The Unbound Blade

[Peridan]

A sword unlike any other, so legends say. A blade made to kill a demon itself, to slice through darkness and leave light in its wake.

Peridan sat in a cluttered section of the library. Scrolls and books littered the desk and walls, filling the room with that smell so dusty and yet like fine wine. Archaic runes covered the page he was reading, theories and sections on arcane writings able to be understood by very few in the Valley.

Peridan was dressed in a comfortable tunic and trousers, unusual for the Legionnaire to be out of armor or without wards. He felt strangely protected in this place. It was as though any enemy that sought to find him would be confounded and confused by the rows of tomes. His battered eye-patch even lay on the desk, leaving the scarred remains of his eye to be seen if so desired.

His defenses down, he studied the records of an age long since past, one of champions and demons. He read the accounts of Snow Hawk and the demon Vachbathus, the tragedy of the Unbound Blade. He shook his head. This wasn't how Sol Sunderkin had told it at all. He recalled their conversation on the bridge of Sestra, the ocean breeze blowing her hair across her human and yet.....not, face.

"The Unbound Blade was not meant to kill in such a ruthless and indiscriminate manner." She explained. "I created the sword to kill demons, and so my downfall was imminent as soon as it drew my blood." She paced across the cobblestones. "You may wish to search near his grave. It is the most likely place that it may be."

Peridan frowned, and flicked away the butt of his cigar. Damn, how he missed those things. "Madam Sunderkin, I hate to say this, but you haven't asked my intentions towards the sword. You only know my name."

Sol paused, looking at him strangely. "Have I now?"

Peridan nodded, running a hand littered with scars from Banite 'friendship' through his short cropped military cut hair. "A smith has a responsibility to find a correct hand for his or her sword. It is what we do, we create the blade after finding the hand that needs it. You should know this as well as I do."

"And what does this lead you to believe?" She asks quietly, her eyes slits framed in her pale face.

"It doesn't matter who finds it, you're going to destroy it." He responds, looking at her with something akin to respect. She nodded. "Yes, I am. the blade has been tainted with a thirst for blood, for flesh. Unless the taint can be purged by its rightful wielder, one who does not use it for personal gain, it will cause more death than I am willing to take responsibility for."

Peridan rubbed the scar on his neck, cut by a dagger from a Banite assassin, the infamous Syne Jonel. "And if it does find the right wielder?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Then they can have it, without any need to destroy it. You have to understand, Legionnaire, that the Unbound Blade was not meant for anything but protecting Sundren. It has the land itself entwined with the sword, and all the elements containted therein. Its purpose has been corrupted by Snow Hawk and his selfish desires, and now should be destroyed to disallow any other harm to come because of it. If the right hand is able to grasp it, it may be able to turn back towards its rightful goal and purpose, in which case there is no longer any need to destroy it."

"And how do you know who it is right for?" Peridan asked, his face neutral. She looked at him with a thoughtful gaze. "Oh, I'll know him when I see him."

She flicked a hand in farewell as she paced slowly off into the fog. "I think you'll be the one to tame the blade, Legionnaire. I can see it in your eyes."

Peridan turned quickly in confusion, looking for the Hand of Mundus. But there was nothing there but mist and the salty spray of the ocean.


Leave light in its wake, a guardian sword. This is the Unbound Blade.

Peridan roused himself from the memory of a few days past, the lines of his brow heavy with creasing. He rubbed his face, yawned, and stood stretching. He peeked his head out at the librarian, nodding that he will be back soon enough, and went outside to greet the dawn. There was work to be done.

[Peridan]

The sun's rays peeked over the skyline of buildings, their smoke rising lazily as Sundren City began a new day. The faint bustling of merchants and travelers picked up in volume as the morning got underway, the life of the city waking up with the dawn. The sun's rays illuminated one apartment on the east side, the residence of Praetorian Twilight.

However as the room lit, the bed was undisturbed. Perfectly neat, no one had slept in it the night before. And while normally such things were commonplace, this previous night had left the bed's owner still within the room. The elf sat against the wall, dressed in only soft and flexible pants that tapered around each ankle. Scars covered his lean form, dexterous and flexible muscles littered with them. His missing eye was without the patch, showing a mass of scar tissue around it, as though it was clawed out of its socket.

While noting the sun's entrance into his domain, his remaining eye was focused on the blade leaning against the opposite wall. The black sheathed blade hid the faint light emitting from the sword, but Peridan could practically feel the power radiating from the sword. A light, pure and true. Which is probably why the blade had been renamed Junsui Na, or Purity. A black tassel hung across the hilt, and a green gem adorned the top of the blade. Other than that, the blade was practically unnoticeable, a simple sword. But it was more than that. It was the slayer of Vachbathus, the blade of the legendary samurai and Guardian of the Grove Snow Hawk.

Peridan flashed back to Snow Hawk's tomb, hidden in the mountains near Aquor. The terrible shades that had attacked himself, Ahriman, and Plutarch. The shrieking of the ghosts burned away as Snow Hawk's visage came into view, a sorrowful spirit looking for release. Snow had reached out with an ethereal finger, burning his memories into Peridan's mind.

Those memories now haunted Peridan, a lifetime's worth of knowledge and combat experience churning and roiling in his head. He had spent the entire night going over Snow Hawk's remarkable life, starting from his time as the Guardian to his travels east. He saw Snow's wife for the first time, Nes'Anah, a radiant and powerful figure that brought him--No, Snow Hawk-- so much comfort. He saw his travels to the east, his training among the Kozakurans. Drill after drill burned into his consciousness, a pain he had never felt but experienced all the same tore at his soul.

He saw Sol through his eyes. An ally for a time, and then an enemy. He saw her forge the blade that now lay in front of him, a mighty magical feat unparalleled in his own works. Sundren herself was born into this sword, a hatred for all things evil infused into the near black blade. Divinity not in the sense of a god, but in the sense of the land was present in it, a power that Peridan knew he could not misuse.

But these memories...

Snow, come to bed....

Nes'Anah beckoned.

Time to die, foolish spawn of Heaven and Hell

Vachbathus boomed.

Your place is with the Grove

The Keeper commanded.

You are as your sword! You are one with the blade!

The Samurai drilled.

Too many thoughts, too many memories.....Peridan clutched his head, forcing them down, away from his own memories. He was born on Evermeet, he was a Durothil, he was a Legionnaire....

There. Sealed off for now, until something sparked the vivid memories once again. Peridan moved for the first time all night, stretching and standing. He padded over to the blade, his bare feet not making a sound across the hard wood floors. He picked up the black katana, clutching it in a scarred hand. The blade hummed through his body, acknowledging him as its master and wielder.

Thoughts of Snow Hawk faded, his mind becoming clearer. He had an enemy to defeat, honor to be taken back. These thoughts churned in his mind as he dressed and walked out the door into the bustling city. The only problem was this: were they his? Or Snow Hawks?