The Ballad of Impassioned Delusions

[Unfulfilled]

[Closed to those I invited]

The crisp sting of the fall air nipped gently against the ears of the Sword Demon as he clutched his coat to his chest tightly, his Sword held loosly in his hand. The sun's rays did nothing to warm up the cold as the rain clouds far out loomed ominously as they stalked closer to the inland. Feeling another chill wind nearly caused the warrior to fall to the ground, but instead he simply quaked and chilled himself to the bone as he continued to walk. He had a mile or two left to go before he was officially out of the territory of His Lordship Konrad Von Guner, the dark count of the island of Belore. He knew he was on borrowed time at this moment, and the blooded stains on his sword only left to remind him of why he walking.

The Sword Demon had become very close to finding a challenger worthy of his time and energy to seek out, and as he searched for this renowned swordsman he happened upon a very beautiful velumptious woman who clearly had an eye for the finer things. It was so quick and so fast that no one could predict it, but the demon of blades had taken her, her daughter, her handmaiden and the Lordship's concubine at once in bed. He grinned remembering the thrill of the moment, the woman blurred in and out as his body felt a very unique sense of sensation he rarely felt outside of battle. Yet the moment didn't last long as his Lordship entered the room and walked in on the demon in his act. It was a few short moments to apprehend the demon and take him to the pit below the castle keep.

It was there Konrad decreed the Demon of Swords would fight until death against the king's elite. A thousand men died that day, as the demon fought them honorably one on one in a circular pit. The pit carried deep into the earth, and Demon knew the platform he fought on had no way off unless the plank was dropped. After he had done his deed of killing a thousand elite soldiers the king and lordship of Belore allowed the Sword Demon to walk away to the edges of his kingdom. However, should he stumble in exhaustion he would be killed on site. Should he collapse from dehydration or hunger he would be stabbed. He had to leave the kingdom forever, and never return.

He looked outwards with a small grin of satisfaction upon his face, the border within a throws reach. As he crossed the border he felt an invigorating presence. The Demon laughed to himself. "Ah, what a great day!" He said smugly. "I wonder who I shall cut next? Maybe a rouge ronin? Maybe a wandering swordsman? Maybe two? Hopefully three, I'm getting kind of bored..." The Sword demon said lazily. "I really hope they bring an army as well." He looked upon his blade and looked back at the kingdom he had recently left. With a sharp inhale of breath and the clearing of his throat the Demon released a long, vile loogy upon the land he had left. With a crude gesture with his finger he turned away. "Wooses..." He muttered. "No fun at all."

It had been that way for Regal Burnswidth, the self proclaimed Demon of Swords. One minute he was perfectly happy with life, content in what he had just done. The next moment he was upset, aggravated, and wanting. No matter what he was always unfulfilled with his goals and accomplishments. Not that they were anything to be ashamed of, but Regal never took much pride in what he had done until he was bored and found nobody to fight. Then he would tell anybody how he had slain such great warriors, but it was never just one with Regal.

According to him he had slain well over two-thousand people. His claims never, however, remained consistent. Sometimes he had fought ten people, but the next time he thought about it, there was twelve, twenty, hundreds of people. Even in the midsts of battle Regal would shout out how many foes he had seen, and they were always growing as he talked. Should nobody interrupt him he would go on forever it would seem trying to determine how many foes he was about to vanquish. In Regal's mind, there was never one person to fight. Well...not always.

There was one soul who Regal vowed to fight and kill. And he knew this person would never back down and fight with a horde of soldiers at his back. No, the quarry of the Sword Demon was an honorable man. A beacon of hope in a time of despair, a shining example of morality in darkness. He was Karel Hector Raven, the Saint of Swords. The Bane of Regal's exsistance. He vowed to one day take that title for himself. Until then...

"Well, I guess killing things is a thankless job..." he muttered. "Nobody appreciates the art of killing anymore. I mean, come on...stabbing an apple? Stabbing the Adam's apple? What really is the difference when you boil it down? Nothing!" Regal said to himself.

The wind blew over him again, but this time he ignored the cold and moved forward until eventually his knees gave out and he collapsed. With a harsh sigh on the way down Regal felt the world spin around him as he slowly blacked out of consciousness.

"What...a..." He whispered. He closed his eyes yawning loudly. "Buzz...kill..." he said softly going to sleep, the exhaustion of the day slamming into him at long last.

[Mithra Reborn]

"Oh, shit," Darcy exclaimed as she looked to the horizon. The Ice Rose of the nearby kingdom, a small warship, was gaining. The White mountain on a pale blue field was gradually getting bigger, even with the wind favoring the smaller, sleeker Shadowmast.

"It's the oars, captain!" Bryce, her eyes and ears on the sea yelled down from the crow's nest. "She's small, but most of the men there are on the oars, and they're strong men by the looks of it. They'll be on us within a few minutes at that rate!" Darcy let out a curse under her breath. "Deilio!" She called to her First mate. "You were the one to take the chest, what was in it?"

"Enough silks and furs to feed the crew for the next three weeks, Darce!" He called back from where he was cinching some ropes to make the mast more taut and speed it with the wind. It was queer to the others that he called her by name, but expected when they'd known each other so long. "This isn't a rich kingdom," He continued. "I suppose the king don't like us stealing his queens' under garments!"

"No more than he likes his lack of seeing them I bet," she snapped. "Bryce, how good men they got?"

"We barely outnumber them, but they've got plate and scale armor, and are obviously trained. We couldn't hold them for long. By the shape of our crew, most of us would die."

She began pacing the hull, thinking. Deilio came up beside her, turned her around by the shoulders and looked at her with the grave gaze. "Your head is worth more than five chests of fur and silk," He reminded her gravely. "Something tells me they aren't after the chest."

Darcy nodded and sighed. "I think I do know a way to draw their attention though. Empty the chest, and fill it with a barrel of rum. And don't give me that look, you'll see where I'm going with this! Load it onto the skiff, and fast. I'll be grabbing flint and tinder, some provisions, and my fiddle."

Deilio was able to piece it all together. "Aye, Darce...but why the fiddle?" She raised an eyebrow. "How else are you dogs going to hunt me down after? fiddles are loud from atop a mountain."

In the few minutes they had, the skiff was loaded with the chest full of rum. Darcy was just leaving her quarters from packing a rucksack when Deilio appeared. "Be careful out there, alright?" He asked of her. "There's a lot of snow on the nearby mountain, and they might still catch you. Did you pack a-"

"Enough, Mother Hen, I have a skiff to get to!" she snapped out of annoyance. "We've been through worse, if I recall correctly, so I'll be fine. Be sure to hide the silks and furs somewhere, in case they don't buy the decoy."

She threw it on her back, and gave him a pat on the shoulder, her bright green eye playfully glinting at his gray pair. "I assume the bed will be warm when I get back," She said with a little smile. She tossed her long raven locks playfully and she walked over to shimmy down the rope to the skiff. Deilio could only smile and laugh at the childish grin on her face as she gave him one last glance before disappearing over the side of the ship.

Oh, I wish little Darce, oh I wish..., was all Deilio had the time to think before getting everyone into gear and pulling the ship to Port and pulling out oars of their own.

[Unfulfilled]

The blackened sky let off an air of unrest into the night as bats began to flock into the open air searching for their prey. The calming chirp of the birds was replaced by the croaking of frogs as the transition of day to night slowly proceeded. Blissfully unaware to all this lay the Sword Demon sprawled out on the ground, drooling as he muttered incoherently. It wasn't until the loud snap of a twig rose the demon from his slumber, and he reached instinctively for Tenacity.

"Anybody there?" He said sternly, no fear, but a hint of eagerness in his tone. Alas he felt a wave of depression wash over his soul as he saw a tiny rabbit dart out from the undergrowth and away from Regal. "Phooey...I would have settled for a wolf or bear. But do I get anything I want? NOOOO!" Regal sighed to himself as he sheathed Tenacity, reflecting upon his blade and all it had done to serve him. The weapon became an extension of who he was, and he literally felt cold and destroyed without it. When seperated one time by his parents, he cried for seven hours strait, demanding he get back his weapon. After he retrieved the sword, he cut down his family, all of them. He never wanted to be away from the blade, and when the authorities came to his place, he killed them too. He killed anyone he met from his town until he lay upon a bloody hill of corpses, his throne the dead of his friends and loved ones. He cared not for the loss of life, but only for Tenacity. His beloved blade had served him more loyally than anything else in the entire world, and he would never part with such a treasure.

His inner thoughts had been interrupted when he caught inside a cave the distinct glow of a fire, and the tell tale sign of smoke. JACKPOT! Regal thought to himself. Where there is smoke there is fire; and where there is fire is a person. Regal walked over to the cave with a brisk step, ignoring whatever signs he was giving to his approach. He didn't care, he was hoping they knew he was coming. Sneaking up on a foe is just so...boring.

Regal entered the cave with Tenacity in hand, and his steps echoed loudly. "WHOEVER IS IN HERE BETTER BE HANDY WITH A SWORD!" Regal shouted loudly. "I AM THE SWORD DEMON, AND I COME TO CLAIM A QUARRY!" Regal turned around the corner to the fire place, hearing the mice scurrying at the sound Regal was making. When he looked forward he saw before him a sight of awe and terror. Inside the fire laid an ornate chest, and inside the chest was a broken bottle of Rum.

"NOOOOO!!!!!" Regal shouted nearly in tears. "NOT THE RUM!" He looked around to find the culprit of such an atrocity, and all he could find was footprints. In his anger he couldn't pinpoint any of the prints until he saw a pair next to his own, walking away from the cave. Regal looked at them and began to follow them until he saw a dark spec in the far distance running away. "HEY!" He shouted in rage. "YOU FOOL! DON'T RUN!" and Regal ran off, Tenacity in hand.

[Mithra Reborn]

Cold ice flecks burned more than fire as they stung on Darcy's bare arms. She had no time to don her sleeves in her flurry to light the chest on fire and book it. No sooner than she lit the torch was she under the hail of two dozen arrows. After lighting the chest, the rum stank as the chest was nearly instantly engulfed with flame, burning inside out, as if it meant to purge whatever corruption resided within, taking the rest down with it. Though there was no time to stare, for no sooner did they command to come to shore, she heard this..."Sword Demon" coming on her tail. When she saw both, Darcy became more irritated than she's been since the screw up that happened 10 months ago.

"Well fuck me senseless," Darcy growled under her breath before flinging away the torch regretfully(cause even she knew not to carry something that would give away where she was) and sprinted hard and fast, her scimitar whipping against her thigh in her haste. The snow grew deeper around her feet, and twice she fell to feel the snow's cold kiss on her soft-fleshed face, but she kept moving, getting up and not even bothering to look for sure footing. She was running herself deeper though, and after finding a place around the corner to hold for a few seconds, she had to consider her options, and fast.

Okay, lets see, Pops told me about snow....deep enough to hide in, if your hair is light enough...right. because coal black hair is considered light. Darcy thought cynically. There's also the trees, he told me, don't hide in them cause snow falls from the branches and it looks obvious. Her thoughts were becoming jumbled and incoherent and rasher as she heard voices coming from behind. Her eyes flashed to a small cave up a slope and without thinking, she plunged for it, plowing up snow, slashing at her prints with her sword as she went to obscure the marks. With the strong wind blowing at her, they were like to get obliterated anyways, but she had to. The voices grew louder as they were carried by the mountain and winds. But she trenched through nonetheless, and wearily made it to the cavern, sheathing her sword to hide behind a large boulder in a shadowed corner.

With a groan of relief, Darcy opened her pack to pull out woolen fingerless gloves that ran all the way up to her mid shoulder. she had buttoned up her normally loose buttons on her under-dress, pulled the sleeves on and pulled on her fur trimmed cloak, hugging it close to her body with her sword at hand.

They better have gotten away after all that, She thought bitterly. If Deilio lets the crew get caught, I might just have to slap him for once.

At some point in her time with her crew, she's had to hit them all at least one time or another - or at the very least got them dirtied or bruised in practice fights. When she met Deilio as a fourteen year old trainee aboard the Holy Devil however, he had been so slippery during practice that she could never quite get her sword on him(though to her embarrassment, he had given her numerous bruises in those days.) That evasion was something she still couldn't avoid now, and she just could not hurt him out of anger if she wanted to. These thoughts made her sigh. "Take care Mother Hen," she said quietly with a gaze southwestward, where the Shadowmast should be if all went well. There, Darcy sat in shelter from the wind and snow, waiting for whatever would come for her. She stroked the violin box in her pack, and passed the time by thinking of what song she should play from the peak to call them back to her.