Login | Register


All times are UTC - 5 hours [ DST ]


It is currently Sat Oct 20, 2018 10:39 pm




Forum locked This topic is locked, you cannot edit posts or make further replies.  [ 2 posts ] 
Author Message
PostPosted: Sun Aug 26, 2007 9:12 pm 
WoC Architect
WoC Architect
User avatar

Joined: Sun Aug 19, 2007 1:10 pm
Posts: 1464
Location: Vancouver BC
GSID: Waterjules
Name of Main PC: Laurel Dy'ness
The Reaper

The shopkeeper smiled happily, eagerly excepting the 50 gold pieces before grabbing the tool that tilted lazily against the wooden shop's wall. The shopkeeper easily handed it over to the purchaser, who proceeded to look the tool over. Long straight shaft, sharp clean blade--a sturdy scythe if he ever saw one. The farmer was pleased with his purchase.

Years pass, and the blade has seen its fair share of wheat stalks. Occasionally the tool is even used to fend off a renegade goblin or two. Still the blade shines as though new. Never once is it left to rust in the rain, nor corrode due to being left dirty and used. A sower is only as good as the tools he uses, the farmer thinks. Enough only to survive, the 50 gold piece purchase needs to last.

The times are good and the crops flourish. The farmer takes a bride and continues to prosper. They now grow enough to sell and 50 gold pieces seems a bargain indeed. Yet the farmer does not discard his tool for a more expensive purchase. No, the shaft is still straight, the blade is still sharp--a sturdy scythe if he ever saw one. The farmer's wife calls him sentimental.

He returns from the city earlier than expected with an empty wagon. The harvest sold well. Thoughts of a loving wife waiting spur the farmer to go faster and faster. A mistake. Sounds of love already hang in the air as the farmer arrives at his home. Thick warm smells assail the farmer's scent. A snap, and it all seems a blur.

The scythe feels comfortable in his hands. The sheets that the wife and secret lover use to cover their shame are little protection against the sharp blade. Blood now covers the tool. The crimson fluid drips from the pointed edge of the farmer's scythe and forms a thick pool at his feet.

Maniacal laughter erupts throughout the night air and a roar of flames engulf the treacherous farmhouse and surrounding fields. A new man is born out of scorn, flame, and murder. Only a 50 gold piece purchase connects the farmer to the man he once was...to the life he once lived.

Now he is surrounded by what seems like an impenetrable darkness. The farmer is now called soldier and he finds himself in the company of unimaginable evil--Kindred evil. His loose fitting tunics have been replaced by tightly restrictive armor of inescapable black. Yet one thing remains constant. One thing continues to remind him of a vengeance that can never be quenched. The scythe feels comfortable in his hands.

Everyone is punished for a wife's infidelity. The soldier looks deeply into their glassy eyes and is reminded. Freshly carved notches join the original two along the tool of exacting vengeance, evil, misery, and fear. As more lives are taken, the number of notches continue to grow. Not so different than wheat, the soldier thinks.

The metal of shield and armor strain the tool. The shaft finally snaps. The soldier roars in rage and promises the broken scythe that many will suffer because of its pain. But, the blade is salvaged. The smithies of the black clad army that the soldier belongs to fit the many-notched heart into a new reinforced body. Long straight shaft, sharp notched blade--a sturdy scythe if he ever saw one.

The scenery changes. Black forests are replaced by never ending dunes of sand. Cascading rain is replaced by howling wind. The armor of inescapable dark is now the color of the dunes the soldier survives in and the sun that assaults him. Yet one thing remains constant. One thing continues to remind him of a vengeance that can never be quenched. The scythe feels comfortable in his hands.

The soldier is now an officer. Scythe tightly in hand, the officer teaches and trains, drills and kills. Many soldiers rise and grow due to his cultivation and many others die and rot due to his wrath. Not so different than wheat, the officer thinks.

A sandstorm assaults the officer's army. Few are left in its wake. A pillar is needed or else those few will be none. The officer takes strength from his tool of evil, vengeance, misery, and fear, and the surviving few take strength from him. The officer is now called commander. Scythe thrust deeply into the sky, the commander continues the fight of his predecessors...the fight against the infidelity of a wife...the fight to quench an insatiable vengeance.

The commander finds himself surrounded by strength. The temple is called the Heart of the Sandstorm and the walls whisper to the commander, rejuvenating him. He kneels before a throne...he knows without doubt whose seat it is. The commander's place on his knees in this place is not unfamiliar. The many-notched scythe is placed reverently before him and the commander prays to the owner of the throne--He prays to Melivar.

The commander is rewarded. The owner of the throne appears and slowly walks toward the kneeling form. The scythe is lifted from the ground before the commander and wielded by evil incarnate. The commander watches awestruck as evil, fear, misery, and vengeance look over and appraise the tool much like he did so long ago. Wicked laughter echoes across the walls and the many-notched heart of the scythe explodes into flame.

The pillars of the Sandstorm Lord emanate from the tool--The power is indescribable. It deserves a name, but one cannot be conceived by the commander to capture the magnificence of the creation. The commander reflects on the sojourn he has traveled with his tool, thinking a proper title will be revealed by his memories. He is instead struck by a frivolous, yet momentous revelation. He realizes that the farmer, soldier, officer, and commander have all been the same man. He realizes that he has been a tool of the weapon just as much as it has been a tool of him. He realizes that he and the scythe are but two descriptions for the same entity. It is only then that the name becomes clear to the man. The scythe's name is Luindil Dy'ness...the scythe's name is The Reaper.

_________________
Teehee(c) Laurelicious Inc.
Image
Bringer of Shiny since 2002
My Blog


Top
 Offline Profile  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri Jun 13, 2008 6:59 pm 
WoC Architect
WoC Architect
User avatar

Joined: Sun Aug 19, 2007 1:10 pm
Posts: 1464
Location: Vancouver BC
GSID: Waterjules
Name of Main PC: Laurel Dy'ness
Guilds of Caenyr and their Deeds:


The Dread Talon
Famous Keepers of Zenegral
History of the Horde
Isaac’s Lament
Itheril-Keeper Wars
History of the Keepers of Zenegral
The King’s Royal Lancers
Leaders of the Arcanum - A History
The Link of the Black Hand
The Midnight Company
Order of the Celestial Sword
The Pasillo Magnus
The Reaper: Blessed Scythe of Luindil Dy'ness
The Recorded History of the Disciples of the Jade Dragon
History of the Righteous
The Sacred Cloak of Zenegral
The Search for the Heir
Sever:Legendary Blade of the Horde
Tale of Ascension
Tales of the Thieves of the Torn Shadows

_________________
Teehee(c) Laurelicious Inc.
Image
Bringer of Shiny since 2002
My Blog


Top
 Offline Profile  
 
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Forum locked This topic is locked, you cannot edit posts or make further replies.  [ 2 posts ] 

All times are UTC - 5 hours [ DST ]


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest


You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  
cron