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|The prologue to Deathblade||
Long ago, before the world was young, there was naught but an empty void of space, where only the elite races of immortal beings, each in some form related to one another, but mostly keeping to themselves in their own separate realms. They all looked mostly like Men and Elves and Angels. There was, however, war within the races themselves.
There was at the given time war with the Guardians of the realm Pandora Simo (Pandora Simo), or the Realm of Magic in the speech of Mortal Men. The Ruling Family of Hasful (Hasful) was being over thrown by the Guard Family of Saclash (Saclash) and their Allies, the Paslor Army (Paslor Army).
When the last battle was staged, Salidor Saclash, the leader of the Paslor Army, fell. His son, Caricom, took up his father’s sword, Kalars Dai (the Master Sword), and slew many. Then, Hellran Saclash, Caricom’s brother, stole the Dai an Dras Dersil (the Sword of Dark Demise). Together, him and Caricom fought to the death with the leader of the Hasful, Dracon Hasful. The force of their battle amidst the war of the rest of the Guardians finally ripped Pandora Simo to shreds, blowing it all to smithereens. Hellran and Caricom were the only survivors.
They traveled through the Universe together, which they named Craicl-shashain Flox, for one thousand and ninety eight years, always mourning, always grieving, always corrupted. Hellran much more so than Caricom, for he had the Dai an Dras Dersil, and it was not rightly his, so that it twisted his mind even more. For you see, things wrought in pure evil for an evil purpose by an evil owner or with Black Magic upon them tend to become evil themselves. The men wielding them find that they are falling into worse evil and that they are not wielding them, but they are wielding the owners for their own dark purposes. The Sword was one of these, and an extremely powerful one at that. And it was already corrupting him, eating at his brain and soul.
Caricom was not verily corrupt; on the contrary, his mind was very clear. He wanted to settle down and stop wandering aimlessly through the universe. They chanced upon a barren, empty, shred of the broken realm and found when they rested on it that it was covered with homeless Elven rogues. They were attacked in the night. Caricom was gravely wounded. Hellran drug him into a cave in the meteor and fought off any Drasmen, as he called them that approached the cave entrance as they hurled through space.
They crashed into the barrier of a realm called Distrunt occupied by the Shrifes, Men with a power perhaps greater than even the Guardians of magical enigma. Caricom was healed, and the King, the almighty God Salicar, perhaps the most powerful being in the universe, journeyed with them. Together, they built a new Realm, called Helchrana, and Caricom made Salicar King and settled down.
Hellran was enraged. He was furious that Caricom had given Salicar that much power as he had already tasted. He felt that he himself deserved the kingship. He devised a plan, or if truly possible, Dai an Dras Dersil used him to formulate a plan of Dark Destruction. The age of Dras Dersil, better known as the Eternal Darkness Ages of Helchrana were begun.
Caricom had a son named Dai-shen. He promised his son the world’s power as he had when he died. Hellran broke. Dai-shen grew and became more and more talented with a sword and Imagicine, as he dubbed the magic of the Guardians. It was showing and Hellran was disgusted at his labels as “child prodigy” and “the leader of the new generation”, although he had been called similar names as a child, and his brother, also. But he forgot everything. All honor, love and joy he had. He bent his entire mind and will upon Caricom, whom he secretly called an old fool of a man and a weakling.
One night he snapped, that is to say he went temporarily insane. He broke into several houses, killed the inhabitants and stole any valuable belongings. The next morning, he had no recollection of what had happened. These outbreaks were clearly the fault of the Sword, but no one would know since Hellran never had any memory of these incidents.
He was caught one night slitting the throat of the son of the richest man in the capitol city of Valtinia on the greatest continent of Helchrana, Atlantea. The man grabbed a decorative wooden spear and slammed Hellran in the side of the head with the flat end. Hellran fell, and the man grabbed the Sword.
Hellran rolled to the side as the man brought the sword down. He got up and ran straight for the residence of his brother, drawing his dagger as he did so. He knew now somehow what was happening, and he was determined to stop it once and for all. The man was hard on his heels.
Dai-shen lay awake all night tossing and turning. He simply could not sleep without the thought that something terrible was going to happen that night. So he lay awake tossing and turning with the Master Sword in his hand when the dark figure entered the room.
Hellran was pleased with himself. He had turned around and stabbed the man in the stomach, taking him completely by surprise and instantly killing him. He had taken his sword and cleaned the dagger. He was going to make this end; that night, Caricom would die!
Dai-shen was shocked at first, then curious, and crept out of bed to hide under his father’s bed. He watched the dark figure creep to his father’s bedside and draw a knife. He watched him pull it over the bed, ending the life of Caricom.
“No!” He could not help it. It was disbelief at first, then a sob, then quiet vengeance. “No, no, no!” He swept at the figures legs with his sword. “Die fetcher!” He then got out from under the bed and faced the murderer he was shocked when he saw the hardened face of the man.
“Uncle Hellran?” he said, bewildered. “But why? Why hath thou wrought this havoc upon us? Why?”
“Because your father was an old fool, ‘tis why boy!” What was he saying? He knew he loved his brother and his nephew, yet he had killed Caricom and broken all Dai-shen’s spirit. Hellran turned and ran. Dai-shen remained, rooted to the spot.
Hellran fled. He gained many evil, powerful allies which he corrupted and rotted to death into powerful Demon Warriors. He created a new realm, under the Earth, the Realm of Dark Demise, which he named Salidor after his father. He made more and more Demons. There he waited, creating an army and biding his time, while the Guardians grieved for Caricom and swore revenge and death to all the Evil the world had to offer.
One hundred years passed. There was no sign of Hellran, now known as the Dark Lord. It seemed to everyone that he was no longer a threat. He was dead. These and many other rumors became old wives’ tales told to small children so they would not stay out after dark. Then one day…
It was the 6th of June and a hot day for sure. Dai-shen had had a very strange dream or some sort of sixth sense. The future. He knew what he must do. He gathered an army of Guardians on a ridge and faced them. He held his father’s sword aloft and it glowed a beautiful multihued.
“M’lord!” cried a Guardian present.
An arrow whizzed by grazing Dai-shen’s cheek. He turned. Approaching the ridge was a demon army led by the Dark Lord gripping the Sword of Dark Demise.
There were thousands of them! Dai-shen had gathered only a small army. However, they had an advantage. The ridge! While they held the ridge it became a battle of arrows, spears, and any other marksman weapons the two armies had in their possession.
This battle was only the first in the Dark Wars. Many followed, but neither Dai-shen nor Hellran were touched by other soldiers. They would be hemmed in, then use some great sword move or magical power and kill all surrounding them.
Many years passed. The Guardians were diminished, but somehow, no matter how many losses, the demons kept coming back in seemingly the same numbers.
Dai-shen was desperate.
He bought up a very young apprentice, Natasar, and trained him for the Wars. But, Natasar was corrupt, as the hearts of Men so easily are. His mother had just died, and there was anger boiling up inside of him, waiting to be unleashed.
One night, at a Guardian camp, Natasar snuck into Dai-shen’s tent, followed closely by Dai-shen’s good friend, Piccoro. There, he slew Dai-shen with a single trident thrust.
“No!” Piccoro said aloud.
Natasar turned. Seeing Piccoro, he let out a breath of air that sounded like cold wind on rattling bones. “He is dead as you all shall be soon. Prepare!” He turned and ran to his new master. Piccoro followed slaughtering and crashing through demons like a bull.
“I am the Right Hand,” Natasar turned and said when he was next to Hellran. “I shall no further be addressed by the name that I held during my life of mortality. I shall be addressed as Rasan, undertaker and prince of Pasolar. Fear my wrath! Today, fool, you shall die. Along with any who stand against us.”
Piccoro suddenly felt a surge of energy rushing through him. How had Natasar obtained this evil power? He felt his soul being torn apart from within. What was happening? He thrust his dirk forward, crushing Natasar’s armor and piercing his heart. He then unleashed a powerful uppercut, slicing the shocked Hellran’s face. Both let out anguished screams of pain and fell, dead before they hit the ground.
The demons shrieked, enraged, but frightened, by the onslaught of Piccoro and the loss of their leaders. They drew their weapons and started to advance on Piccoro. But, when all seemed lost, he held up his sword, and the Guardians charged in.
The demons, leaderless and broken, could do nothing to stop them. They were defeated. After the battle, the Swords were sought out. They could not be found. Neither could the bodies of the evil leaders. Thus is the story of the Guardians!
|Deathblade Glossary||Deathblade Chapter 3: Natural Selection|
|Deathblade Prologue||Deathblade Chapter 1: Murderous Urges|
|Deathblade Chapter 2: The Guardian|