The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 18-19

Ch. 18 - A Superior Wielder

When it was over, the blade considered burning the remaining souls it had to gain yet another level of Repair Soul, but it decided against it. Not only was it a poor use of resources given its uncertain situation, but it was also more than it could handle in this moment. 

As much as it wanted to know more, it could still feel how unstable it was in the aftermath of that last burst of magic. It had taken weeks to process its previous revelations, and it was sure that this time would be no different.  

I knew more than I did before, it told itself. 

For now that would have to suffice. Rather than spend anything, it simply looked at its current status, before heading back up the stairs to the upper temple. 

Aura of Hunger: Multiple enhancements available
Increase Connection 4: 1250 Life Force
Increase Reserves 8: 800 Life Force
Repair Soul 3: 2500 Life Force
Increase Control 3: 1500 Life Force
Empower Blade 2: 2000 Life Force - not currently accessible
Improved Siphon 7: 2000 Life Force

Life Force: 1864/3000

Its current wielder did nothing to stop this, though it did pause briefly on the way up the stairs to gnaw at one of its comrades who Kell had struck down almost two days before. The goblin didn’t care that the corpse was purifying under the twin forces of time and moisture. All it cared was that it was hungry, and Ebon Blade wasn’t about to make it starve. 

It wasn’t in a hurry. It still only had the vaguest idea of where it should go next. 

Should I seek out Severon, wherever that is, to try to find some clues about what befell my wielder or why I was imprisoned? It wondered. Surely, if it wanted vengeance, that would be the place to start. Everyone I might take vengeance on has almost certainly already died of old age, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wreck havoc on their decendants. 

In the end, as it reached the top of the steps, it was forced to consider that simply rampaging throughout the area with the most powerful wielder it could locate might be the best move for the time being. Perhaps before I burn Kalraka to the ground, I can find out where Severon is, it considered. 

The goblin that wielded it balked at the idea that someone else might take its new weapon, but the blade ignored it. It was simply a body to swing it that lacked a mind powerful enough to oppose it. It didn’t get a say, not when its protests amounted to little more than repeated outbursts of profanity in a tongue that barely qualified as language. 

At least, that was all they were until it tried to force the goblin to walk outside in daylight. Then, the thing almost had a stroke. Until now, the Ebon Blade had been able to make it do what it wanted. It wasn’t concerned that the lowly goblin couldn’t see during the daylight. It could still see fine, more or less. 

However, when it reached the threshold, it categorically refused to cross it. Instead, it threw itself to the ground and engaged in an enraged temper tantrum. Worse, simply trying to force it wasted Life Force, which was not something it expected. It burned almost two dozen points before it even realized it was happening. 

-1 Life Force
-2 Life Force

So I can push it to do anything it wants without difficulty, but something it has no interest in, well even that’s a bridge too far, it decided in annoyance as it eased up on the pressure and let its wielder retreat back into the shadows by the altar.

The blade was in no hurry. As long as the creature never put down the weapon, it didn’t really care. Still, it wasn’t as if crossing the threshold into the light would kill it or anything. It might have expected such resistance if it had been trying to force a good man to kill an innocent or a bad one to kill themselves, but this was animalistic, instinctual behavior, and it was surprised by it. 

The Ebon blade wasted the day, but as soon as the sun set, they were on the move. They left the donkey behind because it wouldn’t let the goblin approach, even though the blade was fairly certain that having at least a little of that gold would come in handy. 

I’ll come back for it if I get a human body, it told itself, to the goblin’s annoyance. 

That was its plan, at least to start. Sprint across the foothills to the village of Olden-va, then find a new, better host and keep moving. That changed when it spotted fresh beastman tracks, though. The beastmen might have been brutes, but they were willing to travel by day, it decided, as it changed course to pursue the new objective. 

The goblin slavishly obeyed it, but only because it expected more bloodshed. The blade certainly hoped that would be the case, but it was as likely that there would be more green blood that was shed than red, for the Ebon Blade was already chafing at the idea of being held by such a small, ridiculous creature. 

It took two more hours, but eventually, the goblin’s short legs caught up with the faster, four and five-foot-tall beast men. It screeched a cry of pure, bloodthirsty glee and ran toward them, holding the weapon over its head in both hands. 

As much as the blade wanted to throw the goblin’s life away then, it resisted the urge. No matter how pathetic its wielder was, it would be wrong to kill it. Such actions would constitute a betrayal. 

It did not, however, have to help it, and instead of joining this fight as a cruel puppet master to help it swing the awkwardly sized weapon in the most efficient arcs possible, it was content to spectate as its first overhand chop cleaved through the mangy beastman’s spear and deeply into its chest. 

+10 Life Force

That single blow wasn’t deep enough to kill it, and it had to hack at the second thing to bring it down. That much was fine, but it gave the other members of the creature’s hunting pack time to join the fight, and in the time it took the goblin to raise the cursed blade and bring it down again, it had been shot with a stone-tipped arrow and stabbed twice.

-4 Life Force
-6 Life Force
+18 Life Force
-7 Life Force

You have claimed a lesser monster soul. 

Still, the goblin was undeterred. It screamed and bled, but even as the blade’s energy flowed through it to heal the wounds left by weapons, as soon as they were removed, it was charging the next one and then the one after that. It was a furious little berserker that certainly didn’t want for ferocity. If it had been twice the size, it might have been unbeatable. 

Unfortunately, it was a small thing that was little more than a nuisance, and when it got one of its overhead chops stuck in the hip of the largest goat man with twisted horns, the beast succeeded in kicking the goblin, sending it end over end where it lay sprawling. 

That wasn’t quite enough to kill it, but without the blade's magic, it couldn’t rise in time to avoid being kicked to death by the other goaty warriors who quickly surrounded it. 

The Ebon Blade couldn’t have cared less at that point. Once its wielder lost the fight, the creature was nothing but dead weight. Instead, it sat there studying the flee-bitten goat man it was halfway to gutting. The monstrosity was bleeding out, but it might yet live. It had only to grasp the handle and pull the blade free. 

Moments later, that’s exactly what it did, and when it did so, the Ebon Blade seized its soul almost as completely as it had taken control of the goblin’s. The thing’s spirit was stronger but better in every way. It was not the human vessel it might have preferred, but there was a physical strength that was hard to deny. 

The beast men’s communications were more complex, too. They weren’t just fuck, eat, kill. They were, “fuck that, roast it and eat it!” While not exactly scintillating conversation, it was certainly better than the bursts of goblin expletives, and on the whole, the blade took it as progress. Anything was better than Ren’s simpering about women had been, and it would take the bleating of goats, intelligent or otherwise, over such sentimentality any day. 

It stood, stretching the body of its new wielder before, the hideous goatman bellowed a sound of triumph as it cried out, “Mine!” and raised its black blade skyward. It wasn’t quite as good as a human, but its new wielder was taller and stronger. 

It will do for now, the blade decided as it regarded the situation and looked around at the rest of the tribe, trying to decide whether it should slaughter them or turn them into the horde it had been wanting for most of its short existence and unleash the havoc that haunted its dreams. 

Name:Gar-lok

Race: Beastman (goat)

Toughness: 3 +1

Strength: 4 +3

Agility: 4 +2

Speed: 4 +1

Intelligence: 1

Willpower: 1 -1

Morality: Greedy

Bloodlust: Medium

Status: Elderly 

Martial Skill: Low

Armor Proficiency: None

Dodging: Medium

Athletics: Medium

Goal: To fuck fertile does and devour his enemies. 

Ch. 19 - Instincts

Despite the fact that the Ebon Blade had nearly as much control over the beastman as it did of the goblin that had wielded it before him, it did nothing with it at first. Instead, like always it waited to see what it would do. The beast that it was being wielded by was a simple thing, and the blade could read the mind of the beastman named Gar-lok like an open book. It was weaker than a man, but stronger than a goblin, and for now, that was all the blade cared about.  

Until this moment, it had been nothing but an aging male on the verge of being run out of the tribe by other younger challengers. Now, the tables had turned, and though several of his rivals tried to defeat him over the next hour or so, they all failed. One was killed in the attempt because Gar-lok did not know his own strength. The other two were only maimed for it before they surrendered. 

The beastman had left his tribe’s current encampment practically an outcast but returned as a chieftain in the making. At sunrise, when the remains of that ragged warband returned Gar-lok challenged his chief, a young bull, to mortal combat, and slew him in two wild slashes of the Ebon Blade. 

He was no swordsman, but his bestial strength, amplified by the power of his cursed weapon, made it impossible for any warrior with a stone axe to defeat it. That night, he rutted with all the fertile does and celebrated his victory. Still, the blade prevented him from putting the weapon down. It would not be discarded. So, in the end, he made a crude scabbard and wore it on his back. 

That day, exhausted, the beast dreamed simple dreams, but the Ebon blade rejected what it saw. The slavering beast wanted nothing more than to lord over this small set of foothills. He had only a few years of life left and wanted them to be comfortable and secure. His most ambitious dream was to double the size of his harem, which struck the Ebon Blade as simply pathetic. 

So, while its new wielder slept, the blade began to exercise a new level of control. It started small. It did not wish for the thing to balk as its previous wielder had. Instead of spending the rest of his days rutting with the few does he had access to, the blade bid him attack the other nearby tribes and bring them under his control. 

Even a dozen tribes together wouldn’t be enough to cause the bloodshed that the blade wanted, but it could very easily see a strong leader bringing together hundreds of beastman warriors with a few months of work. Such a ragged army would be more than enough to burn anything that looked like civilization all the way to Kalraka and beyond. 

When the flea-bitten wretch woke at sunset, he was almost excited and began to bray and lecture his warriors in their ugly tongue. This was less of an inspiring speech than a series of commands. You will do this. We will kill. We will subdue the weaker tribes and take their trophies and territories for our own!

The blade tuned it out. It didn’t care for herd politics so long as it had a biddable leader, which Gar-lok seemed to be. That night, they prepared for a dawn ambush of the nearest herd, the twisted horn tribe. While they did so, the Ebon Blade casually drained nearby people here and there and contemplated its own problems. 

It was not currently stranded in a cave or a decaying temple, and though it had lost a human wielder, it was certain it would get one again in time. 

Truthfully, it didn’t realize that it would be dissatisfied in the hands of a monster until it had happened. It was functional, and the blade much preferred this to the alternative of rusting in the dark. Still, it chaffed at the way a nonhuman hand felt on its grip. That was not its first priority, though. 

What it needed next was to increase on the path of death that it had started down, which meant that it needed greater monster souls. Unfortunately, it had no idea where to get them. The beastmen didn’t provide them, and neither did goblins. Neither of those was a surprise, given that it would never think to call either of them great in any sense of the word. 

Will I have to track down 50 different hydras and griffons and whatever else, it wondered, or would something like an orc or a hobgoblin do?

It didn’t know, but even if it had a steady source of those souls, it couldn’t fit that many anyway. Right now, it could hold exactly 28 souls, and each time it increased its reserves, that number seemed to go up by two or three. It could not recall an exact pattern. It didn’t even have enough data to make a thesis. 

Still, it thought that it would need to increase its increase reserves by five or ten levels. That was a lot. It was potentially ten thousand Life Force, which might be more than it had gathered in total so far. It wasn’t even sure it went up that high or what it might need that capacity for, but it didn’t really have a choice in the matter. 

Perhaps when I really am at the head of a vast hoard of beastmen, I’ll be able to drink in so much death that it will be trivial to fill such pools with oceans of blood, it thought, hopefully. It didn’t know how that would work, but there had to be a way. 

Aura of Hunger wasn’t fast enough for such things, and Parasitic Link didn’t have a follow-on ability. Unfortunately, that meant that it was probably in the Path of Blood, but it wasn’t going to worry about that for now. Instead, it spent 800 of its nearly 2000 Life Force and boosted its storage further with Increased Reserves 8, making its runes deeper and darken in the process; they were very legible now, it just had no idea what they said.  

That instantly increased its Life Force capacity from 3000 to 4000 and decreased its current energy available from 1792 to 992. It was also enough to make its mangy wielder twitch restlessly as it tried to understand the sensation, but in the end, all it did was increase its soul storage from 28 to 32, which wasn’t particularly exciting. 

Fortunately, by then, the sun was threatening to rise, and things were about to get exciting as Gar-lok’s warband closed on the twisted horn encampment. They were a much bigger tribe than Gar-Lok’s Fleet Hoof tribe, and normally, the smaller tribe would have never stood a chance, even with the element of surprise. 

These weren’t normal times, though. Normal times didn’t involve a berserk war leader at the front of the assault swinging a magic blade. Especially not one that seemed half convinced that he was immortal after the way he’d healed from the death blow the goblin had inflicted less than twenty-four hours ago. 

The battle that followed the first ragged war cries was vicious and brief. Gar-lok wasn’t even on the winning side of every encounter that he was on. He was a poor fighter, and against younger bucks and larger warriors with greater reach, he was wounded more than once by the flurry of spear attacks. 

+21 Life Force.
-6 Life Force.
+24 Life Force.

He didn’t let go of the blade, though. That was the important part. Once he started fighting his way through the thick of things to the other chieftain, the Ebon Blade actually started to help him, adding some technique to the otherwise vicious strikes. While it had no interest in allowing a weak wielder to come out on top, it did appreciate a certain level of ferocity, and if nothing else, Gar-lok had that. 

+18 Life Force.

Still, when it came to the actual battle that would decide who was fit to rule, the blade released its wielder once more, leaving it to its fate. The other beastman was younger, stronger, and half a head taller. The blade would not be bothered for it to be its new warlord instead, but it let the skills of the combatants decide. 

+16 Life Force.
+22 Life Force.
+12 Life Force.

Both of the goatmen were equally clumsy, as it turned out. How much prowess can there really be in a race that dies of old age before twenty? It thought as it watched the two of them exchange ineffectual slashes and jabs, with no real attempt to feint. It would have been depressing if it weren’t so amusing. 

Still, youth and size were no match for magics that it itself did not understand, as it turned out. Though the two of them butted heads quite literally several times, in the end, the aging goat, who could not stay wounded no matter how hard his opponent struck him, outlasted the young buck. 

+17 Life Force.
You have obtained 1 lesser monster soul. 

By the time the sun was entirely over the horizon, despite being horribly outnumbered, the Fleet Hoof tribe had won. Then, every survivor was given the choice to bend the knee, be slain, or run for their lives. Most of them surrendered, which, though useful for the Ebon Blade, still disgusted it. 

I’d never surrender, it told itself, but then, I’m not a herd animal.