The Blood-Stained Blade Ch. 88-90

Ch. 88 - At Any Moment

Over the next few days, nothing happened. Evelyn kept the Ebon Blade’s new wielder abreast of the latest developments, but it was not moved from its hiding place. She was informed by the captain of the guard as to all the places his men had searched, and members of both her husband's family and her own sent messengers offering her condolences. 

Once, she was even visited by one of her older brothers. That conversation occurred in the room where it lay so it could listen to it. 

“People are saying it was the Black Blade,” he told her. “The King has forbidden such talk, but… is that true?”

“I hardly think the black blade would have spared my life,” she answered, “It was some cursed orcish thing. Why my late husband even allowed that greasy man to bring it into our home, I will never know.”

“Is there any way we could be sure?” her brother repeated. 

“I think our house priest might have made a sketch of it,” she answered, knowing that wasn’t the case. “I seem to recall it had a setting for a gemstone, but it was missing. There were some runes on the blade, too, but there were crude, ugly things.”

“No ruby?” he asked, obviously relieved. “Are you sure about that? All the illustrations speak of a fist-sized ruby that houses its evil magic.”

“I think I would remember a fist-sized ruby, Donavan,” she answered. “Tell Father that his seat is safe. It's only I and the people of the region that will suffer whatever has made its way into the kingdom.”

“They have yet to find any other victims,” he answered. “Perhaps this is over.”

“Over?” she suppressed a laugh, realizing at the last moment that such a thing would not have been in character for a grieving widow. The blade could see that she was enjoying toying with the man who she clearly didn’t like, which made the family situation all the more interesting to it. “Find is the keyword in that statement, I’m afraid. From the viciousness of the attacks, I’m certain that any day now, we will find whole villages massacred. Mark my words. Something evil has been unleashed on the land.”

Though the blade was on edge the entire time he was there, Donavan Palaron eventually left without incident. It was only after that that it started to learn the truth about all of this, which was so much stranger than it could have imagined. 

“My father is nearly three hundred years old,” she started, “And in that time, he’s had over two hundred children with fifteen different wives.” As a statement, it was bizarre since he clearly wasn’t an elf, but the whole thing got stranger from there. 

It turned out that King Rogal Palaron the Second really was the man who had lured Baraga into slaying a dragon and forging the blade before killing him and adding his very soul to the project. That infuriated the blade, but that feeling was mixed with a terrible joy. I will get to kill the man responsible for all of this, it thought to itself. Even after all this time, he will know justice!

As the story went, though, that need for revenge grew. “The reason he’s lived so long is because of his throne,” its wielder explained in a whisper as they lay there in the dark. “Officially, it's a blessing of the gods, meant to grant a just ruler a long life. The reality couldn’t be further from that truth.”

Apparently, the lessons that had been learned from its own creation had led to the creation of the golden throne in the years that followed. It had required the sacrifice of a hundred different farmers and peasants from all over the country to give it the proper connection it needed to the Inner Kingdoms, but as long as the King sat on the throne, he drank from the deep well of his own people and would not know aging or death. 

“Apparently, before I was born, he used to leave the throne often enough to hunt, feast, fuck, and whatever else it is that kings do,” she said, “But he’s grown older and more frail since then. He rarely leaves the magical monstrosity for longer than a few minutes now.” 

In a way, it’s similar to my own ability, Parasitic Link, it decided, though it didn’t tell its wielder that. If anything, it was far kinder than its own power. The King stole seconds from everyone to power years of his life, while the blade stole 5 days every day just to fuel itself. Evelyn was a young woman; she probably had 50 years of life in her yet, but as its wielder, she would live for less than a decade. 

Probably much less, the blade decided. Living for more than a few months was unlikely because those who lived by the sword often died the same way.

Still, now that it knew she was related to Baraga’s paramour, it was impossible not to see it. They weren’t the same woman, but Evelyn could have easily been that long-dead princess’ granddaughter. It would have believed that, and somehow, that tenuous connection made it feel closer to its first wielder. 

Less fortunate was the fact that the King had apparently become completely corrupted by the passage of time. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He didn’t look like a monster. He appeared to be a benevolent old king. It was apparently the social consequences of having one man and one family in power for so long. Every family of any power had married in with the Palarons at some point. 

“That’s half the reason I was married to the late Lord Gilles,” she complained. “Of all of my near sisters, I was the only one that had to stoop to a Baron. All of the rest of them are married to much more prestigious partners, but as of right now, there’s not a single eligible count or duke in the country that I’m not related to on some level. Can you imagine?”

The blade found the prospect almost as disgusting as her vanity. It wondered how it would handle that in the long term, but for now, it didn’t chastise her. She had too much to tell it, and it wanted to know everything. 

She explained years of corruption and favor networks. There were still organizations beyond the power of the crown, such as the Aetherarchy, and even rival nations of some power to the north, but otherwise, everyone throughout the Inner Kingdoms was a slave to the power of that throne. 

Not in the literal sense, it couldn’t read minds or control people, but it could summon rain to combat droughts and dissipate plagues, among other powers. Apparently, those were tightly guarded secrets. 

Does it have offensive abilities? It asked. 

“Some,” she agreed. “No one knows all of them, but it controls the castle golems and has some countermeasures against assassination. Truthfully, I never really cared about it. The throne is the least interesting abomination in the black book. I always much preferred you.”

The blade was tempted to ask about that, but it did not need to. The feelings she felt toward a legendary boogie man that came back time and time again in an attempt to kill her father were so intense that it quickly decided there was something wrong with Evelyn on an emotional level. It wasn’t in any place to judge, of course; all it wanted was to kill her father and raze his kingdom to ashes. Instead, it asked about the times it had attacked before. 

“You’d know better than me,” she explained. “Why wouldn’t you remember attacking the throne?”

I don’t remember anything from before I woke up, the blade admitted. Well, not nothing. I'm starting to remember a few things about Barga, my first wielder, and your father, but beyond that—

“But you are Baraga, aren’t you?” she asked in a disappointed tone. “That’s what the legends say. That you are Baraga, trapped in the blade.”

Sort of, it agreed. But it’s more complicated than that. Why don’t you tell me what the legends say about me? 

That was a much longer topic than the crown had been. It was so long, in fact, that Evelyn saved it for the following day after she came home from her husband’s funeral. The moment her servants left her, she peeled off her thick veil to reveal a wide smile. Then, she sat down until dinner and told it its own history, according to the storybooks. 

“You didn’t actually go mad, or come to life or whatever, for years after your creation. You were just a sword,” she explained. “With every victory, you grew more powerful until one day, when the Prince that held you went to hang you on the wall after a campaign, you refused to let go. Instead, you slew everyone that approached you and painted the walls red with blood.”

The Ebon Blade was forced to concede that those events did sound like it, but as much as it might have wished to learn what had triggered its awakening, its wielder had no answers. “We could explore the ruins if you want on our way to the capital. No one has lived in that manor in a long, long time,” she volunteered. 

The blade considered that but asked, If I was considered to be so dangerous, then why was I locked in a temple and simply forgotten about?

“A temple? Is that where they hid you?” she asked. “No one knew; it was a big secret, but that’s hardly the first time people tried to hide you. You’ve been buried in bottomless mineshafts and thrown into the sea, but somehow, you always return like a bad copper.”

Apparently, the first time it slipped its leash was less than a year after it went berserk. It was sent south under guard and then thrown off a ship three days out to see. It returned then, leading a tide of aquatic monstrosities, devastating three port cities that were so devastated that two of them were never rebuilt. “Only Stebara exists today, but I’m told you can still see the damage you wrought on the old sea wall,” she said with a smile. 

The Ebon Blade was happy to know that it had always fought to get free. It was less happy to know how long it had taken. The second time, it was buried in a tapped-out iron mine that was then detonated shut with magic. Though the legends don’t know precisely who found it in the dark, it was said that a dwarf found it, but the troll that ate the dwarf, the monster everyone remembered when it came to the surface almost eighty years after the first time it had been locked away. 

“People called it Baraga the Berserker,” she claimed, “and it just wouldn’t die. It set half of the inner kingdoms on fire that an avatar had to descend on wings of fire to smite you herself.”

Avatars? The blade did not like the sound of that. It had plenty of mortal enemies without engaging those of the divine sort. 

This last time, it had been gone for nearly a century, which was enough to spawn a series of popular bardic ballads claiming that it was no more. Some said it was thrown into a volcano, and others said that it was hammered into a celestial plowshare on the force of a dwarven god. Others insisted the Black Blade of Baraga was swallowed by a dragon and digested. 

Unfortunately for them, none of those things were true. It had returned, and this time, forearmed with all the ways it had been defeated before, it would ensure that it was victorious. The weapon didn’t even care what happened to it after all of that. It only cared that those who had created it were reduced to ruins. 

Ch. 89 - Isolation

The following day, they left with a very small entourage. Evelyn had packed it in her largest trunk, and after several hours, they reached a cottage. From the sounds of people talking around the carriage, it seemed to be a lovely day, but for the Ebon Blade, it was terrifying. It was trapped in the dark and cut off from sight for the first time since it had been buried beneath flaming rubble in Kalraka. 

-4 Life Force. 

It was forced to endure the long, meandering trek from one place to another for hours, completely blind. Worse, it couldn’t even devour the souls nearby because it couldn’t connect to them. The priests thought they had to put me in a cage out of reach from everyone. The weapon thought ruefully. All they really had to do was lock me in the dark. 

As it went, it decided that was probably the easiest way to destroy it. Simply coat it with molten lead so that it couldn’t see, and then drop it into the ocean until it was covered in barnacles and other less savory growths. 

Pondering the ways that it might be destroyed eventually grew too anxious for its tastes, and instead, as the wheels traversed the rutted road outside, it forced itself to ignore that and focus on everything that it had learned and what it needed to do next.

-8 Life Force. 

In theory, its new wielder’s plan was a good one. If it did not have an army to batter down the walls, then it needed a way to sneak inside, and she was an excellent way to accomplish that. Unfortunately, she was a woefully bad warrior and would be starting from a place that might even be worse than the shepherd boy it had started with.

It would need to address that, but with forty days of relative isolation, it wasn’t impossible to succeed. Apparently, she’d ordered her people to take her to an isolated game preserve that belonged to her husband's family. Though it had no dangerous monsters, there were rumors of goblins and other things. 

-4 Life Force. 

Evelyn seemed squeamish at the idea of fighting such vermin, but it didn’t care. If the King’s palace really had half the defenses she described, she would need at least the basics, or they’d find themselves hopelessly outmatched. 

The only bright spot seems to be her pain tolerance, the blade noted as he considered the options. Though he had her husband to thank for that, he didn’t think the man appreciated that he’d given her a gift that she used to slaughter him. 

For lack of anything else to do, the blade considered interrogating one of its two remaining mage souls but couldn’t think of an important enough question. So, it didn’t waste the opportunity and instead waited until it was free once more. 

-4 Life Force. 

The trip took at least five hours. It kept track by the twenty Life Force it lost, one at a time. Upon their arrival, the group had only just unpacked her things and begun to set up the household when she threw a melodramatic fit about how she needed to be left alone to deal with her grief.

That, at least, Evelyn was good at. She was a liar, and she loved the attention. “But Baroness…” her ladies-in-waiting pleaded one at a time. 

They swore that they’d leave her be, and her servants asked how she would cook without them, but she still sent them away. The blade knew that she didn’t want to, but it was a requirement for what came next. While she’d been eager enough to strike down her abusive husband and his guards, it had found soft spots in her soul and knew she had no more interest in killing people that she saw as innocent as Ivarr had been, so there could be no one present to witness her training that would then have to be eliminated. 

-3 Life Force. 

Eventually, after agreeing to check on her every few days, Evenyln’s servants withdrew, leaving them alone. When they were gone, it was finally set free, and it studied the building and the lands beyond while she removed her black gown and put on an outfit that involved boots and pants instead of slippers and skirts. 

She’d referred to this place as a cottage and a hunting lodge by turns, but it was neither. The building they were in was a huge, two-story manor house that was small only when compared to the spartan three-story palace they’d just left. It had servants' quarters and a wine cellar. It would house a dozen nobles and their staff while a baron went out on a hunt, but it was entirely overkill for their needs.

It would work, but its luxurious surroundings weren’t enough to stop Evelyn from complaining about her practical outfit. The blade ignored her. Instead, when she asked, “So where do we start?” it answered by puppeting her body toward the nearest stump and stabbing itself in it to give it an unobstructed view for hundreds of yards in all directions. The view of the sun on the lake was probably quite lovely, but all it cared about was that it couldn’t be ambushed here. 

I want you to run from your home to the edge of the forest and back until your legs are exhausted, then, when you can run no more, you will rest by chopping wood with an axe and— it explained. 

“Running? Chopping wood?” she asked. “I thought you were going to train me to fight.”

And I will, the blade agreed, but right now you are weak. And we must begin to work on that weakness. You will exercise every morning we are here and train every afternoon.

-4 Life Force. 

The Baroness complained, but she did not refuse its commands. Instead, she carried them out half-heartedly, giving up after only three laps. Then she tried chopping wood with an axe after that but quickly found it the more irksome of the two tasks and returned to her running after only a few minutes, complaining about her sweating the whole way. 

It’s enough to make me miss Ivarr, the blade thought silently as it wondered just how many layers of spoiled indulgence it could remove from her in a month or so. Her husband had certainly mistreated her, but growing up as a spoiled princess had done her no favors. As long as one thought they were perfect the way they were, they found it hard to improve. 

-4 Life Force. 

After two hours, which she called grueling and it considered lackadaisical, she pronounced that she was exhausted and would make lunch. The Ebon Blade did not accept that, though. They would never get where they were going at this rate. 

When she touched the hilt of the blade to ask it, “What do you think about a nap in the afternoon before combat practice? I could tell you more stories and—”

This is not meant to be a leisurely experience, the blade spat, gripping her tightly and drawing it from the stump where it had lingered in the sun. You are here to grow strong, not offer elaborate excuses. 

“But I—” she protested. 

The blade ignored her. This will hurt. But it is better to hurt here than to bleed out on the battlefield, just short of our goal. It wasn’t a question.

“I agree,” she answered a little more hesitantly as the blade reworked the straps on its sheath with her hands and then slung it over her shoulder. It was a better position for what was coming next. “I’m just not sure what you want me to do?”

I want you to run like your life depends on it, the blade said as it charged forward across the grass of the meadow toward the trees on the far side. I want you to pour out everything you have, or I will do it for you!

The blade ran at three times the speed she had previously, even though she struggled against its control. Only part of that was its ability to make her exert herself more than she’d chosen to. The rest was its magic, empowering her. It wasn’t sure how much exercise she was really getting for her own muscles when she could lean on its strength, but it was certain it could exhaust her. 

Every one of its wielders eventually ran dry if combat went on long enough. Even Var’gar, who was a slab of muscle, eventually tired, and Evelyn would, too. What? Why? She asked in confusion. Just let me rest and eat!

The blade was in no mood to take it easy on her, though. Her need for vengeance and her identity made her a perfect wielder in some ways, but in others, it couldn’t have made a worse choice. The blade regretted that she was the one that had picked her up, but it was committed now. She had used it to shed blood, and they were bound by that blood until she failed or betrayed it. 

That did not mean it had to be kind to her, though, and despite her begging for it to stop or at least slow down, it used her body to run through miles of forest at superhuman speed for almost an hour straight. Sometimes, it would stop, but only when it found an animal large enough to siphon a few Life Force from. 

+26 Life Force. 

These pauses were never enough to calm Evelyn’s racing heart. Even if the breaks had been, she was too terrified for it to slow. The blade didn’t limit itself just to running. It used her to leap from boulders to branches whenever it wanted to look around, and minute by minute, it mapped out the area around the hunting house, preparing for the worst. 

There were no other buildings in the area, though it did find evidence of poachers from time to time and evidence that at least one village wasn’t too far away. Still, it was only when it reached a suspicious-looking cavern that it paused long enough to study it for more than a minute. 

The thing appeared to be a small goblin warren, and it decided it would be a good test when she was a little stronger before continuing on. The woods were vast but otherwise largely devoid of threats, which was unfortunate. It was only when it had made a full loop of the property on both sides of the meadow that it finally returned control to her and allowed her to walk wearily to her home, where lunch waited for her. 

+11 Life Force. 

“You’ve hurt my feed something terribly in these shoes,” she complained. “I’ll have blisters, and worse, they’re scuffed!”

You cannot have blisters, the blade corrected her. Not as long as you carry me. I will heal all of your hurts. That is part of our covenant and connection. 

“Well, that’s nice,” she answered, “But not as nice as if you’d treat me with a bit more respect. I am a princess and a baroness, after all.”

You are the daughter of the man that betrayed my first wielder, stole his soul, and forged me, the Ebon Blade corrected her. If anything, I should chop you and your entire family into bloody pieces and leave you for the crows. This is respect, and you will show me the same courtesy. 

Ch. 90 - First Lesson

The Ebon Blade let Evelyn rest for an hour while she ate, even though it was much more time than she really needed. After five minutes, she’d already fully recovered thanks to its magic, but that didn’t stop her whining. She complained about everything. 

“This bread is already starting to go stale. How am I supposed to make it last for half a week?” she bemoaned. “And this ham! Why couldn’t I at least keep my cook? She slices it just the way I like it! I’m hopeless with a knife!”

Which is something we will soon change, the blade agreed. 

Still, Evelyn could not be placated. She complained about the sweat stains in her perfectly lovely riding outfit. It was only when the blade asked her if she was ready to start her first real swordsmanship lesson that she stopped bemoaning everything and focusing on eating and drinking. 

After the heat of the day faded somewhat, they went back outside, and the blade proceeded to teach her the same deadly dance it had taught Ivarr months before. It did so slowly, explaining the crossovers and weight shifts where they were subtle or crucial. 

Overhead slash, block and riposte, side step, side slash, ninety-degree pivot, reverse slash, and more. For now, it glossed over the little flourishes and had her focus on the core movements, and for this, at least, the baroness did a much better job than she had any of her other travails today. 

+7 Life Force. 

She treated the movements like the dance it almost was, and though there was no force in any of her movements, for now, there didn’t need to be. It was just enough that she swung the blade smoothly and in the required ways. 

Eventually, she complained about even this, but the blade ignored her. It didn’t matter if her arm tired. That’s the point, it reprimanded her. When we are cutting our way through your father’s throne room, we may have to cut our way through an entire army of defenders. That would turn my last wielder’s arms to jelly, and he was much stronger than you. 

“The orc that carried you in battle?” she asked without slowing her movements. “Was he a good wielder? Do you wish he’d lived?”

He is dead, the blade answered with finality. But despite being less than human, he had a wonderful lust for battle and will be remembered forever. 

“I mean, I think I have a lust for battle that’s pretty—” Evelyn started to say. 

You desire to kill certain very specific people, the blade corrected her. A few members of your family, a couple of lovers, and others who have wronged you. A desire for murder is not the same as a desire to fight, and you will need both for what lies ahead. 

The weapon expected her to continue to defend herself as if her words mattered to it. So, it was blindsided when there was a moment of confusion that made her ask, “How do you know all of that?” she asked. “I told you about my husband and my father, but…”

+10 Life Force. 

I can see into my wielder’s soul, it confessed, realizing only belatedly that it had tipped its hand more than it meant to. Not as deeply as you think or fear, probably, but if you fantasize about who you’re going to kill with me, I feel it. 

Its wielder blushed at that revelation but started moving again, moving through the motions in an effort to make them smooth. It felt her guard raise against it slightly, but even so, with the full power to control its wielder, it could have broken through her mental guard. It was more embarrassment and self-consciousness than genuine wariness. Instead, it let her practice in silence and focused on devouring songbirds and squirrels that strayed too close, devouring their tiny animal souls in an effort to build strength in this rural place. 

It was slow. It was so slow, in fact, that it rejected increasing its reach the way it had. While it had made a great deal of sense in the midst of battle, enabling it to reap the souls of hundreds, in its current circumstances, the ability to drain a few targets much more powerfully would have been much better. 

There’s no fixing it now, it told itself. 

Perhaps in the future, it would find an opportunity, but right now, it needed to focus on its wielder. Her fitness was terrible, and her mindset wasn’t the best either, but her form was better than it could have hoped for, and at the heart of her personality was a vicious killer; it just needed to awaken that part of her a little more, though that would be easier to do when she slept, especially now that she’d raised her guard against it. 

+8 Life Force. 

The blade forced her to practice those moves for another hour. Then it cut down a tree with only a single stroke through the thing’s three-foot thick trunk and had Evelyn practice slicing it one thin section at a time like she’d done earlier with the ham. 

It did not enjoy the feeling of wood. It felt rough and unpolished compared to the succulent flesh that it much preferred to slice, though. For now, though, the blade ignored its own discomfort and focused on building skills. 

This brought more complaints. “What’s even the point of this?” she asked, hacking out random hunks of wood with half-hearted strokes. “Wood is no ham to be sliced. This is impossible.”

The blade let her go at it for a few more minutes with increasingly less effort, and then it took control of her again. It didn’t berate her or lecture her. Instead, grasping its hilt in both of her hands, it brought them down hard a foot further up the trunk to cut off all the ragged bits that its wielder had created. 

“I mean, that part isn’t so hard,” Evelyn insisted, “But you said you wanted it sliced thin, and that’s not—”

The blade ignored her, tuning her out completely as it focused entirely on the log. This wasn’t about power. It was about precision. Even so, it still used Amplify Blade when it was ready, bringing itself down hard and fast, a fraction of an inch from the end of the smoothly cut log had created. Because of the speed of the slice and the miniscule amount of wood it had removed, its wielder thought that nothing had happened. It could sense her surprise. 

“D-did you miss?” She asked. 

I did not, the blade said in her head as he bent over and retrieved the thin slice of wood where it rested on the ground like a crumpled piece of cloth. The thing was so thin that it was translucent, and it was closer to parchment than wood. 

It looked at the thing with a critical eye, noting that it could have made a slightly more even cut, but those details escaped Evelyn completely. “I… How did you do that?” she demanded in a shocked tone. “Was it magic?”

The only magic I used was power and precision, the blade said, telling her only half the truth. You are not ready to learn my other powers. For now, focus on committing to each blow with follow-through. If you fail to make at least one acceptable cut, we shall take another run through the woods before bed to focus on building up endurance. 

“But it’s almost dark!” she shouted, shocked at the idea. 

I can see in the dark better than you can in daylight, the blade answered matter-of-factly before going quiet. 

Evelyn wasted several more minutes trying to bargain or reason with the blade, but it ignored her. Eventually, she started hacking away at the trunk again, but even if her aim got better, there was no follow-through, which made blows with even her magical strength and its razor-sharp edge ineffective. It was like she was flinching at each point of contact rather than pushing all the way through. 

+7 Life Force. 

The blade did not accept that effort. And after it got dark enough that Evelyn complained she could barely see, it sheathed itself and started a second run through the forest. 

No, please, not again! She wailed mentally since it would not allow her to speak as it ran through the dark and scare off any game it might find. I’m afraid of the dark! You’ll run us into a tree, or we’ll fall down a cliff and—

If we trip, it will be because you are fighting me, the blade cautioned her. She wasn’t fighting nearly as hard as a goblin being forced into the light of day, but even if she was, it could have overpowered her now. It had grown substantially since that first fight. You must learn to trust me and work with me. You must learn to swing through your opponent and throw your whole heart into every strike!

I do trust you, she wailed. And I am—

As she spoke, the blade saw a black bear ahead. The thing barely noticed them before it forced its wielder to leap up onto the wide, strong branch of a nearby tree before slamming down like a thunderbolt. 

It drew itself in midair and landed, splitting the bear in half with one motion, feeling a respectable trickle of Life Force for the first time in days. The blade savored that moment even as he watched the four-foot-tall animal fall away from each other wetly, like two sides of pork.

+26 Life Force. 

What was that? She asked, terrified, as it resheathed itself and continued on in its heart-pounding race. Who did you… Who did we kill?

It was just an animal, the weapon told her, choosing not to tell her details, like the way the thing had been split neatly in two so quickly that it hadn’t even had time to cry out in pain or alarm. 

It felt her relief at those words. ‘Just an animal.’ I’m going to have to do something about this, the weapon told itself. She’s much too soft-hearted. 

Still, that line was enough to make it take the smallest measure of pity on her and return to the house soon after. She was exhausted and terrified and had another month of this treatment to endure. While it had no intentions of being gentle, it didn’t want to break Evelyn either. 

After her first real day of working out, she didn’t even try to bathe. She simply washed up with a basin and a clean rag, then devoured the loaf she’d complained about at lunch, along with a large block of cheese, and went to bed. 

That night, Evelyn slept like the dead, clinging to the blade in the wide bed beside her. Truthfully, she’d done better than he expected. That wasn’t quite praise. They would never win any wars like this, but it still had more than a month to make her into the woman she needed to become, and with its help, that was doable. 

Once she was asleep, though, it got to work, whispering into her mind the things she needed to know if she was going to become who she needed to be. You will become strong and focused, it told her. You must not give pity or half-measures to our enemies, and anyone who might discover us is our enemy. You have to strive for greatness and do what must be done.

Really, the blade was no great fan of being wielded by a woman. It was better than being wielded by an orc, but it still didn’t quite align with the souls that swirled inside of it, and it could probably whisper like this into her mind for years without changing that. Still, it would try.