The Sunblade

Log Info

• Title: The Sunblade
  
• GM: Thoth
• Characters: Skielstregar, Jelzrem (NPC)
  
• Location: Am'shere, Ketsalkuetspaltahtepetl
  
• Summary: Malefic and Skielstregar learn some of their ancestors' past.

Ketsalkuetspaltahtepetl

Still the rain drizzles, sizzling nearby lava pools of the Dragonfather's holy site. With the overall meeting concluded, all were dispersing to their duties and preparations. Two of which watch the others depart, Skielstregar and Malefic taking in the moment. The mountain, the statues, the buildings, the kin.

A sigh escapes the half-dead silverscale. "Jelzrem," he rumbles to the makari that had been suspicious of him since his arrival, looking up to the statue of the Dragonfather. "If you were to ssstare harder, you may end up boring a hole into the back of thisss one's skull."

His tail wiggles in jest.

"I am not staring at you so much as the one you wield, Warrior." Jelzrem answers him. "His shape may have changed, but I would recognize that voice and attitude anywhere."

Though Skielstregar's tail may wiggle in jest, the wet green-scale slaps his tail to the ground. Considering Skielstregar for a while longer.

"I heard tale from across the lands of Malefic and its wielder. And I don't want him to get close to Mother again if I can help it."

"He?" Skiel echoes, looking at Malefic with a raised brow. "I thought you was otherwise?"

The halberd grins. "She, he, it, they, them. I am all. These matter little, all is the same in His Light."

The silverscale shakes his head at Malefic's antics, his attention shifting to Jelzrem. His dead eyes nictate. "... thisss one is flattered you have heard of thisss one, but thisss one takesss it Malefic was... difficult to get along with?"

"Nonsense, I am the paragon of diplomacy."

"You were the paragon of being 'too' devoted to The Dragonfather. Unable to tell your own will from His at times." The greenscale answers the Halbert, lacking the bemusement shared on either of their own expressions.

"What's more, you put Mother's life in danger with your foolish escapades." Jelzrem adds to this.

Malefic tuts. "I know what is my will and His. It just so happens that our wills overlap quite often!"

Skiel rubs his snout, sighing deeply. "Malefic..."

The halberd turns to face the greenscale, metal maw clicking and clacking as it snips and rumbles. "I remember not what escapades that I did, but all that was done was in His name as a Sunblade! I may be forward, but I would not put her being in danger! I was the spear against danger!" Pause. "Current form notwithstanding!"

"Sunblade. Spear against Danger. The Brightest One. Daeus' Favored One. The Daylight Warrior. You were always one for titles." Jelzrem lays a hand to their hip and leans a bit to the side, grimacing at the words coming from the metal thing.

"Nothing but a crooked and broken halberd now, functioning thanks to a great Warrior. But it's clear you haven't learned from the past yet."

The greenscape scrapes a claw over their own horn for a moment. "So you have forgotten your journeys into the crypts of the north as Mother's trusted and favored guardian?"

"Of course! How else would something be described! Skielstregar is hatchling because he still has much to learn, for example!" Malefic beams. Which drops away at the insult. Malefic, for whatever their name or form was, could never take a jab. It metallically growls, "CROOKED AND BROKEN?! Do you think I /CHOSE/ this form?! Nay, I latched onto this as the hatchling's corrupted blood constantly washes over it- I /CLAWED/ myself out his memory!"

Skielstregar stares at Malefic, dozens of questions gumming up his maw.

There's a sound of a huff from Malefic, like a metallic reed vibrating. "I don't remember a trip to a crypt. If I went there, it was probably to purge undeath in His Name!"

Jelzrem scoffs as Malefic is quick to 'fly off the hilt'. Almost smirking at bit, drawing this out from him. No doubt thinking that this way, he is seeing the 'real' Malefic.

"You clawed your way from his Blood? Or were bidden by the Dragonfather to aid this Warrior?" Jelzrem asks Malefic.

He then looks to Skielstregar. "Do not be mistaken. Malefic in its previous life was a great warrior. One without ken. To start listing off their great deeds would take a long time. But in his fervor, he would oft run ahead. If there was undeath, he would purge it. Successfully. Every time. But he'd run ahead, leaving allies behind. He'd convince people to remain for a last stand, where prudence would have been better suited..."

The question stymies the sentient weapon, Malefic's maw slowly closing and shifting to a thin line. "... I clawed my way, He would have bid me anyways," they answer evenly.

Skiel bows his head, solemn. "His Light does not reach us any longer. But it does not mean we cannot work in his shade." A prospect that keeps Malefic from frowning.

The silverscale turns to Jelzrem, a look and scent that lacks surprise, and adds in a layer of disappointment. "That is not what one ssshould do with His blessing, Malefic. We sseek glory together with friendsss," he quietly chides to the weapon.

Malefic turns away. "... our silver ancestor could do much on their own." A pause. "... but, I vaguely recall such actions. And for that I have paid moreover multiple times for it."

"He would have bid you anyways? Such arrogance." The greenscale huffs at Malefic. "You speak of having paid, but you haven't changed a bit, have you?" It's starting to become clear that this Sith-makar may have a particular tie to Malefic himself.

Jelzrem then lets out a sigh.

"The day I spoke of is the day of Mother's ascension to her new title. The 'Sunblade' had convinced her to clear out a massive infestation of undead. Two Liches, working together, gathering an army to the far east of here. A great army left to fight them, with him at their lead. Mother traveling with them." He begins...

Malefic's vigor wanes at that. "... I have, but my conviction hasn't," the weapon murmurs. There's a heavy pause. "It's dark in here." Spoken whisper quiet.

That seems to hit a chord with Skielstregar, and he gently grasps onto his holy symbol. His throat bobs before turning his attention to Jelzrem. The silverscale looks pained. "... thisss one can already fill the pieces in. Such a crusade is... requires intense cooperation, Malefic. Thisss one may not know what a lich isss, but it sssound beyond dangerous for anything less than perfection to wage against."

The weapon frowns. "... you weren't there."

"But he was there." Jelzrem answers Malefic. "You clawed your way from his blood. But that means you are as much part of him as you are his blade. He was there - because you were there. As was my battle-father."

He doesn't move to explain what a Lich is. Instead, he continues the tale.

"The skies were dark. Fierce holy light scowering the land as Shamans would eradicate the masses of smaller undead, whilst the greatest warriors would take down the greater foes. Entering their fortress in an exhausting battle."

He crosses his arms. "Mother was there. As was the Sunblade, at the forefront. Facing two Liches. What should have been an impossible battle, those two made work... because they had a special bond."

Malefic might recall that giddy feeling. The fact she had smiled at his gift.

"The Sunblade slew the first, while Mother protected him with all of her magics. Warriors assailing the second. They were winning... they had Shamans as well, and Mother had spent all of her energy..."

He glances to the blade. "But you insisted you had to be there. And because you had to be there, because you just /had/ to also slay that one, she followed you."

Glancing back to the Sith-makar. "And in a moment of interupting the delicate balance of that battle, pushing aside other warriors, it gave the Lich a chance to back up out of their formation... and dozens of warriors died. Mother would follow. And eventually... the Lich and the Sunblade killed eachother."

The image of the Sunblade's weapon hewing off the head of the Lich. Phlactory broken. Hanging in the middle of the air. The lich's sharp long claws driven through the Warrior on one hand. The littered guts and dead bodies around it. Its other claws holding the lifeless body of Mother.

"We were lucky that Mother was protected by the Divine, and we were able to recover her soul..."

Skiel's face screws taut at that, him looking at Malefic's side. "Please, help thiss one remember. You know why this one cannot."

The weapon doesn't respond.

Instead, Skiel must rely on the story Jelzrem recounts of his father. And his expression and scent are all over the place. Surprise that someone from his lineage was so powerful. Pride in that they were able to take down such foes. Frustration at the arrogance. Some shame for the deaths. It was stirring old emotions, bone and blood deep.

Malefic is stone quiet.

"Malefic," Skiel nudges, jaw clenching. "Why?"

The weapon's maw creaks opens quietly. Like it was speaking out of the side of its mouth. "It would have... ended differently if I did not."

The silverscale grasps the axehead. "No. I grow tired of this. You will show me." "I cannot-" "You WILL!" Skiel snarls, pulling the weapon close and taut, making the sharp edge bite into his arm. Black and red, brackish, vile ichor leaks from him, coating the weapon in a familiar miasmic black. He pulls away, grabbing the edges against and STARING into the black stained reflection.

Looking back was not of Skielstregar. But of another silverscaled makari, holy fire behind them in the background as they were looking at their longsword. A scene plays out, them shoving aside other warriors and challenging the floating Lich. Affording them that opening to escape. But there's this feeling as they call each other out. A bone chilling realization. The entire fight was beseeched upon unholy grounds. Every death, every drop of blood, every second was growing worse and worse. The wounds have mounted on them already, its set in. There's a roar that rips from them as the Sunblade charges forth.

Malefic gasps, ripping itself out of Skiel's hand and tumbling to the ground. "I AM A GLORY SEEKING SPECKLE HEAD BUT I DID IT NOT FOR PRIDE!" it yells.

Jelzrem backs off a bit as the two begin to yell at one-another. Doubly-so when Skielstregar's corrupted blood comes to flow. Lance coming at the ready. He cannot see the reflection within the blood. For Jelzrem does not share their blood.

But he can tell that there is a vision there. That Skielstregar is being shared what happened that day.

"You did it for The Dragonfather, isn't that so?" Jelzrem asks of Malefic, as he manages to rip itself from Skielstregar's grasp and lands on the ground. "You did everything for the Dragonfather, no matter the cost."

It is clear that Jelzrem himself is not willing to accept otherwise right now. For his battle-father, who had lived through that event, claimed they had the Lich right where they wanted him before the Sunblade's interference. In the end, it's a matter of perspectives and personal realities.

Skiel pants out puffs of black miasma, the vision real, along the emotions that come with it. His dead eyes a crimson, frame shaking. Malefic gnashes at the ground, throwing a tantrum. "It was FOR HIM!"

"It was," the silverscale growls, winded, eyeing the lance. He steadies his breath. "But it was-"

"Everything I do-"

"-necessary because-"

"-everything I believe-"

"-if he did not, every breathing body here-"

"-the COSTS I endured! The darkness I now live in-"

Skiel levels his gaze upon Jelzrem. "-would have be nothing more than a walking corpssse next hatching seassson."

"-was because I HAD TO! I CAN TAKE IT!"

Jelzrem hisses when the two reject his view of reality. They may very well be right, but Jelzrem isn't so easily to accept this. His grip trembling upon his lance for a moment. Tense as they look to him.

But that tension relaxes, and he lets out a sigh. "You could take it. But what about her?" He asks him. "You knew she'd follow you anywhere." But at the same time, no doubt, she had been ready to die for this as well.

Jelzrem taps the butt of his spear to the ground and points. "If this is all true, then perhaps you will tell this all to my Battlefather. See if he believes you."

"I CAN TAKE IT! I CAN TAKE IT! I CAN take it. I can take it. I can take... it... I can... take.... it..." Malefic trails of, going silent. Skiel bends down to carefully pick the weapon up, one hand cradling it, the other presses against the gash on his arm.

"Thisss one... thinksss their mind isss a twissted reflection of what once was. That may be as much reasoning asss we get out of him," Skiel quietly says before looking to the pointing finger. He straightens up. "I will tell this to your Battlefather. I should be able to speak for my ancestors, even if I remember little."