Son of Strife ( A glimpse and its protagonists)

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Hey guys, this is just for your reading pleasure. Here are a few excrepts from a massive story that I have been working on: a redone version of the first part of The Legend of Shura.

For those who are familiar with the canon of my stories, this one focuses more on Arkados's rise to power and the gathering of his companions in the initial part. The later half of the story is mostly what you have read in CS, but more detailed and (hopefully) more refined. Of course, the POV character is still Shura.

I'll post 3rd Edition stats for them later.

Here we go!

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Shura:

The wind tossed the falling snow in white, chaotic circles. It howled across the icy mountain, biting into the flesh of the two swordsmen that faced each other, their blades drawn and tips pointing downwards and standing knee deep in the snow. They held their poises, ignoring the frost gathering on their faces and the flakes of snow that lashed their eyes. Both of them wore their long, black hair loose and their thick manes whipped wildly about in the wind.

Over the tip of a neighboring mountain, the sun rose and revealed itself, casting its weak rays over the frigid landscape. Sunlight fell sideways upon the face of one swordsman, a huge warrior in his thirties and casting his features in shades of stark contrast, accentuated by his deep-set, almost cavernous eyes. His lips were thin and cruel, bloodless from the cold and within the furrows of his brow; two black orbs gleamed with malice, evil and madness. He was the fourteenth incarnation of Shura, the master of the Sword of Darkness. He had left piles of corpses in his bloody trail through life.

A ray of light filtered through the swirl of snow and landed upon his opponent, a youth that had seen less than fifteen years. The boy was clad in a fashion similar to Shura. A black kimono covered his body underneath a dark cloak that whipped wildly in the wind. Though young, his eyes were heavy with the horrors that he had witnessed. His hands were bloodstained with murderous atrocities and his heart had been hardened by terror. He was the student of Shura, nameless until he had earned his title. Unlike his teacher, who held his katana in both hands, the youth wielded his katana and wakizashi, curved swords so keen that they could slice through flesh and bone effortlessly together, a blade in each hand, for he was perfectly ambidextrous.

A hawk soared across the heavens, its primal scream shattering the silence and tension. As one, the two swordsmen leapt up onto the surface of the snow, freeing their legs and glided towards each other, their agility and balance preventing them from sinking in again. With a snarl, their blades clashed in a shower of sparks. Student and teacher spun away from each other and rushed back in, weapons leading. Shura struck furiously, intent on using his greater strength and weight to crush his opponent’s defenses. Katana rang against katana and the youth was driven back step after step. The student flipped over backwards to avoid a low sweep of Shura’s sword and pushed himself off the packed snow with his knuckles. Hanging in midair with his feet to the sky, the student launched a flurry of blows at his teacher from an unexpected angle.

A streaking katana sliced a gash upon Shura’s face while the student’s wakizashi, spinning and cutting in abrupt patterns kept Shura’s own katana at bay. The older swordsman growled and flung his own feet out from underneath himself, bringing his head out of his student’s reach. As he fell, Shura kicked upwards. His feet slammed into the youth’s chest and sent him into a spiraling fall. With a cry of fury, the youth twisted his body in midair and righted himself so that he landed on his feet. Before he could sink into the snow once more, he charged forward, heedless of the pain in his chest where a rib had been cracked.

Shura grinned. He brought his katana high in a two handed grip. With his superior reach, he would cleave his student in half before the youth got close enough to strike. The student dashed in, his speed astounding even to one as skilled as Shura. The swordsman roared his triumph and swept his blade down, only to slice deeply into a shower of erupting snow. The youth had swept out both his blades crosswise to strike the snow before Shura with their unsharpened edges, creating a visual screen. Shura laughed in contempt and tearing off his cloak, swept it across so that it took most of the chunks of packed snow out of the air. When his cloak had passed his eyes, he easily picked out the metallic glint of a thrusting katana from amidst the snow. Shura parried the blade, sweeping it out wide and bringing his own weapon over his head in a crushing counter.

Great was his shock when he felt cold steel tearing through his guts in the form of his student’s wakizashi. The youth had relinquished his grip upon his katana so that he would not be thrown off balance and struck with his shorter weapon. Blood flowed from Shura’s lips as his student twisted the blade and drove it further upwards to cut into his lungs and heart. The student’s forsaken katana spun end over end in the air, falling into its owner’s waiting hand. Driven by instinct and years of training, the boy tore out his wakizashi and struck out with a flurry of blows, hacking off the swordsman’s limbs, driving the steely points of his blades into his chest again and again.

A final lash across Shura’s throat cut a crimson smile into it and the limbless and bloody torso of what was once the most feared warrior in the Empire fell into the snow. Blood leaking from his many wounds steamed upon the icy surface. With vocal cords that no longer worked, Shura spoke inaudibly.

“ Well done…fifteenth.” The howling wind carried his congratulatory words away and the fourteenth incarnation of Shura passed into oblivion with a final gasp. The youth stood over the corpse of his teacher, breathing heavily. He tossed his head back, roaring his triumph to the heavens. It was a sound filled with sorrow, fear, hate and sadism. It wrenched at his young soul. Still he had earned his name and he reveled in the sound of his cry.

“ SHURA! I AM SHURA!” Raising his two swords above his head so that the sunlight glinted off their bloody surfaces, he proclaimed his newly earned name to the world. “ I AM SHURA, MASTER OF THE SWORD OF DARKNESS!”

Eventually, his madness left him. Shura bowed his head. Tears rolled down his face but he wiped them away defiantly. After cleaning his blades upon his teacher’s cloak, he sheathed them and walked away, the snow swirling in to obscure all sight of his passage.

Behind him, the corpse of the fourteenth was lost from sight as layer after layer of snow fell upon it.

**************************************************

Arkados Blackmire:

The harbor of Cuthal stank of refuse and human waste. Dockworkers labored along the piers and flesh traders led away throngs of slaves bound with iron chains. One slaver ship had nothing to offer, for her crew did not dare to approach a passenger aboard, a young man clad in the attire of the east with a pair of curved swords stuck into his cloth belt. Their captain’s corpse rotted beneath the waves, his chest sliced apart by a single blow from a curved sword when he had given the order for the young easterner to be put in chains.

His hands folded before him and hidden in his sleeves, Shura stood silently by the gangplank as the rest of the ship’s human cargo filed onto the harbor, free to go as they would. Amongst them were the dusky skinned people of the southern swamps and the copper-skinned people from the two eastern Empires. He ignored the grateful cries of his countrymen and paid no heed to the liquid and flowing speech of the southerners. The world was a harsh place and they might have led better lives as slaves.

When the last wretch had departed, bobbing his head in thanks and chattering gratefully to Shura, the swordsman reached into his kimono and produced a cloth pouch. He counted out a fair number of gold pieces and placed them into the hand of the First Mate.

“ The agreed price of passage.” He said, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. The First Mate blanched and nodded, for he had no wish to join his captain in death. Shura allowed himself a slight grin of satisfaction. Though he was literate in almost every language employed by humanity, he had had little opportunity to use the speech of the west. The fact that the slaver understood his words perfectly indicated an improvement on his diction and enunciation, at least.

Shura strode down the gangplank, only to find himself surrounded by a throng of thugs. They were unwashed and unshaven and they brandished knives and clubs menacingly in their hands. The First Mate recognized his land-bound cohorts in the slave trade. Apparently, the loss of a batch of cargo did not sit well with them. He opened his mouth to deter them from their course of action but changed his mind when he realized how futile his efforts would be.

“ You got a lot of nerve, yellow scum.” A thug spat, advancing on Shura with his knife held high. “ No one messes with the Slaver’s guild!” The thug brought his weapon down, intending to drive it through the Shura’s chest. The notched and rusty blade halted abruptly as the swordsman caught his wrist in mid-stroke. Shura jerked his hand sharply and the crisp snap of bone was audible to everyone on the harbor. Everyone from dockworker to slave halted in their tracks to look upon the commotion.

The thug’s agonized howl was cut off suddenly as Shura turned the knife around on the wreckage of his wrist and rammed it into his throat. He stood aside calmly, letting his assailant fall to the dirty harbor floor beside him to thrash in his death throes. Stunned silence reigned for a moment as the rest of the slavers gaped at Shura’s casual murder. Their shock wore off rapidly, however and with a cry of rage, the thugs closed in, weapons raised to attack. The easterner was outnumbered twenty to one.

Shura’s katana sang out from its sheath to slice into a slaver’s ribcage before being torn out and thrust into another’s throat. The swordsman cut his way through them, bringing his wakizashi into play as well, heedless of the violence and carnage he wreaked. He sliced off a man’s head and stabbed another in the groin, leaving his hapless attacker to shriek and writhe in agony amidst the filth on the floor. In moments, ten slavers lay dead or dying around the easterner, dispatched quickly and painfully. The rest of his assailants hesitated for a moment before turning on their heels and fleeing into the crowd, hurling words of abuse at Shura.

A group of armored soldiers stood silently by the side. They were Cuthal’s militia and had rushed to the scene of the fight, seeking to fulfill their duty in maintaining order. Now, they swallowed nervously and directed uneasy glances at one another, for none of them had any wish to arrest the easterner that slew ten men in as many heartbeats.

Shura flicked off the blood on his blades and cleaned them on the dirty clothes of his victims. The crowd parted before him as he made his departure and Cuthal’s militia began to trail him reluctantly. Relief mingled with trepidation was evident on their faces when another figure emerged from the throng of people to bar his way. The newcomer was a young man as well, and his features were fine and aristocratic. Startling blue eyes looked out from the mass of dark hair that framed his face upon the swordsman from the east.

“ Lord Blackmire…” Awed whispers arose amongst the crowd. The noble was clad in a suit of black armor that seemed molded to every contour of his body and he covered himself from the air’s chill with a rich crimson cloak. A sword hilt that bore a metallic skull as its pommel peeked out from his hip and the gauntlet that covered his left hand was decorated with a portrayal of countless writhing demonic bodies.

“ Excellent swordplay, finer than most I have seen.” Lord Blackmire extended his right hand in a comradely gesture. “ My name is Arkados Blackmire and like so many others, I seek my fame and fortune with my blade.”

“ I am called Shura. Like you, I live by my swords as well.” Shura responded.

“ There is ample glory to be found for the both of us.” Arkados said. A grin tugged at the corner of Shura’s mouth and he clasped the western noble’s hand with his own.

“ Indeed, there is.” He agreed, setting himself on the first step towards damnation.

**************************************************

Katherine Blackmire:

“ As noisy as ever, brother. Don’t you know the meaning of discretion?” A sultry female voice said from the shadows of the inn’s stairway to its upper levels. Both Arkados and Shura turned to regard the woman slinking into view. She was clad in black, skin-tight leather that accentuated her lithe figure and showed off her curves. A mass of dark hair similar in hue to Arkados’s framed a lovely face that seemed to be permanently fixed in an arrogant sneer. That fact did little to diminish her beauty.

“ Ah, Katherine.” Arkados greeted her. “ Come meet our newest associate, Shura. He hails from the eastern lands of the Empire of Blades.” The swordsman got to his feet and bowed slightly in respect. When he stood up again, Katherine found no sign of the hungry desire that most men had in their eyes upon catching sight of her. She frowned.

“ My sister Katherine is a year younger than me.” Arkados introduced her to Shura. “ She is the greatest swordswoman in Gryloas.”

“ A grand claim.” Shura replied evenly, not flinching in the least from Katherine’s glare. “ But I shall not begrudge it. Greetings and well met, greatest swordswoman of Gryloas.”

“ What can he offer, brother? Is he a caster of spells?” Katherine asked.

“ He is a warrior.” Her brother said calmly. With a throaty snarl, Katherine exploded into motion, her hands streaking blurs as they swept cross-wise across Shura’s chest and throat. When she stopped, she held a short-sword in each hand, one burning with a fiery glow and the other shimmering with frost. The knot that held Shura’s cloak up clattered to the floor of the inn, burnt from the rest of the garment and frozen into a solid cube.

“ Warrior? More like inept fool to me…” Katherine’s words trailed off as she realized that the razor sharp point of a long, curved sword was held a hair’s breadth away from her left eye. The slightest shift would bring her in contact with the blade.

“ Please, do not try that again.” Shura said softly. “ I react instinctively and sometimes I fail to restrain myself in time.” With a sigh, he spun his katana back into its sheath and sat down again. Arkados barely stopped himself from gaping in awe. In terms of swordplay, Katherine had never been bested before. An ambidextrous prodigy, her skill with the blade had far outstripped that of her brother a long time ago.

Katherine shook with fury and for a moment, Arkados thought that his volatile sibling would attack the easterner. Instead, all trace of anger vanished from her face in an instant to be replaced by her smoky smile.

“ It is a pleasure to meet you, master Shura.” Her voice was sultry as she extended a hand forth for the easterner to help her to a seat, as a gentleman might do for a lady. Arkados sighed and shook his head in rueful amusement. From what he had seen, Shura was immune to almost every one of his sister’s weapons, those of violence or otherwise.

“ Likewise.” The swordsman said curtly, bending low to sweep up his cloak and drawing it over his shoulders before sitting down. He left Katherine looking ridiculous standing there with her hand outstretched. Ignoring her furious glare, Shura retied the knot upon his cloak, compensating for the lack of material.

“ Do join us, dear sister.” Arkados could barely keep the laughter from his voice. The day had been eventful beyond belief. With a snarl, Katherine dragged a chair out and sat down.

**************************************************

Ander Lolias:

“ ARKADOS!” The huge man cried in joy and he strode forward to wrap the noble in a crushing embrace that enfolded Katherine as well. Katherine snarled, struggling futilely against the giant’s clinch but he released the siblings soon enough.

“ Well met, Ander.” Arkados wheezed as he sought to catch his breath. He turned towards Shura and the easterner got to his feet, bowing in respect. “ This is Shura, our latest companion. Shura, this is Ander Lolias, a family friend.”

“ Greetings…” Shura began, before being staggered by Ander’s friendly clap upon his shoulder.

“ Aha! More is always better, I say!” Ander Lolias’s booming laughter echoed off the inn’s walls. “ Well met, Shura!”

**************************************************

Kalvairn Levensrau:

The band of Rangers left in the early hours before dawn, stealing away from Sirk under cover of the shadows and dragging their masked captive along with them. A dark form trailed them, leaping from building to building silently, matching their stealth and surpassing it.

The rangers were the elite warriors of their people, feared rightly for their battle prowess amongst the humans and their surprise was great when a cloaked form dropped into their midst from atop a building. Slender fingers darted towards bristling arrows but twin arcs of steel lopped off two elven heads in an instant. A pair of daggers flashed through the night and embedded themselves in the throats of the Rangers that stood furthest from their attacker.

Crying out in shock, they fell back to regard the cloaked form. Shura pursued relentlessly, his face a mask of determined fury. He drove his katana into a ranger’s belly and sliced off another’s face with a sweep of his wakizashi. Only the pair of rangers holding the chains of the masked prisoner remained alive within moments and they shoved their captive to the ground, drawing fine elven blades from within their cloaks.

“ Why?” One asked, his voice harsh with grief and rage at the loss of his kin. Shura’s grin was visible momentarily as a ray of moonlight stole through a gap in the clouds. He tore his katana free and advanced upon them.

“ I enjoy killing your kind.” The swordsman’s voice was chilling and terrible in his bloodlust. The rangers streamed forward, their blades flashing and cutting in perfect harmony as they sought a swift end to this battle. Shura swept aside a thrust of an elven sword with a circular twirl of his katana and forced its wielder to his right. His wakizashi parried the other ranger’s blows effortlessly, despite its shorter length.

With his opponents separated, Shura fought them individually, pitting his katana against the elf on his right and his wakizashi against the one on his left. Frustration soon turned into fear upon the faces of the rangers as they realized that they were severely outclassed in terms of swordplay. The human was far swifter and more skilful than they could ever hope to be.

One hopped backwards, dropping his sword and reaching for his bow. Shura ignored him and turned both his blades upon the other. He cut down another thrust with his wakizashi and swept it upwards with his katana before the elf could finish staggering. The swordsman caught his opponent’s sword upon the hilt guard of his katana and sliced off the ranger’s right arm with a sweep of his shorter blade. Blood spurted from the stump but before he could cry out in agony, Shura stabbed him in the chest and spun him about to intercept a streaking arrow.

The last ranger cried out in anger and sorrow as he loosed shaft after shaft at Shura. His shots thumped uselessly into the corpse of his companion. Shura hunched his body low to bring his victim’s weight upon his shoulders and drove out with his feet, closing the distance between himself and the ranger. Five paces away, he tossed aside the elf’s arrow riddled corpse and dashed forwards at full speed. A final arrow sprang from the elven bow and Shura swept it out of the air almost contemptuously with his katana. His blades cleaved into the ranger’s shoulders, biting deep into his ribs and lungs. The elf’s eyes glazed over. He expired with a final blood-choked gasp. Shura flicked the blood off his blades, so accustomed was he to that act that he performed it almost subconsciously and slid them into their respective sheaths.

“ They were the pride and joy of their people. Each of them harbored nearly boundless promise for the race of elves. And now they are gone, leaving behind rotting piles of flesh, lives severed by blades of cold steel.” The masked captive lamented in his ghastly rasp of a voice.

“ Your gratitude fills my heart.” Shura responded sardonically, moving forward to inspect the chains that bound his hands. Elven runes of power were engraved upon them and though he was no sorcerer, Shura knew better than to fiddle superficially with the arcane. The captive nodded towards a corpse.

“ He has the key that will bring about my liberation.” He said. The swordsman rifled through the pockets of the elf’s cloak and found a small crystal rod. He inserted it into a clasp that held the chains together and they fell off the captive’s hands.

“ My name is Kalvairn Levensrau.” The captive announced, waving away Shura’s offers to remove his iron mask. “ The mask is an indication of my crimes. I was to be brought back to the elven homeland for the final punishment. Thanks to you, human, my fate has somehow been averted.”

“ We are answerable to none but ourselves, sir Kalvairn.” Shura’s tone was indignant with the force of his beliefs. “ Only the weak deserve to be punished for their wrongdoings. Those who are strong define justice for themselves!” Kalvairn burst into abrupt laughter that lasted for many moments. When his mirth had faded, he turned his masked face towards Shura, the empty sockets of the skull studying the young easterner intently.

“ Do you rate yourself among the strong or the weak, then?” It was impossible to derive any form of mockery or approval from Kalvairn’s raspy voice. Shura gave a short bark of laughter himself and waved a hand to indicate the bloody corpses of the Rangers.

“ Stronger than these, at any rate.” Kalvairn’s shoulders heaved in silent mirth at the answer.

“ Indeed, indeed.” He spoke in between chuckles. “ I have forgotten the principles which I have lived by for so long!” Kalvairn’s fingers flashed in a series of intricate gestures and he spoke a few intelligible words. A shower of small blue sparks descended upon his frail and skinny frame. Shura stepped back with a surprised oath.

“ My people are forbidden the study and utilization of the arcane arts. They are fools!” The former captive’s voice rose in anger. “ Fools blind to an obvious source of power! With the might of sorcery, the Great Continent would be entirely under our sway! Gryloas! The Central Plains! The Swamps of Nekrala! All would be under our perfect rule and peace and joy would be in abundance for every living being!”

“ Your eastern kin share your philosophy, Kalvairn, though they have hardly created an utopian realm in the Empire of Blades.” Shura pointed out.

“ They follow the edicts of the Celestial Church! Nothing good can come out from the worship of a deity that suppresses knowledge and wisdom!” Kalvairn snapped.

“ Which god do you worship, then?” The skull mask seemed to grin in response to the inevitable question.

“ The Chaos Talon, Vladiros grants me powers! By his will, I am granted access to virtually any arcane lore! As his priest, I manifest his magnificence upon this world!” The sparks surrounding Kalvairn spun rapidly and with a final flare of light, a metallic staff decorated with runes appeared in his hand. His gray robes mended themselves, leaving the sorcerer resplendent in his fresh finery. Kalvairn’s voice resumed its low, sober tone.

“ As my people have betrayed me, I betray them anew now. By the might of your blades and skill, human, I cast aside their judgment! By the will of the Chaos Talon, I renew my eternal enmity against the people of
Quelan’ti’lael!” He announced. “ My name is Kalvairn Levensrau, and I do not know yours yet.”

“ I am called Shura. Like you, I am an outcast of my homeland.” The easterner answered, grinning in awe at the display of arcane power.

“ A man called ‘Violence’. Countless lives must have been lost under your blades.” Kalvairn inclined his head in approval. Shura gestured in the direction that led back to the inn that he was staying at.

“ If you truly desire to bring peace to the world, Kalvairn, follow me. There is someone you should meet.”

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I expect the people from SP to give, once again, many compliments and wows at Shura's work. Looks like more stories about killing, killing, and a homicidal, invincible protagonist who also happens to be a killer.

[Critique taken back; see a few posts down.]

[ June 15, 2003, 00:06: Message edited by: Oaz ]

 

Wow. Just wow. No matter what you write, It's always brilliant!

 

Agreeing with Ancalimon. And yeah, get this published.

Luck with that.

 

I notice that you've changed the crow to a hawk. Any particular reason?

 

[delurk]

Nice. Very nice.

However, if the part where Shura and his student duel in the snow is to serve as a first chapter, I would suggest not revealing the student's nature (not even that he's a student) till the very end of the chapter, or not at all. I seem to recall you did so originally, and found that very cool. It's a matter of taste, though, and others may have other opinions.

Also, a bit too much violence for my tastes, but hey, it's Shura we're talking about.

[lurk]

[ June 13, 2003, 16:36: Message edited by: Namuras ]

 

Here's some 3rd edition D&D stats for Arkados Blackmire. Maybe I'll come up with stats for the other characters later.

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Arkados Blackmire: Lawful Evil Half-fiend male Aristocrat5/Sorcerer3/Blackguard4

Strength 16, Dexterity 18, Constitution 14, Intelligence 20, Wisdom 16, Charisma 23

Spell-like abilities: Darkness 3/day, Desecrate, Unholy Blight, Poison 3/day, Contagion, Blasphemy, Aura of Despair, Smite Good, Poison Use, Detect Good at will, Dark Blessing

Special Qualities: Dark-vision 60ft, poison immunity, acid/cold/fire/electricity resistance 20

Hit Points: 5d8 + 10 + 3d4 + 6 + 4d10 + 8

Skills: Knowledge (War) 15, Intimidate 10, Diplomacy 15, Ride 15, Sense Motive 9, Innuendo 11, Hide 5, Concentration 10, Knowledge (Religion) 2, Knowledge (Government) 13, Jump 5, Balance 5, Tumble 6

Feats: Power Attack, Cleave, Sunder, Weapon Finesse: Rapier, Leadership

Sneak Attack: +1d6 damage

Saving Throws: FOR 14, REF 13, WILL 17

Sorcerer Spells Known- Level 0: Daze, Detect Magic, Resistance, Mage Hand, Disrupt Undead. Level 1: True Strike, Charm Person, Hypnotism

Attacks: +17/+12, Piercing unholy damage 1d6 + 8, Critical 16-20, x2. (Night’s Fang, the First Blackmire Blade: +5 unholy, wounding rapier.)

AC: 28 (Touch: 15)

Equipment: Blackmire Plate (+5 Full Plate with no armor restrictions and no weight), Doom Gauntlet (allows wielder to hurl a bolt of negative energy 10 times a day that does 6d6 damage to living creatures and heals undead of the same amount).

Arkados Blackmire is a dark-haired, handsome young man of medium build. He is often clad in his beautifully crafted armor when on his campaigns, or in the finest and most fashionable aristocratic finery when he is attending court functions. His manners are impeccable and there are few who are immune to his charm. Amongst the nobility of Gryloas, Arkados Blackmire is regarded as the greatest of gentlemen and the epitome of grace and wit. The mightiest of veteran knights and generals bow in humble acknowledgement of his military genius. The common-born mercenary warriors he commands regard him as a god-figure, offering prayers to him before battles instead of the country’s established deities.

Beneath Arkados’s glittering exterior lurks a cruel and ruthless heart, bereft of any semblance of a conscience. Arkados is capable of virtually any atrocity as long as it aids the pursuit of his goal: the throne of Gryloas. He is no rampaging killer, though as he recognizes the need to maintain his heroic reputation. His trusted henchman Shura, who prefers to remain in the shadows and whose presence is unknown amongst the nobility of Gryloas, does much of the dirty work.

In grand battles, Arkados is an unrivaled tactician. His followers are often fanatical in their belief and worship of him and his command of battlefield tactics is legendary. No warlord has yet been able to outguess him or outmaneuver him. Armies have been known to surrender merely by being confronted by a force led by Arkados Blackmire; so fearsome is his reputation.

When he is engaged in battle personally, Arkados prefers to fight side-by-side with his trusted coterie consisting of his sister Katherine Blackmire, his childhood friend Ander Lolias, the mysterious sorcerer Kalvairn Levensrau and the eastern warrior Shura. He is a fine swordsman and a capable caster of spells, though he prefers to remain at the back, using his intellect and analytical skills to spot the weaknesses of his foes.

Arkados Blackmire always has at least a dozen contingency plans for any kind of situation and he is never caught unprepared. He is a cunning, deadly and tenacious foe.

 

Cool! You really capture Arkados true essence in your stories.

 

There are errors in Arkado's stats. Also, he probably has equipment that is inappropriate for his level. I'd go on, but this isn't the D&D section.

 

Yes, Oaz, there are errors in Arkados's stats. But could a drow ranger ever defeat a balor singlehandedly in IWD? Could a level 5 barbarian slay a white dragon?

Characters from stories rarely conform to the stats and guidelines given in the PHB or DMG. Inappropriate equipment for Arkados's level?

Arkados Blackmire is an NPC, and a leader of armies. One would expect him to be a little more gifted and well-equipped than the standard, run of the mill packaged PC, eh?

Anyway, here's his little sister.

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Katherine Blackmire: Lawful Evil human female Fighter4/Rogue6/Assassin1

Strength 14, Dexterity 18, Constitution 12, Intelligence 18, Wisdom 8, Charisma 13

Hit Points: 4d10 + 4 + 6d6 + 6 + 1d6 + 1

Special abilities: Uncanny dodge, evasion, poison use, death attack.

Feats: Ambidexterity, Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse: Short sword, Weapon Focus: Short sword, Weapon Specialization: Short sword, Expertise, Improved Critical: Short Sword, Dodge.

Skills: Ride 8, Jump 6, Climb 4, Swim 6, Balance 13, Disable Device 13, Disguise 10, Gather Information 10, Hide 12, Move Silently 11, Open Lock 13, Pick Pocket 13, Tumble 13

Attacks: +16/+10 and +16, Piercing Freezing and Flaming Damage. 1d6 +9 + 1d6 fire or ice damage. Critical: 16-20, x2. (Frost Spike and Flame Nail, + 5 keen freezing and flaming short swords respectively)

Saving Throws: FOR 7, REF 12, WILL 2

Equipment: Frost Spike: + 5 keen freezing short sword, Flame Nail: +5 keen flaming short sword. Shadowed Leather armor + 1, Masterwork light crossbow

AC: 18 (Touch: 14, Dodge: 19)
The Blackmire Clan: The mysterious Blackmire clan is feared throughout Gryloas as known necromancers and diabolists that consort with fiends in the foulest of ways imaginable. The current matriarch, Rayllena Blackmire remains as youthful and as beautiful as a woman of twenty years, despite having plagued the land for more than half a century. She maintains her youth through the application of a demonic ritual that requires her to bathe in the blood of a dozen children every three months.

The Blackmires possess four blades of great power, three of which are currently held by Arkados and Katherine. Arkados wields the first Blackmire blade, Night’s Fang, a weapon capable of draining the life from its victims and which is particularly deadly against those of goodly weal. Katherine wields Frost Spike and Flame Nail, short swords imbued with elemental power. The fourth blade, Thunder Scar, has been lost. Only a sliver from the blade remains and it has been used to empower the axe of Ander Lolias, a family friend of the Blackmire clan.

Katherine Blackmire is the younger sister of Arkados. She is a sadistic and malicious individual, though she can easily hide her nature behind a demeanor of courtly grace when she wants to. She has established a reputation amongst the nobility of Gryloas as a beautiful and peerless swordswoman and is held in high regard by all save those who know her well.

Katherine takes pleasure in the suffering of others and she often indulges in the torture of captives simply for the sake of it. She is extremely skilled in the use of poison and many of her brother’s political opponents have perished foaming at the mouth.

In battle, Katherine Blackmire prefers to remain in the shadows or to flank an already engaged opponent so that she can bring her death attacks and sneak attacks into play. Despite her superior skill in swordplay, the younger sister of Arkados does not like confronting a foe directly. She will rely on traps, poison and treachery and will engage an opponent in melee only when he or she has overcome all the above obstacles and is weakened by them.

Katherine cares nothing for the lives of her followers and will not hesitate to send them to their deaths if it suits her purposes. She is a ruthless and irredeemably evil individual.

 

Bloody cool, all I can say.

 

Shura - I never said anything was wrong with the character. Is it so wrong for me to point out that these stats just don't happen to agree with the D&D rules? I never said I didn't like them. But I also suppose I never said that I did.

Arkados is a level 12 NPC. He gets several (dozen) thousand gold pieces worth of material to work with. You would think that a general, anti-hero, or otherwise would have around that much equipment, not including his expenses as a leader of an army. Regardless, I'm pretty sure his equipment exceeds that amount. Not that there is anything inherently wrong or faulty with that.

Your characters may be above the rulings of D&D; that's cool. But then why make stats for them? If you give Shura the ability to decapitate everyone with his sword, and make him invulnerable to everything, sure, do that in the story, but I really feel that stats aren't necessary, as he will just easily defeat his enemies. There wouldn't be a point in making an attack roll or a saving throw; stats wouldn't be necessary.

Yes, Drizzt's stats and Wulfgar's stats (assuming they exist) do not match up with Salvatore's books (or at least they are unrealistic in D&D terms). There is nothing wrong with that. Their stats exist (whereever they might be) for the purpose of sparing a DM the chore of making stats for them.

And I hate to say this, but *ahem*, errors in the other NPC's stats as well.

Uh, anyways, I suppose I forgot to comment more thoroughly on the story. I read it again, and I do think it is very descriptive and evocative. Very. You can hear the hawk screeching, the snow howling, and the clatter of metal. If there is anything "bad" I have to say about it, it is say the characters seem flatter than they should be, and I felt like I had enough violence in the first section of the story. But anyways, this is my first review of the famed Shura stories, and I will agree it's great. I take back my the first post; I should read these things more thoroughly.

On a side note, I am curious as why to Arkados has a fiendish lineage, but his sister does not. Perhaps they are stepsiblings or siblings through marriage, or has Arkados been subject to a set of evil/demonic/fiendish rites or whatever that make him a half-fiend? Or should I just be reading the other works concerning him?

On yet another side note, I found it odd that it seemed like it was snowing madly in the first paragraph, but the sun begins to visibly rise in the second. Hurhm.

[EDIT] - merely a thought on the crow/hawk thing. A crow represents death in the manner and disease and gloom, whereas a hawk represents war and battle. A hawk, symbolically, seems more appropriate. Besides, the description of the hawk's screech breaking the moment's tension beats a crow just cawing.

[ June 25, 2003, 05:18: Message edited by: Oaz ]

 

If you have read the original part one of the Shura series, you would know that Arkados and Katherine are half-siblings. They share a mother but have different fathers.

Sorry if I seemed a little defensive and hostile in my last post. I just reread it and found that it was rather ungraceful. I apologize for that, even though your criticism has often been wonderful.

As for the crow into hawk issue, I realised that crows can't possibly reach such high altitudes(above a mountain) but hawks probably could.

I was trying to describe a snow shower in which rays of sunlight peeked through breaks in the clouds, providing flickering moments of illumination. Guess it didn't work...

Thanks a lot for your criticism, Oaz. Guess it's back to the working board for me.

 

About the hawk VS crow thing, since you seem to have a mind for such details, I'm wondering what a hawk would do up there. Granted, a crow probably wouldn't have much business there either (except if it recognized the potential meal that was the combatants), but hawks are usually woodland birds... I'd be more surprised to see a hawk up there than a crow. But you do as you see fit, of course, and either way is fine.

Again, great story.

[ August 01, 2003, 15:39: Message edited by: Namuras ]

 

I here by declare myself as an awed fan of shura's. Man you dont cease to amaze with the details etched into your story.