One Hundred and Thirty Tales
Author's comments: Hello this is my first fanfic, now one of the things I loved about the Drakengard is that each and every weapon had a small history to go with it. Now out of the blue I had decided to lend both games to trance and so that sparked my interest in the weapon histories and decided to look back into it, well one thing led to another and that's how I got started with this. Anyways each weapon I'll post the original text and the pic then my interpretation of each weapon.
Anyways without further delay, I give you, 130 Tales
This sword is forged of a granite that burns red with eternal heat. Only those who enjoy the protection of
the moon god, ruler of the cool night, may dare grasp the handle.
Legend tells of a great warrior who carried this sword into battle. Roaring a battle cry, he charged into the fray, where a hundred enemy archers struck him through with a thousand arrows.
Yet not a drop of blood flowed from his wounds, and though arrows pierced his heart, his strength failed him not. His army was the victor on that day.
With the battle won, the warrior returned to camp. But in the instant he laid down his sword, he froze as cold and as still as ice. The protection of the moon god had finally claimed his life.
"Do not falter! We can still push them back!" Shouted Evengard in the middle of the fray. His rallying cry was answered with an empire soldier's battle cry. Evengard thrusted forward with the strange red sword an old man gave him, the blade in turn went in effortlessly through the stomach melting metal, bone, and flesh alike. Surprised, Evengard stepped back while accidentally puling the crimson blade out of the man's flesh. The empire soldier had only gotten as far as to stagger forward before his ankles snapped off and the rest of the body shattered upon hitting the ground.
Amazed Evengard didn't even notice the spearman until his weapon had pierced Evengard's side. "aghh!" shouted Evengard in pain and surprise; he ripped the spear out of his side and brought the heavy granite sword upwards at the empire jackal cleaving him in two from hip to shoulder. Once more the red sword had melted through the man effortlessly leaving only shards of ice behind. Evengard immediately checked his side, the spear had definitely stabbed him as the throbbing pain and hole in his armor showed, but the flesh underneath was untouched. Evengard checked the other end and sure enough, not even a scar remained. After a while the pain had faded away, in fact he felt better then ever before in his life. He smiled devilishly as he held the granite blade in front of him.
"This is absurd" shouted the Empire General as he slammed his armored hand on the map spread out on the table. A young conscript barely out of his teens had ran in babbling something about a demon of fire and ice, something had certainly scared him badly and it was only after the general threatened to cut out his tongue did the boy finally calmed down and told him about the man with the stone sword. "Magic" spat the general venomously, if there was anything he hated it was magic. It was only by direct order of high priestess Manah did he even allowed the mages into his army, even then he made sure they had gotten the worst living conditions.
"Bah, I will see this so called demon with my own eyes" said the general as he left his tent out onto the hill overlooking the battle. From this distance he could see that there was indeed a warrior out there who had cut his way up the hill and was proceeding to massacre his troops. "Enough false heroics" he said as he motioned to the archer captain, "I want that man dead at all costs." The captain nodded as he shouted his orders to his men. They lined up on the hill and aimed at the lone warrior. They released their arrows as one mowing down their own men who were unfortunate to get caught in the cross-fire. Men screamed as arrows punctured their back and in front a war god was slaughtering them with ease, all the while Evengard had ignored the arrows, several puncturing his head and chest yet not one drop of blood spilled from these grave wounds. The General stared in horror at the results of the barrage of arrows, what should have killed him fifty times over had done nothing to slow him down. "Fire! Fire! Fire!" he shouted again and again; his archers complied, each time striking Evengard fatally and each barrage as effective as the last. At this point Evengard was running at full speed towards the general ignoring the empire soldiers around him, those who got in his way were slain instantly without a passing thought.
"HURAAAA!" he roared as he smashed through the magical barrier without even noticing it and slammed the blade down into the shocked general. Finally his revenge had been exacted, one life for many. He had claimed the life of the Empire general who slew his village.
The next few moments was a blur, he remembered seeing the Empire jackals fleeing and his own comrades congratulating him, someone pulled out the arrows and other weapons embedded in him. He didn't care, he was just so tired suddenly. At last he arrived in his tent, exhausted he fell face down on his less then modest "bed" releasing the blade. Upon impact he had frozen over, an ice cold tomb for a vengeance driven warrior.
This sword once belonged to the guards of a holy sage. Though made simply and without ornament, the
sword's blade never breaks nor bends, no matter how often it is swung in battle.
Fourteen boys and girls protected the holy sage, all of them orphans abandoned by their parents. They lived together with their master as a family.
One day, the party was set on by a gang of brigands. The guards fought a desperate battle, rising again from the most grievous wounds to guard the path to the sage's carriage.
At last, not one bandit nor guard was left alive. The weeping sage took the sword his guards had held and blessed it, so that it might protect others as his guards had protected him.
"Sage Forik!" called out a young girl about 15 years old, "Scyre says that the convey is ready and we're ready to leave when you are."
"Thank you Fey, why don't you gather the others" replied the kind old man, though nearly blind he could still tell by people's voices which one of his adopted children was speaking. Fey in turn smiled and left to gather the other guardians. Though the youngest of the 14 children Fey could be described as "a wonderful child, although she could loose a little bit of energy." The 14 boys and girls were to accompany their master to the Empire's capital so he could talk some reasoning into the leader of this new "Cult of the Watchers" The old man reached for his cane and rose from his chair while leaning on the cane.
He felt his way to the front of the house and smiled one of his kind grandfather smiles to the group of children in front of him. "Sage Forik, this way please" said an attractive red haired man as he opened up the carriage door and helped guide the old man in. "Chris, Tannis, take the reigns, Fey, your with me guarding the back, the rest fall into formation like we practiced." An assortment of "yes Scyre" replied to his order as the children fell into a practiced formation with the carriage in the center.
"Where are the Empire guards?" asked Sage Forik after he realized that he couldn't hear the heavy metal associated with the Empire armor.
"We don't know master, we had waited three hours before we decided to proceed ahead. The road is well traveled and we're in empire territory. I don't think there will be any problems." Replied Scyre while he turned around to check if they were being followed, "besides we are better trained then most of the Empire guards."
"Well, I trust your judgment Scyre, but at the first sign of trouble I want all of you to flee alright?" said the Sage.
"Nonsense!" shouted Fey, "you have to get to the empire, it is a matter of national security."
"Enough talk" said Scyre, "we are nearing the forest, keep on a look out for ambushes everyone."
"Ahh!" shouted Tannis as he sprouted the feathers of death in his chest. "TANNIS!" Shouted Chris as he leapt of his horse to help his brother. Out of no where a large group of bandits had seemingly stepped out from the forest surrounding them.
"What's going on?" asked Ferrik from inside the carriage. "Stay inside master!" replied Fey as she drew her sword preparing to lay her life on the line for the Sage.
"No," said Scyre as he held out his hand, "go ahead and get help from the Empire, hurry we can't hold them forever."
"What's happening?!" demanded the Sage. He stuck his head outside and saw that bandits had surrounded them. "Wait! Don't harm the children, its me you want right?"
None of the bandits responded, instead they rushed towards the carriage. "Something's not right. They're too well trained for bandits." Thought Fey as her blade danced through the bandits. "no demands, no threats… it doesn't add up" Finally she broke through the wall of bandits leaving her siblings to fend off the waves of enemies.
She ran forward through the forest as fast as she could. After a few minutes she tripped and stumbled forward flying through the air and hitting a tree hard. "What the?" said Fey as she turned around. A small gasp escaped her lips when she saw the object; it was an empty imperial armor. Suddenly it made sense; the missing guards, the inexplicable combat ability. She scrambled back as fast as she could to the battle site just in time to see Scyre get stabbed through the stomach by the last "bandit"
"Ughh, you… must… live… master" said Scyre as he attempted to remove the blade, from his stomach. His blood stained sword laid discarded far from his reach and with one last cough of blood his life was claimed by the reapers.
"SCYRE! YOU BASTARD!" shouted Fey. Anger filled every fiber of her body and she rushed forward taking Scyre's sword in her right hand and her own blade in her left. The bandit turned around to face her just in time to receive the two swords in his stomach and neck. The bandit gargled his dieing breath and fell forward, his own blade stabbing Fey.
"ahhh…master…I'm sorry I failed…." Said Fey as her soul joined her siblings to be harbored by the reapers.The ground around the carriage was littered with bodies and blood, the horror of it all, the screams still ringing in the air. Ferik couldn't take it anymore he spilled out the carriage trembling. Tears streamed down his face as he gripped the two swords that were used to kill the final bandit. His tears fell on them, all his grief, regret, guilt, anger, sorrow. It all gathered in his tears as he continued to cry over the blades they mixed with the blood, blackening it making them reflect his grief and sorrow. He took the damaged swords with him to the capital so he would never forget the guardians.
Drakengard 1 version
This sword belonged to a royal family whose kingdom was destroyed by an evil dragon. The
vengeful rage of the family smolders deep within the blade, hidden by the sword's gaudy beauty.
Whoever takes up the sword will suffer from the family's bitter curse. Evil dreams will haunt the victim's nights till he is overtaken by a baleful death.
A king of a certain small nation was struck by the sword's beauty and took it for his own. But he, too, became plagued by nightmares, and one day his life and kingdom were taken from him by dragons.
There is but one means to escape the sword's curse: Slay the same dragon that killed the royal family. But no man has yet possessed the strength to cheat fate and break the spell.
Drakegnard 2 version
Once upon a time, on a warm spring day, an evil dragon attacked a palace. He killed the
royal family, the palace guard, and even the court jester, just because he felt like it. Satisfied with his work, the dragon settled down for a nap in the
throne room, and it was then that a little girl walked in, holding a sword. She shook the dragon awake.
She asked, "Could you tell me where the king is, please? I have to kill him." Rather taken back, the dragon replies, "I've already eaten him." Hearing this, the little girl bow politely and said "Thank you very much!" Puzzled by her appreciation, the dragon asked, "Why do you thank me, little girl?"
The girl replied, "The king you ate was not the true king. My dead mummy told me that he took the palace from my daddy. That's why I had to kill him - to get my palace back!" The little girl wasn't lying either. She really was the rightful heir t the throne.
The girl continued, "Now I'm Queen, I'm going to kill all the people who let my daddy die!" The dragon laughed and said," Very well, little Queen. Then I shall bestow my power upon you and your sword." So they exchanged their beating hearts. Then the little girl took her sword, slaughtered everyone, and lived happily aver after.
Author's notes: As you can tell there are two versions of the history for this weapon, so thus I am going to make two stories, one will be silly to the point of insanity and the other will be serious. But first, time for some silliness.
It was nice spring day that day. Not too cold and not too hot, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The grass was green, the birds were singing and everything was just fine and dandy. Everywhere one went was the smell of fresh flowers, and of course napalm in the morning.
Why was there the fresh smell of napalm so early in the morning? Cause Mr. Regdor was taking a walk in the neighborhood, and being a dragon; no walk is complete without picking up a few snacks along the way. To the massive black dragon the castle looked like what would be the equivalent of a buffet bar.
"Oh it's a beautiful day in this neighborhood" "AHHHHH" "a beautiful day for a neighbor" "ACH! HANS RUN!" "Would you be mine- *burp* excuse me" "Nooooo not the court jester!"
The burning pain mingled surprisingly well with the dragon's humming. Finally the dragon had gorged itself on the residents of the entire castle and decided to lie down for a quick nap.
*poke* "hmmm?" said Mr. Regdor as once more he was poked softly, when he opened up his eyes there in front of him was a little girl no older then 10 standing with a large sword that was obviously too big for her. "may I help you little girl?" asked the dragon.
"Excuse me Mr. Dragon, but do you know where I can find the king?" said the girl politely.
"The king? I'm sorry little girl but you just missed him, I would have waited for you to come by before eating him if I had known you needed to talk to him" replied the dragon.
"Wait, I must thank you Mr. Dragon for killing him" said the girl with a small courtesy. She then proceeded to tell the dragon how her father was the real king and since he died that made her the new queen.
"Now I must go kill everyone who let him die!" she said.
"now now, that's not the right thing to say." Said the dragon sternly.
"You should be, these are trained professionals! I will accompany you to make sure that you won't get harmed ok?"
"Oh thank you Mr. Dragon!"
"No problem, just being a good neighbor." And with that they exchanged hearts and formed the pact. The two skipped off into the sunset leaving a trail of corpses behind them. Yup, a nice Spring day,
A gift to Caim from his beloved father. Since he was a young child, Caim idolized his gentle father and longed to fight
strongly and bravely in battle beside him.
But the dark shadow of the Empire fell over their peaceful kingdom. The Empire grew stronger and stronger, until one day Caim's castle was attacked by the Imperial black dragons.
"Caim, take Furiae and flee!"
So ordered Caim's father, but even before Caim was able to answer, his parents were slain before his very eyes.
Clutching the sword that was a gift from his father, Caim swore upon it revenge for the loss of his parents. Even now an unquenchable rage still fills his heart.
King Hendrick hated sitting on his throne. It was hard, uncomfortable, and for some reason whenever he sat on it, an unsaid universal message is sent to everyone from all corners of the kingdom to come and complain. However, Hendrick was different from most kings. Sure he had became king by choice, but not out of greed or ambition but to keep the throne away from the other fools that considered themselves "candidates". The only consolation was the prescience of his beautiful wife and newborn daughter
Personally he would have liked to be on the battle field protecting his fledgling country from the besatmen, or out in the courtyard helping his son train. Instead he was stuck in a small cold room surrounded by smelly armored men and corrupt "advisors". He could be with his son right now but his country came first. Speaking of his son….
"How fares the young prince?" asked the king as the hired teacher came into the room. The man in turn sighed while trying to think of an appropriate response.
"He has an amazing amount of potential and is a quick learner, today he had already mastered 5 forms of the back hand blade in a matter of hours. But…"
"but? But what?" demanded the king eagerly. The instructor hesitated slightly before continuing.
"My liege, he lacks the fighting spirit, the killer instinct. He's too timid to become a warrior much less a proper fighter. He told me today that he would rather draw then train. So I asked him why did he try so hard to learn the swordplay and he told me that he wanted to spend more time with you."
King Hendrick shook his head and sighed. "keep working with him, if he's not going to be a fighter then at least he should know how to defend himself."
"yes my liege" replied the instructor with a low bow and excused himself from the room just as another peasant was walking in.
Young Caim, untouched by the ravages of war, was in the courtyard practicing the new moves he had learned earlier that day when the explosion happened. Suddenly everything was in chaos as soldiers ran to the throne room and peasants ran away. More screams and shouts as more explosions rocked the palace. Suddenly the world plunged into darkness; there was a deafening roar that filled Caim's every being with fear. Slowly he looked up and there was the largest dragon he had ever seen. He had always thought that his father's personal guards were the largest beings ever but they didn't even come up to the knee of the black dragon.
Caim stood there frozen by fear. The creature's large yellow menacing eyes rolled till they focused on the small boy in front of him. A cruel smile appeared on the dragon's face as the chest expanded with more breath. Just as it seemed the young prince was about to be consumed by the dragon's flame a battle cry pierced the chaos followed by a shadow leaping onto the neck of the dragon. There was the king holding on to his sword that had pierced the dragon's neck hanging on for dear life.
"CAIM RUN!" shouted the king while he struggled to keep hold of the blade. However, Caim did not run, his mind screamed at him to flee, every fiber told him to escape now while he could. But his feet were stuck to the ground; fear had kept him from moving.
As much as the king had wished to hang on to the dragon, he was only human and eventually the dragon's thrashing had thrown him off. The sword and king went spinning into the air landing on the dirt.
"FATHER!" cried out Caim as his feet had suddenly gained the ability to move again. The dragon loomed closer preparing for its kill when suddenly several chunks of ice fell on it stunning the creature. "Mother?" said Caim as he turned and saw the queen waving her arms franticly in a pattern for another spell. Next to her on the ground was Caim's baby sister Furiae
"Go…" said the king as he placed his hand on Caim's shoulder. "take Furiae and flee" he struggled to give Caim the broadsword that he was using. Caim nodded silently and grabbed the sword in one hand and took Furiae in the other.
"Mother… Father… I'll come back" he said just as a bolt of lightning arced out from the queen towards the dragon.
Hours later nightfall had arrived along with the bad news. Neither of them had made it leaving Caim the new king."The empire did this" he told himself, "they killed my parents. I swear on the grave of my parents that I will slaughter a thousand of them for every drop of blood they had spilled." And thus Caim was consumed by the flames of revenge.
This sword belonged to a demented painter who murdered innocents every night and collected their blood. With this grisly
harvest, he painted masterpieces the likes of which the world had never seen.
The painter had a dream. He dreamt that one day he would create paintings so powerful that all who viewed them would be at peace. Each day he painted feverishly, chasing his dream.
But none cared for his work, and he began to feel the cold, uncaring stares of others. Eventually, the soul of the sensitive artist was broken.
"Red! Crimson! Scarlet!" In a frenzy, the artist embarked on a rampage of murder and creation. It did not end until he turned the sword on himself and forged his last masterpiece.
(AN: yeah, demented painter and world peace doesn't work out in my mind. Small edit to the story)
"Rayast" called the sickly man towards his son, "Come here Rayast."
"Yes father, are you uncomfortable?" asked the young man who had been reading by the fire side. Obediently he went to the old man's side, "hurry up and die already"
"Rayast! I'm nearing my end! I can tell! Rayast, when I die I want you to be a better man then I was! Be rich! Bring peace! I don't care do something with your life" said the fat old man with his last few breaths, "Be successful Rayast! Don't let my family line be left in shame, *cough* take my sword, it will protect you after I'm gone"
"… I will father." Said Rayast before he went back to reading his book ignoring the dieing spasms of the man he called father, despite how acrid that word sounded. "The poison took longer then I thought it would."
"… and may his soul find entrance into the realm of the gods where he will join his loving wife" concluded the priest at the funeral. Rayast had been the only one to show up as his father had no friends or relatives that didn't try to pretend he didn't exist.
"Be successful huh?" said Rayast to himself after the priest had left, "you never deserved what little success you obtained yourself, you worked mother to death and beat me daily. Fine, I accept your "inheritance" from today forward though I will no longer be called by the Ackart name. Rayast Aston refutes his father's line!" shouted the man and spat on the grave of his father. Picking up the sword that was left for him he left that town for good.
"Ah young man would you do me a favor?" asked a traveling old man carrying a large knapsack. Rayast had been on the dusty road heading towards the capitol of the empire for several days. He had no idea why he was going to the capitol but he figured it would be a good place to start his career as… well frankly he hadn't thought that far yet. "Its getting rather dark out and I would prefer some company tonight, do you mind? I'll share part of my dinner with you"
"Hmm? No not at all" said Rayast while he silently cursed his bad luck, "here let me carry that for you" offered the man as he picked up the sack which the old man thanked him for. Rayast noticed that the sack was full of art materials. "Are you an artist?"
"Ah yes, I'm traveling to the capitol for the unveiling of my art gallery, you might have heard of me. Dio the painter?"
"Nope, not at all." "Really now? The Dio?" said Rayast only half paying attention while setting up the camp sight for that night, "I always wanted to meet the artist of those wonderful paintings."
And so the two talked a bit, ate dinner with some pointless chatting all in all Rayast never suspected the old man.
Rayast was never a heavy sleeper, he had to be aware of when his father was closing in with a belt or some other beating tool. So when he felt the undeniable aura of malice over him he snapped his eyes open and jerked to the side just in time to avoid the knife plunging into the ground where his head was only moments earlier. It was too dark to see who the attacker was and the moonlight was only caught on the rusty knife in the dark glade. The silhouette dashed forward with unnatural speeds in a jerkish manner trying to confuse Rayast while he reached out blindly in the dark for his sword.
The shade came within striking distance and Rayast had yet to locate his sword, in a desperate last attempt he flailed out his arms without reason. The rusty knife bit into the palm of his left hand and instinctively he gripped on to the knife yelling out in pain. He pulled the knife closer and caused the unknown assailant to trip forward.
The unmistakenable sound of flesh being impaled on metal was what Rayast had heard next, for a while the only sound that Rayast heard was the beating of his heart against his ears and the pitter patter of his blood on his left hand. Eventually his mind caught up and he let go of the knife and searched for a match to relight the camp fire.
When the flame casted its light across the area, the bloody corpse of Dio impaled on his sword was what greeted him. It was next to the tree lodged in the roots so that the blade was facing upwards holding the body and letting the blood pool underneath it. Despite Rayast reaching out several times in that area he had managed to miss the sword all together, what confused him was why the sword was in that position in the first place.
He scanned the surroundings and noticed that in the confusion the contents of the knapsack had been spilled out. Undisturbed by Dio's dead body he searched through the materials noticing that none of it was used and was relatively new. "Gods accursed! He was going to kill and rob me" Rayast looked around for something to bandage his hand but found nothing suitable and sighed wearily. The bleeding man looked back at the corpse of Dio and decided he might as well retrieve his sword. Rayast lifted the old man's body off the sword using his good hand and gripped the sword pulling it out of the roots.
"Ra…yast" came a voice in Rayast's mind immediately after he picked up the sword.
"Who's there?!" Shouted the man, "I'm warning you, I'm not afraid to kill."
"Red… Crimson… Scarlet…" came the voice again. Rayast turned his head back and forth quickly to see where the voice came from. Gripping the sword harder in his hand he once more challenged the unkown voice to reveal itself. He was in a state of delirium at this point lashing out at the campfire when he thought he saw a pair of eyes staring back at him.
"Paint…" came the unseen voice again and Rayast felt an unnatural compulsion to drop the sword and set up the canvas, his frantic eyes moving all over the place wondering why he was doing what he was doing. Rayast then gathered the brushes and angrily threw away the worthless fill ins the conman used to fill out his supposed role. Each brush made the fire pop and sizzle throwing chaotic light on the clearing till there was only one left. An actual painter's brush suitable for a professional, it was a sickly green that seemed to ooze out a blackness that only fueled Rayast's madness. "The paints…" Rayast checked the paint supply and roared in anger when he realized that there was no mixing palette and the red was missing. Then an idea hit him, a sick twisted one that made his lips curl up. He poured the paint directly onto the bleeding left hand and started mixing them there ignoring the potential poisoning he might get from it and infection. Rayast then went to the body of Dio and dipped his paintbrush into the bloody pool which seemed to absorb it and pulse like some unholy vein. He mixed it in with his own blood and from there slashed out recklessly at the canvas with his brush. "Hehehehe… HAHAHAHA…"
(AN: ok, finish this later, yes there's more. It's a long one.)
Author's notes: That's it for now. I'll add in some others