The story of a soldier and his sword.

Picking at his sword, he reflected an image, one stained in his nightmares. The iron struck hot his demeanor, rugged and gruff. The weapon looked ordinary, a standard wooden hilt, and steel tip carved into two blades, one on each side: the medieval longsword. Yet it was anything but simple.

He dropped the sword on the wooden planks which decorated his cobblestone abode. Hearing a clank, he was satisfied to leave it alone, choosing to exit his house. Unfortunately, the blade was bound.

Soaring in the air, it plunged through the door, leaving a sizable hole before returning into the man’s sheath. He sighed regrettably, finding immense displeasure with the sword’s clinginess. He wanted nothing more than to rid this curse, even if the sword granted him power.

With no other choice, he spoke to the sword, “Hello spirit. I know you want out, so why not make it easier on me. Tell me how to remove this mark on the nape.” A few weeks back, a mark appeared on the soldier’s neck once he grabbed the sword from an ancient ruin.

Prior to his asking, the spirit requested the man’s aid, yet left out details where to begin. The winds shifted, flowing a breeze which blew the man’s brown hair. He shuffled the mess on his forehead, parting it to the left to allow his sight better gauge. Something was surely stirring out there. He thought it related to the sword’s supernatural behavior, but couldn’t confirm it with any evidence.

“So, let’s take a little stroll, you and I. And you can tell me what I need to do.” The man walked along the gravel roads, letting the peaceful farmlands juxtapose his knightly attire.

@Vampiretwilight

[center]It had been many years since the sword had been cursed like it had, had had a spirit within it. The original master has since been long gone. The magical weapon was gathering dust. It needed to be claimed, or so the rumors about the weapon had stated.....

Fast forward:
The sword had since been claimed. The mark was on his neck. His question on how to remove the curse remained unanswered and he had dared to ask the spirit again on how to remove it.

The spirit had not answered. There was no real answer to be given. The only thing really said was that their connection was the key. They would be together, possibly, for the rest of his human life unless they could find a way to sever it. The sword spirit did not give many clues.

Their journey was about to begin...

The days had passed. The sword rarely spoke as it was usually quiet in nature. One day, when the human who claimed him was not working, he decided to stretch his legs so to speak. He felt the energy that allowed this in the air. It was one of his rare opportunities to take on human form.

While the human who possessed the sword was resting, his sword blade glowed under the light of the moon. He floated in the air for a moment. A few moments later, a human male stood there, or so that was how he looked. He had short brown hair and a pale complexation. He had blue eyes and a little bit of a muscular build. His hair was short and flat. It was how he looked before being forced into the sword many years ago, by magic users who worked for an enemy. To this day, he did not know if that villain was alive or dead, as he had been quite the cocky human male back then.

Anyway, he looked at the human who now possessed his sword form. He narrowed his eyes for a moment.

"Why should I tell him more? I do not know if I can trust him or not. Humans are not exactly trustworthy creatures these past years."

He let out a sigh. He looked up at the stars. He had no choice but to work with the other male since they were bound together by the second part of the curse, the spell that made him serve others while as a sword. He frowned at that thought.

"One can only hope for freedom..."

Stepping onwards along the gravel roads, the man was dissatisfied with the sword’s silence. The only clue he pieced was when he became bound to the sword in the Haddleguard ruins. A disturbing memory that questioned why his curiosity sought refuge in those ruins away from a battle that claimed his comrades. Nevertheless, the sunny weather comforted his olive skin. It would be a few days journey until he found the ruins.

Days passed, and the man rested in his own camp. Traveling alone was dangerous, but he wanted to use this vulnerability as a means to get the sword to speak. Surely, if the man became threatened, the sword would react, knowing its life intertwined to his own.

Sleeping in the tent, the man uttered terrified mumbles, “Elbar, Corzeph, and Itsvan.” Names lost to the war between opposing kingdoms. Names he couldn’t save in time.

Meanwhile, as the sword transformed and the man slept; the gallop of horses roared like thunder drowning the chirping of crickets. It sped past the tent, creating a hefty breeze to shiver the man’s body. Awoken through sound and touch, the knightly man bore witness to a foreign man.

Perplexed by oddity, the knightly man spoke, “Who are yo-?” He struggled to finish his statement, as a loud thud erupted in his eardrums. It sounded like a crash, and when he exited his tent, his assumptions were clarified.

Before his dilated eyes, stress tensed the knightly man’s muscles. A horrifying scene splashed in the red grime betwixt large splinter, driver, and horse. The crackling trees tottering to the ground, soon smashed the carriage.

In that instance, the man reached for his sword, pulling nothing from his scabbard.

He remembered the foreign man and shouted in his direction, “Blast! You thief, but…”

Quelled in cognitive reason, he understood not the sword’s disappearance. Despite its loss, the foreign man present equipped no arms. Still, the knightly man lashed at him in a booming echo:

“How dare you! Stealing from a Knight is punishable by death.” Swiftly, the knightly man picked up wooden debris from the carriage’s carnage. He wielded it like a mace. But before he could pace a blunt stroke at the foreign man’s temple, he heard screams.

“Help! Someone help me!” A man’s yelp. It sounded coarse, as if the wood stayed to his chest. Faced with two difficult choices, confronting the thief or saving the man; he decided to abandon the makeshift blunt weapon.

In service to the kingdom, the knightly man always believed in its chivalric values. Heavy religious tones regarding compassion for one's fellow man too inspired his ethic. So, he took his effort in sprint towards the crash site. He lifted the tree up, but the man inside could not move. While he held the tree steady, he needed someone else to pull the man from the tree’s clutches.

He called out to the supposed thief, “Help move this man!”

It happened quickly, the death of a stranger, the tree’s destruction, and the appearance of the foreign man. Taking all of the events in tolled the knightly man, as he tried his best to recollect his surroundings. Here he was attempting to rescue the man trapped in the carriage, and now he’s freed.

“Buah wuah,” astonished, the trapped man removed himself from the carriage. “What, but how?” The man had no idea what took place. It was far beyond the natural realm for discovery. Something supernatural provided help. However, the trapped man and the knightly man knew not the cause; only that the foreign man stood before the two.

In unison, they inquired, “Was it you?” Looking to the foreign man, they waited an answer for a moment. Then, realization hit in, as the freed man remembered, “Wait, we must flee this place.” As he tried to move, his leg froze, and pain shot out his mouth, “Yeowch. Might I get your assistance?”

Bending down, the knightly man wrapped the man’s hands around his left shoulder to drag him. He commanded, “Let’s make for that clearing!”

At the clearing, in destitute of medicine, the knightly man put the man’s right leg back into place. CRUNCH and another yelp of pain likely provided their position to the pursuers. Fortunately, the foreign man too followed, acting as an unknown third party, but yielding protection. The knightly man wondered his fate to be tangled from the supernatural to the runaway.

Without a weapon, or his tent, the knightly man sat on a stump, questioning the foreign man, “You’ve saved our lives, but without a weapon. What are you? A demon?” The bible of the ice kingdom spoke of inferno beings, those who wanted to burn the world named demons. Even though, the foreign man produced no flames, it remained an oddity to the prior encounters.

The two had time to speak with another for the trapped man rested despite the pain.

Feeling ashamed for his sudden questioning to the savior, he reassured the foreign man, “Look, I mean no harm. My name’s Richard, a knight of the Ice Kingdom. I just want to know what’s going on, so tell me what’s your name? And I’m sorry for calling you a demon. I’ve never seen something so unreal.”

James looked between the two. He noticed how astonished the once trapped man seemed to be. One look at him, and he could tell how nervous the man actually was. He sensed injury, which would be obvious considering what had happened. He nodded when they asked if it was him, if he had been the one to free them.

"yes."
He said that rather simply. He winced a bit when he saw the once trapped man attempt to flee after making such an announcement, only to reveal that he was injured. He followed them as they made for the clearing. He ran with ease, knowing they had to get to a safe location to attend to the injured man properly. He acted as a guard in case they were attacked.

Despite a lack of medicine, his 'master' still tended to the mans' leg on his own, which surprised him, and the following CRUNCH of bones made him wince once again. He glanced behind him for a moment before he raised his hand. He let a little bit of his energy flow into the injured mans' leg to aid in his healing. He lowered his hand when he was finished. He blinked and looked at his 'master' who was now questioning what he was. He sighed. He shook his head.

"I am no such things. I would much rather be a pile of pig droppings than such a creature."
James narrowed his eyes and frowned as he said that. He did not bother to keep his voice low for he did not care if he disturbed the now sleeping 'guest' or not. James crossed his arms. He raised an eyebrow. He simply nodded when the other male introduced himself, clearly not realizing they already knew each other.

"I am James. I am the most powerful magic user of this known land, or I was until that awful day, when an enemy took me by surprised and stripped me of my mortal form and imprisoned me as a metal servant to other mortals!"
James took a deep breath and calm down.
"We have met before...master."

He waited for him to make the connection. James was prepared to explain further if need be. His story was a terrible one. He had had a great life: He had succeeded his father as the great top magic user of the lands. He was a well loved noble. Women wanted to become his bride. He was even engaged and starting his own path to becoming even greater. Then, a jealous man dared to challenge him, wanting everything he had. He had managed to deter the guy for many days. However, the enemy had found a way to catch him off guard by spreading a rumor of his bride being unfaithful. He had gone to investigate and that was when he was attacked. Using a forbidden spell, the enemy man had imprisoned his soul within a cold unfeeling form, that sword. Then, his life was gone forever. The years had passed since then, until his 'master' found him, and everything changed.

He narrowed his eyes as he remembered his past.