Sword
Legacy Name: Sword

Dark was the sky, with nought but the moon to light it, as the embers of the forge fizzled in the rain. A harrowing evil loomed over the kingdom in those days; a land with more villains than heroes. But as the dawn broke and the sun rose, so too did the beginning of a new era. For it was this day that a new hero was born, in the form of a humble blacksmith.

Although evil came in many shapes and sizes, none were more wicked or vile as the tyrant who claimed the kingdom as his own, known only as the Overlord. He ruled over every man, woman and child with an iron fist, showing no compassion and giving no quarter.

The thunder of a horse’s hooves hitting dirt echoed through the townstead; a messenger from the Overlord locked his eyes on the blacksmith’s forge as he came to a halt. Bang bang, he pounded at the door with urgency. Startled awake, the young smith grumbled and cursed at the ruckus before angrily pulling the door open. The messenger stood silently and handed the smith a letter. He then returned to his horse and lugged back a large, decorated chest. Pushing past the man, the messenger placed the chest on the table and then, without uttering a single word, he left.

Baffled and annoyed, the smith cut open and read the letter. It spoke of enchanting rituals and ancient materials that could breathe the life of magic into any weapon crafted from them. It seemed the Overlord had a plan to dispel some sort of age-old prophecy the castle mage warned him of; that some heroic upstart would rise among the people and inspire revolution. With no artisans or craftsmen of his own, the Overlord looked for skilled workers among his human underlings; and there was no better choice than the greatest blacksmith the Kingdom had ever seen.

With bated breath, the blacksmith unclasped the chest and lifted the lid, revealing a menagerie of strange looking metals and powders. Each ingot and jar had its own place, except for a single slot right in the middle. Instead, there was a small note describing a spiritual location fueled by the light side of magic. Only the pure of heart could enter it, all presence of evil would burn and so the Overlord couldn’t send any of his thralls to enter. On the back of the note was a map, from the city to the wilderness where this mysterious grotto lay in wait. Whatever missing piece was out there, the blacksmith would have to find it himself it seemed.

The smith immediately began to prepare himself for the journey. As the destined-to-be hero filled a satchel with various dried fruits, nuts and meat, he pondered his situation. Sure he didn’t really have a choice. Afterall, the Overlord was going to have his way no matter what, no use in throwing his life away just to delay the inevitable. Still, there was a pang of guilt nipping at his gut. Because despite the fact that he was helping an enemy to all mankind, a small part of him was excited. Not for the deed itself, but to finally see outside the city again. Only the most trusted of traders were allowed outside the walls since the takeover. He wondered if things were better on the other side, farther away from the grasps of the enemy. But as he gathered his things and left his house, he was greeted with a fresh reminder of the Overlord’s cruelty.

Shouts of pain and anger reached far and wide from the city square. The smith gazed down the main road to see a large crowd brewing around the gallows; another execution. His heart sank as he walked towards the gate. He showed the letter from the Overlord to the gate guards who promptly let him through. The last thing he heard was all the yelling fall silent and a sharp crack cut through the air, before the doors closed shut behind him. With a heavy heart and a beating chest, the smith carried on down the path.

- ✦ -

The outer-town was always wrought with poverty. If the people living there were at rock bottom before then they must’ve found a way to dig deeper since the Overlord came to power. Wood houses were rotting, stone was crumbling and crops were dying.

The smell of smoke filled the air as the smith strode on further. A thick pillar of smog rose to the heavens from a far. Without hesitation, he sprinted towards the source to find ash covered ground and smoldering wood; the remnants of a once-sizeable village. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air as he trudged through the soot and mud. Right in the centre of the village lay a putrid shallow grave for townsfolk and livestock alike, and surrounding it were banners bearing the Overlord’s insignia. Fiery blood pumped through his veins as he saw first hand just what the villain was capable of.

Leaving the destruction behind, the smith felt a harrowing brew of hatred and guilt. There was no way he could enable such massacre and carnage, but no one knew how to even harm the Overlord. Of course, there was always the prophecy that the letter spoke of, but heroes were far and few between in those times. He figured his only hope was to use the magical weapon he was to craft against him, but even that just seemed like a creative way to get himself killed at best. Soon after, night had begun to fall, but still he pressed on.

As he pushed away from society and further into the forest, the trees slowly closed into a canopy above. With not even the moonlight to illuminate his way, our soon-to-be hero put his torch on the ground and set it aflame with a couple of sturdy rocks. Ambling along with his torch in one hand and his map in the other, he jumped at the sudden ruffling of leaves. He spun around only to see the leaves settling back into place, before drawing his short sword and cautiously moving onwards. Not three steps later he heard it again; this time quickly snapping a look behind just in time to see a flurry of orange shimmer briefly in the torch light, before disappearing back into the woods.

Cautious yet intrigued, he sharpened his gaze for anything in the torch radius. As he stepped further along the path he caught a glint of orange racing about in the bushes. Curiosity got the better of him as he decided to pursue this mystery creature. It wasn't long before the animal was out of sight, though it moved fast enough that he could follow the sound of its movement. The smith raced onward; something about this critter compelled him to follow it with haste. Just as he started to ramp up the speed a loud snap rang through the air, followed by a sharp yelp. He bolted towards the noise and scoured the bushes for whatever he’d been chasing. Following a light panting sound, he pulled apart a rather dense shrub as he raised his torch to find a hapless fox, with its bushy tail caught in a bear trap.

With squeals and squirms it tried to wriggle free, to no avail. He knew he couldn’t just leave it there, so with all his strength he pried the trap open. The fox gratefully yapped up at him before licking at its wounded tail. He pulled a couple of berries from his pouch and held them in a fist. The creature's nose twitched as it sniffed at the air before it nudged it's snout against his hand. He smiled and as he calmly opened his palm, letting the berries tumble to the ground, it began to nibble at the fruit. Taking this opportunity to have a look at its tail, he tore off a bit of bandage from his satchel and wrapped it gently around the wound. With far more urgent matters to attend to, the blacksmith then grabbed his torch and set off back down the path.

Back on track, he walked along until a twig snapped from far behind. This time he turned around to see the same curious fox, frozen mid-walk and staring at him with a tilted head. Continuing on, he made fair progress before checking behind him to find the fox plodding barely a few paces back. Without knowing the dangers ahead, he tried to shoo it away; but whether he waved his hands or threw berries to distract it, all attempts were futile. Eventually he let up and accepted his new travelling companion as it kept a steady pace trotting alongside him.

- ✦ -

Over a matter of days, the two became well-acquainted. The blacksmith had plenty of food for the journey so it seemed the fox was happy to tag along. They followed the map down the path for many moons, before a small track opened up on the side of the road and they finally neared their destination. The new path was overgrown with weeds and flowers, much too old to be traversed commonly.

As they grew closer the forest seemed to change from thousands of trees into a single entity; watching, waiting. The tight path slowly opened up into a boundless and lush glade. Small streams ran all along the ground and bushes were scattered all over. Vines closed in over the treeline and shuttered in the roof, creating almost a perfect ring; all of which surrounded the quant centrepiece. A single small red gem lay in place upon a stout stone pedestal. The few flecks of sunlight that managed to break through the forest canopy shone brightly off the beautiful jewel. The blacksmith crept ever-closer, his small companion straying behind slightly. As he finally grasped the stone in his hand, his mind opened wide; our hero’s journey had begun at last.

As he held the gem in triumph, he swore he felt an energy course through his veins. Physically he was unchanged, but deep in his heart he knew something was different. That last piece was all that he needed to finish the sword, but now he finally had the strength inside to do what needed to be done. He was going to forge that magical blade and fulfill the very prophecy the Overlord set out to prevent.

- ✦ -

Sparks leapt from the metal as the smith bashed the weapon into shape. Using his thick leather glove, he gripped at the base and dipped the whole blade into cool water; tempered for the last time. The little fox had followed him home; perhaps inspired by his newfound confidence, or just simply dazzled by his impressive supply of berries. It watched intently as he slipped the hilt piece on and screwed the pommel on tight. He looked over the shining steel with determination; in that weapon was the entire realm’s salvation.

The morning after, it was time to finally take action. Despite all his insisting and pleas, it seemed the fox wouldn’t leave the blacksmith's side. Unable to wait any longer, he gave in and left for the Kingdom’s castle immediately. The vile gate guards escorted the smith up to the keep, all too eager to serve their master. Upon pushing the large castle doors open, the throne room was revealed to him; along with the great hulking figure of the Overlord, seated on the throne. The armoured demon stared long and hard at the sword and its holder, believing his reign would soon be solidified in permanence. He couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

While the Overlord spoke of all the horrors he would inflict upon the land using this new power, the hero took this opportunity to strike. Gripping purposefully at his blade, he raised it up and cut the head of a guard clean off, before rushing his other escort with all his brute strength and running him straight through. Upon hearing the commotion, the beastly oppressor turned to fight but it was too late. The mythical sword came crashing down on his shoulder with all the blacksmith’s might; but much to both their shock the blade simply glanced off his shoulder. Enraged, the Overlord sent a mighty kick straight into his chest, throwing him clear off towards the doorway.

Struggling to breathe, his mind was racing; why didn’t the sword work? In a more calmed state now, the Overlord simply picked up the failed weapon and let out a sinister laugh. As he strutted closer to the fallen hero, taunting him for his failure, he inspected the weapon for error. Everything was perfect, which meant the prophecy must have been hearsay. Drawing the sword back, he thrust it straight towards the smith.

As the tip neared its mark, quick as anything the small brave fox leapt into its path. Instantly the creature burst into a fiery flash of blue light, before imbuing itself into the blade. The gem shot out rays and the hilt grew white-hot, almost corroding straight into the Overlord’s gauntlet before he threw it away in agony. Regaining his breath, our hero made a mad dash for the weapon, grasping it valiantly. Its power coursed through his veins, and for a moment he stood there in awe. This tiny victory soon came to an end as a swarm of horrid minions burst through every entrance. With the sword’s energy flowing through him, he steeled himself for the fight to come.

Whatever magic instilled itself into the blade pushed him to the limit. The first of his foes that came within range found itself with a sizzling hole straight through it’s torso. Kicking the corpse off his blade, he spun around slashed another right across its chest. The sword seemed to thrive off the slaying, glistening with a light so pure it blinded any rival who dared look. Once he got into a rhythm of movement, the room lit up in a resplendent blaze of divine fury. As the Overlord recovered, he rose to a symphony of screeches and screams, and the sight of his reinforcements dropping like flies. In a fit of rage, he sent the star of his great mace crashing into the palace tiles. Cutting down the last of his fodder, the hero turned his gaze to his true target.

As they locked eyes, the pair begin to pace with their weapons drawn in defensive positions. Neither uttered a single word; far too much was at stake to taunt any further. The Overlord charged a swing at the smith, but such a sluggish weapon was easy to predict and he dashed out of the way. Keeping up the defence, our hero bided time until the next advance came about. Upon seeing the next attack, he quickly sprinted behind the knight and made a wide slash at his back; singeing a slice straight down his spine. The armoured beast writhed for a moment before quickly jutting the staff of his mace backwards and right into the blacksmith’s chest. With his breath cut short, he sputtered out a mouthful of blood. Using his advantage, the Overlord sent an uppercut with his weapon; in an attempt to parry, he pulled his sword out in front before getting thrown onto his back from the sheer force of the blow.

Panting, the hero scrambled to his feet in time to avoid yet another barrage. Without falter, he sent a downward strike towards his rival. The fiend raised his mace side to side, catching the sword along the staff. Immediately, the smith pulled back and struck down once more. As his enemy’s strength buckled, so too did the metal of his weapon. For the third time, he swung a mighty blow and shattered the mace in two. Pushing the attack in this moment of weakness, he besieged him with a flurry of slashes directed at his legs. Battered and vulnerable, the Overlord crumpled down to his knees and released the remainder of his mace from his hands. He roared and raged at his inability to retaliate; covered in smouldering wounds he stared daggers at his aggressor.

Holding it with both hands, the smith charged his blade at the demonic knight with speed and vigour, piercing just where his heart would have been. His armour boiled and cracked, splitting open to show nothing but a writhing void of anguish and torment underneath. Numerous foes came bolting into the throneroom, but without their master’s power to sustain them, they too crumbled to the floor in a pile of metal and woe. With one decisive blow our hero, nay our champion – and his fox – had fulfilled an age-old prophecy and freed the entire Kingdom of misery.

Standing over what remained of the Overlord, the blacksmith stared at the blade. It seemed unimaginable that the missing piece was his loving little stalker all along. As far as he was concerned, it was the true hero of his tale. With no cruel despot to rule through brutality, the future of the Kingdom was free. The only question was: who would be the one to shape it?

Story, minion overlay and profile edited by Vain
Profile base code by twgp