The snow swirled thick, outside in the almost opaque white night through the icy winds, her breathe coming in streams, Everlot SwordBorne Demonsbane struggled against the storm. She bent her multi-hued head as far back into her cowl as it would go and steeled her bare arms, her fast freezing fingers resting on the lions head pommel of Immortalis, the great broad sword she hefted on her belt. This last campaign had been a victory, one wild and vicious but she had not stopped inside the won citadel. Once she has assured all posts had been covered and all the citizenry cared for, she had journeyed forth. She did not seek the warmth of victory fires, the dances of a liberated people or celebration, a general of the deadliest army in all the 12 Kingdoms, she was made for war.
Victory sent her straight back to her king. The ministers and bureaucrats following her victorious trail like a comet trailing sparks would soon bring peace and security to the kingdom she had liberated from its evil overlords, the people would welcome the food; gold and goodness that came at the hand of her king The High Lord Wulfric ElfSpawn ArdRi of the Summerlands. Everlot was weary but she thought only of the next kingdom struggling under the yoke of the Demon Overlords; who had swarmed out the netherworld to try their hand at domination; and pushed forward. Her mist colored eyes scanned the horizon for threats but she doubted a demon horde would travel this far into this frozen storm even for the head of their greatest enemy. The cold was anathema to their kind. Thanking the Goddess for this blessing of the snow storm which assured her safety, if it did not freeze her first, she struggled on.
The snow flakes became larger and soon sharp shards of ice were buffeted by a growing north wind to thump resoundingly against her armor. She must seek shelter or the bards would soon have a new tale of the great general felled by a errant icicle. For just a moment she wondered whether the storm was a magical one but her own considerable skills had not detected any foreign energies, no this storm was Goddess sent. As the storm grew in volume, she broke into a run. Even a great oak would shield her from the roar of the storms fury, she almost ran up against the house before she could make out its snow covered outlines against the dark of the looming cliffs. Her fist beat but once against the door before it was opened and a deep voice hurried her in. She found herself inside a cozy warm candle lit room. As the first strike of lightening found ground in the adamant cliffs, she looked up at the man who had opened his home to her.
Unusually tall, he was dressed in clean well mended buckskins, that had been worn to smooth softness. He carried no weapons, that she could see but his wide shoulders spoke of physical labor. His pointed ears and forest eyes spoke of mixed heritage , nothing as exotic as her human witch mother and elf mage father, but yes one of his parents had laid with something not quite human and one of them had come away with a child. And she could sense from the warm golden aura around him, that he had magic, his own, she could not sense the flavor of his magic. She spoke cautiously, not seeking to offend.
'I Everlot SwordBorne Demonsbane, general of the 1st legion seek shelter and guest rights, I will pay with coin and blessings from the mothers three'
He answers her in the accents of the Northlands:
'I Duncan App Adamant offer you the shelter of this home and seek no payments'
It seemed that the air between them lightened and his aura became brighter. Even though her enemies doubted that her face could do it, Everlot fetched out a smile for this kind stranger. He was watching her with his curious cat eyed gaze, as she doffed her long bow and arrows, her cloak and cowl. Drawing closer to the fire, she found she had little to say. Her conversations normally conducted over maps and with spies around war techniques and training and none of those would serve her now. She would not risk scaring her host by speaking of how many demons she had slayed and how her battle magick sent them fleeing before her gibbering as she slaughtered them, or how she discovered women the beasts had captured and freed them, healing them as she could. The horrors of her life seemed truly violent here in this place with its red quilted covered and hand woven rugs.
'You may leave your sword, none will threaten you here'
She looked at him with surprise, Immortalis had been at her waist for so long an extension of her own hand, again not wishing to offend, she drew off her sword belt and short stabbing dagger, the disc throwing blade too and laid them on his great table. She knew a storm of such fury would not last long and even as her fingers flexed as if in separation anxiety, she knew she would soon be on her way. Besides even without bow, dagger, blade or broadsword she was far from defenseless. Her magick and hand to hand combat skills would best any warrior in the 12 Kingdoms.
'You have journeyed far in this cold'
As he spoke he fetched two turned wood bowls and two carved spoons, laying them on the table. Setting her a place as if Immortalis were one of those flower bouquets that ladies laid in the center of the formal dinner table. Well she reasoned, Immortalis is beautiful and has more purpose than any blossom that decorated a high lords table. The silence grew as if he awaited her answer.
'Yes, I must hurry to my kings side'
As he sliced a cottage loaf and spooned out something that looked glossy and thick redolent with the smell of mountain thyme, he glanced at her.
'Your King would have you journey on such a night, surely even Generals make camp'
She did not know how to reply to this comment because, it was not her King that commanded her but her own battle hunger that drove her, She knew her King often wished she would celebrate, that she would partake in receiving of the spoils and he often urged her to journey to the Summerlands and rest between campaigns But she did not, She did not have the skills to be a soft daughter, pride to her father at home. Her sisters lives made her hungry for things she should not have. She had turned from that, her magick was made for battle and the Goddesses themselves had called her to war.
'He does not wish me to travel, but It is known to me that whilst others remain oppressed by the Demonic hordes, he will not rest, therefore this being so, how can I?'
He said naught but poured out a deep claret colored wine into lathe turned drinking cups. Everlot watched as his preparations done, he gestured her to the table. Sitting down to his right, the woman's place, she felt strange. In her world as a general, she ate at the king's table, his dark left hand, or alone in her library in the warrior tower.
'You are really her then, descender of all those hoards, the one the people call Dark Death?
Everlot was shocked, that here in the backwoods of these Northern wastes he had heard of her.
Yes I am She.'
She was not ashamed of her fury and might, this was the work of her life. He looked at her as she ate, occasionally drinking and eating, but mostly watching her. Everlot was tempted to shout Boo! and see if he started.
'Are you on to free the final city now?'
This question startled her, the final city was Sindra a seaport, the final strong hold where freedom must yet come to the people and to the demonic hordes their descent back to the hells they arose from. Once Sindra was won, the hordes would finally be scourged free from the 12 Kingdoms.
'Yes'
He stared at her, his face lit by wry amusement
'You don't make polite conversation easy, general'
Everlot started and then for the first time in the longest time, she laughed. He was right, the long past 6 years of unerring war had given little chance of practice of politeness and conversation. Perhaps she had been trading threats with Demonkine for so long, she had forgotten these soft things.
'I don't have much cause for practice'
'Ah, so the Demon hordes don't trade pleasantries'.
His laugh was so big, it was almost a living thing. his golden aura alight with pleasure and delight. There was such joy inside this little room, just through the simple act of his laughter. His smile curved face was compelling, it was as if all his magick was tied up inside the act of simply being happy. Everlot watched him and wished he would laugh again/
'but the next time I encounter some, before I descend them, I will ask about their tea preferences'
His glance was surprised but the great delightful shout of laughter that followed made her smile.
'and they say Generals can not laugh'
Everlot ate up, the simple act of sharing a meal in relative safety was new to her. Suddenly she wished to know more. Who was this lone soul, in this cabin here on the edge of nowhere.
'How do you come to be here, Duncan of the Adamant?'
He looked at her square in her mist borne eyes and smiled.
'I am truly as I am named, Of the mountains, I can sing the adamantine from the rock and then I shape it into weapons. So here with my rock is where I must stay'
Everlot was surprised, metal smiths especially those who could use their magics to draw the adamantine from the mountains were rare. All the blades and weapons used to slay demonskine came from such magicians, and they were a rare magic gift.
That blade, he gestured at Immortalis, is of my make.
Everlot was startled, her blade had come to her in her vision quest. It was one thing to tip arrows in metal and master the craft of folding the steel and honing its edge but to make a blade such as Immortalis, meant the maker was guided by the Goddesses three to make a blade for a warrior a million miles away, who powers and hands would fit the blade and such blades often came to change histories. Duncan was no mere metal smith, he was a metal mage. A rarity among the rare. She wondered if he had made only one blessed blade. Almost as if he sensed her question; he answered.
I have made only this one blessed blade, She of the Dark Moon, the Dark Goddess spoke to me, the three did come but she spoke first. Bade me make this blade, when It was done, they all spoke in turn and I watched the three who were one draw the blade through the mists. I did not dare hope to see this blade again. When I heard word from trappers of your sword and goddess marks, I knew that blade had a found a home.
Everlot looked at his great scarred fingers holding his spoons, the Goddesses had called her blade: her destiny, promised her it would lead her to overturn fates and free the people and bring her joy. She had both loved and respected Immortalis. She could not believe this blessed blade had brought her home to its maker. Her head spun with the wonder, she wondered if any of the other 3 bearers of the blessed swords had ever been so blessed as she to share salt with the maker of her blade. The ancients believed that the mages poured themselves into their swords, that each sword lived only because its maker sacrificed a piece of his own magic soul to make it so. She wondered at the will of the Goddess to bring her here on this night in the midst of a great war.
There is always purpose in her workings in your wryd, in your fate .
Duncan watched the warrior at his table with great eyes, she had the stink of fate about her. She could not be the woman the Goddess promised him. For this was no soft woman to bear him sons. He had given much of himself to the forging of Immortalis and he had been promised much without his asking. To him in the ravaged land would come a twin flame, a mirror soul and his sons would be kings in this land and the next. He was comforted by her otherness, she was truly a worthy wielder of the sword he spent years singing to life. As she finished her meal and set down her spoon. She rose and he rose with her.
Would you like to see it?
As Duncan watched she drew the sword from its scabbard and presented it to him, As he closed his fists around this sword, he Felt. his own magic danced and intertwined with hers. Pulsing deep inside this blade, powering it with deadly purpose and righteous rage. He sensed his own strength and patience beneath the fire of her passion and rage. He could sense the wild joy of her battle fury, the deep sense of serenity she found in peace and there in the midst of it all his own magic flowing with hers, lending it stability, lending it power. She truly took this creation and put it to its glorious purpose.
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