl of lower station. But he didn’t care, and used his father’s wealth to treat her like she was a proper lady. He bought for her fine dresses, flowers, and sweets, in a village and where most of the peasant girls had none of these. Many were jealous of her lover but while she accepted these gifts, her true passion was archeology.
Jasmine Dower was a scholar in a time where women were not allowed to be scholars in a place that could not create scholars. But Herschel bought books for her anyway, and taught her how to read. Before long she started looking through old elvish maps to go and explore ancient sites where the elves once lived.
Herschel told her for her nineteenth birthday he would fund an expedition for them to go and explore an elvish ruin, all she had to do was pick one. She narrowed it down between three choices: the decrepit remains of an old wizard tower, a city reclaimed by nature, or the forgotten tomb of twin elvish princess. Unable to decide, she left it to chance and pulled one from random out of a hat; it was the tomb. Herschel was not all that excited exploring a tomb, but he had never seen her so lit up and alive before.
Herschel kept it secret that he was going on the expedition because she wanted to go, but instead proclaimed it was his idea and he wanted to bring her along. Jasmine was intelligent enough to play along, and play dumb in front of the snobbish nobles and high-class. Herschel was only able to convince his father to spend the money on the trip after Herschel made up some myth he heard of there being an artifact stored there from before the Exodus, and wanted to claim it for his family.
His father eventually agreed, and three weeks after her nineteenth birthday they were off to explore a dusty old tomb. It had been visited previously by a scholar from Dylonendidae, who found a sword he quickly identified as cursed and dared not to touch it. Jasmine was hopeful that they would find another artifact in the tomb.
After four months journey they arrived, their aids standing outside at Herschel’s request, the two went in alone to explore the tomb. Not that there was much to explore. The tomb was a mausoleum, with only enough space to fit two sarcophagi and people to stand around to open or close the resting places. The roof had caved in, however, and there was evidence that something sharp had cut through the stone. One of the sarcophagi was shattered and Jasmine looked very worried.
“What is wrong?” Herschel asked.
“That sarcophagi, is shattered, and these markings on the walls, they are elvish script…”
“Well yes, this is an elvish tomb.”
“You don’t understand, these are runes, there is a spell placed here. Let me get out my books and try to decipher what they say.” She then proceeded to rifle through loose papers and heavy tomes, whispering to herself as she wrote down notes in an attempt to translate. Meanwhile Herschel bent over to get a better look at the contents of the broken sarcophagi.
Inside he spied a decayed corpse and what looked to be a sword in a scabbard, but it was stuck under the caved in roof. He reached in to try and grab it, but it would hardly budge.
“Ah ha, I think I have the translation.” She said, still not looking up from her books or notes. “I think it reads something like ‘Whom ever disturbs our rest and steals our blades shall suffer eternal tragedy.’ Herschel I think you should leave the sword there.”
“Nah, I think I almost got it, just got to wiggle it a bit.”
“Herschel! It’s in elvish runes, it’s not just some script meant to scare people, someone cursed this place. Leave the sword alone!”
“Hey, I told my father that we were coming here to bring back an artifact, and if we do happen to bring one back, he’ll be more likely to fund future expeditions. Besides, I always wanted an elven forged sword.” He continued to struggle with the blade to get it out from under the stone, it was reluctant to give but he was getting it out slowly, bit by bit.
“Well… just be careful Herschel.” She said, moving to behind him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I think I almost got it, and don’t worry, Jasmine, everything will… be… FINE!” He pulled the sword out and swung it up behind him. “Haha, see? I told you. Jasmine?” He turned around.
Jasmine’s body was lying on the floor, her head still rolling to the other side of the room.
There are many who believe Herschel Bracken died that day, and the person who came back was not the same young man. The man who returned was a hateful, rageful one. Herschel’s anger could only be calmed by Jasmine, and now she was dead.
Five months later, with a small army of brigands at his back, a similar looking man as Herschel returned to hometown, Brackentown, claiming the town as his own and proclaiming his name was Warlord Blackwall. He challenged the guards to fight him, and when they charged he cut through their armor like it was flesh. He brandished a magnificent and terrible elvish sword, and made the town his base of operations. Blackwall murdered the Bracken family, and took their wealth for his own. He cared not how the people were treated, as long as he was in charge and the wealth went to him.
After a one month respite, he set out with a plan to take over the world. What started was one the bloodiest and darkest events in recent history. Armed with the most powerful blade he created an awful reputation for himself. He challenged the leaders or rival groups of armed men and defeated them easily in single combat. He then had that leaders most loyal supporters executed on the spot, for all to see.
It didn’t take very long for just word of Blackwall’s arrival to cause settlements to swing open their gates and surrender. Before long he started taking no prisoners. When he arrives to surrender now, or you will be killed. He left behind him ruthless and vile men to rule the settlements he stole, and after a year had the entire northern region of Avalon under his rule. He then started marching south.
Blackwall was very confident in his victory, and well aware of the power of his blade. Convinced of invulnerability, he enjoyed reveling in the fear and demise of his foes. People far away started to fear, and many got ready to surrender before he arrived or packed up and fled south hoping someone would be able to slow or stop him.
In truth, Blackwall was likely not just hoping take over the world, but also trying to find the other sword that was taken from that tomb. Very likely it was, that the sword was also magical. Dylonendidae, Jasmine had said, so when he got near he put all his efforts on taking Dylonendidae. And Dylonendidae noticed.
Dylonendidae was a metropolis, built of white sandstone and glass so that the rising and setting sun caused the city to sparkle; an enjoyable sight to see on any of the hills overlooking the city. It was one of the most industrious, cultural, and academic cities in the world, and still is to this day. It’s name was old Avalonian, meaning ‘Diamond in the Distance.’
The king of Dylonendidae sent for aid, asking anyone and anyone to come to the cities aid and protect it. Very few came to protect the city, but along came the only person who truly matters: The Rogue of Ravenport.
Jasmine Dower was a scholar in a time where women were not allowed to be scholars in a place that could not create scholars. But Herschel bought books for her anyway, and taught her how to read. Before long she started looking through old elvish maps to go and explore ancient sites where the elves once lived.
Herschel told her for her nineteenth birthday he would fund an expedition for them to go and explore an elvish ruin, all she had to do was pick one. She narrowed it down between three choices: the decrepit remains of an old wizard tower, a city reclaimed by nature, or the forgotten tomb of twin elvish princess. Unable to decide, she left it to chance and pulled one from random out of a hat; it was the tomb. Herschel was not all that excited exploring a tomb, but he had never seen her so lit up and alive before.
Herschel kept it secret that he was going on the expedition because she wanted to go, but instead proclaimed it was his idea and he wanted to bring her along. Jasmine was intelligent enough to play along, and play dumb in front of the snobbish nobles and high-class. Herschel was only able to convince his father to spend the money on the trip after Herschel made up some myth he heard of there being an artifact stored there from before the Exodus, and wanted to claim it for his family.
His father eventually agreed, and three weeks after her nineteenth birthday they were off to explore a dusty old tomb. It had been visited previously by a scholar from Dylonendidae, who found a sword he quickly identified as cursed and dared not to touch it. Jasmine was hopeful that they would find another artifact in the tomb.
After four months journey they arrived, their aids standing outside at Herschel’s request, the two went in alone to explore the tomb. Not that there was much to explore. The tomb was a mausoleum, with only enough space to fit two sarcophagi and people to stand around to open or close the resting places. The roof had caved in, however, and there was evidence that something sharp had cut through the stone. One of the sarcophagi was shattered and Jasmine looked very worried.
“What is wrong?” Herschel asked.
“That sarcophagi, is shattered, and these markings on the walls, they are elvish script…”
“Well yes, this is an elvish tomb.”
“You don’t understand, these are runes, there is a spell placed here. Let me get out my books and try to decipher what they say.” She then proceeded to rifle through loose papers and heavy tomes, whispering to herself as she wrote down notes in an attempt to translate. Meanwhile Herschel bent over to get a better look at the contents of the broken sarcophagi.
Inside he spied a decayed corpse and what looked to be a sword in a scabbard, but it was stuck under the caved in roof. He reached in to try and grab it, but it would hardly budge.
“Ah ha, I think I have the translation.” She said, still not looking up from her books or notes. “I think it reads something like ‘Whom ever disturbs our rest and steals our blades shall suffer eternal tragedy.’ Herschel I think you should leave the sword there.”
“Nah, I think I almost got it, just got to wiggle it a bit.”
“Herschel! It’s in elvish runes, it’s not just some script meant to scare people, someone cursed this place. Leave the sword alone!”
“Hey, I told my father that we were coming here to bring back an artifact, and if we do happen to bring one back, he’ll be more likely to fund future expeditions. Besides, I always wanted an elven forged sword.” He continued to struggle with the blade to get it out from under the stone, it was reluctant to give but he was getting it out slowly, bit by bit.
“Well… just be careful Herschel.” She said, moving to behind him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I think I almost got it, and don’t worry, Jasmine, everything will… be… FINE!” He pulled the sword out and swung it up behind him. “Haha, see? I told you. Jasmine?” He turned around.
Jasmine’s body was lying on the floor, her head still rolling to the other side of the room.
There are many who believe Herschel Bracken died that day, and the person who came back was not the same young man. The man who returned was a hateful, rageful one. Herschel’s anger could only be calmed by Jasmine, and now she was dead.
Five months later, with a small army of brigands at his back, a similar looking man as Herschel returned to hometown, Brackentown, claiming the town as his own and proclaiming his name was Warlord Blackwall. He challenged the guards to fight him, and when they charged he cut through their armor like it was flesh. He brandished a magnificent and terrible elvish sword, and made the town his base of operations. Blackwall murdered the Bracken family, and took their wealth for his own. He cared not how the people were treated, as long as he was in charge and the wealth went to him.
After a one month respite, he set out with a plan to take over the world. What started was one the bloodiest and darkest events in recent history. Armed with the most powerful blade he created an awful reputation for himself. He challenged the leaders or rival groups of armed men and defeated them easily in single combat. He then had that leaders most loyal supporters executed on the spot, for all to see.
It didn’t take very long for just word of Blackwall’s arrival to cause settlements to swing open their gates and surrender. Before long he started taking no prisoners. When he arrives to surrender now, or you will be killed. He left behind him ruthless and vile men to rule the settlements he stole, and after a year had the entire northern region of Avalon under his rule. He then started marching south.
Blackwall was very confident in his victory, and well aware of the power of his blade. Convinced of invulnerability, he enjoyed reveling in the fear and demise of his foes. People far away started to fear, and many got ready to surrender before he arrived or packed up and fled south hoping someone would be able to slow or stop him.
In truth, Blackwall was likely not just hoping take over the world, but also trying to find the other sword that was taken from that tomb. Very likely it was, that the sword was also magical. Dylonendidae, Jasmine had said, so when he got near he put all his efforts on taking Dylonendidae. And Dylonendidae noticed.
Dylonendidae was a metropolis, built of white sandstone and glass so that the rising and setting sun caused the city to sparkle; an enjoyable sight to see on any of the hills overlooking the city. It was one of the most industrious, cultural, and academic cities in the world, and still is to this day. It’s name was old Avalonian, meaning ‘Diamond in the Distance.’
The king of Dylonendidae sent for aid, asking anyone and anyone to come to the cities aid and protect it. Very few came to protect the city, but along came the only person who truly matters: The Rogue of Ravenport.