Daemonic arrow of slaying
| Type | Weapon |
|---|---|
| Discovered By | Leon Drakynor |
| Discovery Date | February 15, 2011 |
| Discovery Location | Narrowdep, Colonies |
| Abilities | Prestige +1 |
| Current Owner | in peasant hands |
First Appearances
Retrieved from Leon Drakynor's Personal Diary
Narrowdep, Oritolon - 14th of February:
I cannot bear to stay in these lands long; The harsh winds' bites leave as seething a gash on me as the near-misses I luck upon in triumphing these beasts. The creatures I hunt down in these parts are more fearsome than I have encountered elsewhere: more violent…more ready. It must be some combination of my failing body in this dry heat-and-then-cold, and that to survive these parts, these monster must bear inner faculties of diminished compromise. I pray that I might be guided northwards to some city after this venture…should I make it so far. Where yesterday my travels led me to scarcity upon scarcity, and the unfortunate, scrapped remains of another's successful hunt kept me 'til today, today brought me a small victory in its own right: the gnashing, crunching stomp of a war-chant rising. I've found another hovel of these beasts!
I will bide my time and make secret myself here - such a group is just the kind of fight I make necessary in this path; If left untended, I feel bad winds from the growth of this sect.
Something well beyond my control gives great power to these daemons…life would certainly have been simpler had I been afforded scribehood. How silly lands are that cast literacy aside…Swords, they think, bear more might than a quill. I'd like to think them wrong, but what force would such a statement have since I fled from their blades and torches, jails and whips, quill and parchment under arm.
A heavy sigh upon tomorrow - if I fight, pray let rest and reward follow.
Several ragged, stained pages appear to have been ripped out from between the entries, perhaps ruined. This entry is smudged with browned smears throughout, which, it looks, have survived attempts to dab them off.
Narrowdep, Oritolon - 20th (?) of February:
I write in retrospect, now - it has been some time since my victory and failure.
I have much to thank for this elder sage who has taken me in for now - I would not be able to write this had he not graced me.
The 15th of February, as I insinuate prior, intended for me, by fate, to test my drive. I met the challenge, and have been truly rewarded for my failure. Oritolon may be in danger now that I've fled, but no choice remained for me - such wounds would have felled me completely.
I had few doubts prior to entering that battle, but thinking back, perhaps I should have borne more reservation. Allow me to recount what I can recall…:
The hovel I had tracked was multipart - an incredible tunnel led inside to an atrium of massive, rudimentary columns, cracked, crimson script, and hide banners strung up on and around the maw of a second entrance, the lips of which I dared not cross. In preparation, I rigged up an alchemical magick I learned at the start of this journey…this exile…I am no magician, nor potion-master, but I put my wits to test in reciting the chant and sprinkling the silver powder into the mortar of arrowhead I'd bored into. Gently mixing the dust. …and then the fire - just as planned!
It erupted in a plume of blaze, and in that atrium, I flattened as skin upon the wall, steeling myself. Then one, two, three, five, nine, then too many to count - they poured out into unexpected light: the white flash of just-enough-to-kill-a-few-before-they-know…and I must have felled - I [i]hope[/i] I felled - a few. I know they crumpled to my knife. As that flare dwindled away, and I turned to raise my blade to the next, their basal groans and confusion ceased and they - so well as I - froze. To my eyes, I saw, a crescent of broad shoulders, in line, like teeth around the mouth of their den, recovering, approaching…and then a small, glittering twinkle from within the mouth. A hissing urge. And then it bit me; my right shoulder erupted in such vicious agony - like it had been torn clear off. …I ran then, no less than five or six more beasts in wait come at me, and I plunged to the light.
Roars and groans followed my steps as I charged, panting, out from the lair, in utter terror from that sparkle, and that bite - like nothing I had seen before. Like rows of fangs, or a serpent's coil before it's strike…I dared not turn 'round as I ascended the sliding dunes, no time for breath, and no time, no time…
From there I cannot recall how I ventured further. I know, ruminating on fact, that I must have lost blood in this cave, but I cannot tell you how I've arrived. I can only be grateful that Sage Eugrace has given me his blessing. I will never learn, I know, to command magicks like he or his ilk - no spiraling flare, nor flaming tincture can compare to a closing scar so soon after…and poison.
I'll write no more for now than that Sage Eugrace has given me insight. The bite I received, without our gods' good graces, would have certainly - and was intended to -brought death. With just two woodland-brought flower stems and petals, however, Eugrace sated this beast's fang - what he has said to be a daemon's tooth itself - might have ended this journey now.
Aesthetic
About as thin as a nail at its zenith, but as thick as a branch at its widest, the Daemonic arrow of slaying is essentially an embossed, notched, and fletched serrated fang, most probably of historical, tribal value. There is a tiny, burrowed pit towards the anterior-middle of the pile, clearly leading into a hollowed pit, presumably to allow for poisons to seep into a puncture wound caused by this device. A filigree of engravings line the tusk, covering its good foot and a half of length. Because of its clear value, it is obvious that its intent is to be a killing blow on the first strike, and if not immediately critical, then both impossible to pull out, and certain to administer a killing dose of whatever toxin it hosts.
