The Legend of Shura (Fantasy)

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Shura -- your style is incredible! Great character development, good details ... I would buy a novel like this in a moment Much better than most of the pulp being published out there!

I guess this explains Shura's hatred for Paladin's!

Please keep these coming! I'm really enjoying it.

 

Excellent story shura, congatulations. Your story has the flow Go on ! More !

........ how about playing a kensai the next time ... ???!

[This message has been edited by Ragusa (edited September 21, 2001).]

 

Hahahahha
thanks everyone for the positive feedback. rest assured I'll continue posting Shura's adventures for as long as they are wanted.

But I would like to know what alignment you people think Shura is at this time and what kind of stats would he have, 3rd E or BG2 style?
Anyway, here's the next part...

The city’s fountain came into view as Shura made his way down the streets that led to it. The city was just coming to life, with the people starting their everyday business at the breaking of dawn. The sunlight, soft and gentle in the cool autumn air drove the shadows away. Far from soothing, this brought pangs of anxiety to Shura’s heart. Murderers and assassins were out of place in such a delightful scene.

Jo-Annia was at the fountain. A young man accompanied her, Shura nodded with a frown. Jaroem was Jo-Annia’s childhood friend. He was a kindly soul, though his youth made him thirst for adventure beyond his seemingly mundane city life. Jaroem considered himself an enthusiast of swordplay, Shura remembered. His technique was clumsy and would always remain so though Shura respected his enthusiasm for the art. He was as old as Shura but the latter had experienced battles and horror beyond the comprehension of most people.

“ Good morning, Shura!” The ever-bubbly Jo-Annia greeted him. Smiling, Shura raised a hand and began to reply when Jaroem stepped between the two. He could never understand why the young man was always so hostile to him. Nor could he fathom the reason why the presence of the young man caused him such irritation.

“Greetings scholar!” Jaroem said. “ I was preparing to give Jo-Annia here a demonstration in swordsmanship! Perhaps you would like to observe too. After all, it is a more manly calling than delving through endless piles of books.” Jo-Annia and her few friends who knew him all thought of him as a scholar due to his advanced education. Shura had to fight hard to keep his face from cracking into an incredulous grin of humor.

“ Really, Jaroem, do you have to try so hard to make a fool out of yourself? I know little and care less for the art of war.” Jo-Annia sighed in frustration. “ Here come your friends from the city militia. I hope you lot do not embarrass yourselves too much today.” She pointed towards another group of youngsters approaching the fountain.

“ The Watch captain has ordered us to demonstrate to the public a few techniques of self-defense, Jo-Annia. With all the horrible murders that have been going on throughout the city, this demonstration we are going to carry out might be beneficial to the public.” Jaroem protested.

The militia volunteers gathered and spoke among themselves about their coming performance. Taking his arm, Jo-Annia pulled Shura aside.

“ Sorry about this fiasco, Shura. I know we were supposed to discuss the writings of Lyandor the Sage today but he insisted on dragging his friends along.” Jo-Annia apologized sheepishly. Shura gave a short chuckle.

“ Don’t worry about it. Jaroem’s show sounds interesting. Swordplay’s as much a science as physics and philosophy, you know?” Shura said. “ Just give your friend the support he needs today.” The paladin’s attack the previous night was all but forgotten in the light of her lovely smile, as were Kalvairn’s ominous words.

Jaroem and his friends set up a makeshift wooden stage by the fountain and striking a small steel gong, he managed to attract the attention of a small crowd of onlookers.

“ Ladies and gentlemen! By courtesy of the City Watch, we hereby bring to you a demonstration in self defense!” Jaroem proclaimed. He was popular among most of the common folk, being a friendly and helpful militia member that excelled at solving minor disputes and legal issues. A friendly cheer went up among the crowd, the peasants and merchants slightly looking forward to this distraction from their monotonous daily routines. They then proceeded to display some practice routines using wooden swords. Shura caught himself in a yawn and realized that the demonstration bored him more than a little.

“ You too, Shura?” Jo-Annia stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. “ What were you saying about swordplay being a science?” The two shared a laugh. From the stage, Jaroem glanced at his childhood friend to see her and that accursed bookworm sitting so close to each other and laughing.

“ I need a volunteer from the public for my next demonstration!” Jaroem exclaimed. “ You’ll do, scholar! I’ll show how a person totally unschooled in the arts of combat can defend himself against an assailant!”

“ What is that fool thinking?” Jo-Annia asked in consternation. Shura started to shrug his shoulders but a couple of Jaroem’s militia friends laughed and giving him friendly slaps on the back, shoved the easterner on stage before he could protest. A wooden sword was tossed into his hands and Jaroem thundered in, wooden sword held high in his hands. The militia members gasped in genuine terror as they saw the sword descend upon the Shura’s head.

THWACK!

Without thinking, Shura had deflected the blade with a deft flick of his wrist, sending Jaroem stumbling sideways for a few steps. His eyes widened in disbelief and the crowd grew silent in anticipation as Jaroem again raised his wooden sword and launched another attack on Shura.

“ Stop! You’ll hurt him! He….” Jo-Annia’s screams died in her throat as Shura deflected another of Jaroem’s blows without the slightest twitch except for his right wrist. The flurry of blows that followed from Jaroem would have brought down any footpad or common criminal and quite a few of the minor monsters that lurked in the wilds but Shura parried them all with unbelievable ease. Shura was cursing in his thoughts. How would he get out of this predicament? Jo-Annia now witnessed an aspect of him that he would have loved to keep hidden in the shadows forever. Even in such a state of distraction, Shura’s right wrist sent his wooden sword twirling and spinning in such intricate patterns that Jaroem could hardly see, let alone break through. A sudden thrust by Jaroem was swept aside by Shura’s sword and before he could stop himself, a heel kicked the militia man’s ankles out from under him and then drove itself into the back of his knees. Jaroem ended up kneeling before Shura, his head thrown back and his throat exposed. His right arm moving simultaneously, Shura reversed his grip on the sword and was about to drive it into the hapless man’s throat before he caught himself.

“ What have I done?” Shura thought as he gazed into the terror filled eyes of Jaroem. He knew that the hush that had suddenly descended upon the crowd was not due to the appreciation they had for the performers…

Jo-Annia was sick with worry as she saw her childhood friend rain blow after furious blow on the slight easterner. Shura was not a man of war, so she thought. Her eyes widened as Shura spun the wooden sword expertly in his fingers and kept Jaroem, considered to be the best swordsman among the City Watch, at bay with ease. Her fear grew to wonder as the battle continued and she scarcely noticed the two forms that had walked up behind her.

“ What is he doing here?” A disgusted female voice asked in irritation.

“ Let him have his fun, sister. Shura was never the type to show off and he must have been caught in a rather peculiar chain of events to end up in this plight.” A male voice answered. Turning, Jo-Annia regarded the newcomers. The male voice belonged to a man in his late twenties dressed in an expensive fur cloak and the finely tailored silk garments that the nobles usually wore. The man was extremely handsome, Jo-Annia noted, her cheeks coloring slightly but the cruel blue eyes put her off. The woman accompanying him was dressed in a skin-tight leather suit that hugged her every curve. No townswoman would dress in this manner. Only the adventurers donned such outlandish costumes. Two short blades hung by her hips, held up by leather straps.

A collective gasp from the crowd caused her to focus her attention on the stage once more. Terror filled her as she saw Shura hold his sword poised over the helpless Jaroem’s throat. Luckily for him, Shura had no intention of striking. His normally smooth and composed face was twisted into an expression of feral delight that turned her stomach. His dark eyes blinked in confusion, however and he lowered his sword, much to the relief of everyone there.

“HAHAHAHA…” a cruel laugh erupted from the throat of the man behind her. He pulled off his cloak with a great flourish, revealing the slender sword he wore by his side. A horned skull served as the sword’s pommel and the hilt was crafted into the semblance of a human spine with a fist guard shaped like the fanged maw of a demon. The gauntlet that he wore on his left hand looked no less detailed, nor grotesque. Drawing his sword caused black flames to burst along its’ length, startling Jo-Annia who gave a strangled yelp. He rammed the macabre blade into the ground and unhooked the sword’s sheath from his belt. Wielding it in his hand, he leapt straight up into the air, his agility stealing the breath of Jo-Annia.
Using the shoulders of the crowd as stepping-stones, the man jumped onto the stage. Holding the scabbard before him as if it was a sword, the man challenged Shura.

“ A bout, old friend!” the man’s cold voice said and he lunged towards Shura, his scabbard leading.

Shura was dumbfounded at seeing Blackmire jump up on the stage but he still managed to deflect his friend’s attack.

“ What are you about?” Shura hissed at Blackmire, hoping that the crowd did not hear his query. Blackmire laughed in genuine amusement and again attacked, the sword stroke faster this time and Shura had to put in some real effort to turn the scabbard aside with his own wooden sword.

“ I was just thinking that it has been too long since we last sparred. Seeing you show off in front of these folks just made me think that maybe you need a little lesson in humility.” Blackmire replied dryly, a wry grin on his face. A similar grin spread across Shura’s face and he lifted his wooden blade to assume a battle stance.

“ Men! Won’t they ever grow up?” the leather clad woman hissed in frustration. On the stage, the two friends had already crossed their weapons and the crowd cheered in anticipation of a good show. Blackmire fought with his gauntleted hand pulled back and his right hand directing flickering thrusts with his scabbard. Frowning in concentration, Shura parried each flickering blow with sweeping strokes of the wooden sword and directed his own attacks, alternating between great slashing arcs and small circular spins of the sword. The sound of wood on blunt metal was so frequent that it almost seemed like a continuous ring as the display of swordsmanship stole the crowds’ breath away.

Jo-Annia stared at the sight of her mild mannered friend wielding the sword so expertly. Both combatants exhibited superb grace and dexterity through the synchronous shuffling of their feet as they positioned their bodies and limbs and their hands flickered faster than the eye could follow, while still remaining in complete control of their weapons. There was a distinct difference between the two swordsmen, however, Jo-Annia noted. Shura’s strokes exhibited a yearning to the pursuit of perfection in the art of swordsmanship while his blue-eyed opponent’s movements spoke of a chilling efficiency. Movement was economized as the scabbard darted back and forth, seeking an opening in Shura’s formidable defenses. The other man’s swordplay was nothing more than an instrument of death, Jo-Annia realized.

Jaroem threw himself off the stage as Blackmire and Shura battled. The whistling wooden sword and metal scabbard turned the area about the two into a swirling and thrusting hazard and the embarrassed man was more than happy to avoid the danger.

“ Arkados relies too much on thrusting and Shura’s spinning defense leaves him with almost no time to launch any counter attacks. What fools the two of them are!” the leather clad woman grumbled under her breath. Her words were still audible to Jo-Annia though. So Shura’s opponent was the King of Gryloas, Arkados Blackmire, national hero and savior of the country, Jo-Annia realized with a shock. Then the woman must be the Lady Katherine Blackmire, the King’s half-sister. What could the royal siblings have anything to do with someone like Shura?

Blackmire was enjoying himself. He had spent many days cooped up in his royal chambers working on tax documents and royal edicts. The news of the paladin’s appearance only served to increase the stress and boredom that seemed to pervade his existence now.

“ Shura! Beware!” Blackmire swept his gauntleted hand over his belt and flung four sharp daggers at Shura with a great flourish. Shura grinned and effortlessly batted each projectile vertically into the air one by one. The daggers fell and were batted up again, forming a loop in the air as Shura juggled them with his wooden blade. The crowd gasped at this display of skill.

“ Back to you!” Shura launched each dagger with a flick of his sword back to their owner one by one. The level of expertise his friend had achieved in swordsmanship stunned even Blackmire. The king dove into a forward roll, his body tucked in to avoid the projectiles. In his roll, Blackmire saw that each dagger flew towards him hilt first to thud painfully but otherwise harmlessly into the audience. Coming out of his roll with his scabbard leading, Blackmire sought to end the fight with a lighting quick thrust to Shura’s mid-section. His weapon caught nothing but air as Shura twirled, his feet spinning his body into a small spiral, the scabbard flashing less than a hair’s breadth away from the easterner’s body. Blackmire felt the wooden sword resting against the back of his neck and realized the sparring match was over.

Both men wore smiles as they lowered their weapons and stood up amidst the cheers of the crowd. The leather clad Katherine shoved her way to the stage, growling at people who got in her way. There was a scowl on her beautiful face as she regarded the two laughing and jesting men.

“ Well, I hope you’re happy, brother. Now we’re late for the senate meeting and you’re covered in the dirt and dust of battle!” She grumbled. Blackmire laughed and shrugged, a response that usually drove his sister into a near insane rage. For a moment, Shura thought, it seemed like the old days when Blackmire and his sister along with Kalvairn, Ander and himself traveled the country, adventuring for wealth and fame. Her screams and curses of fury were held back in the face of the huge crowd, however.

“ And you! I expected much more sense from you! What were you thinking, showing off like that! Have you forgotten your duty?” Katherine’s accusing finger and implicating statement directed towards Shura sobered the two. Patting Shura’s shoulder, Blackmire hopped off the stage.

“ Regarding Kalvairn and Ander’s attackers…bring the two of them to the palace tonight.” Blackmire said in a low voice that none but the two could hear. Shura nodded in acknowledgement. The king then proceeded to retrieve his sword and cloak and walk off towards his carriage with his fuming sister.

“ Shura!” Jaroem called to him cautiously. He was standing together with his friends in a huddled group. The whole lot of them looked sheepish and uneasy as Shura approached them in response to Jaroem.

“ Yes?” Shura’s tone was still polite and friendly.

“ Erm… I am sorry for trying to make a fool out of you on the stage just now. Little did I expect myself to become the fool instead!” Jaroem’s apology was sincere. Shura was feeling equally guilty himself. He had almost killed the militiaman on the stage with his unconscious reaction to Jaroem’s hostility.

“ Don’t worry about it. Being the scholar that you have named me as, swordplay was simply one of the subjects that I have studied. Your failure was simply due to lack of study, as I always say.” Shura replied, trying to salvage the man’s pride.

“ You mean that with the sufficient, erm, study of swordsmanship, I could become as good at it as you?” Jaroem was ever the die-hard enthusiast.

“ Of course.” Shura lied smoothly through his teeth. Jaroem was strong but he would never develop the reflexes and coordination required to attain any great skill at swordplay. The young militia members cheered at the idea of becoming master swordsmen and began talking excitedly among themselves. Seeing them thus engaged, Shura turned to regard Jo-Annia, who was standing with her arms folded, an amused smile upon her face.

“ Thanks for coddling Jaroem. You don’t know what a baby he can act like when he gets disappointed.” Jo-Annia said. Seeing Shura’s puzzled look, she sighed. “ There is no way he’ll ever become as skilful as you, Shura. You’re practically a genius in swordplay. My uncle was an adventurer and was considered a master of swordsmanship by the warrior guilds of the southern cities. I don’t think he’s even half as good as you are, Shura. He died during the succession wars though.” Jo-Annia’s statement halted Shura’s curious questions about her relative.

“ Who are you, Shura?” Jo-Annia asked suddenly, a serious expression on her face. “ You’ve never talked about your past and what you do for a living.” Shura was at a loss to answer. The shadowy world of bloodied blades and agonizing deaths was simply not a place to share with the beautiful and kind-hearted Jo-Annia. He enjoyed her company and delighted in her presence but he suspected that that would be lost to him if she knew about the blood-drenched world that he lived in.

Spinning on his heel, Shura turned and fled into the crowd, to the astonishment of Jo-Annia. “ Shura!” Ignoring her frantic calls, the murderer vanished into the press of bodies…


[This message has been edited by Shura (edited September 23, 2001).]

 

yay! a fight scene with me in it! goodie!!

 

Still good.

Alignment ... I'd say true neutral. You don't seem to be bent on good or on evil, nor do you seek law or chaos. You just follow your duty/goals using whatever means you must (backstab, murder, etc)

Morally, Shura seems to be a blade still being forged.

Stats ....
Dex is 19 or so
Str is probably 14-17 (he doesn't seem to be a heroic powerhouse) but he probably has the weapon finess feat, so his lower STR isn't a liability
Con would be fairly high, 16-18 since he doesn't seem to grow too weary until the end of major battles.
Mental stats will be high for this 'scholar'
INT - 18
WIS - 17

All that's left is Charisma ... he's kinda shy, maybe an average stat like 12?

 

The five companions stood in a plain stone chamber, their features illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. Four pairs of eyes focused on the powerful figure that was Arkados Blackmire, King of Gryloas. Holding a curved sword by its’ ornate sheath, he handed it to the slight easterner standing before him. Shura took the blade hesitantly.

“ Your blades lack any form of enchantment, Shura. They have served you well against creatures of flesh and blood but are virtually useless against any magical opponent.” Blackmire explained, seeing the questioning look on Shura’s face. “ Ander’s axe strikes with the fury of thunder and Kalvairn has his sorcery. My sister and I wield the Blackmire Blades, weapons of great magic. Draw your new sword and gaze upon its’ power.”

Shura shrugged and grasped the beautifully crafted hilt of the katana. Diamonds the size of a finger nail dotted its’ ebony black length, Shura noticed in amazement. The cross piece glittered in the candlelight with the glow of untarnished silver and golden runes ran down the exquisite wooden sheath. A surge of power flowed through Shura’s arm as his fingers made contact with the hilt. An irresistible force compelled him to draw the sword and beads of sweat broke out on the swordsman’s forehead. With an almost inaudible gasp, he ripped the sword from its’ sheath. The blade shone brightly, its’ gleaming surface reflecting the candlelight painfully into the eyes of the five companions who had to recoil and place a hand before their respective faces. Shura looked at the blade with awe in his eyes. How sharp the edge seemed! Heavy plate-mail armor would provide no protection against such a weapon. Putting it through a simple defensive routine, he marveled at its’ perfect balance and lightness. His old sword was at least thrice the weight of this marvelous weapon.

“It is called ZanKu, the Air Slicer, forged with the purest silver and blessed by the greatest priests of the Eastern Temples. Forty maidens tempered the blade with their lifeblood and the hilt took the greatest eastern artisans twenty years to craft.” Blackmire said, a look of pride on his cruel face. Shura could only gape in wonder as a response.

“ It is time then?” Kalvairn asked cryptically. Blue eyes gazed into painted skull sockets as Blackmire regarded the masked sorcerer. He nodded once and Kalvairn hissed in glee, the skull on the steel mask seeming to grin even more luridly. Shura and Ander were not as well informed as Kalvairn however, and directed quizzical looks towards Blackmire.

“ Katherine, bring in the sacrifice.” Blackmire’s half-sister obliged, walking into an alcove and dragging out a frail, slender form. The captive’s hood fell off to reveal the delicate facial features of the Queen of Gryloas. She had been given to Blackmire in marriage after the previous king, under Kalvairn’s necromantic influence had abdicated in favor of the warlord. Right now, the queen was not the least bit regal as her drugged limbs jerked spasmodically as Katherine pulled her head back by her hair to face the others.

“ You all know the truth about my heritage.” Blackmire said. Ander had a puzzled look on his face until Kalvairn nudged him sharply in the ribs and hissed impatiently in his ear. A gradual look of understanding dawned on the big man’s features. Shura nodded grimly while Katherine grinned in manic delight. Blackmire’s father was a great fiend of Law. Hailing from the infernal planes of tyrannical order, the mighty fiend had chosen the heiress of the Blackmire Duchy to bear his seed. The power hungry duchess was more than happy to oblige.

They had learned the truth from an old seer during their adventuring days. Instead of struggling against his dark heritage, Blackmire reveled in it. The fiendish blood ran strong in his veins and the five companions cast a dark shadow wherever they went. Blackmire was always intelligent and charismatic enough to present an elegant front to the public however, and they were always welcomed with friendly cheers and open arms everywhere they went. Not until Blackmire sated his thirst for evil and the situation was beyond redemption did his victims realize the truth behind the handsome face, radiant smiles and noble words that streamed from his mouth.

Unrolling a map, Blackmire jabbed a gauntleted finger at a spot. His features contorted in dreadful anticipation as he spoke.

“ The barriers between the planes are weakest at this abandoned temple. I have discovered a spell with which I can open a gate to the infernal planes and summon my father to us!” The warlord’s voice was trembling with excitement. Shura was filled with dread at the thought. Why on earth would his friend want to unleash such a horror on the world?

“ Upon his arrival, I shall seal the planar gates and trap him on our plane of existence. Then we shall strike! Upon his death, I shall inherit his power and fulfill my true destiny!” Blackmire all but shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber they were in.

“ Are you insane? How are we going to fight a fiend?” Ander balked at the idea.

“ Fear not, my dull friend, Kalvairn has in his possession another spell that would greatly weaken my father’s might on this plane. His power will only return in full when it is reborn in my body!” Blackmire answered.

“ What part does she have to play in this?” Shura asked, pointing towards the semi-conscious queen, although he knew and dreaded the answer. Katherine’s vicious smile answered his question but the ensuing laughs of both Blackmire and Kalvairn left him without a doubt. Ander thought for a moment, a puzzled look on his face, before he too started laughing. Shura’s smooth impassionate face belied the horror he felt gnawing at the pit of his stomach. A year ago, he would have shrugged at the whole idea. Now, the thought filled him with revulsion. What had caused him to weaken so?


Kalvairn’s skill at manipulating magical gateways carried the five companions across the four hundred miles between Blackmire’s palace and the ancient temple in the blink of an eye. Traveling across the shimmering corridors of magical transportation, Shura was solemn and sullen. His hand tightened its’ grip on the hilt of his old sword, its’ worn hilt offering some measure of comfort. The sword had been in his possession since he was five and he learnt how to wield it while other children were still clutching their rattles. The old sword had been his anchor of sanity in the course of his turbulent life and he treasured it too much to replace it with Zan Ku. The magical weapon was strapped to his back, its’ beautiful hilt jutting out from the top of his cloak.

The young swordsman’s thoughts were in a jumble. He had been trying to get into the semi-meditative state that he always assumed before battle but the Jo-Annia’s face kept appearing in his mind’s eye. He imagined her beautiful features frowning in horror and revulsion at what he had been doing all his life and his heart chilled. Shura felt guilt at the blood of hundreds staining his hands for the first time.

The companions arrived at the temple. Cavernous cracks in the ceiling were revealed by the bright moonlight streaming through, their radiance filtered by the thousands of cobwebs that choked the cracks.

The statue of a horned demon stood behind a great altar. Fossilized flakes of human remains crumbled from its’ surface as Shura brushed his hand across it. Immediately, a cascade of images forced their way into the swordsman’s consciousness. Images of pain, terror and hopelessness flashed across his mind’s eye and screams of agony resounded in places where only he could hear. Clutching the sides of his head, Shura gasped and sank to his knees before the altar.

“ Shura!” Ander’s huge hand grasped his shoulder. “ What’s wrong?” Ander shook his friend roughly and Shura seemed to recover. Breathing hoarsely, Shura raised a hand and shook his head to dismiss the worries of his friends. Kalvairn, his hands raised to administer a healing enchantment, withdrew upon seeing Shura stand up and back off from the altar.

Katherine dumped the queen’s unconscious form on the altar unceremoniously and started placing candles on the altar from a bag she had brought along. Arranging them in the pattern that Blackmire had instructed her to, she withdrew to stand beside Kalvairn and Ander. Kalvairn uttered a single word and a stream of fire sped from his outstretched index finger to each of the candles in turn.

Blackmire strode to the prone form of his wife on the table. With a sharp dagger, the warlord cut off her clothes swiftly and retreated a few steps. He motioned Ander to come forward and pointed to the naked form of the queen.

“ Take her.” Blackmire’s voice was flat and emotionless. Ander leered horridly and started to unbuckle his breeches.

Kalvairn turned around and looked directly into Shura’s horrified eyes.

“ Wait outside. We’ll call out if you’re needed.” The raspy whisper had barely finished its’ sentence before the swordsman fled the room.

“ Has he become so weak? Perhaps he has outlived his usefulness.” Katherine growled at Shura’s fast fading form. Kalvairn ignored the vicious woman. The two had never got along very well.

Outside, Shura had just reached the temple’s entrance when the queen’s horrified screams began. Squatting, Shura covered his ears, trying to block out the soul-rending sound. When that failed, he huddled beside a boulder, trying to wedge his body into one of its’ cracks. He rocked to and fro on his heels, his eyes squeezed tight, tears falling unheeded from them…

 

Before meeting Jo-Annia, Shura was Lawful Evil. Note how he abides by the structure of his government and serves Blackmire with loyalty. The only vestige of good to be found in him was his dislike of killing children, and he still did it.

After the influence of Jo-Annia, Lawful Neutral or True Neutral most likely, but hard to tell since he is in flux at this point.

Stats? Hard to say.

STR 13-14
DEX 20
CON 16
INT 17-18
WIS 14
CHA 9-10

Mat.... 12 is above average.

[This message has been edited by Capstone (edited September 24, 2001).]

 

Ander finished with the squirming girl beneath him. Grunting with pleasure, he wrapped a huge hand around her frail neck. He looked to Blackmire, who had stood by impassively watching the defilement of his child-wife. Blackmire nodded and Ander grinned. A quick jerk of his huge paw tore off the unfortunate girl’s head with a sickening crackle of bone and the liquid sound of ripping flesh. Pushing himself off the headless corpse which jerked spasmodically beneath him, Ander tossed the severed head to Blackmire who caught it in his gauntleted hand. Staring into the horrified and glazed eyes of his wife, he kissed the still-warm lips tenderly.

“ You finally proved to be of some use, my dear wife.” Blackmire said softly, bringing a roaring laugh from both Ander and Katherine. Blood gushed from the torn neck of the queen, filling the altar her body lay in. Holding up the head, Blackmire started chanting, his voice periodically high or low, his tone ever changing, the words mysterious and obscene.

“ Shura! Your presence is needed!” Kalvairn imparted mentally through the use of his sorcery. Outside, the cowering swordsman heard the summons and started making his way back into the temple.

A slit of light appeared above the altar, widening gradually to dimensions great enough for five large men standing shoulder to shoulder to pass. The planar gate was open, its’ kaleidoscopic contents swirling and screaming insanely into Blackmire’s face.

The king stood before the gate, his arms outstretched, his left hand still clutching the severed head. Katherine produced a hammer and four rusty nails. Moving up to the altar, she hammered the nails into each limb of the corpse. The nails were inscribed with runes to trap the deceased’s soul in the body, letting it experience the pain of its’ death for eternity.

Blackmire’s face was streaked with sweat. He had opened up the gate to his father’s homeland. Now he had to attract his attention and interest to lure him over to his own plane of existence.

“ Gathra Deuas! Unholy Defiler and Agent of Corruption!” Blackmire screamed into the swirling portal. “ Heed my call! I offer the blackest and basest of deeds as sacrifice to you! Look upon this travesty and be pleased!” Holding the ripped head high into the air, Blackmire shrieked arcane words of power to carry his message to the fiend.

Shura entered at this moment. Seeing Blackmire in the throes of summoning, he walked up beside Kalvairn. The skull-mask turned to regard him. Reaching into his robes, Kalvairn produced a small wooden box and pressed it into Shura’s hands.

“ When the fiend arrives, throw the gem you will find inside this box into the air. It will cause you pain, I fear. But less pain than it will cause the rest of us if we were to touch the gem.” Kalvairn instructed. Shura nodded, his stoic front restored. All his doubts fled, even when he gazed upon the mangled corpse of the queen. There would be battle soon and he knew the answers to every aspect of battle even in his state of inner torment. He tucked the box into his tunic and drew his two swords. Kalvairn shook his head at that.

“ Your old blades will be useless against an infernal being like Gathra Deuas. Use the sword that Blackmire gave you.” The sorcerer admonished. Shura complied. Looking around, Shura saw that Ander had already removed his axe from its’ leather sheath and held it before him, the great weapon resting in his hands easily. Katherine had drawn her twin blades, Frost Spike and Flame Nail, the weapons glowing red and blue in each of her hands. She withdrew beyond the candlelight and faded into the shadows, becoming invisible to all but one possessing Shura’s superhuman senses. Holding Zan Ku in a two handed grip, Shura sought the shadows too.

“ WHO DARES?” an unearthly voice, radiating with power boomed through the temple. “ WHICH MORTAL INVOKES THE ATTENTION OF GATHRA DEUAS, AGENT OF CORRUPTION?” Blackmire shrieked in glee at his success.

“ Your son calls you! I, Arkados Blackmire, offer you passage to this world of flesh where all mortals would fall to your might! To prove my worth, I have placed the most heinous of sacrifices before you! Let us bring pain to this world, my father!” Blackmire screamed into the portal.

“ ARKADOS BLACKMIRE! HAHAHAHA…” the voice replied, the very air vibrating with its’ power. “ I AM PLEASED INDEED. I ACCEPT YOUR OFFER.”

A gigantic clawed hand emerged from the portal. It was longer than Ander’s considerable height from the elbow to its’ claws. A hideous face with a fang filled snout appeared next, followed by a pair of bat-like wings, which stretched, from one end of the temple to the other. The fiend pulled the rest of his awesome bulk through the portal and scooped up the queen’s corpse.

“AGONY WILL BE ETERNAL FOR THE SOUL OF YOUR SACRIFICE!” Gathra Deuas boomed. The fiend then proceeded to consume the queen body and soul. Blackmire laughed at his success. Snapping his fingers, he sealed the planar portal, cutting off the connection between his plane of existence and the infernal one. The fiend whipped his great head around to regard his son suspiciously.

“ WHAT’S THIS? WHY HAVE YOU CUT ME OFF FROM MY DOMAIN? HOW CAN I SUMMON MY MINIONS TO ENSLAVE THIS WORLD NOW?”

Blackmire smiled. “ I’ll enslave this world for you, father. With your strength!” Raising his gauntleted fist, he uttered a single word and an eldritch bolt of pure energy burst from his palm to explode in the fiend’s face. Taken by surprise, the fiend staggered back, a huge claw clutching its’ singed face. The fiend’s roar of outrage shook the temple’s very foundations; dust settled on pillars and crannies for many centuries came loose in billowing opaque gusts and cracks appeared in the ancient stone that served as the temple’s walls.

Shura pulled the wooden box Kalvairn had given him from his cloak. Opening it, he saw a yellow gemstone. He wrapped a hand around it without hesitation and felt the gem sear his skin through the half-gloves that he wore. Gritting his teeth, Shura hurled the gem into the air above the fiend’s head, smoke rising from his burnt hand as the gem left his grasp.

“ Haleo Celestia Enflara!” Kalvairn chanted as he saw the glowing gem spin into the air. Drawing a rod from his belt, the sorcerer pointed at the gem and unleashed an arrow of flame at it. The fiery missile struck the gem and vanished. The gem remained static in the air however. The light pulsing from its’ multi-faceted core increased in intensity, bathing the dark temple in a soft, yellow light.

“ A Celestial jewel! Your magic is neutralized in its’ presence, father!” Blackmire exclaimed triumphantly. Drawing his fell sword which burned with a dark, hungry flame as it left its’ scabbard, he faced off against the great fiend. “ Come! Let us battle on more even odds, fiend!”

“ YOUR GREAT AUDACITY IS ALMOST UNBELIEVABLE.” The fiend rumbled, still clutching its’ burnt face which now had an evil grin on it. “BUT I WOULD EXPECT NO LESS FROM MY SON!” The fiend roared its’ terrible laughter as it charged towards Blackmire, a gigantic claw raised in readiness to strike down its’ upstart offspring.

Blackmire stood his ground as the fiend thundered in. With a roar that matched the fiend’s in terms of ferocity, Ander leaped high into the air behind Blackmire. Despite the great weight of his armor, Ander’s powerful legs propelled him eight feet up into the air, easily jumping over his friend. His axe came down in a great arc to crash into the fiend’s wing as it twisted desperately in response to the unexpected attack. The heavily enchanted blade cleaved the hideous appendage off cleanly, ichor spurting from the stump as the wing slid to the floor with a great crash. Blackmire leapt forward, his blade leading. The fiery sword sunk to its’ hilt in the fiend’s thigh. The king gripped the sword with both hands and threw his body sideways, wrenching the wound open.

The fiend roared in agony and backhanded Ander, a great blow that the huge man managed to block with the flat of his axe. The impact still tossed him a few steps back, however. Gathra Deuas focused his horrible gaze on Blackmire and reached a claw towards him when Katherine made her move. The woman had attached the two hilts of her short swords together and now wielded the weapon like a small double bladed spear. The elemental blades sliced deeply into the fiend’s back, Katherine putting all her weight into the blow. Shura struck next, Zan Ku biting deep into fiendish flesh as the swordsman executed a leaping aerial slash at the fiend’s shoulders. The curved sword flared brightly as it struck and sudden glee erupted in Shura’s heart, unnerving the swordsman more than a little. The sword seemed to delight in the battle, strengthening its’ wielder’s sword arm and urging him to slay his enemy without mercy.

Roaring in pain and rage, Gathra Deuas shook violently, dislodging Shura and Katherine. Both of them twisted deftly in mid-air and landed lightly on their feet. The five companions had fought monstrous opponents before. During their adventuring days, they had even slain a dragon and sold her eggs to an evil necromancer. Blackmire took the opportunity to lance his sword into the fiend’s abdomen repeatedly, driving Gathra Deuas into an agonizing frenzy of rage. The fiend ignored the pain and clapped both of his palms around Blackmire with a crash. The king fell without a sound, his eyes glazed from the terrific impact. The clawed foot Gathra Deuas lifted to crush his son met with the steely edge of Ander’s axe however. The big man stood over Blackmire’s prone form, swinging his mighty weapon and snarling in defiance.

The fiend growled and called upon his demonic powers, seeking to turn the companions into heaps of smoking ash. Or rather, he tried to. The glowing gem in the air radiated an aura than instantly neutralized any enchantment he tried to call upon. Fear crept into the great fiend’s black heart. He did not have any time for such contemplations, however. The swordsman in the swirling cloak and the leather-clad woman who so resembled the female human that he had impregnated all those years ago charged at him, their weapons raised. Gathra Deuas had already tasted the sting of their weapons and had no desire to do so again. Leaping back, he angled his huge body to face all three of his attackers, the savage axe-man, the lithe woman and the swordsman who moved with breath-taking agility.

Magical spheres of energy slammed into his hideous face just then. Kalvairn’s outstretched palm was trailing smoke as a result of the destructive spell he had just cast. Grinning in satisfaction under his mask, he started chanting again. Ander’s axe thundered in, only to be locked into a vice-like clinch with the fiend’s huge claw. The fiend lifted the big man by his weapon and tossed him heavily into a wall. Ander crashed into the wall, cracking the stone and slid off, more dazed than hurt thanks to his heavy armor. Both Shura and Katherine went low, Shura gliding gracefully with his body no more than a hand-span from the ground while Katherine kicked her heels forward and slid across the stone, propelled by her own forward momentum. The fiend tried to lift himself into the air but his severed wing rendered him flightless. Shura hamstrung the fiend on his left leg while Katherine did likewise to his right.

Gathra Deuas bellowed helplessly as he fell backwards onto the stone. A bolt of lighting caught him in the face as he fell, putting out one of his terrible eyes forever. It cannot be! Gathra Deuas thought hysterically. He was one of the greatest and most powerful fiends of Law in existence. Whole worlds have been enslaved by him and mighty angelic beings that sought to oppose him have been overcome and devoured by his power. It was unthinkable that he would meet his end at the hands of five mortals in a filthy stone temple! He trashed wildly with his great arms, striking Katherine a glancing blow that tossed her bodily into the air nonetheless. Feeling the soft leather shoes that Shura wore treading on his torn stomach, Gathra Deuas looked down. The swordsman stood on the fiend, his curved sword slashing, green blood spurting with each blow. He swung a mighty claw, sweeping away the swordsman. This time, the red blood of a mortal stained the floor as the claws sliced into Shura’s shoulder and hip.

Airborne, Shura twisted his body deftly, landing on his feet. The cuts on his shoulder and hip were deep, blood flowing freely from the torn flesh, soaking his cloak and pooling on the dirty floor. The grip on his sword never faltered, however. In the state of mental emptiness that he adopted in battle, Shura hardly felt the pain and registered the wounds clinically and calmly. He was facing the fiend alone now, a monstrous being fifteen feet tall and a hundred times his weight but the spidery influence of fear was absent. Shura looked the fiend straight in the eye: the great monster did inspire as much terror in him as the paladin with his terrible glowing sword. A low laugh escaped the swordsman’s lips as he raised his blade and charged in again.

Hamstrung, the fiend could only strike with its’ great claws while kneeling, giving Shura a great advantage in terms of mobility. Avoiding the lumbering claws with ease, he again stepped inside the reach of the fiend’s long arms. The fiend had a surprise for him this time, however. Opening his fanged maw, the fiend gave a great bellow, using the unearthly power of his voice to launch a sonic attack right into Shura’s face. The swordsman’s vision went white as his eyes rolled upwards and he staggered back, blood streaming from his nose and ears. Gathra Deuas snorted in triumph and crashed a heavy fist onto Shura’s slight form, grinding the swordsman into the stone. A choked cough brought up blood as Shura felt more than one of his ribs crack. The wicked tip of his sword still found its’ way up into the fiend’s wrist, however and the fist was withdrawn with a huge bellow of pain.

Ignoring the pain in his body, Blackmire picked himself up and raised his gauntleted fist. Calling upon the artifact’s power, he sent bolt after bolt of Chaos energy slamming into the fiend, disrupting the fiend’s Lawful essence and causing it great pain. Ander surged in again only to be met with the fiend’s huge fist, stopping the huge man dead in his tracks. Gathra Deuas turned a baleful eye on his son. Reaching out a huge claw, he ignored the stings the gauntlet caused him and sought to crush Blackmire. Kalvairn’s next spell was a swirling globe of sharpened blades that spun to intercept Gathra Deuas’s outstretched limb at the elbow, ripping and tearing into the flesh. Another bolt of lighting slammed into the fiend’s forehead, followed by a succession of spells as the sorcerer unleashed his deadly magical barrage on the fiend. The fiend screamed in pain, totally ignoring the broken form of Shura before him.

Katherine lay on the floor dazed. Blood streamed down the side of her face as she gingerly touched the painful contusion she had received from the fiend’s clubbing arm. It was only a glancing blow but yet the power in the fiend’s limbs astounded her. Ander landed on the floor beside her with a metallic crash, his axe flying wildly from his hands. His eyes were crossed and blood seeped from his mouth. Great indeed was her shock when she saw Shura rise to his feet and stare upwards into the fiend’s face, which was turned towards Blackmire and Kalvairn.

Gathra Deuas felt cold steel sliding into his throat and gazed down, horror blooming in his heart as he saw Shura clinging to the torn flesh on his chest and thrusting his sword into the fiend’s neck. Before Gathra Deuas could pull him off, Shura had whipped his sword sideways to open a gaping wound in his neck. The fiend’s otherworldly lifeblood gushed out and he grasped his throat in an attempt to staunch the flow, his monstrous head dipping low. The action brought Gathra Deuas’s head into Shura’s reach and the swordsman raised his sword and brought in down in a mighty two-handed chop. Zan Ku seemed to sing a note of the clearest tune in triumph as the fiend’s skull was split into two. The gargantuan beast collapsed at Shura’s feet. The ensuing blast of negative energy that the fiend was composed of knocked everybody to the ground upon Gathra Deuas’s death.

Blackmire could hardly believe what had transpired. All his life he had been waiting for this moment. Thoughts of inheriting his father’s unholy power had plagued his mind ever since he learnt the truth of his heritage. Only through treachery have the companions defeated the fiend this night. Without the Celestial gem, the fiend would have incinerated them in moments with the might of his will. His gauntlet blasted the glowing crystal from its’ floating perch and he then felt the negative energy converging on him, flowing into the crevices of his soul. A scream escaped him as the ancient wisdom of the fiend accumulated over millennia flooded his mind and his soul swelled with the influx of power. Floating in mid-air, Blackmire’s glowing form made a spectacular sight to his friends indeed as the swirling negative energy flowed into him.

Finally, the glow faded around Blackmire and he tumbled to the ground. His eyes were wide open and his lips were twitching, mumbling unintelligible words.

“ His mind will take some time to digest the power.” Kalvairn observed as one by one, the companions came to stand around Blackmire’s prone form. “ I fear he will be extremely vulnerable in his present condition, however and we must do what we can to guard him.” Shura, Ander and Katherine nodded at Kalvairn’s instructions. The sorcerer then called upon the power of his cruel deity and enacted a healing enchantment over the three. Ander’s bruises healed and Katherine’s cut sealed itself but Shura’s wounds remained, the magical healing washing off him like water off a greased fence. Kalvairn frowned in consternation.

“ That’s strange.” Kalvairn began but immediately ceased his contemplation as Shura swooned from the loss of blood through his gaping wounds. Ander caught the swordsman as he staggered and Katherine picked up Zan Ku, which fell from Shura’s weakening grasp. Ander slung Blackmire over his shoulder easily as Kalvairn hastily opened another magical gateway which would return them to Blackmire’s palace…

 

That must be the longest post ever .

 

yeah yeah go go man go! wahahey humperdido changed it to wine!

 

Very good. I'm still impressed and interested in more.

Wondering why healing doesn't work ... I'm sure that will be explained.

 

Good Stuff - Just a guess, but I think the small shred of goodness that Shura possesses is enough to render useless the evil healing powers of Kalvairn. Just a guess mind you.

[This message has been edited by Lord Moeken (edited September 28, 2001).]

 

That was my thought as well... Shura is no longer Evil, although he is still allied with Blackmire.

 

yep, all cool evil chars turn good in the end. Even Raistlin wasn't an exception

 

The nightmares came again, as always. The whirlwind of severed hands and torn mouths that screamed their anguish swirled around the swordsman who stood helpless at the eye of the storm of insanity. This time was different, however. He held up the severed head of the fiend Gathra Deuas in both his arms and the screams lessened in intensity. A grim sense of achievement filled him, as if he had done something right. The mangled body parts that swirled around him faded from sight, leaving the swordsman to a deep and dreamless sleep that had eluded him for years…

Shura woke to the stinging pain of his stitched wounds. Bandages were tied tightly around his body to act as a light splint for his cracked ribs and dozens of stitches held the torn flesh of his shoulder and hip together. Those would leave nasty scars, Shura thought. Pain seared through him as Shura lifted himself from the stone cot that he had slept in but he persisted and got to his feet. Blackmire’s personal healer glided into the small chamber just then, her black robes trailing on the cold stone floor. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Shura on his feet.

“ Healing enchantments do not work on you, and I had to fall back on more primitive methods to keep you alive, Shura. Do not waste all those hours that I’ve spent stitching you up by tearing open those wounds!” she said sharply, knowing her words to be useless as Shura had already put on his tattered black cloak and retrieved his three swords from the corner they had been tucked into.

Bowing deeply to the dark priestess in spite of his pain, Shura left the room and strode down the corridors of Blackmire’s palace, leaving her muttering in irritation to herself. The few Ravagers and Blackguards, Blackmire’s praetorian warriors on patrol in the palace saluted him as he walked past and he returned their salutes with minute nods of his head. Turning a corner, he walked right into the tall form of Sir Laron de Culaes, his head bouncing painfully off the knight’s polished breastplate.

“ You should watch where you are going, peasant!” the knight barked at him. A gauntleted palm smacked Shura across the face, staggering the weakened swordsman. “
To obstruct the holy duties of the Templars is blasphemy!” Escorted by a score of white-cloaked young men in shining plate-mail with the holy symbol of the Celestial Knight on their surcoats, the knight continued on his way down the corridors. Rubbing his stinging cheek, Shura ruefully made his way to Blackmire’s personal chambers.

Pushing upon the ornate doors, he found Ander, Kalvairn and Katherine standing before Blackmire’s empty armchair. The two warriors were listening intently to the sorcerer.

“ The Church has launched an Inquisition on our city. Already their agents have started undermining Blackmire’s political power throughout the provinces of Gryloas and many of the nobles that supported Blackmire have been arrested for heresy.” Kalvairn said. Frustration tinged the sorcerer’s raspy whisper. For all his skill in political backstabbing and Blackmire’s charismatic power, they were quite helpless in the face of a religious opposition. The worship of the Celestial Knight was the formal state religion in Gryloas before the reign of Blackmire and the church has indoctrinated centuries of retributive fear into the hearts of the common people, particularly the uneducated peasants. In the deep countryside, scholars and educated men were burnt alive under charges of witchcraft. People who could read were treated with the greatest suspicion. The Celestial Knight demanded absolute ignorant obedience from his worshippers, it seemed! Kalvairn thought in frustration.

In the years during the war that Blackmire had been a valued member of the ruling council in the monarchic republic that was Gryloas government, he had promoted education throughout the country, funding the building of schools from his own coffers. The act brought much admiration from his fellow nobles and the enmity of the Church. As a follower of the Lord of Chaos, an evil and destructive deity, Kalvairn was very hostile to the Church. He still managed to play the role of the diplomatic and god-fearing chancellor to deflect the many queries of the Church’s Templars, thanks to his intelligence and self -control. The task had become more and more difficult in the past few days, however.

The three noticed Shura standing in the doorway and stopped their conversation. Ander loosed a whistle of grudging respect at the swordsman’s constitution. He had always been hardy despite his slight form and possessed an endurance that stretched beyond the limits of normal men.

“ Where is Blackmire, my friends?” Shura asked. Kalvairn strode to the door that led to Blackmire’s inner chamber and opened it.

“ Our leader lies here in a comatose state.” Kalvairn said, sweeping a robed arm towards the prone form of the king. Blackmire lay on his bed, a red glow emanating from his open eyes and his mouth uttering arcane words beyond the comprehension of even Kalvairn. Shura looked upon his friend for a moment.

“ How long will he be in this state?”

“ For the next few days, at least. This will be a terrible trial for us all. If we are not able to placate the Templars until Blackmire awakens, we can expect an army of a hundred thousand church soldiers to march upon our city. Blackmire’s generals would not dare oppose the church and without their troops, we only have a total force of three thousand Ravagers and a thousand Blackguards to defend our city.” Kalvairn said.

“ Terrible odds, but Blackmire has seen us through worse situations before. Ever has he been the tactical genius.” Ander protested.

“ We play a different game now, Ander. As the leader of a mercenary army, Blackmire could afford to employ skirmish tactics and engage in guerilla warfare, giving up key positions in favor of enhanced mobility. As the king of Gryloas, there would be no way he could recover his throne if he let the Church have his capital city. We can only fight a frontal war in the event of a confrontation and that would certainly crush us.” Kalvairn replied.

“ Church soldiers will not be the only threat we have to worry about.” Shura pointed out. He told his friends about the shining woman who rescued the paladin from his blades. Kalvairn hissed in horror and a look of worry appeared on Katherine’s face. Ander’s expression was one of befuddlement.

“ Celestials!” Kalvairn hissed. “ We are in grave danger indeed.” The four of them looked at Blackmire’s prone form. Wake up, Blackmire. Wake up quickly. Shura thought…


The city was dark: it was a moonless autumn night. The swordsman walked amongst the shadows, feeling at home. The other denizens of the night, robbers and burglars, avoided him. In the world of darkness, he had earned an awesome reputation as a bringer of death. Shadow-blade, they called him. Never had the criminal world witnessed an assassin of such prowess, never have the streets run redder with blood when his soundless footsteps fail to announce his presence. The swordsman scaled a wall with amazing agility, seeming to run up the vertical surface. His wounds throbbed with the effort but it hardly taxed his bodily resources. Leaping from roof to roof, he traversed the city rooftops.

Jo-Annia sat before her desk, an account in her manuscript commissioned by one of her father’s clients undone. She had not seen Shura since the day he disappeared into the crowd. Worry for her eastern friend prevented her from giving her work the attention it was due and she snapped the manuscript shut, stuffing it into one of her drawers. She never thought of Shura as a swordsman, him being the perpetually mild-mannered and soft- spoken individual that he was, a dreamy and thoughtful look ever-present on his face. But the day she saw his face contort in that murderous expression as he held a wooden sword over Jaroem’s throat was one she would not forget. At that moment, Shura had seemed hardly human. A certain quality set him apart from the rest of the human population.

That quality was the indifference to murder, Shura realized, as he perched on a rooftop, almost invisible amongst the shadows, peering into Jo-Annia’s bedroom through a window. He was a true killer. A dark fiery passion to feel his blades slicing into flesh drove his sword-arms. Covered in the blood of his enemies, parrying and dodging blades, quickstepping in a battlefield knee deep in corpses, Shura had never felt more alive. Looking into Jo-Annia’s brown eyes let him see the reflection of his true self. Like his sensei, and all the other Shuras before him, the fifteenth incarnation of Shura was nothing more than a murderous monster, obsessed with his craft, indifferent and un-caring to the death and destruction that would surely result from its’ practice. There was a difference between Shura and his predecessors, though. Shura recognized the evil nature of his swordsmanship while they never did. It was an inconsequential difference. Shura could never put down his swords: they defined his existence and identity. He would walk down the same path of slaughter as his sensei, albeit with more inner torment due to the conscience that had been awakened in him by Jo-Annia.

He laughed bitterly and quietly, dispelling once and for all any notions of a future with her. His place was in the battlefield, be it one of shadows or one of clashing steel and armies. He still had one last thing to do, however.

A leap brought him to Jo-Annia’s roof. Climbing down from it to her balcony took little effort for him and soon he was standing a few yards behind her. Jo-Annia was oblivious to his presence, humming to herself while tidying stacks of parchments and scrolls.

“ Jo-Annia.” Shura’s voice was flat and cold. The woman spun around in surprise to face Shura squarely. Shura was draped in his black cloak that was the last thing most of his victims saw before a blade cut into them. His katana and wakizashi hung by his hips and the hilt of Zan Ku stuck out from the top of his cloak. Black half gloves covered his hands and the hilts of two daggers jutted out from twin shoulder sheaths. The woman disregarded all his weapons and ran forward, taking him by the hand.

“ Shura! Where have you been?” Jo-Annia asked. “ You had us all positively worried! Jaroem and his friends have been scouring the city for you these past few days and I’ve been asking for you at the palace grounds!” Shura’s heart leapt in worry at that. The woman had approached members of the Blackguards and Ravagers to ask about him? She was lucky the murderous soldiers of either unit have not had their way with her yet.

“ And what were you thinking, climbing up to my balcony? You could have just knocked on the front door, silly man!” Shura could only gape at her reprimanding tirade.

“ The city is a dangerous place to be in now. You must leave.” Shura managed to halt her flood of concerned queries just enough to utter the warning. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, the swordsman sighed, shaking his head and spreading his arms in dismay.

“ Well, I suppose it’s time you shed some light on the great mystery that is your existence then, Shura.” Jo-Annia said. Her inquisitive eyes were fixed on the swordsman as he shook his head again in denial. Her delicate hand fastened on the hilt of his katana suddenly and she drew the deadly weapon before Shura could stop her, his reflexes dulled by his dilemma. The fine blade was much heavier than it looked, however and her untrained wrist could not even lift the blade from the floor, let alone hold it upright. She stumbled back and fell on her rump, the sword spinning wildly out of control into the air. Shura caught it by the hilt easily and slid the weapon back into its’ sheath smoothly. His expression was not one of amusement, though.

“ Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? The katana is a blade of folded steel that can slice through flesh, cartilage and bone without causing the slightest nick on its’ edge! You could have very well lost a limb or worse just now!” Shura reprimanded his over-inquisitive friend harshly. To his amazement, the woman was laughing at his outraged expression.

“ Your face was so etched with doom and gloom just now that I simply had to do something about it. A smile fits nicely on your face, but the snarl that is pasted on it now is by far preferable to the worried frown that dominated your features a moment ago!” Jo-Annia retorted. Pulling on Shura’s tattered cloak, she got to her feet. The swordsman now wore a look of disbelief. If Blackmire or Ander were present, their howls of laughter would now be shaking the building’s foundations.

“ Now what was that about me having to leave the city?” Jo-Annia asked, giving the exasperated swordsman another of her dazzling smiles.

 

I am in total awe. Simply amazing. Comparable to professional authors such as Jordan and Greenwood. Very good. And as for Shura's stats:

STR: 16
DEX: 21
CON: 19
INT: 14
WIS: 15
CHA: 13

 

shura no oni wa totemo sugoi !!

great job

the stats azirath gives looks very close to what i've thought myself

 

Truly great! Keep it coming!

As for his stats:

Human Kensai

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

His obvious training in the eastern arts, along with his inclination to be a sell-sword working for someone, speaks of his lawful aura. I think it isn't his "goodness" that is preventing the healing spells from Kalvairn, its his lawfulness, his discipline, his dedication to his craft. Remember, Kelvairn worships A chaotic power. (At least, that's what I think...)

Str: 15

Above average strength, but not exceptional like Anders or Lord Blackmire.

Dex: 19

Okay, I know he's human (unless Shura the writer has some other plans, hmmm... maybe that's why healing doesn't work...), and 19 is a stretch since the racial limit is 18. But going above 19 I feel isn't "human" anymore (Wulfgar has 19 Str I think). His high AC (in D&D terms) may be attributed to his training or even his kit abilities (which may increase in level, DM's option of course).

Con: 16

Again, due to his training and physical conditioning.

Int: 16

A great capacity to learn and analyze, memorize and logically reason. He isn't a spell caster however, so a 17 or 18 isn't really reasonable as he doesn't undergo the grueling mental exercises and memorization of the mage. He may have strong willpower or such, but again, that can be a class ability or whatever, not a stat. (Much like a monk's)

Wis: 13

Unlike the others, I'm giving our blademaster a rather average wisdom score. He doesn't possess the insight to discern his purpose, other than what he believes he is destined to do(follow his master's path) inspite having bouts with his conscience and sensibilities. He has been very mercenary so far, and lacks clear principles, whether they be for good or evil. He doesn't even serve neutrality in a more direct sense, as balance isn't such a big issue for him. He is concerned mainly with survival, his friends, and his current situation. Very lawful. He may have high willpower and common sense, but has average intuition (not alertness to danger, that's different) as he failed to react and adjust swiftly to the paladin and his sword(took a while for it to sink in).

Cha: 10

Shy, I guess. But really, a man who is one with the shadows and a master of the blades hardly needs to be charming. If this stat increases, its likely in the form of intimidation and persuasiveness, but it won't reach very high.

I'd like to hear more about his new katana though. So far, it strikes me as a +4 weapon(hey, it was able to damage the fiend lord), with a low speed factor, and some probable mental powers or resistances given to its wielder, depending on how the story goes. So far, it encourages him to battle(resist fear?), even imparting an empathy that it likes to be used for battle(slightly cursed? berserking?) and never slips from his grip (cannot be disarmed in P&P D&D)

Well done Shura! I agree with Hardin, get an agent and have this published! Your talent is rare.

 

Tales of blades flashing with the glint of reflected moonlight amidst shadows and of lives ended abruptly and cruelly held Jo-Annia’s attention throughout the night. Shura spoke of his past, his time with his sensei in the mountains of the utter east. The harsh training that had begun the moment he could walk and the nights of study after a day’s torturous swordplay. Shura still remembered his sensei with fondness, despite his cruelty.

In his homeland, he had wandered aimlessly, fighting as a mercenary or assassin for whichever warlord that paid him. Eventually, a power hungry warlord hired Shura, who had forged a deadly reputation for himself as an awesome death-dealer, to assassinate a member of the Imperial Family. Shura completed the task, only to find his patron dead and himself hunted by the invincible Warrior Sage Bu-Shin, the Imperial Guardian. The young swordsman had subsequently fled his homeland.

He talked about the exploits of Blackmire during his adventuring days and about his friends Kalvairn and Ander. He never considered the vicious Katherine a friend, though she was a trusted ally. Here the swordsman had a wistful look on his face. Days were spent in pursuit of wealth and glory, building legends upon their deeds and looting the hoards of the mighty adversaries they vanquished. To Jo-Annia, it was obvious which life Shura had preferred. She noted that the premature lines of worry etched into Shura’s youthful face ease somewhat when he relived those days on the road, which seemed an eternity ago to him. Blackmire had amassed enough wealth and built a respectable name after a couple of years of adventuring, a testament to the prowess of the party. He had raised his own band of armed soldiers and thrown his lot in with the King of Gryloas. The war ended less than two years after Blackmire entered it, his tactical genius smashing every hostile army. Never had he lost a battle. Jo-Annia knew the rest: Blackmire had married the king’s daughter and succeeded the throne upon the elderly monarch’s death.

The considerable influence of his many political opponents made their permanent removal necessary. Blackmire had assigned Shura and Katherine as his assassins: he was aware of their prowess in stealth. Jo-Annia listened stoically as Shura spoke of his life amongst the shadows, his voice slightly un-steady. The blood of children and women stained the blades of the swordsman. He did not know why he was so bothered by such a fact. Eventually, he came to the coming conflict between Blackmire and the church. Presenting Kalvairn’s arguments on the church’s military superiority, Shura explained why it was important for her to leave the city before the church laid siege to it.

“ Well…you have certainly lived a most eventful life. I’m still a little annoyed at the fact that you never mentioned that you knew the king personally though.” Jo-Annia frowned at Shura, trying to lighten the somber mood in her room. “ I could have got him to sign the copy of the book on military tactics that he wrote!” Shura laughed at her petulant pout. He recovered quickly though, re-assuming his grave expression.

“ You must leave. Pack your books and notes, drag your father along, and hire a wagon. The war could start any day.” Shura warned. Jo-Annia sighed lightly and shrugged.

“ I’ve always thought a little vacation was overdue anyway. Very well, I shall get my father to pack his things. We should be ready to leave by the day after tomorrow.” Came her resigned answer. “ Now what would I tell Jaroem, I wonder? If he knew the truth about you, he would do his best to arrest you.”

“ I never thought of that.” Shura admitted, scratching his head sheepishly. “ Warning you took precedence over everything else as soon as I heard the news.” Jo-Annia regarded her friend curiously at that remark but decided not to pursue that particular line of thought.

“ You must leave quickly, in any event. I’m sure Jaroem will be able to take care of himself.” Shura insisted. “ The nearest town is Caelor, two day’s ride from the capital. I shall accompany you as far as there.”

“ Now that must be the strangest elopement proposal ever, you asking me to bring my father along.” Jo-Annia replied.

“ I meant nothing of the sort!” Shura retorted sharply, his face flushing despite the discipline that he prided himself on. “ The area outside the capital must be crawling with church soldiers and they are notorious for denouncing practitioners of technology such as yourself and your father. You might not be able to talk your way out of every encounter with those fanatics.”

“ And what will you do when talking fails?” Jo-Annia asked sharply. Shura’s instinctive grip on his katana hilt brought a sad look to the woman’s face. “ You will find that sometimes there are more answers to life’s questions than that thing.” Her remark caught Shura off-guard. He was had not even realized what he had done until it was pointed out to him. He bowed his head in dejected shame.

“ Nevertheless, I shall enjoy your company during the trip!” Jo-Annia chirped, lightening her tone. Shura was knowledgeable and well versed in the study of logic, numbers and familiar with the literary works of the ancient great scholars but he never seemed to develop his own set of personal morals, Jo-Annia concluded after hearing his life story. His extremely amoral behavior belied an utter lack of malice, however. Shura was not an evil person. The woman nodded her head at the thought. “ I shall enjoy cutting your arguments and theories on the Five Fundamental Formulas to shreds!” Her mock-vicious grin brought one to the swordsman’s face too and for a moment, Shura seemed like an ordinary young man, not the mass murderer that he was.

“ Not a chance, Jo-Annia. Your own theories have gaping holes of logic perforating them!” Shura retorted. Laughing at her look of outraged disbelief, the swordsman walked to her balcony window. “ I shall see you at the city gates the day after tomorrow then!” Seeing Jo-Annia’s nod of agreement, Shura leapt into the night, his heart lightened a thousand times a thousand…

A hundred miles away, a ship sailed into port and three passengers disembarked. All three wore wide brimmed straw hats and the outline of their bodies were masked by heavy cloaks. A pair of golden eyes flared from under the brim of a hat as it took in the sights of the western harbor, narrowing disdainfully at the barbarity of western buildings. The figure raised its’ head and the moonlight illuminated its’ features. The man’s features were inhumanly sharp and delicate and his golden skin reflected the moonlight with a dazzling shimmer. Two long and pointed ears framed his head and a mane of dark flowing hair reached his waist. A marvelously crafted suit of green and blue scale-mail encased his slender body. He was not a human, but one of the Elder races, which the primitive barbarians called Elves. He swept his delicate-seeming hand and gestured imperiously to his two companions, humans who have seen stone crumble under the strength of those skinny fingers.

“ Let us be off! We must restore our honor by avenging our Lord!” His powerful voice boomed. The two men bowed deeply in reply.
“ By your command, Lord Bu-Shin.”

 

It's indeed very great. Eveningdrive gives the right stats I think. However Dex may be even 20. At least you got a 19 for writing..... Shura, did you ever think about making a book? Maybe there are people interested and it can be your job. Just give it a try, your writing skills are great.