(DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (Full Version)

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Legendium -> (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (11/11/2012 6:36:09)

This is my first Story in the L&L. I have the feeling that I might have done something wrong, like not having filled an application out or something, but if it's not the case, I hope you all enjoy. I'll make a discussion thread, and wait.

Discussion Thread


Legendium's Tale

Prolouge

A dark figure walked slowly through the halls of a library cast in shadow. The figure wore a silk cloak with a hood, which he kept over his head. It spread over his shoulders and flowed onto the dusty floor as he walked. The figure was walking slowly, examining the shelves with intent, apparently searching for a specific book. The room itself was rather large. Bookshelves that stretched up to the ceiling twenty feet above the floor continued into what looked like infinity in this corridor of shelves.

The figure stopped. It had found the book it was looking for, and stretched out a bone thin, gray skinned arm and delicately pulled a leather-bound book from the shelf. The book was old. It left a cloud of dust as it was pulled from the shelf. A few specks of paint seemed to remain on the faded leather cover. The bindings were coming apart, and a few pages seemed to be positioned precariously, about to fall out.

The person tucked the book under his cloak and continued at the same leisurely pace to a chair positioned against a shelf. A purple torch on a stand stood next to it, casting more shadow than light. The figure sat down on the chair, and opened the book. It had been ages since he had read the book. Hundreds of years maybe. Shaking the thought out of his head, the figure began to read.

On the first page seven words were written.

"This is the Legacy of Tobias Legendium."



My name is Tobias. Tobias Legendium. As you read this, I sit in a cave with a stub of a candle, facing a task I may not complete. I am writing this down in the hopes that if I die, my story will live on. If I live, I will burn the book. So if you are reading this, you are holding all that remains of my past.

Where to start? To truly understand what happens, you must know how I grew up. The whole story comes from that one point of my life. But even then, for you to understand how that event changed me, you must know what happened before that. So, to truly start this, I must go back to when I was thirteen years old, and the best sword in the dueling club.

I was born in the small town of Aspenvayle, on August fifteenth. I've lost track of the year, but it doesn't matter. I was the son of Jeremiah Legendium and Tatja Crew. I had a younger brother, Tobin, who was ten. My father was the town's blacksmith, and my brother and I helped him in the forge. Tobin would hand my father the tools and I would tote raw ore and minerals from the mine every day. At noon he would let us go.

All that I have said so far isn't entirely important to the story. What comes next is one of the events that sets my destiny in motion.

After working with my father in the forge, I would meet with a lot of other boys and girls in what we called the dueling club. It started with just two boys hitting each other with wooden sticks when I was eight. When I saw what was going on, I grabbed a stick and joined in. At the end, we all agreed it had been fun and agreed to come back the next day. It snowballed from there. More and more kids joined us, and then one of the two boys who had started the club decided to make it official. At the end, almost every kid joined. I was one of the best, aside from my best friend (Not to say I didn't have any others), who I had met there, and a son of the city guard, Valden. Valden and I never really got along that well.

Anyway, we started making wooden weapons like swords, daggers and quarter-staves. The club had evolved, and taken me with it.

Then one of us, I can't remember who, came up with the idea to have a tournament in the abandoned sneevil tree fort. We agreed again, and told everyone we knew about it. At the end of the week almost all of the town knew about it, and came to watch.

The tournament was to be a team game. Two teams, Red vs. Green, were to fight and capture the other team's three flags. I was Team Green's Captain, Valden was Team Red's. Ever since I had beaten Valden in a one on one duel, he had been bitter. He had boasted that he was the best duelist in the club, and would challenge anyone and win. His family was too prideful for their own good, and I took on the challenge. Ever since I beat him, he's hated me. He hasn't let the grudge go since.

So, naturally, he wanted to win this game. Unfortunately I won. If I had swallowed my pride and taken it upon myself to back down, none of this would have happened.

The game started with our team on one side of the fort, the Red team on the other. The teams were recognizable from the paint on their swords, daggers and staffs. Our weapons were green. Theirs were red. I had planned in advance what to do with my team. A main force would go out to meet the reds, and another force would go undercover to take them from behind. I fully expected the Reds to use the same maneuver, so made sure to send a scouting group to find the second force of reds.
I marched with the main force, so as not to raise suspicion as to where the team's captain was. Valden wasn't so smart. As soon as I didn't see his face in the main group when we clashed in the middle of the fort, I knew he stupidly wanted to be the hero who sneaked around to get the flags. Our scouting team must've found him quick, because we saw no more sign of him. Our team's sneaking around maneuver proved successful for the most part. They got us one flag, and the main force got the second. The fight hadn't lasted long.

We threw a party afterwards in the victory of the Green team. Valden was nowhere to be seen. And he didn't show up again until two years later. I'll get back to that later. I was foolish enough not to have realized that by beating Valden I had made an arch-enemy. His harmed pride meant he would stop at nothing to get revenge. But I hadn't realized that. I hadn't realized that ihe was to blame for what happened to me in the next two years.

Two days after Valden disappeared, his parents started worrying. On the third day, they sent out a search party. After a month, they gave up. Valden was nowhere in the area. Well, there was the Doomwood. But not even Valden was stupid enough to go to there. Or so I thought.

But for now, that's aside the point. At the party, I got a girlfriend. Being thirteen, this wasn't anything major. Her name was Aspeth. She was the first girl I fell in love with, and so far, the only. We were together for two years. I'll get back to this later.

The next event was the bigger one. But there are a few other things I have to explain first. During these two years, my sister was born. She was named Tonaia, and the local mage said she had good magical potential. My parents were very happy. They hoped for her to train in Swordhaven and have a better job than they had. My brother broke his hand when he accidently hit the hammer he was using on his hand about two weeks after she was born , and as a result, couldn't duel with me in the club, and couldn't help my father in the forge. Personally, I didn't like her. She made too much noise.

I was fifteen when it finally happened.
During the night, the shadows grew darker. Candles snuffed out for no reason. Barely any light was left.
Then we heard it. Marching. But silent marching. We had heard troops headed from Swordhaven to Oaklore before, but they were always accompanied by the noises of the soldiers. This, this was just footsteps. And it gave me a sense of foreboding. I remember sensing the darkness in my sleep. I remember waking up and jumping out of bed as soon as I heard the marching. I woke my parents too, and when they came back inside, they told me to lock the door and windows, and light as many candles as possible. They all were snuffed out, so this made no big difference. My parents didn't tell me what was going on though. I heard weird noises from outside though. Screams, roars, shouts of the town's guardsmen.

Eventually, I got tired of waiting around, and escaped the house by unboarding a window and crawling out. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. Skeletons were marching around the town, carrying all manners of weapons. I saw guards lying in pools of their own blood, their eyes glazed over. One of them was still dying. He lay there twitching, as his eyes started to loose color. He coughed, and blood gushed out of his mouth. Then he lay still.

The undead were ransacking the houses. I saw things I didn't want to in seconds. I saw children dragged out of their homes screaming, only to be silenced seconds later. It appalled me.
But I was still scared. Nothing had spurred me into action yet. I should tell you I didn't live far away from Aspeth's house. And when I looked that way, I screamed. She was unconscious, being held by two skeletons, and a knife was being drawn across her throat. I scrambled for the open part of the house where my father kept his wares. Most of the things in it were gone, but one sword remained. I grabbed it and charged towards the skeleton drawing a knife across my girlfriend's throat, but I was too late. Her head was cut clean off.

I screamed, and I don't know what happened next. My mind blanked. I remember visions of a person who looked like me, but couldn't possibly be me, such was the look on his face. This alternate me sliced skeletons in half with a rage I've never seen before on someone. Righteous fury, I could call it.

But this was my undoing, in a way. I sliced through these abominations with a strength I never knew, until I reached the creature who had killed her. It's head sailed forty feet, if I recall correctly. But my rage didn't stop there. I knew somewhere in the back of my head that only necromancers knew how to summon the dead. And I hunted for the necromancer himself.

He wasn't hard to find. He and what looked like his apprentice were chanting over a mound of the dead. The apprentice cut his arm, and when the blood flowed onto the pile, they came to life. Or better said, unlife.

I charged. The necromancer, a man wearing a black silk cloak with a hood, turned, and with a flick, sent a bolt of black lightning at me. I remember how hard it hit. It shocked me into reality. My inhuman strength left me. My rage left me. Then I saw the apprentice's face. It was Valden. I turned and ran.

To Be Continued (In other words, End of Chapter One)



Legendium -> RE: (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (11/12/2012 13:29:41)

Chapter Two

The dark figure closed the book for a while and sat in thought. He remembered quite well where Valden had been those two years, which Tobias hadn't known, and probably never would know. Trying to fill in the blanks the book left, he thought back to when he had first met Valden, in Doomwood.


It had been a cold night, and the figure, who hadn't changed much over the years, was standing on the porch of his ruined house. The house had been his previous home, before he had taken up the arts of necromancy and destroyed it. But that was a story for another time. The house was grey, and wood paneled. One could see it used to be painted black, but the paint had flaked away, leaving only the residue that left the walls grey. The windows were destroyed, jagged spikes of glass remaining where the windows had been punched out. The door was hanging on one hinge, splintered and creaking in the wind. The second story was just as drab and grey as the first. The shingles on the roof, made of tar, had prevailed, but even they had begun to lose their color. The house gave a feel of death, decay and poison.

The figure sat silently on the porch of the apparently abandoned farm house when a boy in rags stumbled into the clearing. His hair was brown and spiky. His face was scratched and one eye had swollen over from a bruise. He fainted from exhaustion.

The figure remembered taking the boy in, for he sensed a dark presence in him. Naturally, the boy was Valden. When he woke, he was quiet for the most of the time. It took three days for Valden to be in the condition to speak. When the boy told his story, where he was from and what he was doing in Doomwood, his voice was only but a whisper.

The figure, the necromancer, recalled the conversation well.

The boy had only just woken up, and finally was able to say something.

"Water," He said with a barely audible voice.
Silently, the necromancer lifted a cup to his mouth. The boy drank his fill.
After a while, the necromancer finally asked a question.
"What is your name, boy?"
It took Valden a few seconds to register the fact that he had been asked a question.
"Valden," he said in a voice more audible, strengthened by the water. "Valden Sinnes."
"Good. And what are you doing here?"
"I got lost," he mumbled.
"Come again?"
"I got lost."
"And what were you doing in Doomwoods in the first place?"
Again, Valden mumbled something inaudible.
"Listen boy. I cannot help you if you will not speak to me."
Naturally, the necromancer did not seek to help the boy. But to give him a false sense of security, he had to fake kindness.
"I left my village in search of adventure."
The necromancer could see the lie on his lips.
"I cannot help you if you tell me lies."
Valden looked surprised.
"Fine. I ran away after I lost a game. I didn't mean to lose my way, but I have, and I'm starving, and I need to find my way back."
"I'm afraid I cannot help you there. I do what I want, and if I desire to keep you here, I will. There are no laws in Doomwood boy. You should have never come here, but now that you are here, and I have sensed your potential in the dark arts, I will not let you leave."
Valden blinked.
"What?"
"I will teach you how to use dark magic. Few have the ability, and I have always wanted an apprentice. So no. I will not let you go."
That ended the conversation.


The necromancer had had a tough time making the boy do what he wanted, but he eventually broke Valden's will. He pretty much lost his sanity as well. He changed. The grudge he had against Tobias seemed to have strengthened with his embracing of the dark arts. The necromancer knew this would happen. Seldom few had it in them to practice necromancy, and even less came out sane.
In two years of training, Valden succeeded in becoming a trainee necromancer. Valden told the Necromancer of the city Aspenvayle, and with so many unprotected bodies that could be made into minions, the necromancer could hardly deny Valden his revenge.

The necromancer opened the book again, and continued to read.



Legendium -> RE: (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (11/14/2012 13:38:37)

Chapter Three


I ran. It didn't matter where. I just ran. I wanted to get away from there. For then, I had started realizing my mistake. My winning had led to Valden's running away, and apparently found this necromancer. Whether he joined him voluntarily, or was forced to, I'll never know. It's aside the point.

Luckily, the skeletons were pretty much done with whatever their plans were. They had gone somewhere else and none of them were roaming the streets anymore. I supposed they were all with the necromancer again. If they were still in the streets, I would have been killed, because I was oblivious to everything while running.

Somehow, through sheer luck, I made it back to my house. The boarded door had been knocked down. I heard nothing in there.

I'm pretty sure my heart skipped a beat at that. When I had run away, the skeletons had gotten into my house. A wave of guilt broke down upon me as I rushed inside. There were bloodstains on the wall, and several piles of bones and armor on the floor. Someone had destroyed a good number of skeletons.

That was when I saw my father's hammer on the floor. I knelt down and picked it up. It was his all right. I recognized the notch in the handle that I had made by testing my first sword on it. Tears welled up in my eyes.

The bodies were nowhere to be seen. They must have been dragged off to make more mindless undead. I curled my fist around the hammer. Anger and sadness left a hole in me, a hole that I felt was so big it could be seen from the outside. They had killed my entire family.

Or so I had thought.

It was then that I saw something move in the shadows. I raised the hammer.

"Who's there?"

Then I saw my brother. Tobin stood up and I saw he had my sister in a pack on his back.

"Tobin," I said with relief, knowing that he was alive. I lowered the hammer.

Then he punched me. Hard. I remember how it shocked me. He stood there glaring at me for a while. I said nothing.

"You left us."

"Tobin, I-"

"Don't make excuses," He snarled.

I was hurt. My brother had never talked to me like that before.

"You left us. Father told us not to leave the house. But you did it anyway. Because you think you're such a hero. You wanted to go out there and kill the necromancer like some knight from a story. You left us to fend for ourselves.
When Father realized you were gone, he was really angry. But there was nothing he could do about it. You were gone. He wasn't such an idiot to think he could run out there and survive." He paused. "Then they came." His voice trembled.

"Father was the first to die. He told us to go to the basement with mother and hide. We did. We sat in the closet for what seemed like eternity, listening to the fight upstairs. We heard his scream. We heard the steel pulled out of his chest. I wanted to run up there and stick all those behemoths with my knives. But mother held me back. She told me to wait. And then, we waited even more. It seemed like forever until mother said it was safe to come out. But it wasn't as soon as she left the shadows, they attacked. It happened right in front of my eyes, Tobias. I heard her scream even worse than father. It was the sound of hell. I wasn't stupid though. I climbed out of their reach with Tonaia on my back before they could see me. Now you come back. Now you see that it's your fault. Your fault for not being there."

Tobin glared.

My knees grew weak. I felt like I was going to faint. It was my fault. All my fault.

I did the only thing I could do. I ran. The hammer was still in my hand, but I didn't feel it.

I didn't care where I was running to. But, as fate would have it, it was Doomwood.



Legendium -> RE: (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (11/16/2012 13:36:40)

Chapter Four

Doomwood wasn't far away from Aspenvayle. Our town was only fifteen kilometers away from it. So, when fate had it that I chose that direction, it didn't take long to get there. Two hours through woods and valleys, lakes and streams. Before I realized it, I was there.

I woke from my comma of self pity when I reached the wall of trees called Doomwood. It wasn't really a proper forest, in my mind. Sure, there were trees, but they had no leaves. The bark was either pitch black and decomposing, or white and peeling with age. The trees on the border were bleached white from exposure to the sun. They looked like corpses. The trees were also deformed, bent, twisting masses that made the forest seem more like a maze than a woods.

But if the appearance wasn't enough, the feel that came with it completed the aura of danger. The way the wind whistled through the trees sounded like evil whispering. The darkness beyond was like a creature, pulling at my soul, bidding me to come and test my fate in the depths of this abomination called a forest. I remember seeing an eye blink in the distance.

To put it short, the forest was a scary place that no man in their right mind would enter.

But my anguish pulled me forward. The darkness had a will of its own, and my broken will could not resist it. I plunged into the forest.

The hammer was still in my hand, and I used it to break branches out of my path. The wind whistling through the trees grew angry, so I stopped, and maneuvered my way around the brambles. It was very hard going. The trees seemed to grab at me like they were alive, which I later learned, they were.

I don't remember how long it took me to navigate my way through. There was the odd clearing, where derelict ruins stood, but I avoided them. Something told me they weren't good places to be. I found food in the form of rats and bark. Both tasted putrid, but they were better than nothing. My thirst was overwhelming, but I had the luck to run across a stream filled with black, slimy water. It was barely drinkable, but it had to work.

It could have been a day, or a month that I spent wandering. Later I learned how lucky I had been. This was the most prosperous part of Doomwood. Even the man with the longest endurance couldn't survive here without food and water.

I ran into a group of undead only once on the whole trip while staying close to the stream. I didn't last long. I was forced to run. Luckily undead aren't the smartest things. They don't know how to maneuver around things. If they see something in the way, they destroy it. I ran quickly and got away.

Some time after that, I found the stream again, and continued. But then, destiny or luck helped me along. I like to think destiny. Ahead of me was a village. That wasn't the important thing. I had seen villages before, but they were dead, and destroyed. This one wasn't.

A line of golden runes blazed along the border of the clearing, encasing the clearing in light. It crossed the stream, and when it ran through the runes, it became pure drinking water. The grass looked greener on the other side of the runes. There was even a tree with leaves in the center.

But there was something odd. None of the buildings were inhabited. Well, so it seemed. Almost all of the buildings were covered with a visible layer of dust. All except one. In one single building, a candle could be seen in the window. And the shadow, the shadow of a man.

I raced forward. The runes didn't stop me, as I had expected them to. The man in the window saw me coming.

I must tell you a few things. I was starved and dehydrated beyond compare. My brain was shattered by recent events. I didn't make it to the door. The man in the window came out of the house as I fainted.

The last thing I saw was the old man's face staring down at me.



Legendium -> RE: (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (11/25/2012 15:24:10)

Chapter Five

When I woke, I was lying on a bed in a room lit by candle light. The room itself was small and sparsely furnished. The grey pad I was lying on and a stool with a candle on it were the only furnishings of the room that fit, aside from the window showing out into the night. The walls were bare as well.

At first, I didn't know where I was. Then it all came rushing back to me. The undead attack, Tobin yelling at me, and then my running away. I flinched at the memory.
Then I realized that meant I was still in Doomwood, and likely in that abandoned village I had seen.

I slowly pushed myself up onto my elbows. It was painful. I was stiff, and I could see I had thinned visibly from hunger. That meant I had spent a reasonably long time in Doomwood.
Even the fact that I had thought that surprised me. I was thinking reasonably again. That was good. It meant I had gotten over my shock.

I pushed myself all the way up until I was sitting straight. I must have made some degree of noise, because I heard the door-handle turn and the man who I had seen in the clearing come in. It was my first good look of him.

He was old. That was evident from the lines on his face. He wore a deep blue cloak that fell over his shoulders onto the floor. Under the cloak, he wore a dark chest-plate, that looked tarnished from use. His legs were also clad in armor, underneath which were pants of the same blue color. His hands and upper arms were covered with leather gloves. There was a golden cross on his belt buckle. He had brown hair that was turning grey, and a well trimmed beard to match.

In short, he seemed like a retired warrior. But there was more to him than met the eye at first. On a second glance, one could see that although he looked old, he definitely didn't give the air of it. His eyes were an intense blue that shone with a radiance and life beyond anyone else's I had ever seen. The way he held himself was with an air of confidence, that also made him seem battle-ready. Although he may have been old, he certainly wasn't out of practice.

The man sat down next to me with a wary eye. At that time I hadn't known what to make of him. I was just as wary as he looked. Although he had apparently helped me, I didn't trust him yet.

It seemed to last a while before he said

"Go home boy. Doomwood is no place for a child. You're lucky to still be alive."

My first thought was to say yes, point the way, but something held me back. I think it was the memories. In my mind flashed pictures of Aspeth lying on the ground, drowing in her own blood. I saw my brother telling me that it was my fault that my parents were dead. It was my fault that my life had taken a big turn. It was my fault that I had turned my brother bitter. I didn't like that feeling. And I most certainly didn't want to go back to the place where all those emotions would well up again. No, I was staying here.

"No."

The man didn't seem surprised.

"And why not?"

"I can't go back. Not now. There are too many bad memories lurking there."

"Boy, nowhere is worse then Doomwood. This forest is hell itself. Whatever comes here unprotected by light or darkness never makes it out. You're lucky to have made it this far, but luck doesn't always prevail. Turn back before it's too late."

"I can't."

He looked me over.

"Tell me why."

I explained everything. I need not repeat it here, for you have already read it all.

"I see. You wish not to return to the ghosts of recent past."

"That's a simple way to put it."

"Hearing your story, I can tell you that I am not one to judge you. You have the choice of two hells. I will not sway you're decision. So do you stay, or do you go?"

I answered without thinking.

"I'll stay."

The old man shrugged.

"Your funeral."

He stood up.

"Your training starts tomorrow then."

"Training?"

"Of course. No one can withstand Doomwood without light on their side. You'll need to train as a paladin if you wish to survive."

He walked to the door.

"What is your full name, Tobias?"

I realized I hadn't mentioned it yet.

"Legendium. And your's?"

The man paused at the door, as if the name surprised him.

"I am Dariut the paladin."

With that he walked out the door, leaving me to sit on the bed, deep in thought.
Of the greater hells, I chose the physical one. Fate only knew what kind of person that would make of me.



Legendium -> RE: (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (12/19/2012 16:43:22)

Chapter Six


The necromancer closed the book for a second time. Ah, he remembered Dariut quite well. They had quite a history, one that would affect the course of Tobias' life quite a bit. But he saw no point in jumping ahead. He had read the book enough times to know that he would be allowed to wallow in memories further on.

He opened the book once more, ready to continue.


It had been some time till Dariut came back to get me. I believe it was nighttime, or at least, the time Dariut went to bed. I wouldn't have been able to guess. It always seemed like night in Doomwood.

I must have fallen asleep too eventually, because I remember waking up and finding a note on the stool beside me. I picked it up.

"Meet me in the center of the village when you are ready. ~Dariut"

At first I wondered what he meant by village. Surely there was no village nearby. But then I remembered that the house was in was situated in a small settlement, which seemed uninhabited. This proved true, as well.

I wouldn't have been any more ready than I already was, so I got out of bed and headed for the door. I stopped just before my hand lay on the handle, because I saw my father's, no, my hammer lying in the corner. Better to have and not need it than to need it and not have it. I picked it up and headed out the door.

Dariut's house, or at least I assumed it was was his, seemed small. I came directly out into a common room, which contained a fireplace, a stained couch that seemed to be made of the same grey material on my bed, and a number of shelves and cabinets. There was also a plaque on the wall that looked like it might hold a weapon, and an empty armor rack. I spotted the door quickly and exited.

As I stepped out, I took a better look at my surroundings. The village was indeed small. A settlement may have been the better word. The houses were plain, made of old wood, and shingled with slate. They had basic windows and short, stone chimneys. On closer inspection, I saw that the slate had been previously painted, and almost all the paint had flaked off. The wood that planked the houses was splintery and termite ridden. The windows were dust covered and opaque. Only Dariut's house seemed untouched by age. Odd, I had thought at the time.

I continued down the straightest path I could find. The little brook that had led me to this settlement in the first place went in a direct path through the street. I had to guess it would lead me to the center of the town. Again, I saw signs of age. It looked like stones had once paved the edge of the little stream, but the paving had cracked with age, and the stones had rolled off into the street.

I came quickly to the center of town. Dariut was waiting for me there. But he wasn't the first sight catching thing. The center of the town was one of the only places that didn't seem too out of order. The stream kept on going through the town, and at the very center was what seemed like a plaza erected over a small pond made by the stream as it flowed through a dip in the terrain. In the middle of the plaza was a statue of a tall man standing over a crumbled skeleton. He had a sword raised high, in full armor with a shield. The plaque at it's base was large enough to read from where I stood.

"Our savior, our protector, in dark times. May he never fail."

Underneath was a name that I could not read from my distance. But there was something special about the statue. If there had been a statue in this city, I would have expected it to be crumbling. The plaza holding it up would've long ago tumbled into the pond. But it hadn't. The statue stood tall and proud as if it had been made the other day. The plaque was shiny and polished. The plaza had been swept. And weirdest of all, there were flowers laid above the plaque.

That's when I was distracted by Dariut appearing from behind the statue. He looked older, but only for a moment.

"Ah, Tobias. Welcome to your first lesson."

"What happened here?" I asked.

Dariut's face darkened, and the old look came back, and disappeared as quickly as before.

"This is where I grew up. It's also where our town's light priest made me a paladin. But I, like you was also besieged by an army of undead. Three times as a matter of fact. The first time, we succeeded in pushing them back. They erected this statue for me, and the mayor offered me his daughter in marriage. I should have never done so. But my emotions overcame my sense. When the next attack came, they left us a shattered, weakened force. They retreated, and we thought ourselves safe, but the third time they struck was only a day after the second. We were obliterated. I was the only one left alive. And my wife was killed right here, on this statue. I was overcome with rage. I ignored the principles a paladin has in combat, ignored chivalry, and honorable fighting. I swore to hunt and kill the hell-born demon who did that to me. But I broke my oath. Ten years of wandering, fighting, and failing, I gave up, broke my oath, and did my penance. And ever since the town has fallen into disorder."

I felt something like Deja-Vu right then. It seemed like Dariut had experienced everything I had; but got the worse of it. Now I knew why he let me stay. He knew how it would feel, to live in a hell of memories, where everywhere you looked, you were reminded of bad memories. Or good memories, which were worse, because you knew how things ended. But there was one thing I didn't understand.

"Why don't you leave?"

"I wish it were that simple. But it isn't. The penance for the breaking of my oath was a choice between two things. Every time I dream, I re-live those moments, or I imprison myself in my old town, giving myself everlasting life and nourishment, but not being able to go anywhere but the place where it all happened. So I chose to trap myself here. I can do nothing but wait, brood, live and remember. But this is the better deal. I keep the statue repaired and well, because it is my wife's grave. But it was cruel of that necromancer to kill her here. I see my triumph, only to see it crash violently with the next memory. It's living hell."

Well, that explains it, I thought.

"But I try to forget. And I'll train you for two reasons. To preoccupy myself, and to help you avoid my own mistakes. Because your story relates very much to mine. It was even the same necromancer who destroyed our cities. His name was, is Senuro. And this is why I am training you. I may not leave my town. But you can. And I would like you to help me, now that you understand."

There wasn't anything else for it. I said yes.



Legendium -> RE: (DF) Legendium's Tale (WIP) (4/20/2013 16:19:55)

Chapter Seven

The blow came absolutely without warning. Dariut pulled his sword out from it's scabbard on his back and sent it crashing down on the place where I had been a moment before. Luckily I still had the reflexes from my time in the duelist club, or I would have been cloven in two by now. Time was short though, as Dariut slashed sideways. I ducked, but could still feel the wind whistle through my hair. "Get your weapon out!" Dariut called as he lunged with the sword. I stepped to the side to avoid the blow. "What?"

"Your training starts now. So get your weapon out and fight back already!"

I pulled my hammer out from my belt and dodged as the sword came around for another swing. I shifted into the stance of attack I had self-taught myself in the duelist club; leaning forward slightly, keeping the hammer close to my hip. Normally, I would have held it out in front of me, as I would with the sword I usually use, but the weight balance of a hammer is all wrong in that respect. Where a rapier normally has the weight centered by the hand, the hammer focuses all of its weight up front on the actually effective piece of the weapon.

I started circling Dariut, keeping my eyes on his sword and stance. If one reads into their enemy's stance and weapon well enough, one could judge what their enemy is going to do next, and that's what I tried to do. Granted, I wasn't very good at it, but that would change with time. Dariut's sword was a long two-hander, pretty heavy and not easily maneuverable. It was only then that I realized it was a practice sword, and blunt on the edges. Dariut was leaned forward as well, but his feet were planted nice and firm on the ground, which showed that he was in a defensive position and probably waiting for me to attack him.

I didn't. I started circling, and waiting for a moment to jump in and hit him hard. Dariut sensed my motives, it would seem, and dove forward in a lunge. I sidestepped and attempted to thwack him on the head, but Dariut moved away before the hammer could come down. “You’ll have to do better than that, Tobias.”

It carried on for hours, me attempting to attack, Dariut blocking and dodging every blow. I felt completely out of balance with the hammer though. For a start, I was far more accustomed to a lighter, more flexible weapon like a rapier, where the main weight rested in the hand. In addition to that, a blacksmith’s hammer isn’t a weapon. Not really. A blacksmith’s hammer is meant for short, strong blows that shape soft metal, not for longer blows that are meant to hit far harder and less precise to be effective. For a hammer without flanges, a lot of strength is needed, which generally requires both hands on the handle. Which I couldn’t do comfortably with a blacksmith’s hammer, as the handle was too short. So, all in all, I didn’t do so well in my first lesson. Plus, a blacksmith’s hammer isn’t designed for any kind of blocking at all. At least not from a giant two-hander. So whenever Dariut went on the offensive, I was forced to dodge and occasionally parry if I got the chance.

We battled on into the night, and even though I got really tired, really fast, I kept going. Whenever I felt on the verge of collapse, Dariut pushed harder, forcing me to keep going. Somehow though, the weapon started feeling better in my hands. I no longer tried using it the way I would use a sword. I started laying more strength into my attacks. I wasn’t better by much, but it felt better. Although, that small victory was losing worth because I was getting more and more tired. It was well past midnight by the time Dariut held up his hand to signal a stop. Then I collapsed on the ground.



When I was shook awake, the sun had barely risen. I was back in the small house that was Dariut’s home.

“You did well for a starter. Tell me, how long was your longest battle?”

Through bleary eyes, I saw Dariut on the stool next to my bed. At first my mind didn’t register what he said, but I shook my head and responded.

“Uh, I dunno. I think the tournament my dueling club hosted lasted four hours or so.”

Dariut snorted. “You’re going to need to be able to keep up for longer than that if you wish to fight the undead. The primary weapon of a paladin is their stamina. It won’t matter how good you are with your sword if you can’t outlast the unending stamina of the undead. That’s the main thing I’m trying to achieve with my first lessons. Always manage to outlast your opponent. Secondly, I’m going to make sure you can fight in situations where the odds are against you, which is why I’ll always use a fighting style where I have an advantage. Thirdly, you’ll be learning to adapt. Yesterday, you used a weapon that was practically useless, but at the end you started getting into the rhythm of it. I may put you into those situations every now and again, to make sure you don’t get too used to any sort of weapon.”

Before I could respond, Dariut threw me a shield and said “Keep the hammer for now. Meet me at the statue again.”

This time round, things went much better. Dariut chose a different way of fighting as well, this time a sword in each hand. Despite the fact that I got hit a lot, the shield helped me get closer, and I hit him just as many times. Like last time, we kept fighting until midnight, but this time I was able to stagger halfway back to the house.

And so it continued for six months. Every day, a new weapon and style, new armor pieces, new challenge. It was hell at first, but steadily got better after the first month. Sometimes I fought with a sword, sometimes a hammer, and once he even made me fight him with my bare hands or just a shield. Every time though, he would give himself a slight advantage. Sometimes he would shorten the time we fought, once we fought two days straight. I sometimes used the buildings to gain an advantage when my weapon wasn’t too heavy.

The last day was completely unannounced. Dariut had his two-hander again, but I had two swords in each hand this time. We were using real weapons this time, and when I dodged a downwards strike his sword stuck into the ground. I got the crazy idea to run up the length of the sword and kick Dariut in the head. The kick had landed him on the ground, and I jumped onto his stomach and pointed both swords at his neck. He smiled, and said “I think that you’re ready to start learning magic now.”



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