Sworded Tales
We all live storied lives. Each of us carries a unique muse that wields the limitless potential and horrifying burden of creation. The terror of shadow and the radiance of song calls to us all. The choice seems to be in deciding what you will do with this power, this singular glimpse of eternity that is yours and yours alone.
My own spark tends toward the darker elements of the trails we wander. I fancy swordplay, and apocalypse, and abominations that strain the mind. I will be true to story and character, and there will be ample grim tidings to overshadow the moments of bliss, and I will cuss aplenty. Sworded Tales is my concourse of these elements, of the writer, of the gamer, of the explorer, and I make no apologies. Nor should you.
I write for myself. I do not know where the journey will lead, but you are welcome to walk beside me. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Background for Jillian Defarrik
The nightmares of shadow and stone refresh Jillian’s anxiety with each new dawn. The sun’s rays may dissipate the darkened corners of her room, but the memories of her family’s imprisonment lurk ever more in the dim recesses of her mind. She would scream into her pillow if she could, but she can’t. Her voice would betray her to the hunters.
Jillian Defarrik enjoyed the pleasantries of a noble birth the likes of which can only be fully appreciated heralding from the cradle of civilization, the Vilhon Reach. House Defarrik offered opportunities to Jillian and her seven siblings that struck unique chords in each. The second youngest daughter, Jillian enchanted those she encountered with her lilting song. Days not spent amidst the stables and runs of the estate were otherwise filled with the rhythmic promise of musical aptitude. As she approached her womanhood, the blessings of her vocal performance were to open the ceremonies of the Eveningtide celebration.
A theatrical tragedy stole the stage instead. Jillian remembers very little of the trauma, only ghastly images which surface intermittently after the dreams. Crashing conflict awakened her, and she stole to the hallway to investigate the screams. Her father snatched her up after activating a defensive wall of force built into the hallway. As he darted away, she watched a figure pass through the energy barrier and materialize from a spray of shadowy ribbons. House Guards crashed by them to engage the interloper. Their voices raised in triumph and horror as sheets of flame filled the corridor. Her father smashed through a doorway into a servant’s hall as squawks and cackles of madness followed.
“Find Jericho and flee!” were her father’s last words as he shoved her into the dumbwaiter.
Jillian watched in enrapt disbelief as her father turned to stone before her eyes. His rigid fingers clamped her elbow with discomforting permanence as she gaped. The beaked chicken-horror that climbed up onto his shoulder leveled an insane gaze at the young girl. Her adrenal shriek and recoil tore her free of her father’s grasp, and she unconsciously worked the door and mechanism of the dumbwaiter, disappearing into the safety between floors.
Her escape was a slinking sludge of memories. She recalls finding Jericho though, her little brother. His stony, screaming visage was being carried away and carted off with the rest of her family. She did not linger to watch the entirety of her heritage cast in immortal stone and kidnapped. The pain of her father was enough to convey the anguish felt by all. She must survive and strive to find a means to save them.
Stowing away across the Vilhon Reach, befriending an honoree of the Emerald Enclave, and selling her signet ring to book passage across the Sea of Fallen Stars are all keynotes in her journey of pursuit and death, but they are tales for another time. Perhaps she will tell them in her own distinctive voice one day. For now, she bides her time and learns, seeking clues to the fate of her family and those that might aid her in reclaiming her former glory.