TheSwordsSong

The Swords Song

Moto

I am the Sun.

I am golden light, descending from the sky. I crush your enemies with my blinding light, burning them with my blazing touch.

History

At the dawn of the First Age, the beginning Orichalcum Age I was forged. My mother was known and respected as Artful Slaughter. A dawn caste savant-warrior who after banishing the abominable darkness that is the Yozis sought new challenges worthy of a warrior king of her calibre.

Learning from the wind moved by the heat of the Sun she elevated her sword dance into perfection. Her dance was of such beauty that the Fair Folk surrendered to her after she had shown them her art, refusing to ever taste a human emotion again. For such beauty could not possibly be surpassed and so those fey faded away wishing that this perfection were eternal.

But my mother was not content with this. She had achieved perfection in the battle field and had beaten the foes of creation by her mere presence, yet she was not satisfied, she searched for another challenge.

And so she learned to make the weapons and armour she wielded and wore and swore to herself that she would neither rest nor die, before she had not learned the greatest fighting styles in the world and made the perfect weapons for all of them.

Thus after millennia of training and experimentation I and my brothers and sisters were born. Each a Paragon of our field, made to fit perfectly the hand of every Solar worthy of our service. All blessed to the endless glory of the Unconquered Sun.

In contrast to our lesser brothers and sisters we where never touched by other magical materials except Orichalcum and never where we soiled by base materials, for we were as pure and unconquered as our celestial Patron.

I am Unconquered Wrath of the Sky. During the day I wallow in the Glory of the Sol Invictus burning brightly in His power. During the night I shine even brighter banishing the shadows, illuminating those in need of the Suns nourishment and burn those hiding their wickedness in darkness’ shadows.

I am the Paragon of the Destruction Form of the great Solar hero Pachacutec, He That Changes the Universe, Slayer of Fetich Demons, destroyer of the Primordial that Lost His Name in Battle. So great was Pachacutec’s power and his fighting style so destructive that he shattered his most powerful foes aspects before finally slaying them. He was fated to become my father.

Artful Slaughter mastered Pachacutecs technique in only 50 years and in the end was only second to him in his style. It was then when I was made by the two of them.

The Orichalcum from which I am made was wrested from Carnash the Burning Eidolon, a demon birthed by a haughty Yozi from the five magical materials to blaspheme the gods. Artful Slaughter and Pachacutec travelled into Mafleas searching from him for seven weeks and after a battle lasting for nearly ten minutes the ripped out half of the Orichalcum bones from his eternally flaming body.

It was harvested in form of apples from a miraculous tree found in a garden deeply hidden within the Wyld where a Behemoth and his Fey consorts had fled from the solar rule. Here my mother distracted the numerous foes with her sword dance while Pachacutec stole the apples.

It was distilled from gold found at the five corners of the earth and finally I was made complete by adding three hairs from the Head of the Unconquered Sun, which my makers most humbly begged for in Yu-Shan before the throne of our highest God.

My raw materials were molten in the depths of a Volcano in the deepest south. I was smote by a hammer made from earth found deep below the Omphallos. I was quenched in the depths of the westernmost waters cutting reality from the Wyld in the process. I was whet thoroughly in the farthest north, the elemental winds being my whetstone. And I was infused with the power of life and death within the heart wood of an immortal tree in the elemental pole of Wood.

I have six sockets set into me. One in the pommel, two in my cross guard of which I drink essence from and three on my very blade, which’s power I bestow upon my wielder.

I experienced great glory during my youth. I travelled far and wide. And my voice could be heard across great many a battle field. I witnessed the wonders of the Orichalcum Age. I protected the innocent and smote the wicked. I rejoiced at my victories. I cried for the deaths of honourable foes and the braking of strong weapons. I learned from the bitter sting of sporadic defeat.

I was also witness to the sinking of my Masters into the night eternal. My mother and father died in great honour and without spoiling their immaculate grace. Yet even in them I detected the taint that would later lead to the corrupting madness that infected almost all Solar Princes. In the last days I only reluctantly allowed my Masters to wield me and even then only for representative matters, had they tried to use me in battle I had refused them for their insolence.

Thus when the dragonlings rebeled I turned against my wielder, for he was corrupt and had even bargained with the nauseating Ligier in the hope of crafting a blade greater than me.

Now I sleep hidden from prying eyes, dreaming of days of glory long past and yearning for the day when a Sun Child worthy of me arrives to take me back into the world.