The Dead of Oakvale
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In the Wrong Hands
If you stare up at Brightwood tower on a misty night you will see a mysterious shadow shaped like a man cast over the tower walls. No man ever dared to query as to why this dark figure appeared every night they just got used to it. The young and virtuous Sparrow was a man full of curiosity. He could not let this curious happening go unanswered. He approached the tower with his hand clasped around his Master Katana. He changed his slow jog to a sprint towards the tower. Sparrow slowly tip-toes up the stairs. He reached the top of the stairs and could see the figure more closely. Cautiously he approached the figure trying to make no sudden movements. Sparrows other hand was clasped over the trigger of a Master Flintlock pistol.
“No man enters my domain!” Bellowed the man.
“As far as I am aware this tower is the property of a sorcerer named Garth.” Replied Sparrow.
“Garth has been driven from this tower, so now it belongs to me!” Exclaimed the man.
“This tower does not belong to you!” Shouted Sparrow. The sound of a sword being drawn from it’s holster could be heard throughout Brightwood. The sound of the blade leaving it’s holster gave a metallic ringing sound that sounded so perfect in the midnight sky. A vicious roar came from the man drawing his long sword. His blade gleamed in the sky brighter than ever. The man grunted and swung his blade. The swift and agile Sparrow ducked his head down and let the swing of the blade pass over his him. Sparrow then rammed his elbow into the mans groin. The man stumbled backwards. Sparrow stood up and sliced him across the chest. The man clutched the scar and screamed in agony. His eyes more fierce and cold than before. Sparrow struck again this time missing, and the man took full advantage of this foolish mistake. The man plunged the tip of his sword into Sparrows back. No cry of pain spread through the sky though. The man was puzzled as to how a man can take such punishment but not cry out in pain. He pulled the sword out of Sparrow’s back. The wound healed itself within seconds. Sparrow turned around and threw his fist into the mans puzzled face. The man fell backwards and stumbled over a crack in the bollards. He tumbled into the abyss of Archaon’s well.
Sparrow concentrated on the slightly ruined well. He then turned his to the staircase and headed towards them.
“The sweet taste of victory.” Murmured sparrow as he quickly went down the flight of stairs. In the background a faint groan could be heard. Water had broken the fortunate man’s fall. He weakly swam over to the dry land coughing and spluttering he hoisted himself up to the dry land that sat before his eyes. Yet again it was of course a labyrinth of challenges. He had faced so many he learnt to outsmart them quickly. In a short amount of time he emerged with an augment that was named “cursed warrior.” He got out to the fresh air and took in the sweet breeze through his nose. His clothes somewhat dryer than before he shook himself like a dog and water was sprayed over the grass. He walked past a stony outcrop giving a beautiful view over the major city known as Bowerstone. He quickly took a view out over Albion and directed his scared face towards the area where he was raised and lived his childhood. His childhood was full of sorrow and despair. The glint of the silver outline of a treasure chest diverted his attention. He slowly raised the lid of the old chest. He saw a shimmering light glow from the inside of the chest. A tune almost like a sweet symphony could be heard. The mans eyes became wider and gleamed with a hint of certain excitement. He reached in and pulled out a fine weapon finer than that of his own. As he turned to walk away with his prize he felt a jolt go up his spine. He started shaking vigorously. His eyes turned a blood red colour with piercing veins bulging out. Will lines began to emerge where the cuts from the fight and fall had been marked. The man screeched in agony as this process occurred. Bandits heard this cry and had the idea that it was a citizen being attacked. They ran towards the cry to see what was left to loot. To there disappointment it was not a citizen being attacked. It was a vicious man with blue lines running through him and fierce penetrating eyes clasping a blade made of holy ore. Bandits are not usually one for fleeing the battle but in this case they were running within the blink of an eye. Shouts of terror came from one being perused by the infuriated man. His hand clasped the bandit’s shoulder and turned the bandit around to face him. The blade was raised and it went straight through the heart of the victim. The heart was still very alive and beating as it was stuck on the end of the sword. The bandit turned to see his heart stop beating and then went white. He slowly fell to the ground causing a thump sound. The life drawn from his lips. The man marvelled at the strength of the blade. He wiped the putrid blood from long, thin and delicate weapon of such precise measures. The markings were a puzzle to many men to cross the path of such a weapon. They were of the old language. Very few still held knowledge of the old language. After the Hero’s guild was over turned the knowledge of the old language was unknown to most of Albion’s inhabitants. The strength this weapon had given him was beyond man.
“Here comes the reign of Cornelius Grey!” Chanted The man. Cornelius was a descendent of the old mayor of Bowerstone, Lady Grey. Ever since her execution The descendents of the Grey family wished for revenge on the citizens of Albion. Ever since that day were her head fell into the basket with blood dripping from it the Grey relatives were under threat and forced to flee or hide. Cornelius had hidden in the slums throughout his childhood. With this weapon every man, woman and child alike shall suffer. It begins.
If you stare up at Brightwood tower on a misty night you will see a mysterious shadow shaped like a man cast over the tower walls. No man ever dared to query as to why this dark figure appeared every night they just got used to it. The young and virtuous Sparrow was a man full of curiosity. He could not let this curious happening go unanswered. He approached the tower with his hand clasped around his Master Katana. He changed his slow jog to a sprint towards the tower. Sparrow slowly tip-toes up the stairs. He reached the top of the stairs and could see the figure more closely. Cautiously he approached the figure trying to make no sudden movements. Sparrows other hand was clasped over the trigger of a Master Flintlock pistol.
“No man enters my domain!” Bellowed the man.
“As far as I am aware this tower is the property of a sorcerer named Garth.” Replied Sparrow.
“Garth has been driven from this tower, so now it belongs to me!” Exclaimed the man.
“This tower does not belong to you!” Shouted Sparrow. The sound of a sword being drawn from it’s holster could be heard throughout Brightwood. The sound of the blade leaving it’s holster gave a metallic ringing sound that sounded so perfect in the midnight sky. A vicious roar came from the man drawing his long sword. His blade gleamed in the sky brighter than ever. The man grunted and swung his blade. The swift and agile Sparrow ducked his head down and let the swing of the blade pass over his him. Sparrow then rammed his elbow into the mans groin. The man stumbled backwards. Sparrow stood up and sliced him across the chest. The man clutched the scar and screamed in agony. His eyes more fierce and cold than before. Sparrow struck again this time missing, and the man took full advantage of this foolish mistake. The man plunged the tip of his sword into Sparrows back. No cry of pain spread through the sky though. The man was puzzled as to how a man can take such punishment but not cry out in pain. He pulled the sword out of Sparrow’s back. The wound healed itself within seconds. Sparrow turned around and threw his fist into the mans puzzled face. The man fell backwards and stumbled over a crack in the bollards. He tumbled into the abyss of Archaon’s well.
Sparrow concentrated on the slightly ruined well. He then turned his to the staircase and headed towards them.
“The sweet taste of victory.” Murmured sparrow as he quickly went down the flight of stairs. In the background a faint groan could be heard. Water had broken the fortunate man’s fall. He weakly swam over to the dry land coughing and spluttering he hoisted himself up to the dry land that sat before his eyes. Yet again it was of course a labyrinth of challenges. He had faced so many he learnt to outsmart them quickly. In a short amount of time he emerged with an augment that was named “cursed warrior.” He got out to the fresh air and took in the sweet breeze through his nose. His clothes somewhat dryer than before he shook himself like a dog and water was sprayed over the grass. He walked past a stony outcrop giving a beautiful view over the major city known as Bowerstone. He quickly took a view out over Albion and directed his scared face towards the area where he was raised and lived his childhood. His childhood was full of sorrow and despair. The glint of the silver outline of a treasure chest diverted his attention. He slowly raised the lid of the old chest. He saw a shimmering light glow from the inside of the chest. A tune almost like a sweet symphony could be heard. The mans eyes became wider and gleamed with a hint of certain excitement. He reached in and pulled out a fine weapon finer than that of his own. As he turned to walk away with his prize he felt a jolt go up his spine. He started shaking vigorously. His eyes turned a blood red colour with piercing veins bulging out. Will lines began to emerge where the cuts from the fight and fall had been marked. The man screeched in agony as this process occurred. Bandits heard this cry and had the idea that it was a citizen being attacked. They ran towards the cry to see what was left to loot. To there disappointment it was not a citizen being attacked. It was a vicious man with blue lines running through him and fierce penetrating eyes clasping a blade made of holy ore. Bandits are not usually one for fleeing the battle but in this case they were running within the blink of an eye. Shouts of terror came from one being perused by the infuriated man. His hand clasped the bandit’s shoulder and turned the bandit around to face him. The blade was raised and it went straight through the heart of the victim. The heart was still very alive and beating as it was stuck on the end of the sword. The bandit turned to see his heart stop beating and then went white. He slowly fell to the ground causing a thump sound. The life drawn from his lips. The man marvelled at the strength of the blade. He wiped the putrid blood from long, thin and delicate weapon of such precise measures. The markings were a puzzle to many men to cross the path of such a weapon. They were of the old language. Very few still held knowledge of the old language. After the Hero’s guild was over turned the knowledge of the old language was unknown to most of Albion’s inhabitants. The strength this weapon had given him was beyond man.
“Here comes the reign of Cornelius Grey!” Chanted The man. Cornelius was a descendent of the old mayor of Bowerstone, Lady Grey. Ever since her execution The descendents of the Grey family wished for revenge on the citizens of Albion. Ever since that day were her head fell into the basket with blood dripping from it the Grey relatives were under threat and forced to flee or hide. Cornelius had hidden in the slums throughout his childhood. With this weapon every man, woman and child alike shall suffer. It begins.