Back to Prophecies

With a nod to his sword brethren Aelfwyrd begins preparations. Silently Aelfwyrd walks to the middle of the boothie and begins to unbuckle his battered leather armour. As he strips the torso sections away a golden colored tattoo is seen to run the length of his shoulders. Clearly some runic inscription it is strange and almost undecipherable, perhaps some form of lost solar, aldryami or even celestial marking. Reverently kissing a small metal charm attached to the chain around his neck the young warrior drops to one knee. Pulling a boot dagger he begins to carve strange sigils upon the palms of one hand. As the blood begins to flow freely he painstakingly draws his Lords symbols across forehead and chest. Taking hold of the Dragon Blade with his bloodied hand the Kargani slowly closes his eyes and is lost in silent prayer.

Those watching Aelfwyrd's prayer see a thin breeze stir dust on the floor, their swords become cool to the touch, a baby suddenly begins to wail from a nearby hut. They feel the presence of the God, weak in this unsanctified place, but yet present. Only Aelfwyrd hears a voice like the roar and grunt of battle, the grate of spear on helm, a wolf's snarl.

YOUR TESTING HAS BEGUN, WARRIOR; THE TIME OF YOUR WYRD-CHOOSING. WHO DO YOU SERVE? A SWORD CAN HAVE ONLY ONE MASTER. TO ATTAIN WHAT YOU DESIRE, CLEAVE.
There are no comments on this page.
Valid XHTML :: Valid CSS: :: Powered by WikkaWiki