Eldarian at Daybreak

[mmat 7461]

 

There was nothing overly special about the sword Eldarian. The metal from which it was forged possessed neither exotic nor otherworldly power, aside from the fact that it was of very great quality. The subtly curved weapon had never been blessed by a deity or cursed by foul magicks to enhance its bloody function towards whatever end. The only notable things about Eldarian were that it had been forged in higher days during the Dominion of Malin, and that it was wielded by one of the greatest Elven warriors of the age. So believed Eldarian’s master Avius Csarathaire, anyway. The ‘ame didn’t consider that to be an arrogant thought. Through a century of focused honing, he had slain valah, uruk, dwed and even some of his more estranged Mali kindred. Incomprehensible horrors crawling forth from the depths of the void, overreaching sorcerers and nightmare inferi invaders alike had also tasted the old weapon’s deadly edge during especially evil times, together with a score of other assorted beasts and creatures. 

 

A thought stung Avius with a hint of proud irritation as the warrior stood atop the stone-adorned mount, sunrays bathing the peak in a new days' light. He still hadn’t slain a dragon. It was valah and Xannite nonsense to laud the slaying of a dragon above all other things, and to deprive the world of such a magnificent, powerful creature was, to Avius, a fearsome shame despite the danger they caused. He actually quite liked dragons, all things considered. Still, the thought of standing atop the corpse of such a titanic winged firebreather, sword through its eye in glorious victory, was an alluring one to say the least. Maybe someday the opportunity would come. Avius lifted Eldarian in one hand in the direction of the shimmering light of the sun, an action which made the weapon appear as though it had divinity inside it, even if that wasn’t true. It was beautiful. Then, with the hand of his tattooed right arm wrapped around the hilt, the ‘ame swordsman gracefully slashed the air from upper right to lower left, eliciting a satisfying whir as nothingness tore before cold steel. The sword felt as good as it did every day, not too heavy, not too light. Time to begin.

 

...Step. Thrust. Pivot. Guard. Wait… Wait. Go. Parry. Step. Slash. Slash. Avius finally came to rest after his second consecutive lashing strike, panting lightly with the strain of the victory’s stroke’s exertion. Purposefully straightening his back to stand at his full height, Avius took a tighter hold of Eldarian’s hilt and then took a minute to peer around at the sentinels all around him. Seven stone pillars of unknown origin and unknown purpose ringed the Wood Elven warrior’s makeshift arena at the mountain’s summit. It struck him that they were judges of a sort, surrounding him on all sides, a silent council of old masters analysing and critiquing his every darting thrust and dashing tear. Avius let out a silent snort at the anthropomorphic consideration. The stones were just stones. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about them, and many of the other ruins in this new, barely explored domain. Although far from a scholar or historian in both competency and interest, Avius had, for apparently little reason, found himself more and more fascinated by his race’s beginnings as of late.

 

 The warrior readied his long, falchion-like weapon once more, both hands on the hilt, blade pointing forwards. Guard. Pace. Thrust into slash. Withdraw. Guard. Who raised these stones? Avius considered the unanswerable question mid-flurry, and suddenly felt very out of place. For all he knew, this ring of uplifted rock could’ve been a hallowed site, perhaps one of ritual significance to the worshippers of his own gods. Was the warrior engendering their fury by using it as a mere training ground? Avius thought it unlikely. Slash. Slash. Slash. Pommel strike. To the contrary, Cernunnos was a lord of hunters and warriors alike. To increase one’s potency in the Horned Lord’s sacred places was reverence in itself, especially if that prowess was to be used in his service, that of his more caring counterpart and the wider balance. The thought made him train all the harder. Each slash was keener, even than usual, each thrust displaying greater swiftness… Slash. Thrust. Thrust. Parry. Thrust. And it was done. Without a moment of further ceremony, Avius Csarathaire threaded Eldarian back into its resting place at his side and made his way down the mountainside. All that day, the ‘ame’s mind continued returning to the stone circle and the secrets it might hold. The obsession left him feeling unsatisfied, like there was something deeper he was missing. Soon, things would change. Soon, he would be connected to his aspects in a more direct way, and he could begin delving into the secrets of the past.