06-03-2014, 12:03 AM
“Those poor monks, having to exile themselves to leave. I’ll likely never find someone of their skill for quite some time- Oompf!”
Paige was thrown out of her thought process by something big and metal. Her shoulder took the brunt of the blow as she collided with Satsume. Paige was nearly knocked to the ground, but she managed to keep her feet on the ground. The hood was knocked off her head, revealing her bright red hair and surprised face. Her green eyes gazed at the man responsible for the run-in. At first glance, they shared the same hair and eyes, though that was where similarities ended. Satsume was huge with the set of armor he adorned, though his height gave the impression that he didn’t need armor to look impressive. He wore the outfit of a soldier, but not one of Pherae. Was it Ostian armor? Was she in trouble? Several other villagers thought the same, wondering if the girl was about to be hauled off.
Paige’s concern faded at Satsume’s question. Hardly anyone talked like that anymore, certainly not a high-ranking soldier. Most everyone would have continued walking away; on occasion one might say “watch where you’re going”. Rather, he seemed embarrassed; this definitely wasn’t an Ostian soldier. Paige decided to set his mind at ease with a smirk.
“Seems like that armor is hiding something soft,” Paige joked, massaging her shoulder as she walked away. The young woman walked backwards, looking back at Satsume.
“Nice bumping into you! Try a bit softer next time!” Paige flashed a smile as she put the hood over her head, turned around, and went on her way. That exchange was likely the most lively the village had been in quite some time.
At least until someone decided to make a scene at the town square just across the street from the abandoned school.
“Fellow Lycians! Lend me your ears! For I have a tale long forgotten, one lost by your oppressive rulers who would dare call themselves your masters!”
Such boisterous claims attracted the attention of several dozen villagers, eager to see some excitement for once. Even Paige took a detour from her destination to see what was happening. What she saw was a scrawny man of spiked brown hair and red leather vest standing on top of a large box. Surrounding him were a dozen larger men. Judging by their looks, they were mountain men, the kind that often razed villages on nightly raids. All were armed with swords and axes; what interest did they have in storytelling?
“Legend once told of a Sacaen swordsman who wielded a legendary blade and carved his way into Lycia to claim his rightful throne! This is the story of Glass!”
The man stepped off his self-made pedestal to reveal a bust that oddly looked like him. The statue was of some decent quality, made appropriately enough of glass. This elicited murmurs from the audience and one question.
“Who?”
“Bah, too long have you been bombarded with lies! Glass was feared by the gods, for they knew he was destined for greatness! Glass started as an orphan, unaware that he was next in line to the throne of Ciaran! He was called to his destiny by his legendary blade. From that point on, he was widely known for conquering great brigand gangs, bands of assassins out for his head, and even the army of Ciaran itself. It culminated with a showdown with Marquess Ciaran, the man who orphaned him, his uncle Ludwig. But no political clout could save him: Glass beheaded him and took his rightful place at the throne.”
“Peace reigned under the rule of Glass, but it would not last. Glass sadly fell during the Bern invasion a hundred years ago. His allies betrayed him! His line left destitute and forgotten long after the Lycian victory. Until today that is! For I, Glass II, have emerged from the shadows in Lycia’s greatest hour of need! I have gathered my own band of heroes you see before you: Glass’s Garrison! We will grow in number and seize not just the land of Ciaran, but to free all of Lycia from this sickness it suffers! All I ask is for you to donate gold, your worldly possessions, and your strongest lads to our cause.”
And there it was. This man’s monologue was a simple veneer to hide what all bandits wanted: gold, trophies, and more men to make into bandits. Paige recognized several elements of his story that seemed like blatant ripoffs of famous stories. While she was well learned in such matters, were the rest of the villagers. Some might be swayed of Glass’s story, especially after his distaste for the new empire. Indeed, some of the brigands were circling around the crowd, gathering donations from unsuspecting people. Someone had to step up. That someone was her: Paige separated from the crowd, took off her hood, and confronted Glass.
“Well well,” Glass remarked at the sight of Paige, a wicked smile appearing on his face. “Care to offer yourself to the heir of Glass?”
“As if someone named after a material famed for its fragility could handle me,” Paige retorted with a sick burn. “In fact, I’m calling your whole story into doubt. It sounds oddly like that of the Lady Lyndis, her sword the Mani Katti, and her own quest to see her last family in Caelin.”
“Lyndis! Caelin! Those are made up, a plot to erase any trace of Ciaran, to erase any existence of Glass! A plot by those jealous of his fame and strength! Psh, as if a halfbreed woman could accomplish what Glass did.”
“A plot by who?” Paige inquired, trying to ignore the derogatory comment about one of Lycia’s great folk heroes.
“Why, the other marquesses of course! And the gods! And women! They always want some famed lady to look up to.”
“So let me see if I have this right. The marquess passed down a plot from generation to generation to erase your ancestor. They were of course aided by ‘the gods’ and…women everywhere…. Tell me, what of the eyewitness accounts? The tales from across Elibe of their exploits?”
Glass stood there in silence, staring the woman who defied him. He motioned for one of his henchmen to approach her from behind while he addressed Paige once more.
“I can see you need more convincing. Well, I do have proof. I have the blade passed down from my ancestor! Behold, the Kani Matti, the Sword of Souls!”
Glass unsheathed his blade, eliciting some initial awes from the crowd. Paige could not believe he said that name after just naming the Mani Katti moments before. This stunk of a scheme.
At first glance, the shiny katana looked formidable. A sharp eye might have caught the small grooves in the blade, the bubbles formed around the hilt, and a few slim black scratches. Paige did catch one of the scratches and suspected it was merely a silver coated iron sword.
“It’s blade was forged from dragon’s tears!”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Paige retorted. “Is anyone here familiar with smithing? Perhaps examine the validity of ‘dragon’s tears’.”
The henchman drew closer behind her, waiting for Glass’s signal to silence the dissenter.
Paige was thrown out of her thought process by something big and metal. Her shoulder took the brunt of the blow as she collided with Satsume. Paige was nearly knocked to the ground, but she managed to keep her feet on the ground. The hood was knocked off her head, revealing her bright red hair and surprised face. Her green eyes gazed at the man responsible for the run-in. At first glance, they shared the same hair and eyes, though that was where similarities ended. Satsume was huge with the set of armor he adorned, though his height gave the impression that he didn’t need armor to look impressive. He wore the outfit of a soldier, but not one of Pherae. Was it Ostian armor? Was she in trouble? Several other villagers thought the same, wondering if the girl was about to be hauled off.
Paige’s concern faded at Satsume’s question. Hardly anyone talked like that anymore, certainly not a high-ranking soldier. Most everyone would have continued walking away; on occasion one might say “watch where you’re going”. Rather, he seemed embarrassed; this definitely wasn’t an Ostian soldier. Paige decided to set his mind at ease with a smirk.
“Seems like that armor is hiding something soft,” Paige joked, massaging her shoulder as she walked away. The young woman walked backwards, looking back at Satsume.
“Nice bumping into you! Try a bit softer next time!” Paige flashed a smile as she put the hood over her head, turned around, and went on her way. That exchange was likely the most lively the village had been in quite some time.
At least until someone decided to make a scene at the town square just across the street from the abandoned school.
“Fellow Lycians! Lend me your ears! For I have a tale long forgotten, one lost by your oppressive rulers who would dare call themselves your masters!”
Such boisterous claims attracted the attention of several dozen villagers, eager to see some excitement for once. Even Paige took a detour from her destination to see what was happening. What she saw was a scrawny man of spiked brown hair and red leather vest standing on top of a large box. Surrounding him were a dozen larger men. Judging by their looks, they were mountain men, the kind that often razed villages on nightly raids. All were armed with swords and axes; what interest did they have in storytelling?
“Legend once told of a Sacaen swordsman who wielded a legendary blade and carved his way into Lycia to claim his rightful throne! This is the story of Glass!”
The man stepped off his self-made pedestal to reveal a bust that oddly looked like him. The statue was of some decent quality, made appropriately enough of glass. This elicited murmurs from the audience and one question.
“Who?”
“Bah, too long have you been bombarded with lies! Glass was feared by the gods, for they knew he was destined for greatness! Glass started as an orphan, unaware that he was next in line to the throne of Ciaran! He was called to his destiny by his legendary blade. From that point on, he was widely known for conquering great brigand gangs, bands of assassins out for his head, and even the army of Ciaran itself. It culminated with a showdown with Marquess Ciaran, the man who orphaned him, his uncle Ludwig. But no political clout could save him: Glass beheaded him and took his rightful place at the throne.”
“Peace reigned under the rule of Glass, but it would not last. Glass sadly fell during the Bern invasion a hundred years ago. His allies betrayed him! His line left destitute and forgotten long after the Lycian victory. Until today that is! For I, Glass II, have emerged from the shadows in Lycia’s greatest hour of need! I have gathered my own band of heroes you see before you: Glass’s Garrison! We will grow in number and seize not just the land of Ciaran, but to free all of Lycia from this sickness it suffers! All I ask is for you to donate gold, your worldly possessions, and your strongest lads to our cause.”
And there it was. This man’s monologue was a simple veneer to hide what all bandits wanted: gold, trophies, and more men to make into bandits. Paige recognized several elements of his story that seemed like blatant ripoffs of famous stories. While she was well learned in such matters, were the rest of the villagers. Some might be swayed of Glass’s story, especially after his distaste for the new empire. Indeed, some of the brigands were circling around the crowd, gathering donations from unsuspecting people. Someone had to step up. That someone was her: Paige separated from the crowd, took off her hood, and confronted Glass.
“Well well,” Glass remarked at the sight of Paige, a wicked smile appearing on his face. “Care to offer yourself to the heir of Glass?”
“As if someone named after a material famed for its fragility could handle me,” Paige retorted with a sick burn. “In fact, I’m calling your whole story into doubt. It sounds oddly like that of the Lady Lyndis, her sword the Mani Katti, and her own quest to see her last family in Caelin.”
“Lyndis! Caelin! Those are made up, a plot to erase any trace of Ciaran, to erase any existence of Glass! A plot by those jealous of his fame and strength! Psh, as if a halfbreed woman could accomplish what Glass did.”
“A plot by who?” Paige inquired, trying to ignore the derogatory comment about one of Lycia’s great folk heroes.
“Why, the other marquesses of course! And the gods! And women! They always want some famed lady to look up to.”
“So let me see if I have this right. The marquess passed down a plot from generation to generation to erase your ancestor. They were of course aided by ‘the gods’ and…women everywhere…. Tell me, what of the eyewitness accounts? The tales from across Elibe of their exploits?”
Glass stood there in silence, staring the woman who defied him. He motioned for one of his henchmen to approach her from behind while he addressed Paige once more.
“I can see you need more convincing. Well, I do have proof. I have the blade passed down from my ancestor! Behold, the Kani Matti, the Sword of Souls!”
Glass unsheathed his blade, eliciting some initial awes from the crowd. Paige could not believe he said that name after just naming the Mani Katti moments before. This stunk of a scheme.
At first glance, the shiny katana looked formidable. A sharp eye might have caught the small grooves in the blade, the bubbles formed around the hilt, and a few slim black scratches. Paige did catch one of the scratches and suspected it was merely a silver coated iron sword.
“It’s blade was forged from dragon’s tears!”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Paige retorted. “Is anyone here familiar with smithing? Perhaps examine the validity of ‘dragon’s tears’.”
The henchman drew closer behind her, waiting for Glass’s signal to silence the dissenter.