Why Oh Why Did I Pick Up This Sword...

[Xoroth]

For every legendary hero there is a legendary weapon. Some are of such greatness that mythic quests are started to search for these relics. Others have their legends forged right beside their masters. It is here, the wilderness surrounding a set of small towns that two such legends may begin. Destinies seek crucible of conflict but will new legends be forged or will the all hope be reduced to slag?

A thirsty blade and a legacy forged from conspiracy and blood.

A lost woodcutter seeking answers and a broken hand of righteousness.

[Pallid]

Part of him felt like regular old fool sitting there on that stump in the woods glaring balefully at the large axe that rested against another fallen oak tree. Even if the axe was looking back at him and was capable of having a conversation with him, part of him still argued that it shouldn't be. The whole situation was out of sorts to the point he still hadn't fully ruled out the possibility that he was having some fierce fever and he was going to wake up in bed with Nell hovering over him like she did when anyone in the family got sick. The woman turned into a right terrier when there was sick folks about, after losing a sister to a wet cough it was little wonder really. Though sitting here in that forest thinking of his sweet Nell and her heart as big as the woods around him only served as a painful reminder that he wasn't sure when he was going to see her again.

“You hear what I said? Its 1273.” The axe had gotten real quiet after she, bless it all he was starting to think it was a she, after it asked the question of what year it was. Even if Nell wanted to call it a woman, and he didn't deny she did sound like a proper gixie, it was still a weapon that was sitting across from him. “That mean somethin'? We didn't miss some kind of deadline or something did we?” He wasn't quite sure what he would do if the weapon reported back to him that they did miss their chance to be free of each others company. Well that wasn't too true, if this whole pilgrimage didn't work he was going to march right up to a church of Mystra and hoped they liked the axe enough to take it away from him. That's what wizards and priests did right? Looked after magical stuff like a talking and blinking axe?

If nothing else he might still get some gold to bring into the homestead from his absence. He knew his family would fine enough for a few weeks without him there, but harvest time was coming soon. Chauntea knew that Billy couldn't find his own ass if it wasn't glued to the back of the boy, and with the other two men folk out for the season over at the Lane's farm he was going to be pulling the lion's share of the work with Joesph not there. The thought of that was nearly enough to have him shudder for the third time that day.

“Do you eat Heather?” Begrudgingly he asked the weapon, laying across from him. Nell gave him a scolding for being improper with the blade, calling it axe all the time. He did see her point, he would have been upset to be called boy or man all the time too. So he named the weapon after his blood mother, it was the first thing that came to mind, and it seemed proper if her blood really was the reason he was in this miss in the first place. Beside that point, if the blade did eat he would have to feed it, unlike other critters that could find something to snack on without a master to feed it on the regular, the weapon didn't have arms and legs. Hell, the thing didn't even have a mouth as far as he knew, and he wasn't curious enough to go looking for one either. Letting anything starve to death while he was around just didn't sit right with him, just wasn't the right thing to do. So even if logic said the thing couldn't eat, it also said it couldn't speak and that didn't seem to be stopping it from doing that. No, it was better to error on the side of caution some times. “I think I can double back to the farm and grab a few nails or somethin' for ya.”

[CrypticOcean]

(OoC: Hopefully I'm getting the general feel of your character right, Tempest.)

The glistening hammer, still dripping with the cold water of the river he had retrieved it from, had immediately assailed his mind with maddened gibbering. He looked all about, certain a mad hermit had somehow ambushed him, until the realization dawned on him that, somehow, the weapon was speaking to him. If 'speaking' was truly the word for it. He had tossed it as far as he could, and the moment of quiet he had was the last one he would have for some time. The moment he turned his back to make the hike back towards his cabin, he felt the hilt in his hand once more. The handle fit snugly into his grip, as if it were forged solely for his hand and his hand alone. Even as the fell weapon spewed nonsense into his head, he could not help but admire the craftsmanship of the hammer. It was made of a strange black metal he had never seen before. Something like iron, but it felt far heavier, and sturdier. He could have sworn he saw dried blood on the hammer's head, but once he blinked, it melted away as though it had never been there.

He finally had made it back to his home, closing and locking the door behind him as was his custom. This was the last possible thing he could have wanted. This meddlesome magic and accursed weaponry was the domain of wizards and clerics. Most of which expertly meddled in the affairs of others, wandering about the world and inviting calamity unto the innocent. He was loathe to leave his home to attempt to consult an expert on these arcane matters, yet one sleepless night of the warhammer's loathsome words was enough to convince him to at least attempt to seek out some way to rid himself of this wretched thing and return to his solitude. He decided it best to at least attempt to descend from the woods. He would not be missed, at least. There was little else he could do, his further attempts at ridding himself of the hammer had proven fruitless, and no matter how he tried to ignore it, the hammer's voice would always be with him.

And thus, he began his wandering, hoping to the gods that he would be able to relinquish this burden as soon as he could.

[lilpuppy91]

Devourer lay semi-comfortably against a stump and observed her newest wielder with a calculating eye silently. This man across from her had not only been frightened and confused when he first found her (for, as a weapon, she very quickly learned to recognize the fear in a man's eyes, given that inevitably all of her foes gained such an expression right before their life was stolen from them), he had also taken her to some sort of small and humble home, where a little wife, round with child, had called him Joseph. Her first thoughts had been perhaps that some miscommunication had occurred, and that little Colin's receivers had simply renamed him, and had never known what the axe that came with him had truly been for, and thusly he had never found out as well. That would explain both the shock and the different name. However, as the sleep and confusion fell away from her, and the conversation with the man and his wife continued, she realized that there was also the matter of appearance to be considered. She had seen Colin Freeman on only a few short occasions, and only one meeting had she been formally introduced and allowed to look at the tiny wriggling infant, given permission only to see the child after making a solemn oath not to harm the thing.

Surely organic beings went through many strange metamorphases in appearance- some natural, such as transforming from a pudgy, roundfaced baby to a large, angular jawed man, and some manufactured, such as tatoos or scars. But there was yet a way, as far as she knew, to grow into another skin color entirely. The little baby had inherited the dark skin of it's parents, who had inherited their skintones from their own parents, Lionel almost completely ebony, and Tisiphone more of a dark blue. This man before her had a skintone which was closer to what humans would consider to be 'black', but was simply more of a dark brown and wasn't black at all. The hair was the right shade, but apart from that, there was simply no reconciling this man's appearance to the little wriggly, crying sack of fat that was the Colin Freeman she knew. Surely some magical spells could be used as disguises, and Colin could be disguising himself as a human (even gaining himself a wife and producing a child to deflect confusion seemed not to be unreasonable), but what use was a disguise here in the middle of the woods with no one here to see, and why would he go to such lengths to pretend to be surprised? The logical answer was that there had been no conscious effort to conceal himself, but there was still a small chance that perhaps Lionel, a great wizard, had sought to protect his son and crafted some magic to disguise him. So, she'd asked the date to rule out this possibility.

As an axe, Devourer's poker face was exquisite, given that she didn't make any facial expressions. She had been asleep for almost an entire century... that meant this young, wide-eyed man could not possibly be the little coal black wriggling baby she had seen, the human in Colin's blood would not allow him to live that long. This meant that there had been in incredible failure at some point, that she had not been awoken until after her intended bearer had died of old age. She didn't know how far down the family line this man was from Colin, nor did she think it mattered, when he knew nothing of her. It was best to treat him like she would any other possible enemy or threat. He had no loyalties to her, and would feel no loyalties to Lionel or the great demon that Devourer wished to revive, Biglox. Therefore, there was simply no reason to bring the demon up until such a time that they had achieved enough power to succeed where Lionel had failed. She had been wise to allow the man to come up with his own name for her, despite the fact that he had named her such a strange name for a weapon. There was power in a name, but in this case, there was more power in keeping her name secret. Thus, she would bear the burden of the name Heather until her goals were met, and she could indulge herself in slicing this pathetic fool's throat open and swallowing his soul whole.

"1273... great heavens, no wonder I felt as if I had been asleep for ages, it's because I have. But no, dear child, we have not missed any important deadlines, although the man who cursed me had not meant for me to sleep so long. It was supposed to allow me to hide unnoticed until I was delivered once more into capable hands, in just a few short years' time. In fact, this is great news for your wishes to be free of me. When I had been put to sleep, there were a limited amount of people in your bloodline that I might have been passed off to. Your kind, you do quite love to... multiply copiously. By now, there could be hundreds. Our quest could last only a short few months before we come upon someone more excited by the prospects of great power. Also, no, I do not hunger in the way that you do, Joseph. I hunger for the battle as all weapons do, but I don't require it for sustenance." she paused then thoughtfully, thinking about her past. She had only been alive for a few years before being put to sleep. During those times, she had always been with those whose goals were aligned with her own. She was not absolutely certain in her ability to manipulate the man into doing what she wanted if he was completely opposed to the very idea of her as he was now. Perhaps there would be some merit in attempting to seduce him with something that men want to most, power.

Her voice (which is a dead ringer for Emily Mortimer's (https://youtu.be/Swlu3mfA588)) took on a more soft, almost sexy tone as she began to speak again. "But are you absolutely certain that you would not rather wield me, child? After all, he who wields me will have power beyond his wildest dreams. With me by your side, you could in time become so powerful that every man from every nation and every creed knew your name. You could want for nothing, fear nothing, your family would be safe and comfortable and would never have to toil away at the ground as you have for just enough food to fill your bellies. I would make you so powerful that gods and demon lords alike would not dare speak your name, for fear of gaining your attention. Power like that will change the world, and allow you to shape it to your will. And when you are content with your achievements, your son could become more powerful still. What father would not wish to give their sons the power to command the respect of kings and queens, and to have songs written about them for the great things they've done? Imagine returning to your wife's loving arms with a parade of servants and bards behind you, sweeping her up and carrying her off to a secluded wonderland of a castle to spend the rest of your days. This much and more, I can promise you, if you accept me as a partner and friend, and decide to make this your destiny. We may be away from your wife longer than you'd like, but wouldn't you rather return to her with the ability to make every one of her dreams a reality?" Her singular, huge eye searched his face calculatingly, looking for at least a flicker of desire, a sign that this quest might be less of a sluggish ride on a stubborn mule, and more of an exhilarating horseback ride across a field toward the arms of her father.

[Tempestfury]

“Lilk, Lilk, Lilk!” The hammer jabbered towards the thing that had him now, the bloodthirsty weapon urging the thing that it had attached itself to do what he desired. No longer was it in that dark-cold-clinging-moving thing that it had been in for who knows how long. No, now it was in the hands of a thing! A thing that could swing him! A thing that could crack skulls! Yes, plenty of skulls! “Yrsoetd rouy smneiee dna krnid rihet dolob! Hatb ni eht ygona fo rihet tfaeed sa uoy eakt rihet reudlnp dna neomw!” The black weapon gibbered, spat and roared into the poor man’s head. Lilk was by the far the most repeated ‘word; that it said, once a minute at least unless it had got into a long rather rant of its gibberish that only it could understand. Unaware of how the thing was trying to be rid of him, simply knowing that something had him and he no long was in the dark-cold-clinging-moving thing.

[Pallid]

Joesph nodded to himself as the sword told him of it’s lack of dietary needs, which was going to take a huge load off his shoulders in the future. He had a few coppers to kick around, but those were better served for emergencies. He wasn’t much of a hunter; he could manage when the need arose, but an extra mouth to feed only complicated things. It was on that note that he drifted off to thoughts of home, and how he and his father went out hunting during the cold seasons and they couldn’t spare many cattle out of fear of affecting the spring profits.

He had opened his mouth to regal the axe with a particularly amusing tale of how he and his father were caught with their pants down by a couple of boars while they were catching some much needed sleep during one harsh fall. Darn things made a right mess of things, and gave him a tusk through the thigh to boot. He wasn’t one for anger but he rather enjoyed the bacon that winter, it healed more than just his wound. However his amusing story was put on ice when the axe began making promises of wealth and power. He had heard tale of how cursed items did all they could to seduce their wielders into giving up their souls or their minds. Though it wasn’t to be said that Joey was the truest saint at heart, those ideas did seem to be worth it for a split second. After all few men wouldn’t jump at the chance to make sure he and his flock were secure whatever life threw at them. Or that he stood above all others and was looked upon with importance. It was a fantasy too good to be true, and that was exactly why Joey rolled his eyes at the weapon propped up on the remains of a tree. If it seemed too good to be true, it usually was but unlike those poor marks you’d hear about in the tavern, or from old children’s tales, Joesph already knew his lot in life and he was happy with that. Sure there were some lean winters, but that made life all that more enjoyable when you did manage to bring home the supper off the sweat of your own brow. The sun shined just a bit brighter, and the wind on your face felt that much more refreshing at the end of the day. And when you looked back on your life, you would know that whatever was with you at the end, that you brought there with your own two hands. Trade all that in for an easy pass at life, with a possible soul stealing demon waiting for him at the end of it all? Not a chance.

“That’s a mighty kind offer Heather, but I’ll just break this curse and be down with all this beggin your pardon.” He said shaking his head and standing up to stretch himself out, no reason to get a cramp this early on in the leg of the journey. “I wager I’ll have enough stories to tell my young’in when this all said and done anyhow.” He didn’t get mad at the weapon; it was just in its nature to tempt things being possessed cursed weapon and all. No, he was upset with the sorry soul that did it to the poor thing. Wasn’t right bringing that much evil into the world and then just living it about where it could mess up someone else’s life. Even if it was kin that did it, that was no excuse.

“Tell you what though; when this is all said and done I’ll make sure you’re looked after.” He couldn’t let the axe go around temping people with its dark ways, but that didn’t mean he had to let it go rotting away in the dark. He wasn’t a bleeding heart by any means, but he did believe that everything deserved a second chance, and if given a chance one they would choose the more righteous path. “Still though, we best be pushing off. Now where did you say we needed to go?” He asked finishing his stretches and grasping the handle of the weapon and slinging the thing over his shoulder to have it hook on the harness. The harness itself was a godsend, he wasn’t sure how he would have fared lugging the brute of a weapon around without something to secure it with. Though how he was going to head into respectable places with it was still a mystery he was attempting to figure out. Until then, he felt like following the river was the way to go, and started to do so, heading northwards until there the axe corrected him.

[lilpuppy91]

Devourer's singular eye slowly closed and then reopened in what would have been more obviously a disbelieving, blinking stupor if she had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Instead, the slowly blinking eye conveyed very little emotion, which was generally to her advantage. How... she had just thrown down a great pitch. Sure, she had just woken up an hour ago, so maybe she was a little rusty, and perhaps the kids nowadays had changed from their fathers fathers fathers, but... what sort of man would be promised fame, fortune, and security, and instead choose to simply... not accept the offer? All he really wanted was to get rid of her, even after finding out how powerful she was? She was a talking axe with a moving eye! For all he knew, she could make good on her promises and much, much more, and yet he decided all he wanted from her were some entertaining stories to give to his pathetic squirming child once his pathetic wench of a wife allowed it to slither out of her belly? For the briefest of moments, rage began to fill her from her blade to her handle, so hot that she was sure if the farmer had been gripping her, he would have dropped her and cried out in pain. How dare this insolent brat defy and deny her? She who had been promised much and failed by his ancestors? It was his responsibility to give to her what was promised. After a few moments however, her rage subsided, and she took a moment to consider what had just occurred.

Before turning her down, there had been the briefest of pauses. Had he been looking favorably upon her offer, even for just a second? Perhaps he wasn't the easiest of sales, but perhaps that didn't mean he would not eventually decide to buy. She must be patient, as all weapons should, for he might be her one and only hope. "Very well, child." she crooned pleasantly as the farmer approached her and picked her up, hefting her up into his back strap. Her eye scanned the forest with interest as they began to walk aimlessly. She had promised the poor lad that there was another relative she could be passed off to. She had promised him that she could sense this imaginary relative's blood, and that she would lead him to this relative so that he could be rid of her. Lies, lies, and more lies, but for the time being, until she had corrupted him well enough to reveal her true nature, she would have to keep up the ruse. "Oh yes, this is the way. I can feel us growing closer already, although they are a very... very long way off. Since we're going to be traveling with one another on the road for a while, I suppose we should have a talk about how we shall fund our adventure, should the journey be longer than a few days. How do you feel about... say... delving into dungeons? Or maybe helping townspeople out with bandits or orcs terrorizing their town?" she asked cheerily, knowing full well that these things would not be objectionable to a law abiding, kind citizen.

She didn't mention murdering people in cold blood, stealing from their still warm corpses and their homes, burning down entire villages, or ambushing peddlers on the roads. They'd clearly have to work up to those sorts of activities. She paused slightly in surprise, her eye swiveling to the right as she took stock of a green, burly looking fellow walking slowly through the woods towards them, holding a malicious looking hammer in his hands. "Wait! Look there! Is that an orc I see? So close to the town where your wife is! Quickly, draw me and face this creature, for the good of your village!" she piped up heroically, not yet sure what the approaching fellow was. It seemed doubtless it was an orc, given that orcs rarely wandered alone with their heads down, but it didn't matter. She wanted him to spill blood. The more he spilled it, the easier it would become.