|
CyAdora
|
 |
« on: January 18, 2011, 01:42:40 AM » |
|
Honorable Mention:
Shartak: The Warlord's Sword
By Jace Daskull
“In the long history of the Royal Court of Raktam...” The Historian paused, touching his lower lip with the quill he held. “...There have been many objects and artifacts ascribed mythical, magical, and religious powers, from the tales of Chakram's healing bricks and mortar to the rumors that the coast of Babuwabia's sand holds the ability to see from the Mountain to Rakmogak. Some are interestingly plausible- Like the mushrooms in the Mountain's holy caves that can, by word of mouth, relinquish a man or woman of their senses and drive them to heated passions of rage or lust. Other, much less so, with their abilities often being ridiculous and impossible, such as the Spear of York, a rumored weapon that causes wings to burst from your back.
“I have often heard of these many fabled items, in my long travels learning the stories of men and women throughout Shartak, and must confess to having often taken part in hunts to find them. Though the caves we scoured held naught but rats and spiders, still the stories persisted. 'We did not search hard enough', they would say, 'if only we had gone a bit further...' Even if there had been no further to go. As such, you may believe this tale baseless superstition and drunken raving.
“But I tell you now and here, for all to read, that some of these tales are true. One such is the Sword of the Warlord.
“When the great Queen and Mother Blue Hummingbird was struck down, her body is said to have either been spirited away by the Skygods or placed in her marble tomb- I have not checked either way, so I suppose I am in no position to comment on that. But it is also said that her weapon, an ornate and fantastically adorned machete, remained after her death, still possessing the marvelous power that had in life.
“This weapon was passed from hand to hand, in secret, by the kings and queens to follow, each one presenting it to their greatest warrior or strategist: The Warlord of Raktam. In their hands, it became a snake, a tiger, ripping apart their foes with ease. And the thicker the jungle became, the stronger it was.
“For years, this tradition continued, unbroken by the changes in leadership or politics. After all, every noble of the Court has owed it to Blue Hummingbird for their position- If it is her will to pass the sword on, it shall be passed on. Stories all over tell of famed warriors wielding this blade in the wars against the Outsiders, the Cannibals, all kinds.
“But then... Then it vanished, like all good magical artifacts. It's not clear who the last warlord to possess it was, nor what happened to them; All that is known is that it is no longer here. Perhaps it is lost in the caverns, nestled in the belly or treasure hoard of some beast that the Sky Gods placed and, perhaps, time forgot, or stolen by the Outsiders as a simple curiousity. Maybe it even remains in the hands of a hermit, or a traveler, dormant for now yet still waiting for the time that blood must once again be spilled on Raktam soil...”
The Historian of the Court put down his pen, looking at the parchment with an air of disappointment. Not spectacular, no... But well enough for the time he'd had. He looked up as a priest of the Skygods glared over at him from the altar where they had been preparing a ritual, and the Historian shrugged. They didn't approve of his use of their temple for writing, no matter that he placed himself under Lai'iro the Muse's symbols. Truly, as a warrior, even a former one, who had slain, he ought not enter the temple when the monks were preparing their rituals. It simply wasn't proper. But he'd never found that sort of thing a problem, and he could simply scare them off if they began to be a distraction.
As he stood, something fell from his belt and clattered to the floor, and the Historian bent his head to see.
A thick-bladed heavy weapon, long dulled from use and its blade stained a greenish black from soot and sap, had dropped from his belt. It was simply adorned, with a treated wood hilt wrapped in leather and a blade of shaped iron. He picked it up, annoyed that now of all times his makeshift scabbard of hide had chosen to snap, and began to leave.
The once-Warlord, current-Historian left the temple, carrying the parchment in one hand and his old sword in the other.
Honorable Mention:KingBiscuit (see first post in this thread)
|
