Open World - Multiplayer Sandbox Adventure

Description:

This shrouded man bears no insignia of alliance or sign of his origins. He wears heavy leather boots, worn by numerous paths they tread, and ready to face many more. His breeches, perhaps once brilliant white or a luminous blue, are now grey and stained. Ragged remains of a brown robe cover his torso, like a vagabond’s proud tabard. He wears leather gloves with thick bracers tether-bound 'round his arms. A tattered cloak hangs like a purple haze around him, swerving violently and completely overshadowing his face. His possessions seem limited to the contents of the pouches around his belt, a solid staff on his back and a dagger on his hip. This dismal display would befit a beggar or a castaway, were it not for the certain and controlled manner in which this man holds himself. Yet despite the assurance in himself he seems lost, not unlike a mountain man in a desert, and so amidst unfamiliar faces he rescinds into himself.

Saga:

Call me Angurvadal. When I was young, having spent my life thus far on the seas dragging its bounty upon the shores, I decided to take up arms and sail one of the longboats of my people to drag the landed bounty of other men to our shores. I had thought about it for a long time, weighed it with the fish as I brought up the nets while a-sea, but I could not cast it away. Something about battle, man against man, steel on steel, drew me to it. With time some strange tingling had started in my fingers; I would start mild fevers whenever a raid would sail; and blacksmith’s work would become fierce battle whenever I passed. So when I heard that after more than a moon-pass of lull another raid was being planned, I decided to approach our chieftain to be among the men in the attack.

At first reluctant, the chieftain relented since a strong back and powerful arm were needed on the boat as one of the older warriors succumbed to the cough during the reprieve. When I told my wife she began to weep. Just a ten-day ago she dreamt a snake whispering in her ear of my desire to leave, and now it was so. I took her hand, cupped her beautiful face and I rested her upon my shoulder, and now we wept together. We talked well into the night and as her fears and worries ebbed away, so did mine. I think my daughter understood, she didn’t lose her precious smile when I told her I would be away longer than usual, her giggle reassured me further that all would be fine for me.

With my heart unfettered from custom and worry I could finally commit myself fighting. Unable to afford mail or lamellar, I settled on a thick hide to protect me and bought a solid helmet. When I brought them back my wife noted that my own thick skin and skull would be more than plenty of protection, to which I replied that she should come with and no man would dare approach in fear of my mighty arsenal. Alas she had our daughter and the household to hold and I would have to use my dead uncle’s armory. Thus old axe and shield that hung over the bed were taken down. I took them to the weaponsmith so they would be brought to proper shape. Now I was ready.

I left before the Sol’s chariot entered the sky, giving my wife and daughter each a blissful kiss on the doorstep and then crossed the threshold. The walk to the shore was mostly silent: I was told I had a seat on Hrum’s boat and that they were glad I was along for battle. Hrum, short boisterous man, had sailed many times and was now one of the most experienced raiders in our town- that was why he had led a boat for his fifth raid. Stowing my equipment, I took my place and as soon as everyone was onboard the boats sailed off into the blue beyond, the sun rising behind us. This was something I knew, my hands on the wooden oar descending into the water and rising back, and despite the coming trials I was at peace looking out to sea. Looking into its vast blue always gives me comfort. It is like a mother, wide, warm, welcoming; and its grasp cradles the soul. Various things made their way around the boat: who was up to what, who was courting who, and of course Hrum told us destination. For five days we will sail, then hold a break to refresh ourselves, and when it begins to darken we will set off and land right on the recessed ports of an inland town called Burnsmouth. To most men it seemed as just casual business, but deep in their eyes an ember began to burn and I knew that from the way I felt- it burned in me too. And as we neared our destination it grew stronger. When we faced the lights of the port’s docks the ember became a fire and I was about to become a warrior.

Burnsmouth had sprouted up a river emptying into the sea, initially drinking the waters and prospering, later when the bright church settled in the port truly blossomed. Then some years on a crisp moon-lit night while the town slept, three ships came in quick upon dock unleashing a shaded swarm upon the port. The port did not sleep for long and these shades soon materialized into Viking raiders [who like a swarm of bees descending upon a blossoming tree]. Paired or alone, they fanned out all over seeking sweet riches in the wooden confines of Burnsmouth. One building stood away from the others, with fine-cut wood, engraved colored doors and a plaque of two crossed axes on a red field. Already the battle’s cries rang in the air, my hot blood and purified instinct urged me- this manor, I thought, would be a fine first target. Using my booted foot I smashed through the door, sending it into the dark hallway, and stepped inside. Somewhere ahead the sound of feet crossed ahead of me. I swung at it wildly, the axe hitting flesh, sending something to the ground. I stepped over the body of a balding man in servant’s clothing, my evisceration of his chest clear in the moonlight; suddenly I realized the sweat on my palms, my heart pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer on anvil, and forge heat residing within me. The room to my left was empty but for food stocked shelves, in front the stairs I chose to ignore for now, leaving a large room to my right. That room was stocked with precious goods and decorations, a showcase of wealth, the reward I had not yet earned. The next room I entered boldly, a great table sat in the middle the scent of the last meal still on it, proceeding to the next room when someone rushed me from behind. Not one, but two servants rushed me from behind, the first taking out my legs and the second planted a dagger in my left shoulder. I tumbled over the chairs unto the table, but recovered, throwing my shield hand at my assailant. Facing them I saw their young faces contorted with fear and hands trembling. We stood there frozen, marveling, or perhaps dreading what had to happen next. Readying my shield against attack, I swung the axe, its weight carrying me forward unto the men. They retaliated, I barely felt their blows- they were soon dead. The rest of the first floor was empty and now I stood before the stairs leading into darkness. Upstairs I found a man seated in a chair cradling a gold cup and a large bottle. Thick embroidered furs covered his once impressive body, now bulky from the comforts his business gave him.

“I shall not be spared,” he said as if it wasn't a question, “my wife and child...”

“The Gods have made their choice, as long as they do not stand in the way I will not execute the Will” I answered.

Moments later red poured down the stairs and a gold cup lay cold upon the floor. I gathered the treasures of this manor and ventured outside. In the distance fire colored the sky, several bodies lay in the streets and two men were fighting some hundred fot away. A great flash of silver rose and descended dropping one of them to the ground. The survivor hefted his great blade and proceeded towards me. At fifty fot he raised the greatsword. Within twenty fot he charged me. So quick he came I barely raised the shield and as the blade fell it buckled, splintered and shattered, sending me to the ground. Only when he stood over me, again raising the sword, did I realize how tall and powerful he was- a worthy inheritor of his father's fortune. I rolled, steel wind behind my back, and staggered up. I trembled and hot breath shuddered out of me, heat like the fires of Múspellsheimr shot through me. Furiously he hammered me with the sword, the blade rising and falling in great silver swathes upon me. Some blows I met, most I dodged, a few struck me leaving deep cuts. For a moment we stood facing each other, exhausted, each facing his death. He stepped with his right as if to charge again, but suddenly pivoted bringing the other leg backwards and around, the sword following in a monstrous iridescent arch. I reeled back wildly swinging my axe unto it. The two met in a blistering cross of steel. The axe-head whirred by my head and I was thrown back. He too lay on the ground stunned. Something metallic lay glittering in the bloodied grass. Grouping around I reached it, the remains of my opponent’s sword, now in my hand. We both rose, I holding the edge, he holding the handle, the broken axe at our feet. Again we rushed each other, my bleeding hands aimed for his neck and found the mark; his missed my heart and delved into my shoulder. Clutching the shoulder I dragged the wealth to the docked ships.

Only when iron and choice metals have been selected can the work begin. These metals are combined together, forming a steel alloy stock. This stock is then to be placed into a heated forge. Great care must be taken so that the heat is not too weak, when the steel reddens, or the heat is too strong, when the steel burns orange. A knowledgeable medium, the point of austenization, between the two levels must be achieved. When the steel has reached the desired condition it is taken out and drawn out to the desired length. This is done by hammering the hot steel therefore thinning and elongating the stock. The tip of the blade and the handle attachment, the tang, are created by hammering the end of the stock at an angle. None of hammering can be done at the same time, thus work is done in sections of about a handspan in length by reheating and hammering that section. At select points in the process the entire blade is heated and allowed to cool to normalize it. When the blade shape has been forged and before the next stage of sword-making begins, the blade must again be reheated and allowed to slowly and gradually cool, a process known as annealing. This may take hours to over a day. Seventeen men fell in the raid and I looked to be the eighteenth for a long time.

During the removal of the hilt, a splinter remained and I took fever. I awoke on the voyage back during a mild storm. Water sprayed my bundled face as I lay among the treasures and slaves captured in the raid. I grabbed a golden plate and dragged myself up to get a better view of it. Off the deck a dark blue waves crested in an angry sea. Suddenly a wave rose slapping me and taking the gold plate down with it.

“That's precious you know,” Hrum's voice spoke down to me, “men died to get that gold.” He looked out to sea for a long time, “the weather's not too bad, you are better off resting for your pretty girl back home.”

I laid back, thinking ahead to the time I would hold my darling in my arms, my girl. How do I tell them about the raid? How does any storyteller convey his story, the whole story; which details are necessary, which are to be ignored; how to keep the listening involved. Which pleasures of the tale does he keep to himself and how does he give the listeners theirs? I drifted in the future: the commendations and so my rise, my girl grows and a son is born, more raids, the children grow older and move out, my beautiful wife and I aging, I retire, and then at last peace.

The storm receded but a dark vastness remained. When we came into sight of our ports they seemed changed, no longer the bright fingers reaching out to weary sailors but instead a jagged black clutch. This was common to all men, and reactively we all threw our tired backs harder into the oars hoping to dispel the terrible sight as quickly as possible. But as we raced closer, the thicker the fog drew, until we drew unto empty black docks and a mysterious gray town ahead. Abandoning the loaded ships and our weariness we rushed into our town.

Thought left me and desperation filled in, taking my legs faster than ever before. I ran through the town, leaving my boots in the mud which clutched me, seeing nothing but my home ahead. There, in the swirling gray mists, lay charred and broken ruins of Godvand. Corpses of men, women and children lay on the roads and walls; some dead from battle, others taken by the fires, and none alive. With them ages of history and knowledge gone, leaving frayed ends in the rug of their kin and kind. Of them only fleeting memory remains, scorched and etched into the surviving. My home that stood upon the shores, extending into the waters with my little boat tied to it, was an extinguished black carcass. Its sight took my knees, bowing me to the ground and silent tears rolled down my dirty face. As I wept, wet wind caressed me as if it too mourned, picking me up, and slowly I stood and hobbled forward.

There were no signs of struggle, only desecration of my home for I had nothing precious. But my wife and daughter. I found them in our bedroom, two molded somber masses, my wife embracing my daughter on floor, dead. My tears broke, cascading unto the floor. I wanted to fall, to break and die here with them, but my knees held and I stood over them broken and replete. My throat gasped and seized as I moaned in horror, the noise falling deafly upon the charred walls. Anguish seeped and flooded my heart and soul, washing me away into eternity. What was the world with them gone? what life could I have if they were not part of it? And what gods would fate me to this? I don't know how I long I stood there, suddenly I felt steeled and saw water at my feet. This day the water had swelled like never before, rising above the dock and into my home. I took my dears and carried them out. Wading into the sea I placed them into my fishing boat, covered them with my clothing, and untied it. What was left of my home, and my faith, I demolished, leaving it to the sea to finish the task and take away the remains.

I returned to the docks where the warriors gathered around a fire. Not all had returned yet, some were still coming to grips with their loss. But the survivors all had the same stained morbid look on their faces. Our clothing was dirty with mud and soot. As I looked around I noticed an unfamiliar face. He was younger and thinner than the warriors. I recognized him because we would often fish at the same time, in almost the same spot. His father too was a fisherman,, we had much in common. I approached him and we talked. He had been fishing when he saw the attacker's ships sail into our waters. In his face I saw fearful memory of that memory, and then tears- he did nothing. Frozen in fear and understanding the town's fate, he could not commit himself to certain death. Slowly the tide pulled him into shore, where he was discovered by one of the warriors.

There was no decision to be made, none of us had anything left but our lives and our honor- vengeance would be ours. The ships were unloaded, the unnecessary treasures discarded, the slaves were set off on one of the more damaged ships with some water and food- their fate now in their own hands. We rearmed ourselves, repaired and restocked the ships, then ate and rested before setting off. I did not sleep, merely cradled the branded sword pulled from the blacksmith’s house, honing its edge for battle. When the night sky was clear and the moon high, we assembled for the voyage. Silently we loaded the two ships and pulled off the docks into stygian seas ahead. Our morose faces facing our past, we grasped the oars with pale hands, each pulling as hard as possible, feeling the other mens' pain and knowing their fervor, and so perfectly united.

We pulled until the sun rose and fell, the night came and went, and the sun rose again. On that day I looked to the sky and beheld a strange sight: there the moon had joined the sun and just two strange clouds kept them company. Before my eyes these clouds transformed and deepened, becoming like two smeared wolves racing through the sky. Beneath, the seas started getting rougher. Soon after it started getting darker, the clouds neared their prey, and then blackness descended upon us. Undaunted we pressed forward against the rising waters, into the utter darkness ahead against a rising ferocious wind which whipped and howled at us. The inky sky cracked with blue, momentarily lighting the frenzied waves around us. We were alone. The waters, like Jörmungandr’s monstrous spine, coiled around us, tossing and crashing against the ship’s hull. Still the oars sunk into the water in unison, for men already dead have no fear of death, they only have their duty. Thunder and lightning became our heart and light. The seas’ grip strengthened, pulling us closer to its bosom and then in suddenly palmed us skyward. There, lightning rained down on the ship, torching the sail and mast, scattering the men. Thrown from my oar I ended up at the tail of the vessel, leaving my fate to the sea. It did not wait long, plunging them into the tormented depths below.

My last memory of my world is me cradled in the wood, rushing headlong towards the sea.

After the blade has been annealed the edge and tip of the blade are worked out through grinding. Once the blade has been shaped, it must be hardened to make it usable. To do this steel must once again be brought up to the point of austenization with very even heating, and then rapidly and evenly quenched. Care must be taken such that the quenching is not too short or too long, or the blade may warp or fracture. Now that the blade is hardened it can be tempered to achieve a desired hardness. Tempering is done by again heating the blade, but significantly below the point of austenization, letting the steel rest at that temperature, and then quenching it. Thus the major work on the blade is finished. The hilt is worked around and affixed to the tang as desired by the smith. At the end the pommel to fixes the hilt and provides balance to the blade. Additionally a guard can be affixed at the where the hilt and blade meet. Finally the sword is polished and sharpened. It is now ready. I awoke on shores like none I knew before.

This was a strange land. I was captured by other men who channeled new wicked forces were through me. I experienced this experimentation and torture for several days before I escaped that island to find my way to the mainland. Here I have roamed, homeless and purposeless, left to my anguish.

Remember that the sword is a weapon of war. It is created to kill. No word wrangling or beautification can avoid this profound truth. Do not ignore this. Do not forget this.