• 27 Dec, 2025 *

Made in 1034 AD, this sword was crafted in secret. Conscripted by the king, this blade sourced materials, and skills, from the four corners of the realm. Over time, it has gained the title "Bane Of Kings" for as soon as it was touched by the very master who spoke it into bieng, it began to change them, for the better in some ways, for worse in others. It sees it’s keepers as fools, feeble minded men who want nothing but power. They busy themselves with keeping a grasp on money, or power, or land or love. Feeble.

I am spectral, warped and blessed. I am the knowing. The truthsayer. The Bane Of Kings.

My first Keeper was a young noble. Though, not by choice. His father, the King for whom I was fashioned for went mad. Natrually, all things passed down to this noble. Racimir. I was of course never really handled, mearly thrown into a pile of all the other glittering things. He did once however seek me out - He drew me at his court table, threatening the coincil with his, nay my intentions. I spoke through the boy, made my thoughts his own words and through his young and weak fleash I took root. Over time, he bent to my will. The land was corrupted and his body...well, it just was not strong enough. He set me aside whilst he lay in his bed, holy men and medics all around him, diagnosing and blessing. They never suspected a thing. He died, the boy. And as he died, the last thing he heard was me.

I formed a black, jagged streak down my blade the day that boy died.

Then, they noticed. The educated men had a hunch that perhaps, by some unknown evil, that I was behind it all.

They cast me out - quite literally. Out of the boys bedchambers and out of the window and out into the fields and the dirt and the muck and the cold. And there, I waited. I waited for 10 whole years. They wrote books whilst I slept there, in the dirt. They told the townsfolk that the boy had fallen ill and died, suddently. And yet I waited.

Light, light upon my blade and the next Keeper found me. Or, to say I found him. On the same field where I was cast, a hand picked me up. Around me, was death. I was in the hands of a leader, bringing resolution and choas to the nobles and their towers. He was...well, not the best leader I have ever seen, but he had strength. We roder together, through streets, through alleys and through the bodies of men, women and children. My power drove him on, and his range carried me. We drank the blood of the nobles I had known and heard years before.

But, all things must come to an end and I quick arrow to the neck found me in the forest. After drinking blood for weeks, we had gone out into the wilderness to camp. Some soliders must have found us. They made short work of my Keeper. As mentioned, he was not a leader as such. Just a man, with an idea.

The blood of men is making me sharper. I slept in the dirt for no more than a week. I watched the animals eat the bodies of my Keeper and his allies. I notice in this time that a small tree sapling is growing near me. I call out to it and it grows thorns, before my next Keeper.

Viciously ripped from the ground, I am in the hands of a man. Strong, experianced. He holds me to his face. This is my new master. He speaks to me.

"I don’t know where your from blade, but I know that youll be just right for my task"

I can see from his crest that he is from a guild of monster hunters. Getting bounties to slay cruel beasts. After many, many years - I came to know this man. His ways of honour, strength and courage made me see a different path. Blood was always there of course, but blood spilled to save blood. In the year 1055 AD, my Keeper was slain, poisioned by drake spike. He lay there, tears down his face looking into my steel. Just as a giant paw crushed his head, sending gore across my length.

I lay there, in the nest of the drake for centuries. I saw heroes come and go, die and die and die. The drake, gave birth and generation after generation of drakes came and went. Seasons changed and years passed...1100...1200...1300...1400...1500.

During my time in the Drakes nest, I noticed upon a colony of mice and their daily routine in the Drakes nest. I watched them, over and over. They had wood in abundance, but also collected gold. I was not sure why, but they collected it nontheless. The first generation of mice were trying to make and allience with the rats from the other side of the nest. Unfortunately, things did not go well for these mice and a mystic rat by the name of Arven cursed the mice as they were fearful of the wooden crosses the mice were constructing. Every since, the wood the mice were collecting rotted and faded.

I slept, for so so long. Until, one day, another grabbed my handle...

A warrior this time, such as my old Keeper pulled my from between rocks and piles of rot and bones. They handled me like no other had before and we slew a great number of beasts. But, I needed the blood. For a time I thought I could be used for good, but as the warrior took me back to the castle, the very same from so long ago, I used him. I drank the blood of his family and everyone around. Eventually, of course, I drank his too. By his own hand at seeing what he had done to his loved ones.

I lay again - Centuries pass and I am lost to the books. My name passes into legend and then common speech.

I am never found again.

Until finally, I was found again.

#artefact #gameplay