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Description

It all began with a notorious warlord, whose power seemed to have no equal. Once nothing more than brutish thug, suddenly he began to rise in the ranks of his gang. None could understand this sudden drive, but those above him refused to let such a simple pawn gain such heights. Their efforts were in vain, as he cut them down with ease and then rallied those who remained. Before long, he sat at the top, running the whole group while his enemies lay in pieces at his feet. This rise to power gained him considerable notoriety, and so did his signature weapon. A crimson and ebony axe, which cleaved through armor and shield, and pummeled entire platoons into paste. When he stepped onto the battlefield, the fight was practically over. No one could stand in his path, and he knew it. It wasn't long after dominating his gang that he hungered for more power and thralls. He organized his forces and marched against rival clans. They fought fiercely, but their leaders were cut down and the survivors were absorbed into his ranks. This terror was starting to spill out from the criminal underworld, as everyday folk and unwary villages began to face his hunger. Eager for a kingdom of his own, he turned his sights to the lands around him and vowed to conquer them. Though his forces paled against the might of the kings and barons, he alone had enough power to topple an army. Even when his men fell, victory was assured. No other man could face him in battle, and he cleaved through entire battalions to obtain his prize. Territory and resources started to fall into his hands, as he began to carve out his own kingdom. Fear spread across the country, the people scared that their towns would be targeted next. Kings and queens had nightmares of seeing his banners appearing upon the horizon, the omen of their inevitable doom. Assassins and famed knights were sent to stop him, but all that returned were their severed heads. No one could stop him and his beloved weapon, but one warrior dared to try.

Having witnessed the warlord's power in a previous battle, this knight realized that the man's strength did not come from this world. The ravenous man had somehow claimed the strength of some demon blade, one that made him unstoppable on the battlefield. Against such a cursed weapon, no mortal blade could cut him down, so he had to fight fire with fire. Seeking the aid of the court's mages and delving into the dark arts, he was able to locate the realm which forged this horrid weapon. He opened the way and connected with an entity that lay within. The being sought war and blood, and the knight promised glorious battle. A deal was struck, and from this unknown realm, a brilliant sword emerged. A glorious blade of silver and blue, whose edge never dulled and whose strike never failed. The knight claimed this weapon and rode out to face this warlord at last.

The battle that followed was legendary, one that left both sides standing uselessly in awe. The knight and warlord clashed with the might of gods, the clang of their blades shaking the very earth. The sky lit up with their strikes, and it was said that every missed swing and stab cleaved the ground in two. This duel lasted for hours but, at last, the knight struck down the terrible warlord, severing his head from his shoulders. With the cruel dictator slain, the battle was decided. The terrible horde was defeated and imprisoned, while the lands were returned to peace. The valiant knight claimed the demonic axe as a trophy, while he was awarded the highest honor for his bravery. For such a victory, he became the hero and hope for the surrounding lands, always turned to when terror dared to return. Every wannabe warlord was struck down, every rampaging dragon slain. There was no evil he couldn't conquer, as his miraculous blade made short work of them all. When he wasn't called to arms, he lived a life of luxury within his grand manor. This lavish life became more common, as all the vile creatures dared not enter this protected land, so his time on the battlefield became short and rare. This did not bother him in the slightest, as this peace and quiet was the sign of good times. However, his blade thought differently...

As these periods of rest went from days, to weeks, to months, the sacred sword held at his side began to grow weary. He had allowed himself to be summoned to this land to partake in battle, not rust in some dusty sheath. His wielder was indeed a skilled warrior, but these abilities were now rarely being tested. It seemed now his owner was content sitting around drinking wine and entertaining parties, two of the many things this blade saw as "agonizingly dull." Even when some foe reared their head, it did little to lift his mood. What they faced were incompetent goons and mindless beasts, things best seen as fodder than any real challenge. These fights were settled in seconds, and then it was back to the lazy manor to sit and rust. Where was the thrill? Where was the burning passion of fierce battle? It was nowhere to be found, as no being in this realm could stand more than moments before them. No one, except that one warlord and his incredible axe. Now there was a duel! He could still hear the ringing of their blows, still feel the rattle of his metal as he fought back against that unyielding force. That was a fight for the ages, and one he so dearly missed. It was this longing that led him to that musty basement, where that axe now lay. Once a grand trophy, now left bound and sealed within the cellar, doing nothing but gathering dust. It was a feeling he knew all too well. At first he visited that weapon to recall the old days, and that was when he made contact with her. He had felt it on the battlefield when they fought, but he had never thought before to give this being a moment of his time. She was from the same place as he, forged in the same realm and also lured to this land with the promise of glory and violence. Their first talk went on for hours, and soon he visited her in her moldy prison every night while his owner slept. They recalled their past battles, swapped their strategies and wondered about the glories that lay within this realm. It was these chats that made them realize what they were truly missing: a worthy nemesis. A foe that could match them toe-to-toe, able to push them to their limit and break them when they faltered. There was no being or person in this realm that could fill this role, except for each other. Tired of this endless monotony and thrilled by the prospect of true battle, the sword cut the axe free from her prison and the two vanished into the night. His owner awoke to an empty sheath and a missing trophy, his most powerful weapon long gone. He never found his sacred blade, as a few days later, he was beaten to death by an unruly mob. The now useless hero was vanquished, and the land returned to its usual state of acceptable chaos.

The death of their wielders undid their contracts, and the two weapons were now free in this realm. They answered to no master, and they were bound by no rules. To the mortals of this world, they seemed like nothing more than strange blades, but in truth, they were living constructs born from an otherworldly forge. They could shed their deadly bodies and take on their true forms, often far from the eyes of mortals. This was how they would travel the globe, seeking out their next thrill and eyeing prospective targets. By their will, they could turn themselves into any weapon, though each were quite particular about what they became. The demonic axe, whose true name was Yksidin, had a love for powerful and brutish weaponry. Hammers, axes, clubs and other crushing implements was what she favored, as she enjoyed the feeling of shattering foes with her might. The holy blade, known as Zweiux, leaned more towards the weapons of dexterity and elegance. Speed and skill was his trade, turning a duel into a dance of blades and blood. To evade a foes strikes and slip past their defenses for a quick killing blow, that was the sign of a true master. Both felt that their methods and forms were better than the others, but arguments over words was useless. To prove who was truly superior was to partake in battle, but a sword cannot swing itself. The duo would need hosts, and then the games could begin.

When they have deemed it time to fight, the pair will turn themselves into weapons of their choosing and then drop themselves back to earth. They make sure to land themselves right in front of the mortals they have chosen, presenting themselves as gifts from the gods or just a valuable artifact that can fetch a fair price. It doesn't matter what the being intends when they see this godly weapon, all that is needed is for them to touch it. The moment a mortal seizes their handle, they will possess their body and claim their mind. Yksidin and Zweiux will each hijack a person and turn them into their host. With their bladed form in the victim's possession, they can control them anyway they want, and use them to pull off the fighting styles they dream of. Under their power, a farmer can become a swordsman in seconds, and a bumbling fool can be turned into a furious berserker overnight. When they have successful claimed their hosts, the game will officially begin. The two will seek each other out and engage in violent battle. These fights tend to last hours and are so fierce that they can devastate the land around them. A missed slash from Zweiux can cleave a building in two, while the slamming impact of Yksidin can unleash a tree felling quake. These effects are ignored, as they are too busy trying to defeat the other. Eventually, though, a victor will emerge after butchering their foe. Glory and gloating will come, and then the two will ditch their hosts and return to their personal hideaway to tally the score. One host will awaken with no memory of how they got there or why they are wearing this ridiculous armor. The other one will be very much dead. This means nothing to the two, as this realm has no end to humans and other critters. Cripes, they pop out new ones every day! What really matters is the tally on their scoreboard, as that deems who is the best. The one with the highest number of victories is the champion, but this game doesn't end after a few duels. No, it goes on until....whenever they decide to end it, but it doesn't seem to be soon. Every duel adds a mark to the board, and adds fuel to their desire to beat the other in combat. However, straight duels have started to grow stale over the past few games, so the duo has started getting creative.

Now when they choose to duel, they come up with new rules and limitations in order to make it interesting. No need to bore themselves on plain old fighting. Usually the loser of the last round gets to make the rules and conditions, that way there is always a fighting chance. These rules have gone from simple to ridiculous, as the two seek to outdo the other and take the lead on the scoreboard. There was the one time they chose to take the form of cooking utensils (no knives) and have a duel to the death with possessed chefs (It was death by a thousand cuts, as Zweiux claimed victory with his form of cheese grater). Another time they chose to be wielded by animals, so it was a battle of the beasts (Yksidin's strategy of raiding a zoo and stomping Zweiux's wolf to death with an elephant is still hotly debated). It doesn't matter how extreme or bizarre, as long as there is a battle to be had and points to be awarded. Victory brings bragging rights and showboating, while the loser useless complains about loopholes and unfair conditions. No matter how much they whine or argue, the two still have upmost respect for one another and are always eager for the next brawl. However, the lands they choose to fight in aren't too thrilled, as they tend to leave it a smoking crater by the time they are done. Or when they hijack someone else's crusade and steer it into another army because this week's fight is centered around religious wars. It is always a disaster, but good luck stopping them.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A pair of characters I have always wanted to add to this world. A pair of eldritch weapons that make their own games and use the mortal realm as their playground. With their names and colors, I imagine you can see what I was going for. They aren't villains because they wish to conquer the world and such, but because they like to steal other people's bodies and then level towns with their destructive duels. It's like an anime fight, but unfortunately it happens in places where people live and they don't really care about collateral damage.

Also coloring kind of screwed up the chalk lines, so sorry about that.

Description

It all began with a notorious warlord, whose power seemed to have no equal. Once nothing more than brutish thug, suddenly he began to rise in the ranks of his gang. None could understand this sudden drive, but those above him refused to let such a simple pawn gain such heights. Their efforts were in vain, as he cut them down with ease and then rallied those who remained. Before long, he sat at the top, running the whole group while his enemies lay in pieces at his feet. This rise to power gained him considerable notoriety, and so did his signature weapon. A crimson and ebony axe, which cleaved through armor and shield, and pummeled entire platoons into paste. When he stepped onto the battlefield, the fight was practically over. No one could stand in his path, and he knew it. It wasn't long after dominating his gang that he hungered for more power and thralls. He organized his forces and marched against rival clans. They fought fiercely, but their leaders were cut down and the survivors were absorbed into his ranks. This terror was starting to spill out from the criminal underworld, as everyday folk and unwary villages began to face his hunger. Eager for a kingdom of his own, he turned his sights to the lands around him and vowed to conquer them. Though his forces paled against the might of the kings and barons, he alone had enough power to topple an army. Even when his men fell, victory was assured. No other man could face him in battle, and he cleaved through entire battalions to obtain his prize. Territory and resources started to fall into his hands, as he began to carve out his own kingdom. Fear spread across the country, the people scared that their towns would be targeted next. Kings and queens had nightmares of seeing his banners appearing upon the horizon, the omen of their inevitable doom. Assassins and famed knights were sent to stop him, but all that returned were their severed heads. No one could stop him and his beloved weapon, but one warrior dared to try.

Having witnessed the warlord's power in a previous battle, this knight realized that the man's strength did not come from this world. The ravenous man had somehow claimed the strength of some demon blade, one that made him unstoppable on the battlefield. Against such a cursed weapon, no mortal blade could cut him down, so he had to fight fire with fire. Seeking the aid of the court's mages and delving into the dark arts, he was able to locate the realm which forged this horrid weapon. He opened the way and connected with an entity that lay within. The being sought war and blood, and the knight promised glorious battle. A deal was struck, and from this unknown realm, a brilliant sword emerged. A glorious blade of silver and blue, whose edge never dulled and whose strike never failed. The knight claimed this weapon and rode out to face this warlord at last.

The battle that followed was legendary, one that left both sides standing uselessly in awe. The knight and warlord clashed with the might of gods, the clang of their blades shaking the very earth. The sky lit up with their strikes, and it was said that every missed swing and stab cleaved the ground in two. This duel lasted for hours but, at last, the knight struck down the terrible warlord, severing his head from his shoulders. With the cruel dictator slain, the battle was decided. The terrible horde was defeated and imprisoned, while the lands were returned to peace. The valiant knight claimed the demonic axe as a trophy, while he was awarded the highest honor for his bravery. For such a victory, he became the hero and hope for the surrounding lands, always turned to when terror dared to return. Every wannabe warlord was struck down, every rampaging dragon slain. There was no evil he couldn't conquer, as his miraculous blade made short work of them all. When he wasn't called to arms, he lived a life of luxury within his grand manor. This lavish life became more common, as all the vile creatures dared not enter this protected land, so his time on the battlefield became short and rare. This did not bother him in the slightest, as this peace and quiet was the sign of good times. However, his blade thought differently...

As these periods of rest went from days, to weeks, to months, the sacred sword held at his side began to grow weary. He had allowed himself to be summoned to this land to partake in battle, not rust in some dusty sheath. His wielder was indeed a skilled warrior, but these abilities were now rarely being tested. It seemed now his owner was content sitting around drinking wine and entertaining parties, two of the many things this blade saw as "agonizingly dull." Even when some foe reared their head, it did little to lift his mood. What they faced were incompetent goons and mindless beasts, things best seen as fodder than any real challenge. These fights were settled in seconds, and then it was back to the lazy manor to sit and rust. Where was the thrill? Where was the burning passion of fierce battle? It was nowhere to be found, as no being in this realm could stand more than moments before them. No one, except that one warlord and his incredible axe. Now there was a duel! He could still hear the ringing of their blows, still feel the rattle of his metal as he fought back against that unyielding force. That was a fight for the ages, and one he so dearly missed. It was this longing that led him to that musty basement, where that axe now lay. Once a grand trophy, now left bound and sealed within the cellar, doing nothing but gathering dust. It was a feeling he knew all too well. At first he visited that weapon to recall the old days, and that was when he made contact with her. He had felt it on the battlefield when they fought, but he had never thought before to give this being a moment of his time. She was from the same place as he, forged in the same realm and also lured to this land with the promise of glory and violence. Their first talk went on for hours, and soon he visited her in her moldy prison every night while his owner slept. They recalled their past battles, swapped their strategies and wondered about the glories that lay within this realm. It was these chats that made them realize what they were truly missing: a worthy nemesis. A foe that could match them toe-to-toe, able to push them to their limit and break them when they faltered. There was no being or person in this realm that could fill this role, except for each other. Tired of this endless monotony and thrilled by the prospect of true battle, the sword cut the axe free from her prison and the two vanished into the night. His owner awoke to an empty sheath and a missing trophy, his most powerful weapon long gone. He never found his sacred blade, as a few days later, he was beaten to death by an unruly mob. The now useless hero was vanquished, and the land returned to its usual state of acceptable chaos.

The death of their wielders undid their contracts, and the two weapons were now free in this realm. They answered to no master, and they were bound by no rules. To the mortals of this world, they seemed like nothing more than strange blades, but in truth, they were living constructs born from an otherworldly forge. They could shed their deadly bodies and take on their true forms, often far from the eyes of mortals. This was how they would travel the globe, seeking out their next thrill and eyeing prospective targets. By their will, they could turn themselves into any weapon, though each were quite particular about what they became. The demonic axe, whose true name was Yksidin, had a love for powerful and brutish weaponry. Hammers, axes, clubs and other crushing implements was what she favored, as she enjoyed the feeling of shattering foes with her might. The holy blade, known as Zweiux, leaned more towards the weapons of dexterity and elegance. Speed and skill was his trade, turning a duel into a dance of blades and blood. To evade a foes strikes and slip past their defenses for a quick killing blow, that was the sign of a true master. Both felt that their methods and forms were better than the others, but arguments over words was useless. To prove who was truly superior was to partake in battle, but a sword cannot swing itself. The duo would need hosts, and then the games could begin.

When they have deemed it time to fight, the pair will turn themselves into weapons of their choosing and then drop themselves back to earth. They make sure to land themselves right in front of the mortals they have chosen, presenting themselves as gifts from the gods or just a valuable artifact that can fetch a fair price. It doesn't matter what the being intends when they see this godly weapon, all that is needed is for them to touch it. The moment a mortal seizes their handle, they will possess their body and claim their mind. Yksidin and Zweiux will each hijack a person and turn them into their host. With their bladed form in the victim's possession, they can control them anyway they want, and use them to pull off the fighting styles they dream of. Under their power, a farmer can become a swordsman in seconds, and a bumbling fool can be turned into a furious berserker overnight. When they have successful claimed their hosts, the game will officially begin. The two will seek each other out and engage in violent battle. These fights tend to last hours and are so fierce that they can devastate the land around them. A missed slash from Zweiux can cleave a building in two, while the slamming impact of Yksidin can unleash a tree felling quake. These effects are ignored, as they are too busy trying to defeat the other. Eventually, though, a victor will emerge after butchering their foe. Glory and gloating will come, and then the two will ditch their hosts and return to their personal hideaway to tally the score. One host will awaken with no memory of how they got there or why they are wearing this ridiculous armor. The other one will be very much dead. This means nothing to the two, as this realm has no end to humans and other critters. Cripes, they pop out new ones every day! What really matters is the tally on their scoreboard, as that deems who is the best. The one with the highest number of victories is the champion, but this game doesn't end after a few duels. No, it goes on until....whenever they decide to end it, but it doesn't seem to be soon. Every duel adds a mark to the board, and adds fuel to their desire to beat the other in combat. However, straight duels have started to grow stale over the past few games, so the duo has started getting creative.

Now when they choose to duel, they come up with new rules and limitations in order to make it interesting. No need to bore themselves on plain old fighting. Usually the loser of the last round gets to make the rules and conditions, that way there is always a fighting chance. These rules have gone from simple to ridiculous, as the two seek to outdo the other and take the lead on the scoreboard. There was the one time they chose to take the form of cooking utensils (no knives) and have a duel to the death with possessed chefs (It was death by a thousand cuts, as Zweiux claimed victory with his form of cheese grater). Another time they chose to be wielded by animals, so it was a battle of the beasts (Yksidin's strategy of raiding a zoo and stomping Zweiux's wolf to death with an elephant is still hotly debated). It doesn't matter how extreme or bizarre, as long as there is a battle to be had and points to be awarded. Victory brings bragging rights and showboating, while the loser useless complains about loopholes and unfair conditions. No matter how much they whine or argue, the two still have upmost respect for one another and are always eager for the next brawl. However, the lands they choose to fight in aren't too thrilled, as they tend to leave it a smoking crater by the time they are done. Or when they hijack someone else's crusade and steer it into another army because this week's fight is centered around religious wars. It is always a disaster, but good luck stopping them.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A pair of characters I have always wanted to add to this world. A pair of eldritch weapons that make their own games and use the mortal realm as their playground. With their names and colors, I imagine you can see what I was going for. They aren't villains because they wish to conquer the world and such, but because they like to steal other people's bodies and then level towns with their destructive duels. It's like an anime fight, but unfortunately it happens in places where people live and they don't really care about collateral damage.

Also coloring kind of screwed up the chalk lines, so sorry about that.