Name: Y.W.
Your legend:
The Dykan clan was under attack. For centuries they had lived as a peaceful tribe along with the others on the mainland. But recently, the Omadaki clan had started their crusade. They advanced their weaponry, invented new battle tactics. The rest of the tribes were unaware of this, until it was too late. Most of them had grown in an era of peace, never knowing the harsh days of war. When the Omadaki came, they fell quickly, not even a single spear or sword to defend themselves with.
The Dykan's were different. Long banished memories of battle came back. They crafted longswords, katanas, iron shields, bows and arrows, and many more. They held off the Omadaki for a while. Quickly, they became battle hardened warriors. In such a short time, almost all of them had seen many battles. But while their numbers diminished, the Omadaki grew larger and more powerful. They attacked the Dykan. The Dykan were scattered across the continent, adapting to their environment while hiding from anyone they saw, for fear that they were the Omadaki.
The Omadaki had finally found this group, after five long years. There was not many of the Dykan, but they grabbed their weapons and readied themselves for a final stand.
The battle was a slow one. The Dykan had positioned themselves well, making their numbers less of a disadvantage. They had practiced combat almost daily. But the Omadaki were trained for war, some fighting since they were born. Slowly, the line of battle crept closer to the Dykans. They were cornered.
At last, there was only five Dykan left, three women and two men. A young woman walked up from behind them. None of the Dykan recognized her, but they acknowledged her with a nod. They stood their ground grimly, prepared to take as many Omadaki to the grave with them as they could.
When the Omadaki reinitiated their attack, the five Dykan beheld a sight only they lived to see.
Even as the Omadaki charged, they fell. Many meters before they reached the Dykan, Omadaki were dying. Holes appeared in their chests. Some grabbed their heart and died. Screams filled the air. Even more blood colored the already red battlefield.
The unknown woman's face was covered by a black and blue mask. In her gloved hands she held metal contraptions with holes in the front. If one looked closely, one could see projectiles flying from them.
Once the Omadaki finally got close, the woman threw the metal objects over her shoulders. They disintegrated into black ash. She reached behind her, and from a scabbard which wasn't there a moment ago, pulled a huge black sword. There were glowing blue lines along the blade, especially the edges of the sword. The five Dykan felt her smile. With a sudden surge of adrenaline and bloodlust, they threw themselves at the Omadaki.
When it was over, the five Dykan and the woman were still standing. Around them lay the bodies of their enemies, in a pool of blood. None of the five Dykan or the woman were harmed.
The Dykan asked her name, and were each sworn to secrecy. Each of them led their own nations, and became great. They told this story to their children, and they passed it along. The legend changed each telling, but a single detail remained.
During the battle, the woman's mask fell off and disintegrated. As she fought, her eyes glowed a magnificent blue.
Stories like this one are everywhere in history. Some say she fought with a crossbow and knives, others with dual longswords. But all of them agree on one thing - first, her weapons and equipment were bright blue and black.
Her true name was never told, though each of the survivors in each story knew it. So they call her Y.W. - her initals.
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Topic: Roll to become the legend: turn 29: soiled chainmail and a voice in the air (Read 28421 times)