Post by Kerrain on May 2, 2008 19:24:12 GMT -5
Name - Kerrain Guil'tee
Age - 17
Date of Birth - Unknown
Homelands - Gundolath
Race - Human
Class - Ninja/Thief
Final -
Incarnation -
The wielder calls upon his True Soul, and transmogrifies into the demon he is. Dark energy gathers and escalates to untold potentials as it surges into the wielder of Degel deSaga, the necroplasmic power countouring and twisting his or her body. Black energy starts to pour out of the wielder's body not soon after, cracking his or her skin as if it were stone, and forming an outer layer of demonic skin. The wielder's eyes are erased as the pupil is destroyed, leaving a pair fo bare white orbs that mist black whisps of Death energy. A pair of horns sprout from the forehead, along with steroid-like enhancement of the musculature.
As the body is getting used to its new changes, a pair of gargantuan black raven wings rip out of his or her back, spraying a gush of blood onto the area of transmogrification. As all new ligaments form on the body and adjust themselves, a layer of energy encases the wilder's body and disappeares, leaving the raiment Rondel deSaga in place. At the end of Incarnation, an area-effecting wave of Death energy floods the air. All physical parameters are off the charts in degree and the Incarnated is invulnerable to all types of status-altering spells.
----------------------------
{Weapon information}
Degel deSaga
A blade of complete and concentrated mania, death, and darkness. Degel deSaga can rip through any form of defense, and even without swinging, the wielder can demoralize his foe by simply raising this awesome force of destruction. Most run in terror from he who wields the Buster. Unfortunately, the sword is diminished in its current form. All the remains is a simple, golden sword hilt. It resembles that of a double-headed hatchet with the frontal blade slightly bigger than the back blade. In the center is a circle separated by a thin line, almost as if the two half circles were eyelids. However, the hilt isn't completely useless. The power of the sword is not gone, but entrapped within its golden prison. Only when the wielder is truly enlightened shall the blade reveal its glory.
[enchantments]
+ all stats when Incarnated with blade release
- speed when unreleased and using knuckles
+ speed/strength when released and using normally
{Armour Information}
Bare Skin (Normal)
Normally, with Kerrain being Unincarnated, he wears nothing but a pair of regular black sack cloth pants. His chest is visible, as are many battle scars he has accumulated while roaming the high seas. On both biceps he has chained silver bands which are etched with ancient runes, but both bands have no purpose while Kerrain is Unincarnated. However, Kerrain does make use of the loose chainlinks on the bands; for instance, providing more mass to make impact while hitting. Almost identical bands are located on his ankles, and on first glance, one would categorize Kerrain as an ex-slave. Which he was, until he freed himself. On his back are more scars from the whippings he endured as a slave, along with a large and symbolic tattoo. The tattoo is of a dragon, a bone dragon, and is sign of his schooner as it comes into the port. The bone dragon is spread along his entire back, his shoulder blades being the wings, the back of his neck the head, and the starting curve of his butt being the end of the tail.
Rondel deSaga (Incarnation)
This armor is the perfect pairing for Degel deSaga, since they were both made by the same smith. This garment had not a speck of metal in it, mainly because it is woven of small, fine dragon skin threads. The raiment is black of color with gold trimmings and small, hidden pockets for needles or perhaps miniscule knives. The cloth is impervious to any blade piercing it, although, being hit by a sword does leave a nasty bruise. Moreover, this armor is not worn in broad daylight nor is it actually a REAL piece of armor. Rondel deSaga appears on the wielder of Degel deSaga after Incarnation. There is not mcuh else known about this armor, since Kerrain has only revealed his Incarnation once and once only.
[enchantments]
n/a
{Accessory Information}
Signet Earring
A small, silver earring that is the only remaining evidence that Kerrain is indeed human. After the atrocites he's seen and what he's transformed into, the boy is plague by his thoughts of being undead, or worse, inhuman. The demon within Degel deSaga warps his mind each time he takes the hilt into his hand, but this earring has placed on it a powerful enchantment which renders the demonic voice fo the blade useless. The ring is a medium-sized loop on his left ear, with two spikes that meet in the middle on the inside.
-Enchantment-
- Incarcerates demonic power
{Physical Description}
Fluffy, scraggily, yet clean black hair tops the behemoth that is Kerrain. His face is angled and brutal, a combination of handsome and rugged flavor that he uses to lure ladies into a trap. Perhaps to steal their gold. Always go for the rich brauds. With eyes that twinkle like the northern star yet black as a piece of obsidian stone, he looks somewhat like an innocent boy. If it weren't for the scars on his chest, riddling what would have been perfection, most would be attracted to his company. Kerrain makes sure of this by not wearing a shirt to let his scars be seen. He's more of an antisocial type of guy. Luckily, he is clothed from the waist down. He may not like company, but in regards to it, he doesnt' want to attract the wrong company by walking around in the nude.
A pair of simple, black cloth pants he has. However, not shoes. He does not enjoy feeling a leather sole, but rather, the texture of the ground beneath him. He finds it incredibly comfortable to feel the cold morning dew of grass when he awakens. On his back he has a vicious design for a tattoo, a necromantic dragon displayed in its might. The black tattoo itself covers his entire back, leaving not a bit of skin color, which by the way, is a fine tan. That is due simply because of his pirate life. A quadlet of slave bracers are attached to his upper arms and ankles, though, Kerrain would rather not speak of his own personal manners. So totter off. A silver earring sparkles on his left ear, a hoop with two spikes that begin inward and end at his earlobe, nearly piercing the skin. Beyond the intricate detail, on first sight, Kerrain looks as if he were an unfortunate, yet young, beggar. This is a simple illusion to cover up the fact that he will be swindling you out of your money.
{Background}
Stillness in the night.
Old groans and creaks spoke in the salty air, aged timber rocked back and forth as if upon a great rocking chair. Jade eyes gazed forth into the wall before the pale, everlasting wall before them. The statuesque mermaid played her barnacled harp as The Grenavive cut its way through the thick fog. The top deck was abandoned by its regular traffic of leather-soled feet and noxious spit. Though, the wood itself viewed that as no loss.
However, the star-sprinkled night sky isn’t the main focus, the focal point. A rustle below deck catches the ears of a particularly astute corsair, as he makes his way down to the cargo hold.
A baby lay nestled within a patch of burlap sacks containing grain. Ultimately, the babe had decided the grain was somewhat uncomfortable. Yet, it didn’t cry. The baby simply gazed up through the caged outlet of the cargo hold, looking through the windowed lattice and gazing up toward the twinkling sky. The night was beautiful, the air was crisp, the sea was clear. This babe’s future was not.
“Cap’n! We got ‘urselves a stow’way!” The incredibly astute corsair declared, yelling up from the cargo hold and beyond. Soft plunking soon followed as the door to the mess slammed open, followed by the heavy metal boots of a Captain Grenhaw. His ship was named after his daughter, who turned out to be a harlot, and who now cons rich men. Though, that was after he named the ship in her liking. The megaton boots made their way down the staircase and stopped abruptly in front of the cargo hold’s entrance. A minute later, the captain came in and glared ferociously at his hated adversary, a . . . baby?
“Yeh idjit! Tis hain’t no stow’way! Tis be a wee babeh! Hwat beh ‘rong wit ye man?” The captain bellowed, as well as going against the idiom of ‘say it, don’t spray it’.
Of course, the baby knew this first hand. The captain made history by being the first to spit on a baby on his own pirate ship. However, the baby soon looked past the spit upon his bald forehead and was soont transfixed by the appearance of the captain. Long and scraggily crimson hair was shocked into place under a grandiose hat. A pair of green eyes looked at him, a vertical scar over his left. Though, the scar fell short of begging the question when the baby gained new attention on the mighty behemoth of a beard! The gargantuan thing trailed down to his knees and was as crimson as his head of hair, and the baby was all too anxious to touch the magnificent specimen. Around the treasured beard was a robust black and gold-trimmed overcoat over an overly-large dueling shirt. Also, a monster of a belt held the bell-bottomed pants up, and a master-worked cutlass at his hip.
The captain moved over and looked upon the baby from his surpluses height, a wicked grin coming upon his face.
“Oh, weel do ye, babeh. Weel do ye propah.” He said, looking to his corsair.
“Eeve olwayz want’d eh sun.”
CRASH!
The ship dropped anchor as the gangplank slammed onto the harbor’s docking platform. The metal of cutlasses clanged in unison as a horde of corsairs charged down the gangplank, torches in hand. The night sky was lit up by razing flames from the raider’s party. At the lead was a somewhat familiar face, but this raider did not have a cutlass like his fellows. His bare knuckles and feet were his weapon of choice. This man stood at a near six feet and four inches, with a chest that was both wide and muscular. Scars riddled his breast, as well as his arms. Some wounds were extremely fresh as well. The people of Hindoril were defending themselves from the pirate raiders, the baby become man leading the raid. The lone leader strode down a blazing street, his eyes covered by his thick, black hair. A group of farmers came running down the street at him, stopping a mere inches from our protagonist.
“He’s one of them!”
“Get him!”
“Skewer him!”
“Don’t let him get away!”
“Heh heh heh . . .”
The first farmer was down, eight more to go. The dead one had charged the boy and tried to hit him in the face with a shovel, but the boy moved with inhuman grace and avoided the attack, slamming his hand into the back of the farmer’s head and causing a cranial rupture. Blood was already gathering in a puddle behind him. A second farmer came not long after, raising a pitchfork the stab him. However, the boy had already counteracted the poor farmer. The pitchfork flew from the laborer’s hand as the boy grabbed it, twisting the makeshift stave around and flipping the farmer high into the air with alien vigor, the pitchfork flying straight up into the air and piercing straight through the farmer’s body, raking out his innards. The farmer was still up in the air when the boy leaped, grabbing onto the farm tool’s handle and ripping it out of its former owner. With a simple flick, the pitchfork rushed down and caught another farmer’s neck, pinning him to the ground. Unfortunately, the boy had chosen this specific farmer to be the one to be kept alive, perhaps to tell the story. The boy landed flawlessly from the air. . . to balance on the top of the pitchfork’s handle.
The farmer’s stared with fear and rancor at their enemy, flaunting his agility and strength, killing their friends! Who was this beast?
“Guil’tee! Weeve got tis, mate! Gerrover to the captain! He needs yur ‘elp mur den weh do!”
And with that, “Guil’tee” jumped off of his perch and flew like a phantom in the air, landing into a run on the flaming rooftops. The baby was not as innocent as he looked that long while back then. The babe had turned into a monster. A cold-hearted murderer and assassin. Kerrain Guil’tee, the whirlwind of oblivion, was his epithet.
Kerrain padded at a breakneck pace along the rooftops, fire licking at his ankles. Captain Grenhaw was in trouble, and if the captain was in trouble, something was seriously wrong.
“HAR HAR! Eeve not meht a pearson who cou’ out-swor’ meh!”
Captain Grenhaw stood deadlocked with a maiden in black robes. The captain had his hands in a sweaty grip about a long, wide, and curved cutlass. Kerrain automatically identified it as his captain’s, since it was engraved with the language of Captain Grenhaw’s birthplace, and because red diamonds were incased within the metal of the grand blade. However, Kerrain did not believe his eyes when he saw the opponent of his captain. A woman? How? And what in the world was she holding in her hand? A golden hilt, similar to the one hanging on his captain’s belt, with a blade like none he’s ever seen before. It was like white fire. A fountain of it, streaming from the blade, a regular geyser of power! Kerrain could feel the energy from atop the roof, through the flames. He knew his captain was in trouble. Immediately, his legs flexed and launched him from the rooftop to land beside Captain Grenhaw.
“Eh, boy! Whaterya doin’ ’ere?”
“Your first mate said that you were in trouble, my captain. I see that he was correct.”
“Ehheheh, whyse you olwayz speakin’ lie tha’? Speak lie a man, boy! As yeh ken seh, I ain’ en no trubble. Tho’, dis dame do figh’ well, eh boy?”
Kerrain looked upon the maiden and drew a wry smile upon his face, pushing back his hair so he could see her with no hindrance. His eyes reflected the flames around them, echoing the destruction he stood for. And for a split-second, the maiden stopped and looked to Kerrain, freezing in her tracks, her grip failing her. The captain took this advantageous moment and deflected her fiery white blade, spinning around to slash her, to be struck in the breast by a fatal blow. Captain Grenhaw stumbled and fell to the ground, giving off a chuckle.
“Heh heh…” The captain gurgled an ounce of blood and spit it to the ground.
Kerrain nearly stumbled as he rushed next to his captain, holding his foster father’s chin up.
“Yeh seh, boy. Tis is wer I totta’ off. Yeeve goht a graayt lif’ a’ead of yeh. But yeh seh, boy. I em naught en it. Retrea’ boy. Go. . . Kerrain.”
Captain Grenhaw spit his last mouthful of blood, his face growing pale. With one last breath, he was gone form this world and into the next. The hooded maiden swung her blade into the air upwards, the white fires ceasing to be. She was silent as she stared, looking at the captain, then to the boy. She looked upon him in a kind manner, but in no way was she Kerrain’s long lost parents or siblings. Any experienced woman would know it was a crush. The maiden moved forward to touch Kerrain. . . as she saw his eyes. Pure hatred emanated from the boy’s eyes as they slowly turned toward the maiden, the fires shunned from the blackness of his eyes, all that was left was a pair of blank orbs, saturated with pure darkness.
Pick me up, Wielder.
A voice echoed in Kerrain’s head as his eyes left the maiden and to the lonely hilt tied to Captain Grenhaw’s belt. The boy focused on the hilt as the center opened up, revealing the a black eye of a dragon. It stared back at Kerrain as the boy was taken aback, then fell into league. He ripped the hilt off of his captain’s belt and held it in his hand, standing up to his full height as he looked down at the maiden. She looked back, though her body be still. Her hand reached unsurely to her robe and clasped her own lonely hilt, its golden sheen reflecting fof the fire as it was brought out. She placed the blade flatly in the air and held it before her heart, as it instantly ignited again into the white flames. Kerrain looked down at the hilt and soon came to be shocked, for there in the hilt was another dragon eye, this one being white.
The boy took the hilt he held and placed it against his bare chest, the black dragon eye looking at the girl, then closing its gaze.
And now another in born. Wielder. Call upon mine name.
“DEGEL DESAGA, ESPADA!”
The hilt’s eye flashed open with a brilliant flash of darkness as a black blade of wreathing flames ignited from it. The maiden automatically surged backwards in alarm, and she realized why she liked the boy. He was a Wielder.
Kerrain’s eyesight was sharpened, his muscles enhanced, his mind craftier than ever. He felt power surge through him as he held the blade, Degel deSaga, in his hands.
---Cue “Last Resort” by Papa Roach---
“Heheheh…HAHAHAH!!!”
Kerrain’s body was immolated by dark fire as he embraced the power of the blade, but as a first-timer, he did not know the effect such power had on his mind. He was turning insane with every second, the power overflowing within his body. The maiden rose her blade in defense as a wave of death energy covered the area, crumbling the blazing buildings with a simple touch.
”Use me, Wielder. DESTROY HER!”
The boy rose Degel deSaga for an instant and rushed forward in a blur, the maiden having to raise her blade in a lucky manner and catching a lucky parry. However, that would be the last attack she blocked against. Kerrain fell to the ground as he held his head, curling into the fetal position, as a feral yell of untold pain echoed across the continuing wasteland. The black fire of the blade grew and soon encased Kerrain, lifting the boy into the air as it surged into his body. In through his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose, the dark spirit invading his body and taking him.
“Recite the incantation, Wielder. You KNOW it.”
“Tensuga lyrrta… deSaga INCARNATION!”
The maiden heard this and brought her hands together, forming a white flaming shield around her body. Death energy pulsed silently from the boy’s body as buildings toppled, and soon, a giant dome of dark magic exploded from Kerrain’s body and took out the ship, disintegrated his captain’s body, and crumbled every building left standing for miles. Kerrain’s hatred was fueling the blade. The boy screamed in agony as gargantuan dragon wings ripped from his back, blood spraying onto the ground. His body shifted, his skin turning purple, his forehead growing two demonic horns, his muscles growing even more. The demon landed on his taloned feet and looked to the maiden and pointed Degel deSaga at her, the white shield disappeared.
“Meggido.”
Darkness grew everywhere and devoured the city, the maiden, and Kerrain’s fellow pirates…
Then, the boy woke up in a tavern, the hilt tied to his own belt.
{Pictures}
Kerrain
Degel deSaga
Age - 17
Date of Birth - Unknown
Homelands - Gundolath
Race - Human
Class - Ninja/Thief
Final -
Incarnation -
The wielder calls upon his True Soul, and transmogrifies into the demon he is. Dark energy gathers and escalates to untold potentials as it surges into the wielder of Degel deSaga, the necroplasmic power countouring and twisting his or her body. Black energy starts to pour out of the wielder's body not soon after, cracking his or her skin as if it were stone, and forming an outer layer of demonic skin. The wielder's eyes are erased as the pupil is destroyed, leaving a pair fo bare white orbs that mist black whisps of Death energy. A pair of horns sprout from the forehead, along with steroid-like enhancement of the musculature.
As the body is getting used to its new changes, a pair of gargantuan black raven wings rip out of his or her back, spraying a gush of blood onto the area of transmogrification. As all new ligaments form on the body and adjust themselves, a layer of energy encases the wilder's body and disappeares, leaving the raiment Rondel deSaga in place. At the end of Incarnation, an area-effecting wave of Death energy floods the air. All physical parameters are off the charts in degree and the Incarnated is invulnerable to all types of status-altering spells.
----------------------------
{Weapon information}
Degel deSaga
A blade of complete and concentrated mania, death, and darkness. Degel deSaga can rip through any form of defense, and even without swinging, the wielder can demoralize his foe by simply raising this awesome force of destruction. Most run in terror from he who wields the Buster. Unfortunately, the sword is diminished in its current form. All the remains is a simple, golden sword hilt. It resembles that of a double-headed hatchet with the frontal blade slightly bigger than the back blade. In the center is a circle separated by a thin line, almost as if the two half circles were eyelids. However, the hilt isn't completely useless. The power of the sword is not gone, but entrapped within its golden prison. Only when the wielder is truly enlightened shall the blade reveal its glory.
[enchantments]
+ all stats when Incarnated with blade release
- speed when unreleased and using knuckles
+ speed/strength when released and using normally
{Armour Information}
Bare Skin (Normal)
Normally, with Kerrain being Unincarnated, he wears nothing but a pair of regular black sack cloth pants. His chest is visible, as are many battle scars he has accumulated while roaming the high seas. On both biceps he has chained silver bands which are etched with ancient runes, but both bands have no purpose while Kerrain is Unincarnated. However, Kerrain does make use of the loose chainlinks on the bands; for instance, providing more mass to make impact while hitting. Almost identical bands are located on his ankles, and on first glance, one would categorize Kerrain as an ex-slave. Which he was, until he freed himself. On his back are more scars from the whippings he endured as a slave, along with a large and symbolic tattoo. The tattoo is of a dragon, a bone dragon, and is sign of his schooner as it comes into the port. The bone dragon is spread along his entire back, his shoulder blades being the wings, the back of his neck the head, and the starting curve of his butt being the end of the tail.
Rondel deSaga (Incarnation)
This armor is the perfect pairing for Degel deSaga, since they were both made by the same smith. This garment had not a speck of metal in it, mainly because it is woven of small, fine dragon skin threads. The raiment is black of color with gold trimmings and small, hidden pockets for needles or perhaps miniscule knives. The cloth is impervious to any blade piercing it, although, being hit by a sword does leave a nasty bruise. Moreover, this armor is not worn in broad daylight nor is it actually a REAL piece of armor. Rondel deSaga appears on the wielder of Degel deSaga after Incarnation. There is not mcuh else known about this armor, since Kerrain has only revealed his Incarnation once and once only.
[enchantments]
n/a
{Accessory Information}
Signet Earring
A small, silver earring that is the only remaining evidence that Kerrain is indeed human. After the atrocites he's seen and what he's transformed into, the boy is plague by his thoughts of being undead, or worse, inhuman. The demon within Degel deSaga warps his mind each time he takes the hilt into his hand, but this earring has placed on it a powerful enchantment which renders the demonic voice fo the blade useless. The ring is a medium-sized loop on his left ear, with two spikes that meet in the middle on the inside.
-Enchantment-
- Incarcerates demonic power
{Physical Description}
Fluffy, scraggily, yet clean black hair tops the behemoth that is Kerrain. His face is angled and brutal, a combination of handsome and rugged flavor that he uses to lure ladies into a trap. Perhaps to steal their gold. Always go for the rich brauds. With eyes that twinkle like the northern star yet black as a piece of obsidian stone, he looks somewhat like an innocent boy. If it weren't for the scars on his chest, riddling what would have been perfection, most would be attracted to his company. Kerrain makes sure of this by not wearing a shirt to let his scars be seen. He's more of an antisocial type of guy. Luckily, he is clothed from the waist down. He may not like company, but in regards to it, he doesnt' want to attract the wrong company by walking around in the nude.
A pair of simple, black cloth pants he has. However, not shoes. He does not enjoy feeling a leather sole, but rather, the texture of the ground beneath him. He finds it incredibly comfortable to feel the cold morning dew of grass when he awakens. On his back he has a vicious design for a tattoo, a necromantic dragon displayed in its might. The black tattoo itself covers his entire back, leaving not a bit of skin color, which by the way, is a fine tan. That is due simply because of his pirate life. A quadlet of slave bracers are attached to his upper arms and ankles, though, Kerrain would rather not speak of his own personal manners. So totter off. A silver earring sparkles on his left ear, a hoop with two spikes that begin inward and end at his earlobe, nearly piercing the skin. Beyond the intricate detail, on first sight, Kerrain looks as if he were an unfortunate, yet young, beggar. This is a simple illusion to cover up the fact that he will be swindling you out of your money.
{Background}
Stillness in the night.
Old groans and creaks spoke in the salty air, aged timber rocked back and forth as if upon a great rocking chair. Jade eyes gazed forth into the wall before the pale, everlasting wall before them. The statuesque mermaid played her barnacled harp as The Grenavive cut its way through the thick fog. The top deck was abandoned by its regular traffic of leather-soled feet and noxious spit. Though, the wood itself viewed that as no loss.
However, the star-sprinkled night sky isn’t the main focus, the focal point. A rustle below deck catches the ears of a particularly astute corsair, as he makes his way down to the cargo hold.
A baby lay nestled within a patch of burlap sacks containing grain. Ultimately, the babe had decided the grain was somewhat uncomfortable. Yet, it didn’t cry. The baby simply gazed up through the caged outlet of the cargo hold, looking through the windowed lattice and gazing up toward the twinkling sky. The night was beautiful, the air was crisp, the sea was clear. This babe’s future was not.
“Cap’n! We got ‘urselves a stow’way!” The incredibly astute corsair declared, yelling up from the cargo hold and beyond. Soft plunking soon followed as the door to the mess slammed open, followed by the heavy metal boots of a Captain Grenhaw. His ship was named after his daughter, who turned out to be a harlot, and who now cons rich men. Though, that was after he named the ship in her liking. The megaton boots made their way down the staircase and stopped abruptly in front of the cargo hold’s entrance. A minute later, the captain came in and glared ferociously at his hated adversary, a . . . baby?
“Yeh idjit! Tis hain’t no stow’way! Tis be a wee babeh! Hwat beh ‘rong wit ye man?” The captain bellowed, as well as going against the idiom of ‘say it, don’t spray it’.
Of course, the baby knew this first hand. The captain made history by being the first to spit on a baby on his own pirate ship. However, the baby soon looked past the spit upon his bald forehead and was soont transfixed by the appearance of the captain. Long and scraggily crimson hair was shocked into place under a grandiose hat. A pair of green eyes looked at him, a vertical scar over his left. Though, the scar fell short of begging the question when the baby gained new attention on the mighty behemoth of a beard! The gargantuan thing trailed down to his knees and was as crimson as his head of hair, and the baby was all too anxious to touch the magnificent specimen. Around the treasured beard was a robust black and gold-trimmed overcoat over an overly-large dueling shirt. Also, a monster of a belt held the bell-bottomed pants up, and a master-worked cutlass at his hip.
The captain moved over and looked upon the baby from his surpluses height, a wicked grin coming upon his face.
“Oh, weel do ye, babeh. Weel do ye propah.” He said, looking to his corsair.
“Eeve olwayz want’d eh sun.”
CRASH!
The ship dropped anchor as the gangplank slammed onto the harbor’s docking platform. The metal of cutlasses clanged in unison as a horde of corsairs charged down the gangplank, torches in hand. The night sky was lit up by razing flames from the raider’s party. At the lead was a somewhat familiar face, but this raider did not have a cutlass like his fellows. His bare knuckles and feet were his weapon of choice. This man stood at a near six feet and four inches, with a chest that was both wide and muscular. Scars riddled his breast, as well as his arms. Some wounds were extremely fresh as well. The people of Hindoril were defending themselves from the pirate raiders, the baby become man leading the raid. The lone leader strode down a blazing street, his eyes covered by his thick, black hair. A group of farmers came running down the street at him, stopping a mere inches from our protagonist.
“He’s one of them!”
“Get him!”
“Skewer him!”
“Don’t let him get away!”
“Heh heh heh . . .”
The first farmer was down, eight more to go. The dead one had charged the boy and tried to hit him in the face with a shovel, but the boy moved with inhuman grace and avoided the attack, slamming his hand into the back of the farmer’s head and causing a cranial rupture. Blood was already gathering in a puddle behind him. A second farmer came not long after, raising a pitchfork the stab him. However, the boy had already counteracted the poor farmer. The pitchfork flew from the laborer’s hand as the boy grabbed it, twisting the makeshift stave around and flipping the farmer high into the air with alien vigor, the pitchfork flying straight up into the air and piercing straight through the farmer’s body, raking out his innards. The farmer was still up in the air when the boy leaped, grabbing onto the farm tool’s handle and ripping it out of its former owner. With a simple flick, the pitchfork rushed down and caught another farmer’s neck, pinning him to the ground. Unfortunately, the boy had chosen this specific farmer to be the one to be kept alive, perhaps to tell the story. The boy landed flawlessly from the air. . . to balance on the top of the pitchfork’s handle.
The farmer’s stared with fear and rancor at their enemy, flaunting his agility and strength, killing their friends! Who was this beast?
“Guil’tee! Weeve got tis, mate! Gerrover to the captain! He needs yur ‘elp mur den weh do!”
And with that, “Guil’tee” jumped off of his perch and flew like a phantom in the air, landing into a run on the flaming rooftops. The baby was not as innocent as he looked that long while back then. The babe had turned into a monster. A cold-hearted murderer and assassin. Kerrain Guil’tee, the whirlwind of oblivion, was his epithet.
Kerrain padded at a breakneck pace along the rooftops, fire licking at his ankles. Captain Grenhaw was in trouble, and if the captain was in trouble, something was seriously wrong.
“HAR HAR! Eeve not meht a pearson who cou’ out-swor’ meh!”
Captain Grenhaw stood deadlocked with a maiden in black robes. The captain had his hands in a sweaty grip about a long, wide, and curved cutlass. Kerrain automatically identified it as his captain’s, since it was engraved with the language of Captain Grenhaw’s birthplace, and because red diamonds were incased within the metal of the grand blade. However, Kerrain did not believe his eyes when he saw the opponent of his captain. A woman? How? And what in the world was she holding in her hand? A golden hilt, similar to the one hanging on his captain’s belt, with a blade like none he’s ever seen before. It was like white fire. A fountain of it, streaming from the blade, a regular geyser of power! Kerrain could feel the energy from atop the roof, through the flames. He knew his captain was in trouble. Immediately, his legs flexed and launched him from the rooftop to land beside Captain Grenhaw.
“Eh, boy! Whaterya doin’ ’ere?”
“Your first mate said that you were in trouble, my captain. I see that he was correct.”
“Ehheheh, whyse you olwayz speakin’ lie tha’? Speak lie a man, boy! As yeh ken seh, I ain’ en no trubble. Tho’, dis dame do figh’ well, eh boy?”
Kerrain looked upon the maiden and drew a wry smile upon his face, pushing back his hair so he could see her with no hindrance. His eyes reflected the flames around them, echoing the destruction he stood for. And for a split-second, the maiden stopped and looked to Kerrain, freezing in her tracks, her grip failing her. The captain took this advantageous moment and deflected her fiery white blade, spinning around to slash her, to be struck in the breast by a fatal blow. Captain Grenhaw stumbled and fell to the ground, giving off a chuckle.
“Heh heh…” The captain gurgled an ounce of blood and spit it to the ground.
Kerrain nearly stumbled as he rushed next to his captain, holding his foster father’s chin up.
“Yeh seh, boy. Tis is wer I totta’ off. Yeeve goht a graayt lif’ a’ead of yeh. But yeh seh, boy. I em naught en it. Retrea’ boy. Go. . . Kerrain.”
Captain Grenhaw spit his last mouthful of blood, his face growing pale. With one last breath, he was gone form this world and into the next. The hooded maiden swung her blade into the air upwards, the white fires ceasing to be. She was silent as she stared, looking at the captain, then to the boy. She looked upon him in a kind manner, but in no way was she Kerrain’s long lost parents or siblings. Any experienced woman would know it was a crush. The maiden moved forward to touch Kerrain. . . as she saw his eyes. Pure hatred emanated from the boy’s eyes as they slowly turned toward the maiden, the fires shunned from the blackness of his eyes, all that was left was a pair of blank orbs, saturated with pure darkness.
Pick me up, Wielder.
A voice echoed in Kerrain’s head as his eyes left the maiden and to the lonely hilt tied to Captain Grenhaw’s belt. The boy focused on the hilt as the center opened up, revealing the a black eye of a dragon. It stared back at Kerrain as the boy was taken aback, then fell into league. He ripped the hilt off of his captain’s belt and held it in his hand, standing up to his full height as he looked down at the maiden. She looked back, though her body be still. Her hand reached unsurely to her robe and clasped her own lonely hilt, its golden sheen reflecting fof the fire as it was brought out. She placed the blade flatly in the air and held it before her heart, as it instantly ignited again into the white flames. Kerrain looked down at the hilt and soon came to be shocked, for there in the hilt was another dragon eye, this one being white.
The boy took the hilt he held and placed it against his bare chest, the black dragon eye looking at the girl, then closing its gaze.
And now another in born. Wielder. Call upon mine name.
“DEGEL DESAGA, ESPADA!”
The hilt’s eye flashed open with a brilliant flash of darkness as a black blade of wreathing flames ignited from it. The maiden automatically surged backwards in alarm, and she realized why she liked the boy. He was a Wielder.
Kerrain’s eyesight was sharpened, his muscles enhanced, his mind craftier than ever. He felt power surge through him as he held the blade, Degel deSaga, in his hands.
---Cue “Last Resort” by Papa Roach---
“Heheheh…HAHAHAH!!!”
Kerrain’s body was immolated by dark fire as he embraced the power of the blade, but as a first-timer, he did not know the effect such power had on his mind. He was turning insane with every second, the power overflowing within his body. The maiden rose her blade in defense as a wave of death energy covered the area, crumbling the blazing buildings with a simple touch.
”Use me, Wielder. DESTROY HER!”
The boy rose Degel deSaga for an instant and rushed forward in a blur, the maiden having to raise her blade in a lucky manner and catching a lucky parry. However, that would be the last attack she blocked against. Kerrain fell to the ground as he held his head, curling into the fetal position, as a feral yell of untold pain echoed across the continuing wasteland. The black fire of the blade grew and soon encased Kerrain, lifting the boy into the air as it surged into his body. In through his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose, the dark spirit invading his body and taking him.
“Recite the incantation, Wielder. You KNOW it.”
“Tensuga lyrrta… deSaga INCARNATION!”
The maiden heard this and brought her hands together, forming a white flaming shield around her body. Death energy pulsed silently from the boy’s body as buildings toppled, and soon, a giant dome of dark magic exploded from Kerrain’s body and took out the ship, disintegrated his captain’s body, and crumbled every building left standing for miles. Kerrain’s hatred was fueling the blade. The boy screamed in agony as gargantuan dragon wings ripped from his back, blood spraying onto the ground. His body shifted, his skin turning purple, his forehead growing two demonic horns, his muscles growing even more. The demon landed on his taloned feet and looked to the maiden and pointed Degel deSaga at her, the white shield disappeared.
“Meggido.”
Darkness grew everywhere and devoured the city, the maiden, and Kerrain’s fellow pirates…
Then, the boy woke up in a tavern, the hilt tied to his own belt.
{Pictures}
Kerrain
Degel deSaga
