2024-06-18 23:26:12 +00:00
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<span class="first">T</span>he
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<span class="first">I</span>nternet
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<span class="first">V</span>agabond
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<p>Here’s the character backstory for one of my older characters from a game long
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since forgotten: Azulien Blackblade. This character was a fighter-sorcerer,
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built for a custom 3.5 game run by my friend Bill. He was loads of fun to play,
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though I may have spoken up when I should have stayed silent. He died as a pile
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of pieces, after taunting a demi-god and, expectedly, being eviserated. Enjoy!</p>
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<h2 id="character-backstory-azulien-blackblade">Character Backstory: Azulien Blackblade</h2>
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<p>I was a prestigious man. Once I wore the robes of a wizard. I studied at the
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greatest libraries, spoke with the most intelligent scholars, and kept company
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with the Archmages. But one day that all changed. The day I will never forget in
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all my life: the day the Urdeshi attacked.</p>
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<p>We were travelling through the northern regions of the desert, making our way to
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ruins located among the dunes. As we stopped to drink and rest, our party was
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beset upon by raiders, shielding their faces with wrapped fabrics, and attacking
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us relentlessly with blades and spears. Of the 15 in our band, only 3 lived
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through the attack. We were the unlucky ones. My robes were bloodied and torn,
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my spellbook was burned before my eyes, my components along with it, and my
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knowledge of the arcane became a secret lest I beg for death. Many times I had
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considered revealing my talents, and welcoming the purge that would follow. The
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particular group of Urdesh we found were skeptical of magic: they broke all our
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potions, our wands, anything that didn’t smell normal. My familiar, my dear
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raven, was roasted and force fed to me. I didn’t eat for days afterwards.</p>
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<p>They tought me how to fight. How to use the weapons they used. They tought me
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how to skirmish with only a scimitar to defend myself with. How to cast aside
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blows, how to use a handful of sand to distract my opponent from my incoming
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blow. They taught me pain. They taught me to not fear an incoming attack. Not to
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fear death. From that, only rage grew. My hatred for the Urdesh slowly filled my
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now-empty mind. Where once was scholarly knowledge and magical aptitude there
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stood only revenge. A lust that was never fulfilled. A hunger that was never
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sated.</p>
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<p>For 5 years of my life I was haunted and tormented by the Urdesh. I was made a
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puppet in their games; a gladiator in their arenas. My skills with the scimitar
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and spear grew to legend. Armed with my rage and my revenge, I would let no
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other gladiator steal from me the potential to see my captors destroyed. I would
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never bow, never break, never surrender. My blade grew black from all the blood
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and sand and grime. With each fight, I became more. I was no longer a slave, now
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I was a name: Blackblade; the Raven Swordsman; Death. Names appropriate to my
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appearance and my promise. The old me was dead, and the new me was never alive.</p>
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<p>My insatiable revenge crept into the corners of my mind, revealing the
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locked-away arcane knowledge. The fury of hundreds of gladitorial battles,
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thousands of cracks of the whips, and millions of possibilities of better lives
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all converged on the power I had stored away. No longer was I afraid of them. No
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longer did their skepticism seem like a threat. Now it was their weakness. Now,
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vengeance was mine.</p>
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<p>With the cover of darkness, I scoured my memories for every shred of arcane
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knowledge I could muster. I found my cantrips, my little tricks I had used to
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harass the pretty girls at the college. Flares and dancing lights wouldn’t do
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what I needed, but they could help. I needed more power. I crept deeper. There I
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felt it. The coldness of death, but the screaming of life, entwined. I could
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feel the grasp of skeletons and ghasts, but they did not scare me; it was almost
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like familiy. I could see the faces of people I had never known. They seemed
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familiar, almost connected to me. I could feel their anger, their undying need
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for vengeance. Like me, they were captives of fear and torment. Their rage was
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almost unbearable, but I would not turn away. I would not submit to an illogical
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existance as a mindless machine of death. I would overcome the rage, channel the
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rage, harness the anger, focus the vengeance. I would take their blessings of
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undeath and turn them upon my enemies as a curse. I knew now that the power I
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had was not from study. It was always within me, welled up like a great lake,
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full of untapped resources. I felt the presence of their blood grow, their power
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now released. They were now me. I was their vessel. The scimitar I used, Raven I
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called it, was now a weapon of death.</p>
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<p>Their time had come. They had no reason to fear the unknown, until now.</p>
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<p>The first to go was the guard. As he came, right on schedule, to deliver my
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food, I offered him a choice. I had grown to like Mukeesh. He was stupid, and
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because of that he was compasionate. He was too afraid. He was too loyal. He
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died. From him, I lifted the keys with magic, commanding them into the lock,
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releasing me. As I left, I could feel his blood calling to me. With his
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head-wrap and Raven I made my way to the barracks. It was night time. There were
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little defenses around those who defend. They died one by one. I would cup their
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mouth, and slit their throat just enough for them to wake before they bled out.
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Their last moments were all the same: horror, struggling, moaning, pleading,
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acceptance, sorrow. They wept occassionally. There were a few who were
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unsurprised, and stared into my eyes until their’s went dark. They were the
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brave. They had faced death. But none can win against death. The blood running
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from my captors veins was unbearable. I tasted it, the nector of life. It was
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ambrosia, life itself, sustaining me. Their lives were my feast.</p>
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<p>I made my way through the camp, finally settling on the gladiator pits. Some of
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my bretheren ran, some clung to some twisted form of loyaly and fought. The all
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died. I drank in their life, their essence, and their sacrifice healed me.
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Through the death of my enemies I grew strong, through the blood of the fallen
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did I reclaim my dominance. Not only were the powers of death mine to harness,
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but the fruits of its labor were sweet and nourishing.</p>
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<p>The last to fall was my teacher. He was the only one I awoke before I killed
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him. I waited for him to pray, to be ready for his gods. He tried to fight me,
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but the master had become weak. His attacks were predictable. His tactics were
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rotten. His flesh was soft, and my blade was sharp. He died a warrior, as he had
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lived. His blood was the most satisfying of them all. I have no remorse for him.
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It is pathetic to pity anyone; death comes for all.</p>
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<p>I gathered up all the resources I needed, took all the coin I could find, and
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left. To this day I still hear tales of the Swordsman of Death who slaughtered
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an entire Urdesh gladiator camp. “They are right to fear him.” I always reply.
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“Death is patient but swift. It may come on the wings of an angel or the sword
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of a stranger. But death always comes.” I escaped that night and found a human
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settlement. My scars and tattoos I covered as best I could, but they always
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found me out. A run-away slave, an escaped prisoner; a fugitive. The humans
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would at least treat my as their own. I found temporary refuge, but left
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quickly. In the following days there were many hunters that I encountered. One
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of them gave me the scar that marks me today. His name was Al-Kadaf, and his
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blade was called Plight. It cut me from above my left eye to my right cheek. He
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told me that wound would stay forever. My blade ending his life was my only
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response.</p>
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<p>Still I am hunted. Still the Urdesh search for the Raven Swordsman. But I go by
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a different name now. I am Azulien Blackblade, Scourge of the Urdesh. Send your
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hunters. Send your armies. I walk with death. I hunger for your life. And
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tonight, I will feast.</p>
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<div class="author_info">
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Bill Niblock
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aria-label="Code dedicated to the public domain under Unlicense">
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title="Code dedicated to the public domain under Unlicense"</span>
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</a>
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<a href="https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/"
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aria-label="Published to the public domain under CC0">
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2018-01-12
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<br />
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2024-08-20 16:05:54 +00:00
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<div><a href="https://www.theinternetvagabond.com/now">Life In Progress</a></div>
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2024-06-18 23:26:12 +00:00
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2024-06-20 19:38:41 +00:00
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This site is a small slice of internet real-estate that I use for
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<span class="fa fa-matrix-org" aria-hidden="true"
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title="Speak with me on Matrix"</span>
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</a> |
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<a class="u-url" rel="me"
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href="https://mastodon.social/@azulien"
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aria-label="Find me on the Fediverse">
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<span class="fa fa-mastodon" aria-hidden="true"
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title="Find me on the Fediverse"</span>
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</a> |
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<a class="u-url" rel="me" href="https://www.twitch.tv/vagabondazulien/profile"
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aria-label="Link to my Twitch channel">
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<span class="fa fa-twitch " aria-hidden="true"
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title="My Twitch channel"</span>
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</a>
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</div>
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<p>
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My name is <span class="p-name">Bill Niblock</span>. <span
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class="p-note">I'm a computer scientist by education, a technologist
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by trade, a gamer by hobby, and a philosopher by accident. I
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live in <span class="p-locality">Buffalo</span>, <span class="p-region">
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2024-06-20 19:38:41 +00:00
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New York</span>, <span class="p-country-name">USA</span>.<br />
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<br />
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My PGP Key is <span class="u-key" id="key">CCE7 3682 331B 5614 9FAB
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7383 7359 80B2 6381 C91E</span>.
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2024-06-18 23:26:12 +00:00
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</p>
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</section>
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<section style="display: none;">
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<span class="p-category">Gaming</span>
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<span class="p-category">Technology</span>
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<span class="p-category">Philosophy</span>
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<span class="p-category">Open Source Software</span>
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<span class="p-category">Self-Hosting</span>
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<span class="p-category">Coffee</span>
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2024-06-20 19:38:41 +00:00
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<span class="u-email">bill@theinternetvagabond.com</span>
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2024-06-18 23:26:12 +00:00
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</section>
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</section>
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</footer>
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</div>
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</body>
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</html>
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