Anoril
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The Cyserune Blade
A darkened place. An absence of noise penetrates the silence. A wolf might howl or a bird might chirp, these noises are inconsequential.
Two shadows materialise, taking on mass and representation. Finally two men stand, concealed by their cloaks and by the darkness of this place. One man carries a sword, the other a tightly rolled piece of parchment. Both items are at their respective belts.
“Fancy meeting you here,” says the man with the sword casually.
“Congratulations on succeeding where I have failed,” replies the man with the parchment politely, “It is no small accomplishment to defeat the Champion of Cysero’s Defenders. I…”
The other man cuts across him far more harshly, “I do believe that we’ve both taunted the followers of good for too long. Let us dispense with these pleasantries.”
“Very well Merci I shall be blunt. Hand to me the Cyserune Blade!”
The man named Merci replies, “And what makes you think I will do this? A friendship that died decades ago does not warrant you to ask me of a favour Ali!”
Ali smiles. “Any friendship we had is forgotten to me. You were a member of the Necropolis fraternity Eta Iota Upsilon Alpha. A fraternity I believe to have been working on restoring the ancient magicks needed to create the Shadow Puppets.
"You slipped up by challenging the greatest heroes from each town and city to fight, led the Bearer of the Cyserune Blade right to you. And he defeated your prototype with comparative ease.
“You can’t issue a challenge like that without word getting around. The rest of your fraternity is dead, killed by the Guild of Heroes when they attacked the Necropolis. Only you survived Merci. But how?”
Merci ignored the question and replies, “You’ve been following me?”
“I’ve been following a lot of people. What interests me most is that you were near completion of the Koukla Skia when the Necropolis was attacked. Only you survive. Luck? No. Who did you strike a deal with? It can’t have been hard with the promise of one of the most powerful undead ever seen to add to his army. Besides your protection Merci, how much did Sepulchre pay you?”
Merci looks Ali straight in the face, past the hood but says nothing.
“It doesn’t matter,” continues Ali, “I was just curious. But considering I havn’t seen any Koukla Skia running around the kingdom, besides the one you used to defeat the last Bearer of the Cyserune Blade, I assume that making these Shadow puppets isn’t as easy as you thought. You created the Koukla Skia with the rest of your fraternity and you’ve forgotten parts of the spell. Am I right?”
This time Merci speaks, “Yes, I returned the Necropolis and our notes and designs were gone.”
Ali takes the parchment from his belt and displays it to Merci. “There we have it, you have the Cyserune Blade which I want and I have the instructions you need.”
“You propose a trade?”
“I do.”
“I decline.”
“What?”
“Clearly,” says Merci with a grin, “you value this weapon very much. I can feel the massive amounts of magic it has stored within it. I could take the plans from you.”
“You could try,” says Ali, holding the parchment in front of him and clicking his fingers to create a magical flame beneath. “One wrong move and your only chance of appeasing your master is over. Now hand me the Blade!”
“You’re bluffing,” says Merci calmly. “That is the only instructions in the world of how to create the Shadow Puppets. Extremely valuable. I know you Ali, you wouldn’t dare destroy something worth so much.”
“Such a shame old friend; I offered you the trade in the thought you might be wise and save us both the trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“You the trouble of being killed and me the trouble of killing you.”
With that Ali tucked the parchment back into his belt, took a step forward and conjured blue flame around his hands. Merci held the Cyserune Blade and readied himself for the attack.
***
In the undergrowth of this darkened place sat a sneevil watching the exchange between dark sorcerers with a mixture of fear and excitement. The sneevil was quite ready to watch the battle for surely it would be spectacular however as his eyes fell on the sword that the man named Merci was holding he saw the runes, the Cyserune dancing along it, changing shape and meaning. And even with his limited reading ability the sneevil saw words appear: Run Now!
The sneevil didn’t need to be told twice, when a magical sword tells you to do something don’t question it, that’s what his mother had always told him. And besides imagine what that sword’s box must be like!
< Message edited by Anoril -- 1/25/2009 15:41:06 >
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