Prelude
A dark figure moves through the black Forest of the Grigum in lower Lilunmel. His cloak was as onyx as midnight, and he made no sound as he moved. Not even nearby deer noticed his passing. He could have easily made them into an easy kill, if he had a mind to, but he was a man with a mission. A mission that could alter the fate of this world and many others......
Laughing erupted from a crude building on the edge of the Purple Elven Wood. Inside the bar patrons fell all over the place. While most of the drunken bar flies were hardy trolls or knomes, there were quite a few (ballsy) humans and even a couple particularly mean Angili, who were joining in the friendly brawling as well. In fact the only person in the shoddy establishment (well, excluding the bartender) who was not rioting was a shadow bathed individual who sat motionless in the corner.
A few of the wasted humans noticed this fact, and went to correct the problem. “Hey! Hey, you!!” Slurred a ugly greasy man as he stumbled over, followed (sorta) by three of his companions. “Whats ya doin jus sittin dere, eh?” He leaned on the table in front of the stranger, “Are ya sum sorta coward, huh?”
The darkened person looked up at the plastered human, and lifted back the hood of his hunter-green cape, revealing his features.
The oily human fell back in shock. “You-you-re a Half-Elf!?!” The Half-Elf smirked showing his fangs. His yellow cat-like eyes glinted at the shock of the drunkard, and he pushed his stringy blond hair behind his pointed ears. Yet, he still said nothing. The grizzly-bear of a man jumped up and pointed at the silent creature. “We don’t let no stinking half-elves in our bar!” He shouted, rallying his comrades behind him. The half-human looked up at his would-be attackers with unabridged amusement. The small band probably assumed that his youth, size and lack of companions made him and easy target. How wrong they are...
At least one of the humans realized this error. He looked at the sheath strapped to the younger man’s side. It’s size was incredible, hinting at unusual hidden strength needed to even lift a sword that size, let alone effectively use it in combat. But this was not what caught the man’s attention.
The dark sheath was made of fine leather, and was artfully accented by a handful of jewels, silver plating, and drops of gold, suggesting that sword inside was a well-taken care of work of art, not to be owned by a novice swordsman. But this did not catch his eye either.
What vexed the man so was that tip of sheath was bathed in a dark red liquid. A drop dripped casually to waiting puddle on the floor. The observant man’s eyes grew wide. “You’re Jawn the Bloodsword!!” He turned an unearthly shade of pale.
The self-appointed “leader” of the group of humans registered this with shock. He tensed up to run, but at that exact moment, the half-elf struck.
In a lightening fast, liquid motion, he drew his sword and the human, who was very attached to his head just moments before, suddenly was not. When the swordsman finished this motion, his sword was in it’s sheath and stood firm, his back to the former drinker. The entire grimy establishment quieted. All eyes stood transfixed on the legendary sword made of the mysterious green metal. A nasty orange haired troll dropped his drink and ran from the door. Knomes whispered from the corner, saying something about killing an entire regional government with that sword. All the creatures present were transfixed on the seemly small holder of the Sword. Well, all but one. The bartender raised his eyebrow, but continued drying the glass in his hand. “You can move along now... We don’t enjoy having decapitated humans laying around.”
The half-elf curtly nodded, and walked out the door.
The blond wearily fell back into his rented room. He started to remove his cloak, when he noticed something in the darkness. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Relax,” a voice from the corner commanded. “I’m not here to fight.” He stepped into the light. He was wrapped in a cape of liquid night, had a stiff regal attitude, a head full of impossibly white hair, and a voice best likened to black silk.
The younger man said nothing, but didn’t show any immediate intent on aggression, which could be taken as a warm welcome given his usual attitude and reputation.
“Jawn the Bloodsword, I am here to charge you with a mission,” the intruder continued, pulling a scroll from the depths of his cloak. “It may very well decide the fate of all of Chrystalina.”
The half-elf shifted, but didn’t really react to this.
The other man sorta smiled, amused at just how much he’d heard was true. “You are to go retrieve a girl. A temple Maiden actually. She is last remaining Blood Virgin.”
The swordsman jumped a little. He hesitated, furrowed his delicate brow, and looked as though he was carefully choosing a response. “Why should I do this for you?” He said in a forced, even tone.
The old man nodded. “Fair question. You _should_ do it because she is the only one who can defeat Rakudo’s main general in Lower Lilunmel, Basfa.”
“Rakudo’s forces are here?” A frown spread over his pale face.
“Yes. It seems he is directing a lot of resources to take this world,” he took a step toward the younger half-elf, who turned and stared straight into the wizened man’s eyes.
“You still haven’t given me a good reason why I should help you,” this time aggression crept into the iron voice.
The interloper sighed. “Very well, of the Counsel of Twelve, eight have had visions where they were told you were vital to the success of this mission, myself included.” A amused grin spread across old lips.
“You are one of the Counsel of Twelve?” This time the voice showed emotion, but it was a murky bit of feeling, betraying no particular emotion, but all of them at once. He turned away.
“Yes. My name is Macimun,” he bowed gracefully. Jawn said nothing. “You see, the Maiden, her name is Uta, was kidnapped by Xama more than a decade ago, so while Rakudo’s forces were hunting down all the other Blood Virgins and killing or corrupting them, Xama kept her safe. But, as you can probably imagine, he does not want to release Uta, mostly because he considers her a charm of good fortune,” he frowned, deep lines crossing his weathered face.
“Eight of us have had the same exact vision! A vision where it was made perfectly clear that you and you alone, could not only rescue her, but train her as well,” his countenance had a strange indescribable look, “If THREE of us have the same vision it considered absolute, so when EIGHT of us shared this, we knew there was no other way.”
“Still,” Jawn said harshly,” Why should I care?”
Macimun considered this before answering, “I won’t insult you by suggesting money, but I suppose The Counsel could talk to Asha about removing the bounty on your head.”
“I’m supposed to risk my life by crossing Xama for a “try to” “maybe” getting the bounty removed?” He smirked, “No thank you.”
Macimun stared. “If Rakudo’s Army takes Lower Lilunmel, you have as much to loose as anyone,” he smiled slightly, “Besides, the word of eight Counsel Members will be more than enough to convince Asha.”
Jawn looked at the bare contents of the room, the rough table, the crude bed, the dirty wash basin. Not exactly luxury, but he had his freedom. In taking Macimun’s offer, he was ensuring his freedom in two ways. “All I have to do is get this girl and prepare her for battle with Basfa?” He turned to the old wizard, “After that I have no obligation to you?”
“Yes.”
The infamous and widely feared Jawn the Bloodsword let out a long breathe.
“I’ll do it.”