These events took place earlier today right as the White Rapture began their attack on Dondegarm.
A small group of five men was going through a burrow hidden in the forest southeast of the city. One of the five men scouts the area in front, wearing the cult’s signature white robe while lighting the way with a sort of light magic and directing the rest to follow him. In the center of the triangle-like formation of the group behind the scout is a strong, lean man. He wears his ‘uniform’ differently from the rest by putting his dark-colored leather armor over the white fabrics of clothing that includes a hood to cover his head. With a dagger and a shortsword holstered at his sides, it gives him the image of something like an assassin from a certain video game franchise. While the equipment makes this individual stand out so much from the rest, it also sends those around him a message that he’s of an Advanced Class in this world, something that one achieves after much leveling up and mastery over the required skills for promotion. Because such a dedicated individual is fighting for a ‘just’ cause, it would be a great shame and mockery to the White Rapture’s reputation to not properly recognize and acknowledge his achievements. And so, while those in Novice Classes wear the generic white robe, no matter whether they’re a Mage or a Savage, they allow those in Advanced Classes to dress however they want, so long as they wear some white while wearing the mark of their cult. For this assassin-like character, he wears it on his sleeve compared to everyone else having it on the chest of their robes.
“You’re sure the weapon’s this way?” the leader asks the scout.
“Yes, sir! We’re just near the end of this cave! I had to disarm the many traps guarding the place ahead of time! There’s just the seal that I left untouched for you, sir!”
The man smiles under his hood as he sees the end of the cave and said weapon in his sights. The weapon in question is an oriental, straight, dagger-length blade that’s currently sheathed, tightly wrapped in many strings holding it aloft. Charms are attached to the strings to act as protective seals to keep the dark, cursed powers within the vicinity at all times.
“The Cursed Misfortune Tanto of Nyra … the cursed dagger that can pierce and cut through anything no matter how high one’s DEF is. It is said that even the near-impenetrable scaly hides of dragons are like butter to this blade. Such an immeasurable power for one to wield, with the cost of one’s sanity as the weapon possesses the wielder until the day he dies. Those foolish enough to try holding it only got possessed because their hearts were weak, had unstable morals, and no resolve.
“That’s why I, Rasholl of White Rapture in the Nightblade class, Protector of the Night, am the most qualified to wield this accursed blade and use its powers to enslave and smite the evil that is the Demon-Kin and Demi-Kin. The Demon-Kin were right to seal this away in their territory as it’s the very weapon that will bring their demise. It’s a wonder why this isn’t something like a holy weapon, but no matter.”
“You can do it, sir!”
“I heard he was a black-ranked adventurer before he joined the White Rapture! For someone that great while wielding a title like ‘Protector of the Night,’ he just has to overcome the dagger’s possession!”
“We’re with you all the way, sir!”
“Shh. Please, be silent, everyone,” Rasholl says. “I’m not worthy of your kind support, and I’ll need things to be quiet so that I may speak to the blade.”
Rasholl’s lackeys look to each other in confusion.
“Possession is someone’s will controlling another’s, yes? If there’s a ‘will’ in this blade, that means there’s a soul that has a conscience. It may be aware of its surroundings and hearing us as we speak. If I try talking to it before holding the blade, it might want to cooperate in our cause.”
““Ooooh,”” the lackeys say while nodding to each other in understanding.
“Now, I need silence, so that I may speak with the being inside the blade.” Rasholl then turns to the tanto holding aloft by the purification strings and clears his throat.
“O Great One that dwells in this blade! If you can hear me, I mean no harm! I wish for us to be comrades in the fight for good and justice! I have lived in hard times growing up with no family just to find bread and water, but I’ve lived an honest life! My heart wishes for a world of peace where we humans thrive! Please, let us work together to make this a better place for everyone!”
Rasholl takes his sword and cut the strings tying the dagger in place before grabbing it. He carefully undoes the leftover bindings around the handle and sheath while wiping leftover dust away. The weapon gets pulled out, revealing the luster of the blade in a unique jet-black color that shines under the scout’s light magic. Rasholl stares at his reflection while waiting for something to happen.
“You feel any different, sir?”
“Not really … but if nothing’s happening, that must mean the cursed weapon heard and accepted me, right?”
The others were about to nod in agreement until Rasholl hears something that the rest couldn’t. A feminine voice that speaks with malice and a hint of mischief, talking down on the human male.
What the haughty female says to the ‘Protector of the Night’ sends a foreboding, suffocating chill down his spine that he hasn’t felt in the longest time, long before his retirement as a black-ranked adventurer.
<“Fight for good and justice … a world of peace … making a better place for everyone … in all my years, I’ve heard Goblin shit talking better crap than you ever would, stupid human.”>
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Hello and welcome. You may call me Orange Rain, and I looooove orange soda.
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