Silver Sabre of Daemonslaying
| Type | Weapon |
|---|---|
| Discovered By | Rasputin |
| Discovery Date | 6 September 2007 |
| Discovery Location | Mio Dupaki, Beluaterra |
| Abilities | Prestige +1 |
| Current Owner | (unknown) |
-- Messengers quickly reported to the local officials that there was a dreadlord in Mio Dupaki, terribly beaten...fingernails peeled out, eyes gouged, nose cut off, stripped naked revealing numerous puncture marks on his exposed fleesh, but holding a stuffed Daimon's Head --
"This, was...destiny...unquestioned dominance..."
-- the villagers report many coughs, with dark fluid flowing every opening in mutilated Vicious' face --
"...slayed the Great Dragon and his kin long ago...too much faith in the living...grown too weak...these...hard..."
-- Vicious is reported to of fallen on his knees, looking up towards the heavens, two gaping holes, pouring tears, that could only of really been his blood down his pasty cheeks --
"...a mistake...damned monsters...secret agenda...foolish...
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
-- At this point Vicious is reported to of squeezed his temples, screaming out, cursing in a language unknown, or perhaps it was just gibberish mixed with real rhetoric --
"Never..."
-- Numerous eye witness accounts describe that Vicious preceded to Slitting his own Throat with a tooth he removed from the Great Dragon's mouth, after violent twitching, he lay there still as if in deep thought, no one daring to approach in fear, the rumored Great Dragon's head still lay there before him. Vicious died as if in prayer, still kneeling over the head, leaving many to wonder how he got there, and why no one else was with him --
...
Lord Rasputin wakes in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. An unearthly sound still rings in his ears. Outside his window, the horses in the stable are in a panic, thrashing wildly as sleep-deprived stable hands try in vain to calm them.
Suddenly, there is a frantic pounding at his door. "My lord, my lord! Come quickly! Please, come!"
Rasputin dresses quickly and straps on his old scimitar, notched and damaged from years of use in the South Islands. His squire, ashen, leads him in a run to a disused farm just outside old Mio, where a crowd of frightened villagers have gathered. Rasputin staggers at the sight before him: a not-unfamiliar figure, knelt as if in prayer over a dark object like a sack of something. It takes a long time staring at the mutilated face to recognize it.
"Vicious." he mutters. "It's come to this, has it?" He raises his voice to the villagers. "Who did this? Who slew this ... man?"
The villagers murmur amongst themselves, until a large man, the blacksmith, steps forward. "He done it himself, milord. With a weird little dagger or chip of stone."
'Bloody hell', thinks Rasputin, grimacing. Nothing for it: Necromancer or not, if the body's not taken care of. "Someone get a thick wool blanket you don't mind losing, and a cart. You, and you. Take care of it. The rest of you, stay back a bit."
Only then could Rasputin get a better look at the body: naked, and badly wounded, but the final one self-inflicted. In one outstretched hand, a tooth? Taking a deep breath, and glad of his leather hunting gloves, he places a hand on Vicious's shoulder. Immediately the object in his lap rolls away, and Rasputin nearly falls over himself stumbling backwards, instinctively shouting a religious phrase from his youth at what he sees: a great Daimon head. He mutters something hoarsely, then again more urgently. "Milord?" his squire asks.
"A sack, I said! Bring a damned sack! ... And build a fire."
There is a bustle of activity. The head is pushed into the sack, and burned. The stench is awful as it burns, and nobody dares check the ashes for a skull. Rasputin gingerly drags Vicious's body onto the blanket, and two strong men grip the edges and hoist him onto the cart. They wheel it in the direction of the fire, but Rasputin stops them. "Him, we bury."
There is an outburst of protest, shouts to burn the body, to stake its heart, to bury it under a crossroads, to stuff it in a barrel and throw it in the sea. Rasputin waves them off.
"Whatever he was, he was ally to us. Take him to the granite mausoleum in old Dupaki; it was raided of its contents long ago. Leave him on the slab and close the door. Go!"
When the crowds had dissipated, Rasputin took out from under his cloak something that, distracted by the Daimon head, no-one had seen him take. It sparkled in the light of the dying bonfire, silver and glimmering, with a clean sharp edge with just a single notch in the blade. "A pretty little thing..." he murmurs to himself. "I fancy it does neat work."
A chill wind catches him, and he hides the sabre quickly, looking around. He relaxes, and chuckles at his skittishness, and walks alone back to his estate.
Name: Silver Sabre of Daemonslaying
Type: Sword
Condition: Deteriorated but not destroyed
Special: Prestige + 1
