K
Kylathew
Guest
Muttering in frustration, the young tailor tossed the misshapen leather tunic aside, cursing to himself and pounding his fist into the table. Picking up a few strips of leather and a large steel needle, he deftly worked the quill in and out of the pliant buckskin, first sewing the breastpiece together, then adding shoulderlets and reinforcing the lower torso of the tunic. Holding up the finely crafted piece of armor, he smiled and laid it on his workbench. Reaching underneath the workbench, he pulled out a flat piece of steel, a wooden mallet, and a large leather pouch. Emptying the contents of the leather pouch onto the worktable, shimmering steel spilt everywhere, rolling into the cracks of the table and showering the floor. Laying the long steel tang underneath the tunic, he placed a steel stud onto the leather, and stamped the stud into the buckskin. Repeating this countless times, he imbued the leather tunic with hundreds of steel studs. Placing the completed tunic onto the nearby dressform, he stood back and admired his work, as the rays of the sun reflected off the glimmering steel studs, sending shards of light cascading throughout the room.
Beckoning to his sister Alannah, he spoke to her in a playful tone.
“Alannah, my dear sister, when you get a spare moment from your busy schedule, do you think you could smith me a helm ?”
Scowling and swatting him on the shoulder, Alannah sauntered out of the house to her forge a few yards away. Chuckling to himself and stepping back towards his workbench, an overwhelming flood of despair and fear rushed through his body. Seating himself in his velour-covered throne, his head sank between his knees, his hands laid crisscrossed across the top of his skullcap.
“Of course!” he exclaimed out loud, realizing that the feelings he was experiencing were not his own, yet due to his telepathic link with Lilith. From feeding upon each other’s blood, they had created a mental bond that could not be broken by time nor distance. Wherever Lilith happened to be, he would hear her thoughts, feel her pain and experience her joy.
Closing his eyes, he focused on her thoughts, the darkness of his empty mind slowly becoming brighter and clearer. Looking through her eyes, he watched as the darkly clad being hurled her against the granite wall. He watched as her eyes scanned across the room, falling on the seven wraithlike women chained to the walls. He could hear their ghastly laughter echo within his mind. Hearing Lilith whisper his name as she cringed in fear, his fury welled up inside him like a winter storm.
His pupils took on a dark shade of crimson, as his two eyeteeth sprouted forth from his gums. Growling in anger, he quickly disrobed, slipping on his doublet and kilt, tying the straps on his sandals snug and secure, and adjusting the knot on his skullcap making it firmly grip his head. Striding over to the corner of the room, he smashed the small wooden table with his fist, and tossed the dark blue tablecloth aside, revealing a rusted metal chest, shut tight with a large metal lock. Picking up his mallet from the workbench, he bashed the rusted lock open, shattering it into useless chunks of decaying steel. Unclasping the two hooks that sealed the chest, he opened it to reveal an immaculate inner chamber with dark black velvet lining the interior. Resting upon stands within the chest, there laid two substantially sized weapons. Immediately observing the larger of the two weapons, his hands prudently reached into the chest, withdrawing the battle-axe from its stand. Obviously designed for battle, the wickedly curving blade rested upon a stout steel pole, the handle wrapped in thick black snakeskin, while the pinnacle of the axe boasted a short, barbed spearhead. Closely examining the blade, he could distinguish that this metal was unlike any other. Swirls of mercury swam throughout the blade as if it were alive. The sterling weapon was of the purest silver he had ever laid his eyes upon. It seemed to capture the rays of the sun within it and let them dance along the haft. As his two hands embraced the hold of the weapon, a wave of energy spread from the axe to his hands. Rapidly coursing through his body it sent a vigorous impulse coursing throughout him. The sudden euphoria brought an elated smile to his face, his ivory fangs glistening as his lips curled into a mirthful grin.
His eyes fell upon the other weapon in the chest. A sword of tremendous girth and length.
His lips curved into a maleficent smile as he lifted the blade from the chest. The massive broadsword possessed a double-edged blade, razor sharp to the touch, with serrated edges lining the bottom halves of the gigantic weapon. The patina was constructed of a charcoal colored Damascus steel, while the hilt was fashioned from two gigantic cusps. Upon closer inspection, one would see that the cusps were in reality the blackened fangs of an archaic wyrm. The dual handed grip was crafted from bloodwood, the hardened timber casting an eerie glow of crimson in the sunlight. The sword itself was featherweight, able to be easily wielded with but one palm. The young man handled it with perfect ease, slicing the blade through the air in a giant arc. Sliding the broadsword into the ebony dragonskin sheath, he strapped it to his back, securing it snug across the front of his torso with a pewter circlet. Hanging from a dressform inside his bedroom, he unclasped the dark leather belt from the waist of the mannequin and fastened it around his own waist. The leather belt had three long, semicircular sheaths along the posterior portion of the belt. Rummaging through the wooden box at the foot of his bed, he found three exceptionally carved wooden stakes, a silver ring crowning the top shaft of each. Sliding each one into the corresponding sleeves on the back of his belt, he snugly tightened the belt around his waist, fastening the steel buckle on the front of his waist. Picking up a small leather pack, he rapidly filled it with a few magical reagents, a book of spells, and half a dozen ripe peaches.
Stepping out beneath the oaken entryway, he kneeled on the porch and closed his eyes, searching his memory for the image of the crypt where Lilith and her captor were located. Inhaling deeply as the memory came into focus, he carefully studied the walls and surroundings, looking for a clue as to where it could be. As Lilith’s eyes scanned the room, he noticed a decorative long sword hanging from the wall, framed by a corpulent green banner. Freezing the image into his mind, he stood up, scratching his beard and pondering the familiarity of the sword to himself.
Unexpectedly, the connection came to him. Swiftly ascending his auburn-colored horse, Aebrix, he jerked the reins and rapidly galloped for the road, heading towards the forgotten forests of the west.
Beckoning to his sister Alannah, he spoke to her in a playful tone.
“Alannah, my dear sister, when you get a spare moment from your busy schedule, do you think you could smith me a helm ?”
Scowling and swatting him on the shoulder, Alannah sauntered out of the house to her forge a few yards away. Chuckling to himself and stepping back towards his workbench, an overwhelming flood of despair and fear rushed through his body. Seating himself in his velour-covered throne, his head sank between his knees, his hands laid crisscrossed across the top of his skullcap.
“Of course!” he exclaimed out loud, realizing that the feelings he was experiencing were not his own, yet due to his telepathic link with Lilith. From feeding upon each other’s blood, they had created a mental bond that could not be broken by time nor distance. Wherever Lilith happened to be, he would hear her thoughts, feel her pain and experience her joy.
Closing his eyes, he focused on her thoughts, the darkness of his empty mind slowly becoming brighter and clearer. Looking through her eyes, he watched as the darkly clad being hurled her against the granite wall. He watched as her eyes scanned across the room, falling on the seven wraithlike women chained to the walls. He could hear their ghastly laughter echo within his mind. Hearing Lilith whisper his name as she cringed in fear, his fury welled up inside him like a winter storm.
His pupils took on a dark shade of crimson, as his two eyeteeth sprouted forth from his gums. Growling in anger, he quickly disrobed, slipping on his doublet and kilt, tying the straps on his sandals snug and secure, and adjusting the knot on his skullcap making it firmly grip his head. Striding over to the corner of the room, he smashed the small wooden table with his fist, and tossed the dark blue tablecloth aside, revealing a rusted metal chest, shut tight with a large metal lock. Picking up his mallet from the workbench, he bashed the rusted lock open, shattering it into useless chunks of decaying steel. Unclasping the two hooks that sealed the chest, he opened it to reveal an immaculate inner chamber with dark black velvet lining the interior. Resting upon stands within the chest, there laid two substantially sized weapons. Immediately observing the larger of the two weapons, his hands prudently reached into the chest, withdrawing the battle-axe from its stand. Obviously designed for battle, the wickedly curving blade rested upon a stout steel pole, the handle wrapped in thick black snakeskin, while the pinnacle of the axe boasted a short, barbed spearhead. Closely examining the blade, he could distinguish that this metal was unlike any other. Swirls of mercury swam throughout the blade as if it were alive. The sterling weapon was of the purest silver he had ever laid his eyes upon. It seemed to capture the rays of the sun within it and let them dance along the haft. As his two hands embraced the hold of the weapon, a wave of energy spread from the axe to his hands. Rapidly coursing through his body it sent a vigorous impulse coursing throughout him. The sudden euphoria brought an elated smile to his face, his ivory fangs glistening as his lips curled into a mirthful grin.
His eyes fell upon the other weapon in the chest. A sword of tremendous girth and length.
His lips curved into a maleficent smile as he lifted the blade from the chest. The massive broadsword possessed a double-edged blade, razor sharp to the touch, with serrated edges lining the bottom halves of the gigantic weapon. The patina was constructed of a charcoal colored Damascus steel, while the hilt was fashioned from two gigantic cusps. Upon closer inspection, one would see that the cusps were in reality the blackened fangs of an archaic wyrm. The dual handed grip was crafted from bloodwood, the hardened timber casting an eerie glow of crimson in the sunlight. The sword itself was featherweight, able to be easily wielded with but one palm. The young man handled it with perfect ease, slicing the blade through the air in a giant arc. Sliding the broadsword into the ebony dragonskin sheath, he strapped it to his back, securing it snug across the front of his torso with a pewter circlet. Hanging from a dressform inside his bedroom, he unclasped the dark leather belt from the waist of the mannequin and fastened it around his own waist. The leather belt had three long, semicircular sheaths along the posterior portion of the belt. Rummaging through the wooden box at the foot of his bed, he found three exceptionally carved wooden stakes, a silver ring crowning the top shaft of each. Sliding each one into the corresponding sleeves on the back of his belt, he snugly tightened the belt around his waist, fastening the steel buckle on the front of his waist. Picking up a small leather pack, he rapidly filled it with a few magical reagents, a book of spells, and half a dozen ripe peaches.
Stepping out beneath the oaken entryway, he kneeled on the porch and closed his eyes, searching his memory for the image of the crypt where Lilith and her captor were located. Inhaling deeply as the memory came into focus, he carefully studied the walls and surroundings, looking for a clue as to where it could be. As Lilith’s eyes scanned the room, he noticed a decorative long sword hanging from the wall, framed by a corpulent green banner. Freezing the image into his mind, he stood up, scratching his beard and pondering the familiarity of the sword to himself.
Unexpectedly, the connection came to him. Swiftly ascending his auburn-colored horse, Aebrix, he jerked the reins and rapidly galloped for the road, heading towards the forgotten forests of the west.
