The Blade of Balance (Heartlesskitten)

[MellowYellow]

Some days were better than other in the hamlet of Ale's Gate, a peasant village in the eastern edge of the Calur Provence. Most income came from farming, though there was one decent mine open, it's coal deposits helping keep the ramshackle town with it's dirt roads and thatched cottages from being a total sore on the surface of the world. Weather was usually decent, though the muddy roads became impossible to move on whensoever the rainy season rolled about. Few strangers ever visited, and the only ones who left were traders going to peddle their wares. Nobody of any great importance had ever come from Ale's Gate.

Eala had just been another face in the town, a peasant boy to a simple farming couple. Being of some decent handsomeness was to be his only claim to fame it seemed. And now, at only sixteen he knew that same claim was on a finite limit.

This day had started much like any other, with the dark-haired young man roaming the fields and shooing off any stray animals. Nothing major, just some rabbits wandering in, with the potential to spoil the earth with their digging. Eala had chased them off of course, brandishing a dirt-encrusted hoe as a weapon, and he was all set to walk back from the green grass back toward the what patch when he heard something, a soft tone carried ont he wind.

'Eala...'

A strange voice one he had never heard before. On some strange level he briefly thought the voice was coming from... inside his head. All the same he was bored and curious, as peasant farm boys were known to be, and seemed to walk in the general direction of the hushed whispers.

Closer he went, and louder the beckoning voice became. Soon the dark-haired teen found himself standing outside the mouth of some kind of cave, hewn into the face of a rolling green hill. A strange wind blew from within, rattling the tattered brown fabric of his pants and the stained white of his vest. Had that cave always been there? "This is really weird..." he managed to murmur, reaching up and stroking lightly at the barely-visible stubble of his jaw. But hell, this was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him. Probably the most interesting thing to happen to all of Ale's Gate since Lord Ale gave the town it's name two centuries ago. Eala braved inside.

The interior was dark and dirty, reeking with all the scents of the earth he had grown used to from living on the farm. Deeper in he went all the same, while mud dirtied up the soles of his feet. There it stood, in the center of the modest cave carved into the hillside, a shashka blade in a black and green snake-scaled scabbard danging on a rope from the roof. The voice calling to him grew louder and Eala continued his approach.

It held a name deeply foreboding, a name that appeared countlessly throughout history in a myriad of ways. The Sunder. By all accounts the Shashka had existed in the earliest records of history and had changed hands at least a hundred times. It's appearance always heralded great change, sometimes good and sometimes bad, usually choosing who was worthy to wield it. The capacity for 'worthiness' changed on a dime it seemed. But one thing remained certain, the immensely powerful magic blade, known to disappear and reappear at it's leisure, was that the one who held it had a grand destiny ahead.

Eala, a mere peasant, had no knowledge of any of this of course. All he saw was a cool sword.

So without thinking he just reached up and grabbed the scabbard, suddenly flooded with a rainbow light of intense titanic magic that flowed abruptly into his body, his muscles bulking a bit while the ground rumbled beneath his feet. In that instant a great surge of magic had blossomed out of the previously unremarkable Ale's Gate, like a signal flare shooting out to any and all mystically attuned to catch onto.

The surge simmered away, and Eala was left clutching the strange sleek sword in his hand while steam eased off him. "Neat..."

 

[heartlesskitten]

The stone manse sat high on an outcropping of mountain overlooking a desolate valley with a thin silver stream running through it. No sheep grazed nor farmers plowed, it was rocky and only the hardiest of creatures and flora made their home there. A tumble of boulders with scorch marks on them lay at the bottom of the path that was filled with uneven gravel, the results of frost splitting stone over and over. A pebble skittered down the steep slope, kicked over by a ground squirrel scurrying to get under cover as the black shadow passed over it. The hawk hovered briefly before diving down to snatch the small critter, leaving nothing but a speckle of blood and a few bits of fur. The bird killed the squirrel quickly with it's sharp talons and flew back towards the cliff.

Cyleria sat up in bed, her luxurious fur blanket thrown back, the glossy black of the bear hide folding over and slithering to the ground. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, something had woken her. A distant cry or scream, something in a dream or not she was not sure. Her dark brown hair was tousled from sleep and she groaned at the sunshine streaming through the window. It was already mid morning, she had been up late again practicing with a particularly difficult conjuring spell until she was too worn out to concentrate. Firing off a few balls of flame down the cliff in frustration, she finally crawled into her large empty bed.

Her hawk had returned with it's breakfast and she noted it sitting on the balcony, tearing at some small mammal. She stood up and padded on bare feet, the cold marble floor making her curl her toes slightly. Wondering if it was Cinder's scream that had woken her, she made her way onto the open space that overlooked the valley that served as her practice grounds. Cyleria stood still and closed her bright green eyes, listening as she felt an internal tugging. Something had happened, she was sure of it and it was nothing as mundane as a cry of a bird. The wind tugged at the thin linen gown that hugged her slender frame, her nipples hardening in the cold. She ignored the discomfort, elements were something she could control as well as her reaction to them.

The sorceress concentrated and it soon came to her that the sensation was one of a power awakening, a deep and turbulent sensation filled her, as if standing in a strong flowing stream as the water pushed against her. The power was old and one not seen in the world in a few generations. An image formed in her mind, of a dark hole and a glowing light, tendrils of black shadow twisting among the long green blades of grass. Something that could tear apart the seams of flesh or magic. Cyleria took a sharp breath, she was unsure of what exactly it was but it was dangerous and filled with magic. Something that needed to be in her hands and not some idiot that could not wield it and might lose control.

"Pebbles!" she called out, turning swiftly and walking back to her bedroom to wash and change. She could hear the thunking of her servant and the stone creature poked his head around the door. She called it a he but he did not have genitals and only it's gravelly voice and hulking body gave it the appearance of being male. The golem was man sized but large, made up of stones and brought to life by a conjuring spell. Cyleria could have easily resurrected some poor dead bastard but she never liked the idea of necromancy, it was too smelly and rather in poor taste. If someone was dead, just let them be. So she had made Pebbles to assist her. Imperfect as he was, she was proud of her creation.

"Mistress?" he gargled, his stone face carved to look human but the features indistinct, his eyes narrow and black with a spark of red within them that indicated his life.

"Get the horses ready," she said, packing a bag with some of her magic items. "We need to leave as soon as possible."

"A trip! I like trips," he growled out, a tight expression on his face that might have been a smile, "Where we going?"

Cyleria paused then ran a hand through her long hair, searching for her comb, "I don't know yet, I'll figure it out but we'll be heading south. Tell the cook to pack enough food for two weeks."

Pebbles needed no food but she did and he lumbered off to do her bidding. The sorceress would need to move fast, whatever put out the ripple of awareness in the magicka of the world would not just be felt by her. Certainly it was going to be felt by other powerful mages and they would not ignore it's call. Cyleria dressed for riding, tight leather pants under a split skirt of shimmering blue silk. Over her bodice loose chainmail, draped over her front, affording her some protection in case of bandits. Though they would have to be mad to go against the infamous Cyleria of the White Mountain, legendary battle mage and councilor to kings. At least it was her reputation, in the last few years she had retreated to her manse and studied the other schools of magic after growing bored with impressing lords with ice spears and arrows made of fire.

Her hawk Cinder perched on the back of her horse, a bay stallion with a coat of reddish brown like dried blood and his silky black mane and tail flowed. Pebbles, for all his cumbersome ways, had a fine touch when it came to caring for horses. He did not ride but walked with a long heavy stride, untiring as he needed neither food nor rest. The other horse, a grey gelding who carried the packs was ready and she set out on the journey. Cinder spent most of the hours soaring high, bringing back whispers of movements and one word.

"Ale," the bird shrieked, "Ale! Ale!"

"She's thirsty!" Pebbles commented.

Cyleria frowned, her brow furrowing. The hawk did not drink ale but to the south there were towns with taverns, perhaps...

The sorceress snapped her fingers. Ale's Gate! The tiny hamlet to the south of her vale, it was a few days journey but she had seen it on the map before leaving her fortress. A slow smile crossed her face, the rubes must have unearthed something powerful. It would be an easy thing to snap up.

 

[MellowYellow]

Despite the legendary discovery, the next three days passed by Ale's Gate with the kind of sleepiness that so often pervaded the unremarkable town. Eala had wowed people with the display of his new blade, and inwardly he somehow knew to call it 'Sunder', letting them 'oooh' and 'aaaah' watching the light smoke and change colour whenever it touched the stainless material. They had also found that the shashka sword did not quite like anyone but the farmboy touching it, and whenever someone grew bold enough to grab any part of it they would fit the flesh of their palm burn more and more until they released it.

The sword was strange but Eala liked it, feeling as if it was something so... right. As if he was born to hold it.

The strangeness had grown from there in other ways. Whatever magic had imbued him effected his body in many ways. He found himself outrunning any of the hunting dogs of Ale's Gate, noted how he could lift almost thrice as much weight than he could before, and he seemed to almost never tire regardless of the work he did on the family farm. Nice little touches, and even if he wasn't carrying Sunder he found the physical buff never left him.

But again, despite all this, Ale's Gate was no different. He still worked the farm, chased off any wild animals that strayed near the crops, and on occasion he would visit the apothecary and stock up heartweed for the pipes or raeon powder for the hearth. The same traders came and went, the farmers maintained their crops, the weather stayed in that same static stage of autumnal sunniness. Just because a legendary artifact had been unearthed, didn't mean something wild was to unfurl.

That all changed one morning when one shabby boy and an equally shabby dog came running through the central road of town, crying out that a horse was coming, and that a monster of stone was marching with it. Aside from the recent appearance of the Sunder, Ale's Gate had little experience with magic. To them golems were just the stuff of fairytales, and even then they were creatures of patchwork flesh rather than men of repurposed rock.

Either way they boys cries of the incoming figures came as enough of a distraction to draw many from their work. Some hung in their doorways or leaned over their fences. Eala proceeded to sit upon the shabby fence surrounding his father's field, now resting the Sunder like a cane of sorts and tapping his fingers lightly along the hilt as he waited to see this 'monster' the shabby boy had spoken of.

"Two strange things in one week... flamin' spires below, this town actually has some life to it now," he mused aloud.

 

[heartlesskitten]

Ale’s Gate was not much to look at but the pull from whatever power was here grew stronger until Cyleria could feel it like a subtle vibration through her body. Eagerly, she put her heels to her horse, Pebbles picking up his shuffling stride to keep up they reached the village. As they walked through, ignoring the gawking yokels, she spotted a hunched figure, an elderly man with a grey beard and great bushy eyebrows. Hissing to herself, she recognized the wizard, a master of restoration magic. Hywel, the old goat, he must have felt the pull, too. She spotted a few other hooded figures, mages who were powerful in their schools of magic but none could match her in her variety of skills.

Cyleria closed her eyes and focused on the pull of the source of magic. It was not in town and she quickly changed direction and put her heels to her horse, cantering out of the village towards the farmland. The surge was felt as she approached a young man sitting atop a fence and she tilted her head, examining him with a critical eye. He was a dark haired handsome youth, dressed as any farmer’s son would be but for one difference. He had a rather ornate black and green scabbard and the handle of the sword seemed to glow in her eyes. Licking her lips she took a sharp breath, this was it. The sword was the source of the magic. Resisting the urge to shout in triumph, she trotted her bay horse towards the boy and pulled up in front of him. Pebbles shifted on his stoney feet and Cinder screeched, fluttering her reddish brown wings as she perched on the rock golem’s head.

Sitting straight in her blue-green silk gown with the chain mail bodice, her long dark hair pulled back in an intricate braid, Cyleria made an impressive sight. She ignored all the curious onlookers and those that had followed her at a distance out of curiosity. Her sharp green eyes met his and her elegantly sculpted face devoid of emotion she reached out her hand and curled her fingers.

“The sword, boy,” she ordered, looking at him intently, “Give it to me.”

See more

 

[MellowYellow]

Most women in Ale's Gate were either malnourished, overweight, toothless or some combination thereof. So naturally when a young woman of such well-bred beauty approached, riding on a horse that seemed equally well-bred and well fed, coming from a spectacular genetic lineage, Eala couldn't help but take some notice. Her eyes met his, yet he didn't flinch away or show any apprehension. She was a stranger, and something about her resonated power, and yet he felt unnaturally confident.

"Can't," he answered simply. "It doesn't like you. And it burns anyone it doesn't like when they try to hold it," he said, speaking of the blade as if it was a sentient being in it's own right. To some extent it was, that much was just impossible to tell to those without intimate knowledge.

Gripping Sunder's hilt, Eala proceeded to raise it slightly in it's scabbard until the impossibly brilliant sterling was slightly visible, arcs of multicoloured lightning weaving around the sharpened surface for a few seconds before vanishing utterly. It radiated magic, so filled with a primordial force that it seemed to almost always expel random sparks of the power without any rhyme or reason to the motion,

Shrugging then he clapped it back into place with an audible click. "I mean I would if I could, but Sunder is just picky like that." Hopping off the fence he continued to stand up fully, and let his gaze meet hers in a manner that was either foolish or worryingly brave. Either he had no idea who she was, or he did and he didn't much mind. "So it's gonna have to stick with me for the time bein', until it decides to move on I guess. I'm Eala by the by."

 

[heartlesskitten]

Cyleria raised her eyebrows at his refusal but it was quickly forgotten as she watched the light dance along the blade as the boy pulled it enough to see what it was. A Shashka blade and a powerful one at that. One capable of changing the world and slaying the most powerful of foes. The Sunder. The words breathed through her body and she shivered slightly at the magic pulsing through the flawless steel. Then he put it away and the sorceress blinked, looking back up at his face. At his words, she tilted her head, smiling slowly and then licked her lips slightly. The woman dismounted her horse, the beast backing up as she spread her arms out to look up at Eala and the rest of the gathering crowds. She was a petite woman but power and strength emanated from her slender form.

"Eala...I am Cyleria of the White Mountain," she said in her rather throaty, feminine voice. "Bringer of storms, wielder of fire and ice. I can bring stone to life and hear the words of animals. I am magic made flesh. Do you think these hands would be burned by that blade?"

Her turquoise eyes alight, she raised her small hands and fire licked along her slim fingers. A white hot blaze that glowed green before turning yellow and orange rose from her palms until the twin pillars of fire twisted together and formed a long thin spear of flame. She twitched her fingers and they shrunk back down and formed two balls for crackling fire and she turned, giving her wrists a flick and both fireballs shot out and exploded a large old tree into splinters as the branches turned to ash in the fierce heat. Turning back to the peasant boy, she smirked a little, "Let me hold the Sunder and we shall see who it picks, young Eala."

 

[MellowYellow]

Eala watched as she dismounted and gave her name. 'Cyleria of the White Mountain, bringer of storms, wielder of fire and ice.' These royal types with all their fancy titles... Eala hoped he wasn't expected to say the full thing each time. that would just grow far too cumbersome... if she was a noblewoman then she was perhaps the first he had ever seen in his life. Even Lord Ironhorn, the man who owned the land that stretched from Ale's Gate to Sacred Stone, never ventured out this way... as to where White Mountain was supposed to be, Eala didn't even know what to think.

However when she showcased her magic he knew well enough to be impressed, eyes widening a touch as a spear of flame morphed into being as if forged from thin air. Nobles never passed by here, so of course magic was just as rare a thing to even remotely imagine.

And then at last she, all cockiness and smiles, seemed to think Sunder would just leap to her hand. He supposed it made sense to try it out, so he merely shrugged his shoulders and rammed the blade, scabbard and all, down to the earth with his newfound superhuman might. The peak pierced into the mud and tug in at least five inches, leaving much of the shashka on offer for a hand to grab at.

Already however it seemed to rattle once Eala's hand pulled back, protesting having it's rightful owner pulled away with it. While it was an enchanted sword, old as the first kingdom, it could be remarkably petulant and almost childish. The magic already seemed to flourish and build, the hilt glowing almost with a burning hot intensity as if trying to ward off someone else from snatching at it. "Give it a try if you want... dunno why she likes me, but she does," he said.

 

[heartlesskitten]

Cyleria had a blank expression when he jabbed the sword into the ground as was still in it's scabbard. Her eyes flickered with interest, it would take immense strength to do that, something more akin to Pebbles than a simple peasant, even a strapping farmer's lad. The Sunder shimmered and shuddered as it was separated from the boy and the sorceress glanced at him when he spoke. Indeed, perhaps the sword had made a choice who found it but the power was something that would be very dangerous in the wrong hands. How long could Eala hold onto it before some dark mage or some powerful noble demanded it for himself? Some called her a dark mage but she would disagree, her skill in destruction magic perhaps soured her reputation as she was hired by lords and kings for their wars.

The woman lifted her hand, concentrating on the sword that jiggled against it's binding and reached for the grip. Power and pain seared through her palm and up her arm. Cyleria grit her teeth at the scorching sensation but it was nothing she could not handle. Dragon's fire was much worse, she told herself but the pulsing through her arm frightened her though not enough for her to let go. Drawing the blade, the steel darkening in her grip as if turning it's face away to hide the rainbow light it had danced with when in Eala's grasp. Her eyes widened with fascination as she held the sword, running her free hand against the keen metal and feeling the spark of life as it almost seemed to twitch away from her touch. She closed her eyes as if listening and she could hear the faint breath and words that sang out in longing for it's rightful master. Eala. The sword beckoned and demanded the boy. Fluttering her eyes open, she peered at the dark haired lad.

See more

The Sunder did not want her and she was a little put off by that. Why would a powerful ancient magical blade want some dirty fingernailed farmer's son and not to belong to a sorceress such as Cyleria of the White Mountain? She felt the pull though and her hand was on fire as she kept hold of it. Finally, she had to admit to herself she could not wield the Shashka blade and she lay it level in her hands. The agony throbbed through her right arm now and she held the sword out for Eala, her face blank but for the brightness of her eyes as she met Eala's gaze.

"So Sunder has chosen," Cyleria said, her voice stiff as she tried to mask the pain and handed the sword back to him.

See more

 

[MellowYellow]

"Guess so. But she let you hold on longer than anyone else," came the casual response. Still his face showed tht he was impressed and graciously took the shashka back. She was a woman of her word, and that was enough to please him. Outsiders were not treated fondly by most small towners, seen as liars and opportunistic individuals always seeking a way to take advantage of the 'bumpkins' they looked down on.

Eala took the blade and it seemed to calm down in his hands. For whatever reason it saw something in him beneath that dirt and grime... but perhaps that was to be expected. Many of the wielders, though not all, had come from less than humble backgrounds. But once they became a ruler in some regard they worked hard to act as if they had been born into the power and prestige. All lies, utter dross.

"You seem to know an awful lot about these kind of things... guess it comes with the whole magic-user thing." Moving quickly he clasped it back in the snakeskin scabbard and pulled the whole thing back out from the punctured earth. In time that hole would fill, as if the mark had never been there.

The time would come. Nothing was permanent.

Eala hummed and proceeded to clip the sword to his belt once again. "Must be something pretty big if it made you come on out this way. I mean, all I know about this thing is it's name and that it likes me... for whatever reason." It was perhaps about that time for the Sunder to reappear. The kingdom was a remnant almost, set to crumble under the encroachment coming from the northeastern Shadelands. Lich, name unknown to the smallfolk, and an army of horrors from the black catechism were set to come down and ravish all that was left. It was a time that did not call for the average man...

"Think you could teach me a bit about it? Your guess is as good as mine as to why it wants me holding it."