Member
Ser Llanowaar, Hunter of Unkindled
The bell toll echoed throughout the blackened woods of the Rotten Swamps with a thunderous call, sending a flock of crows scattering into the skies above. Drawing forth the bastard sword “Requiem” from the back of its latest victim; its master swiped the blade to the side before returning it to its sheathe. Littered all around the forgotten warrior, were the bodies of his fallen enemies who put up less of a fight than a squire. His gaze bounced from one body to the next, his heart beating neither for sorrow or care. The Undead were merely pawns thrown before him to keep his abilities sharp and kept his days free of boredom. He had travelled from the farthest woodlands to this desolate swamp to do the bidding of his Lady Mistress who brought him back from death. Filled with a heart of vengeance and hope to see his family again, he swore a vow to slay her enemies to keep the Lords of Flame at bay. And after thousands of leagues of travel, he had arrived at the place where it will begin.
“Remember my Champion, the Unkindled are not mere warriors. They will not hesitate to snatch the life I have given you to appease the evils of the Flame Lords. Keep true and your steel strong, only then will you see your revenge fulfilled and your family returned to you.”
Her words continued to send ice running through his spine, but they also warmed his shattered heart at the thoughts they provoked. With every stride he took towards the “flames of bone,” his mind wandered at what challenges his foes will provide him. Perhaps they are all skilled warriors, perhaps a rouge or mage in-between them but that didn’t matter. He has fell a many of foe who thought their mettle would triumph over his ability. An ability he discovered when he nearly lost his new life to a group of Unkindled. A dark, ferocious shadow which enveloped him when his life was nearly extinguished which allowed him to slaughter them all with a flurry of swordsmanship. When he had awoken from this shadow, their bodies were shredded to pieces. From then on, he felt a little colder and more like a “hollowed” version of himself.
It wasn’t long before the familiar scent of his foes filled his nostrils, causing him to grit his teeth in struggle. His furious gaze looked upwards and down the path he was continuing to walk upon, taking notice of the rising smoke not too far from him. Reaching up to his blade’s handle, he gripped it firmly before slowly drawing forth the bastard sword. As “Requiem” sang its dreary song when fully unleashed, he twirled the weapon till it rested upon his right shoulder. Drawing his hood lower to conceal his motives with his left hand, he stopped as soon as his path opened to the bonfire of bones. To his left, a man laid impaled to the crooked tree with the smell of death as his companion. Before him, stood four others in conversation about the man who recently passed. They reeked of the scent of Unkindled, followers of the Flame Lords. His and his Lady Mistress’ sworn enemies. His grip tightened around his blade just as his eyes darted between each foe. They didn’t know it yet, but he intended to end their lives before they would start their journey from here.
