Weaver: The Great Revolt


Warped Hero

Weaver: The Great Revolt

Written by Warpedhero


“Hear my tale, O Heroes! I shall sing to you the virtues of the Old One! He who began as a rogue, yet now stands among the venerated! Merry-makers, hear the tale of Nostro the Great! Hearken to a younger time!”
- Verse 12 from the Bard's Saga, Unknown Author

Three warriors seated at table in a long-forgotten inn, one of them much older than the others, converse with each other. The elder, a man comprehended by ailments and weary from a hard life, drinks from a flagon of ale. He turns and faces the man to his left. The man looks back at him and grins; his countenance betrays his bad will. The elder attempts to stand, but loses his balance and collapses to the floor. The two younger warriors get up and quickly exit the inn. None but the innkeeper remains to witness the death of Nostro the Great.

The innkeeper's thoughts fill his head and soon overflow like the ale he so generously doles out to his patrons. Nostro! Great Nostro! Who has slain him? Assassins no doubt. Who sent them? Unknown warlords from distant lands? Mercenaries in the hire of those who begrudged him his bandit past? All honorable guesses, yet all of them wrong. What then is the truth, what is the answer? As the innkeeper attempts to revive the battle-scarred Hero, the two assassins round the corner of the inn, where a man wrapped heavily in a long black cloak awaits them.

“Is it over?” asks the cloaked man, his head bent low to the ground.

“Yes, m'lord,” replies one of the assassins.

“Very good. I suppose you'll want your payment, then?”

“Yes, yes, m'lord. Five hundred thousand gold pieces, as we agreed?”

The cloaked man steps back from the two assassins, then in one swift motion draws his katana. As the masterfully forged blade zips out of its sheath, the man casts off his black cloak. As soon as the assassins see the strange mask covering the face of their employer, then turn to flee, but are cut down before they take a single step. The masked man wipes his katana on his small, red cloak, then sheathes it.

“It has begun,” he says as he teleports away, leaving nothing behind save three dead warriors.


Warped Hero
Chapter I: The Man in Rags

Two young friends, exhausted from melee training, wearily staggered into the bar inside the Heroes' Guild. They were well known among the student body as being particularly adept in the field of Will, although they were humble and rarely demonstrated their talents.

The taller of the two was a stoutly built fellow called Maze. He had been enrolled in the Guild by Jack of Blades himself; the aging Guildmaster, Rollo, was advised not to make this fact known to anyone. The young man was well-liked by his comrades, and apart from Twinblade, the “Giant of Oakvale”, he was the most popular student in the Guild. Being both handsome and athletic, Maze was the typical jock. In addition to his reputation as a rising star of the arcane arts, he was also rumored to be an insatiable womanizer; indeed, his name was mentioned with the utmost frequency among the servant girls. As he sit down at table, Maze let out a groan.

“Well, we certainly handled that, eh?” asked Maze, stretching his enormous shoulders and panting.

“I suppose,” replied the young man who had taken his seat across from Maze. Shorter and more nimble than his friend Maze, the scholarly-looking Weaver was recovering from the arduous training rather quickly. He had barely broken a sweat, a fact that annoyed Maze to no end. Although he was quite capable in combat, Weaver spent the majority of his days studying in the Guild library, which was among the finest in Albion. He was not nearly as popular as Maze (partially because of his natural introversion), but he had nevertheless acquired a reputation in the Guild as a masterful Will user and academic. Weaver was known as a historical savant, having studied the Old Kingdom quite extensively; he was perhaps the only student who could speak Archonic.

A servant girl walked over to the table and Maze immediately struck up a conversation with her. While he flirted with the buxom waitress, Weaver rose from the table and left without warning. Maze barely noticed that his friend was missing, completely enamored by the beauty of his latest conquest.

Weaver cared little for such pastimes, preferring to spend his time studying in the Guild library and pondering Old Kingdom philosophy in the Chamber of Fate. Lately, Weaver had been studying the history of Jack of Blades, one of the Guild's “Legendary Heroes” (although personally, Weaver thought of him as a villain); his studies had unearthed some troubling information, but Weaver feared that if he made it public, he would be writing his own death sentence. As he strolled into the Chamber of Fate, Weaver noticed that there was a strange looking man standing under the shaft of light which flooded into the midst of the Chamber.

“Come closer,” said the strange man. He spoke with a deep, guttural voice that disturbed the scholarly Weaver; it sounded as if it came from the grave. Although he was startled, Weaver approached the man; he had a natural urge to learn, and this fellow looked as if he had knowledge to share.

“Who are you?” asked Weaver, slowly inching his way towards the man; he noticed that the man's face was nearly skeletal, and also that he was dressed in traditional Old Kingdom garb, though it was quite ragged and worn.

“My true name has been long-forgotten, but you may call me Scythe.”