The guardsman seemed very pleased that Doran was willing to show off his famed blade, and he puffed himself up a little, eye gleaming with awe. The man admired the naked steel for a couple moments, his face uncomfortably close to the blade as he elevated “getting a closer look” to a whole different level. Doran was quite right; the man would indeed tell friends and family, even acquaintances and colleagues –anyone who’d listen, really- about the encounter. He was going to blow up the story quite a bit, as was only natural to do.
In his tall tale the museum had been overrun by monstrously deformed people, all sporting claws and fangs, driven mad by bloodlust. An evil Immortal had manifested through an ancient artefact, the newest piece of a temporary and limited time only exhibition. To destroy Etzos, fair city at the heart of the rebellion against the Immortals, they had created an impromptu army, twisting people’s appearances and mind controlling them. He and a few other guardsmen rushed to the scene, only to find Doran, Hero of Oscillus, with his trusty blade “Fang of Despair – Crusher of Hope” raised, stained with Immortal blood.
He had been able to stave off the mind control, and had fought off the army of slaves singlehandedly, knocking them on the head with the pommel of his blade. Mind controlled or not, they were still Etzori citizens, and Doran couldn’t kill them. So instead he’d knocked all of them unconscious. Without an army standing between him and the Immortal, Doran could now reach them fairly easily. The Immortal had tried some of their Immortal-tricks and wonky powers, but “The Blade That Slices Stars And Dices Hope” cut all attacks apart with ease. With the Immortal knowing they were cornered, they made the Hero temping offers of power, knowledge, wealth and everlasting fame, but Doran lent them no ear, approaching menacingly. And then -- swoosh, zzzzing, sha-shing – he cut them to ribbons! He sliced them up so finely that they practically turned to dust. Then he diced that dust up even finer, because that is the only way to kill an Immortal. Doran, master swordsman was extremely capable, but the Legendary Blade “That Which Is Capable Of Even Cutting The Wind Itself, Blast Away Thunder, Split Lightning, And Make It Rain Blood” –but then in the Ancient Language—enhanced his abilities even more. That’s why it was a legendary blade –In fact, Doran had only acquired it after a very long and arduous series of quests… but that was a story for another time. So with the Immortal cut into a collection of fragments tinier than dust, the artefact shattered and fell to pieces, and all people were freed from the mind control. Their bodies were still warped though, and Doran tasked the guardsmen with the task of safely transporting the victims home, so he could start working on a cure. With the blood of the Immortal on his blade that was an easy task, in fact, it took Doran only three trails, and then he called all monstrous people into his office, one by one, and made them drink a strange potion, after which they turned back into people.
And so, yet another legend of Doran the Hero came into existence, changing faces just a tiny bit more every time someone else told it, being blown out of proportion even more. Oberan himself would be told this tale several dozen trials later, pleasantly drunk and fuzzy in the head, much to his own amusement.
For now though, the Mortalborn watched the guardsman leave as fast as he could, off to complete the task assigned to him. He offered a grin to the man next to him, inclining his head slightly in agreement. ”To make things more impressive, yes. I don’t know if I can agree on the easier to remember part. I was forgotten easily enough.” As soon as he stopped reminding people of his existence, the infamous phantom thief had slipped from the minds of the people rather quickly, no longer the topic of rumor and gossip, becoming old news instead. Some had even begin to question whether he’d actually been real at all, which had been a major blow to his ego while in jail. As far as he knew there weren’t any legends about him either. Then again, he wasn’t a supposed hero.
A moment later the guardsman was back, panting and red in the face, but looking rather pleased with himself. He’d found a carriage post-haste, it seemed, and had it stationed right outside of the museum entrance. Beckoning Doran –and by extension, Oberan—to follow him, he proudly led the Hero of Oscillus to his transport, obviously showing off for his peers a little. Oberan remained silent until they were in the carriage, heading wherever Doran had instructed the driver to bring them to.
”You mentioned you could do wonderous things with alchemy,” the Mortalborn spoke, a childlike excitement twinkling in his eyes. It was clear he’d been thinking about it ever since Doran had brought it up. ”That you could replicate similar effects as this --” he waggled his clawed fingers ”—if you had a drop of blood.” Bran waited a moment for affirmation, continuing immediately when it came. ”I was wondering… I’m quite curious to what the results of such an experiment would be. I would gladly donate some of my blood in return for seeing you and your alchemy in action…” There was a certain hunger in his voice, an eagerness. As well as the gleam of mischief in his eye, though that was nothing new, really.
In his tall tale the museum had been overrun by monstrously deformed people, all sporting claws and fangs, driven mad by bloodlust. An evil Immortal had manifested through an ancient artefact, the newest piece of a temporary and limited time only exhibition. To destroy Etzos, fair city at the heart of the rebellion against the Immortals, they had created an impromptu army, twisting people’s appearances and mind controlling them. He and a few other guardsmen rushed to the scene, only to find Doran, Hero of Oscillus, with his trusty blade “Fang of Despair – Crusher of Hope” raised, stained with Immortal blood.
He had been able to stave off the mind control, and had fought off the army of slaves singlehandedly, knocking them on the head with the pommel of his blade. Mind controlled or not, they were still Etzori citizens, and Doran couldn’t kill them. So instead he’d knocked all of them unconscious. Without an army standing between him and the Immortal, Doran could now reach them fairly easily. The Immortal had tried some of their Immortal-tricks and wonky powers, but “The Blade That Slices Stars And Dices Hope” cut all attacks apart with ease. With the Immortal knowing they were cornered, they made the Hero temping offers of power, knowledge, wealth and everlasting fame, but Doran lent them no ear, approaching menacingly. And then -- swoosh, zzzzing, sha-shing – he cut them to ribbons! He sliced them up so finely that they practically turned to dust. Then he diced that dust up even finer, because that is the only way to kill an Immortal. Doran, master swordsman was extremely capable, but the Legendary Blade “That Which Is Capable Of Even Cutting The Wind Itself, Blast Away Thunder, Split Lightning, And Make It Rain Blood” –but then in the Ancient Language—enhanced his abilities even more. That’s why it was a legendary blade –In fact, Doran had only acquired it after a very long and arduous series of quests… but that was a story for another time. So with the Immortal cut into a collection of fragments tinier than dust, the artefact shattered and fell to pieces, and all people were freed from the mind control. Their bodies were still warped though, and Doran tasked the guardsmen with the task of safely transporting the victims home, so he could start working on a cure. With the blood of the Immortal on his blade that was an easy task, in fact, it took Doran only three trails, and then he called all monstrous people into his office, one by one, and made them drink a strange potion, after which they turned back into people.
And so, yet another legend of Doran the Hero came into existence, changing faces just a tiny bit more every time someone else told it, being blown out of proportion even more. Oberan himself would be told this tale several dozen trials later, pleasantly drunk and fuzzy in the head, much to his own amusement.
For now though, the Mortalborn watched the guardsman leave as fast as he could, off to complete the task assigned to him. He offered a grin to the man next to him, inclining his head slightly in agreement. ”To make things more impressive, yes. I don’t know if I can agree on the easier to remember part. I was forgotten easily enough.” As soon as he stopped reminding people of his existence, the infamous phantom thief had slipped from the minds of the people rather quickly, no longer the topic of rumor and gossip, becoming old news instead. Some had even begin to question whether he’d actually been real at all, which had been a major blow to his ego while in jail. As far as he knew there weren’t any legends about him either. Then again, he wasn’t a supposed hero.
A moment later the guardsman was back, panting and red in the face, but looking rather pleased with himself. He’d found a carriage post-haste, it seemed, and had it stationed right outside of the museum entrance. Beckoning Doran –and by extension, Oberan—to follow him, he proudly led the Hero of Oscillus to his transport, obviously showing off for his peers a little. Oberan remained silent until they were in the carriage, heading wherever Doran had instructed the driver to bring them to.
”You mentioned you could do wonderous things with alchemy,” the Mortalborn spoke, a childlike excitement twinkling in his eyes. It was clear he’d been thinking about it ever since Doran had brought it up. ”That you could replicate similar effects as this --” he waggled his clawed fingers ”—if you had a drop of blood.” Bran waited a moment for affirmation, continuing immediately when it came. ”I was wondering… I’m quite curious to what the results of such an experiment would be. I would gladly donate some of my blood in return for seeing you and your alchemy in action…” There was a certain hunger in his voice, an eagerness. As well as the gleam of mischief in his eye, though that was nothing new, really.
