Metternacht
From Hypercube
Contents |
About
Tall for his race, the drumheller of Belekrom towers over all but a few. He wastes no movement and speaks little. His face is stoic, almost severe, in its countenance. He has a close cropped goatee and long black hair that is held back with a simple silver clasp. Along the right side of his face is the white mark of a scar, running from the point of the cheekbone to just under the corner of his mouth. His eyes are gray ice and silver fire.
Metternacht, the Blademaster, was the avatar of Belekrom for centuries, but declined in authority when he was enchanted to break the seal keeping out Eringarathe and her brother Arastar. This also resulted in the return of their sister Deliana with her ally Madoc. He is apparently still angry with Eringarathe.
Weapon
He carries Lakota's sword Star Child. It is an exquisitely crafted blade of black steel. Deep within the heart of the blade there appear to be billions of stars swirling along in the dance of the cosmos.
Wife
He is married to Crystaille.
Legend
Calgar sat in the corner of the tavern, absentmindedly fingering a carefully preserved piece of parchment while surveying the smoky interior. As he waited for his appointment to arrive, his thoughts drifted to the past. To the last time he had come to a smoky tavern for an appointment like this one.
---
A brash young man entered the smoky main room of the tavern and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. Catching the barkeeper's eye, he signals for a bottle of his best, while slapping coins on the well-worn surface of the bar. He states quietly, "I am looking for Seeker, I have an appointment." In response, the barkeeper nods in the direction of a shadow draped corner table. "She's expecting you." Gathering up the bottle and leaving behind twice its value the young man makes his way in the direction the Bartender indicated.
As he approaches the table where the one known as Seeker sat cloaked in shadow, a soft voice drifted out from the darkness;
"Welcome, please, sit and be comfortable."
With a nod, he eased himself into the booth, the sounds of the tavern fading away as if he had entered another room. "You received my message, you have what I seek?"
"I received your message, you wish to know more of the one known as Metternacht." The soft voice states. "This is no small thing you ask, my young friend. Many have attempted learn more about the Blademaster. All have come away with more questions than they had answers." The voice fell silent; the muted sounds of the tavern seemed distant as the silence stretched on for what seemed like hours. The young man grew anxious, as the shadow cloaked figure across the table remained mute.
With a soft sigh, Seeker broke the silence. "I can see in your eyes that you will not be dissuaded from this. So be it. Your gold is as good as any others. I will tell you what I know of the one called Metternacht the Blademaster. What you do with it is none of my affair. Now pour the drinks and don't go spilling any on the table."
"Where to begin." Seeker murmured, her eyes growing distant. "The one known as Metternacht, or the Blademaster, has been around for a very long time. Longer than most people suspect. Even I, one who knows more than most, do not know for sure how long."
"I have heard many tales told by old soldiers. Tales that tell of a black armored Knight that rode with Belekrom himself during the War of the Gods, and witnessed his ascension to Godhood. Of a Knight who moved as the wind such that none could match him in combat save Belekrom himself."
"There are other, more fantastic stories, that claim he is himself descended from a God and that the blood of dragons flows in his veins. Others believe that he is a demon, stalking the land and pursuing an agenda known only to himself. Still others believe that he is death himself, come to collect those who escaped his domain. The truth of these stories I do not know. What I do know is that there are few as deadly or as skilled with the blade as he."
"Metternacht's documented exploits are legendary, and can be recounted by any reputable bard for far less than you are paying me. The Blademaster should not be taken lightly; those that do have all met the same bitter end. He is slow to anger, but once roused there is nothing that will stand in his way. Many have tried to sway him, but he cares not for money or political power. His defense of Justice as Grand Marshal is steadfast and swift. Should you earn his attention be assured that there is no hiding place deep enough, no army large enough, to prevent him from delivering your due. He is well loved by the citizens and denizens of the realms. His presence is an inspiration to all who daily battle the incursions of the incessant adventurers that plague their very existence."
Seeker places her empty glass on the table, the silence broken only by the sound of liquid pouring into the rapidly filling glass.
"Thank you, now where was I? Oh yes."
"There is one story that has been confirmed by others and hints at the age and power of the Blademaster. That is of his involvement in the release of the black goddess Eringarathe and her white sister Deliana. It is not known how or why he was chosen, but the Blademaster was indeed enchanted by Eringarathe such that he inadvertently spoke words of power jumbled with his normal speech, and the seal blocking her was cracked. How he came to possess the power to perform such an incredibly difficult magic spell single-handedly, is unknown, and is perhaps a hint at who or how powerful he is. I, for one, am not about to ask for an explanation. The few bold enough or stupid enough to do so have all regretted the act tremendously. For when Metternacht realized the truth of his involvement he flew into a rage the likes of which few mortals have seen and even fewer have survived. Thus began the feud between the Blademaster and Dameyante/Eringarathe. Many a servant of Dameyante has fallen victim to the wrath of Metternacht during the course of this bloody feud."
Suddenly, Seeker muttered a curse and there was a sudden in rush of air as she disappeared. The young man realized something was wrong, the Tavern had gone completely silent and he felt a presence at the entrance to the booth. Slowly turning to look he came face to face with a striking individual: Tall for his race he towered over all but a few. His movements however belied his enormous frame. Moving with a catlike grace and fluidity of motion he flowed from one position to the next, no movement wasted, each only as much as was required. He was reminded of a predator during a hunt, swift, lithe, deadly. This was obviously someone of great skill and experience. His face was stoic, almost severe, in its countenance. He had a close-cropped goatee and long black hair that was held back with a simple silver clasp. Along the right side of his face was the white mark of a scar, running from the point of the cheekbone to just under the corner of his mouth. When he finally met the steel gray eyes of the newcomer, he was surprised by the gleam contained within. Instead of a cold dead gaze there was a fierce fire, an undying will that was determined to prevail in the face of any challenge.
The stranger quietly stated "I understand you have been asking around about me."
As he spoke the young man's vision slowly went dark. When he awoke, he was alone in the booth, His head ached and the bottle was empty. Placed on the table, held in place by the empty bottle, was a note. Upon which, written in a clean precise hand, was the following:
A bit of advice: When asking questions, be sure you are prepared to hear the answers. When listening to rumor, be sure to consider the source. Not everything you hear is true and not everything you hear is false. Because sometimes, things are not all what they seem. -M
---
Calgar watched as the brash young woman entered the smoky main room of the tavern and paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. As she approaches the table where he sat cloaked in shadow, He said in a soft voice.
"Welcome, please, sit and be comfortable."
