Black Thunder
Knight
The Legend of Phantom Jack
http://www.rpring.com/hybrid-stories-screenshots/6262-legend-phantom-jack.html#post48089
Legend states that over two hundred and fifty years ago...
A hooded figure stepped into the Temple of the Avatar in Yew. His mud-covered feet, reaching the dark stone floor of the solemn holy place, carried the rest of his being from the dark, watery outdoor world into this behemoth of a structure. Calmly, but with a sinister precision, he removed his robe and laid it upon a stone bench in the back of the main auditorium. The faceless and almost lifeless being that once stood now became completely human, his clothing as plain and unremarkable as the rest of him. He was such a man that if one dared to choose to think of him, the idea of that man being anything but a common Yewian was all that could remain, as though the thought of any sort peculiarity about this man was a virus that the body immediately destroyed with it's natural defenses. But such a common man of Yew he was not. This was Phantom Jack, the most infamous thief in all of Britannia, a legend such that many even wondered if this specter was real, or just an excuse for more guards and higher taxes among the cities. This shrouded, almost foggy fame was something that Phantom Jack, as they called him, appreciated like a pipe full of flavourful tobacco. His stern eyes, prepared like the rest of him for the job at hand, looked to the front of the room, where the priests prayed over a glowing sword of silver, covered with holy runes and enveloped with a sphere of bright light, plainly a magic shield of sorts.
It was time for the critical move. Phantom Jack reached into a small bag hanging on his side, retrieving a black glove, made of Ent leaves and treated with magic shadows. This was the most crucial piece of equipment that his employers, a cult of necromancers based deep in the southeast woods of Yew, had given to him. Slipping the small glove on, it stretched over his hand to a perfect fit, neither too loose nor too tight. He began his stride towards the front of the large room, pushing past the occasional chapel-goer in his straight and unstoppable path. As he reached the middle of the room, his speed increased even faster, now turning into a heavy run. Reaching the front, with the two guards nearly catching him as he jumped onto the platform, his gloved hand reached for the sphere and the prize inside. As the glove hit the shield, he felt as if he froze midair. Suddenly, the glove soaked in the shield, dropping the weapon to the top of the pedestal. Everyone in the room, including Jack himself, bore a shocked demeanor. Suddenly snapping back to the gravity of the situation, Jack grabbed the sword, running to the back of the platform and out of the stained glass window, with the guards yelling for his immediate halt as he ran off into the hot, steamy woods nearby, the rain now stopped.
Picking the glass out of his leather armour, which in most places had not pierced through, he continued walking on for but a few minutes before he met with his trusted Appaloosa, a horse which had both a strong and gentle look, it's bright, white spots giving contrast to it's mainly dark body. Riding off, Jack was home free, ready to turn in for the biggest contract he's had in months. It wasn't ten minutes of rushed galloping before he and his horse arrived at the cove that served as the cult's temple. Walking in to meet his employer Kathan, the leader of the cult, for the second and last time, the dark lord inquired of the sword. Jack grinned, pulling from his bag the prize, wrapped in some leather. Removing the covering, he proudly raised the Sword of the One in front of all, brightening the dark lair with it's glory. With an excited but sinister tone, Kathan motioned for his bodyguard to retrieve the weapon. Jack lowered the sword quickly, with a grin more clever than before. Simply put, he requested the payment in full before he would hand it over. Kathan sported his own diabolic smile. Mentioning Jack in his legendary name, rather than Jack's alias, a hot feeling came over Jack, as if both a response to the shock that Kathan knew his identity, and as well a frightened sense of what was to come. Kathan's hand moved once more, and with it a barrage of crossbow bolts met with Jack's armour, piercing through and into his tender flesh. Realizing he had little of a chance to survive, he, still holding tight to the sword's grip, threw the great Sword of the One at Kathan, piercing him through. As the villainous scum was impaled, celestial energy poured out from the wound, nearly blinding all in the room and giving Jack a critical moment to make a desperate run outside to his horse. Jumping onto the side and slapping his steed, he was carried off into the woods, away from the lair of Kathan's cult.
Minutes later, his steed came to a stop in a clearing, where Jack slumped off to the ground. Looking at the beautiful sky, he remembered his life and how he came from a family of noblemen and soldiers to the infamous thief Phantom Jack- his final thoughts before he closed his eyes were how Phantom Jack would die in solitude without anyone knowing. As his heart slowly stopped, he said his final goodbye to Sosaria in his mind. But as the darkness came upon him and all thoughts began to disappear, suddenly a jolt returned him to consciousness- his heart began beating again. His eyes flickering open, he saw a wandering healer, a priest of the Avatar, standing above him tending to his wounds and healing him with light magic.
The man looked down to Jack with a grave, almost sad demeanor, explaining that the Sword of the One was the only way to stop the threat that Kathan's cult had created. Jack weakly assured the healer that Kathan had been slain by Jack's final toss of the Sword. However, the priest just shook his head- this threat extended far beyond Kathan and his cult now. There was no way to stop it now without the sword. In less than three hundred years, the world of Sosaria would face the threat of extinction by a genocidal demon. Jack sat up, shrugging with a nearly inhuman lack of worry. This was his time, and those in the future would take care of their own matters, he stated. The priest stood up, as if having finally made a decision he had been considering since the beginning of their meeting. Stretching forth his old hand, he pronounced a curse upon Phantom Jack, that he would forever wander Sosaria without knowing the peace of death, until the Sword of the One would be reclaimed from the forces of evil and used to destroy the menace that threatened all the world. A light, tattoo-like mark appeared upon Jack's back, that of an encircled Sword of the One with angelic wings stretched forth from it. This would mark the vagabond as he miserably wandered Sosaria until he could fulfill his purpose and finally find slumber.
This is the legend of the man called Phantom Jack, he who long after I have written this and passed on to the next world, will continue to seek to save the world of the future from the evil of the past, to lift his curse of immortality.
<A signature preserved at the end of this old book reads, "Arkay, priest of the Avatar, healer of lost sheep.">
http://www.rpring.com/hybrid-stories-screenshots/6262-legend-phantom-jack.html#post48089
Legend states that over two hundred and fifty years ago...
A hooded figure stepped into the Temple of the Avatar in Yew. His mud-covered feet, reaching the dark stone floor of the solemn holy place, carried the rest of his being from the dark, watery outdoor world into this behemoth of a structure. Calmly, but with a sinister precision, he removed his robe and laid it upon a stone bench in the back of the main auditorium. The faceless and almost lifeless being that once stood now became completely human, his clothing as plain and unremarkable as the rest of him. He was such a man that if one dared to choose to think of him, the idea of that man being anything but a common Yewian was all that could remain, as though the thought of any sort peculiarity about this man was a virus that the body immediately destroyed with it's natural defenses. But such a common man of Yew he was not. This was Phantom Jack, the most infamous thief in all of Britannia, a legend such that many even wondered if this specter was real, or just an excuse for more guards and higher taxes among the cities. This shrouded, almost foggy fame was something that Phantom Jack, as they called him, appreciated like a pipe full of flavourful tobacco. His stern eyes, prepared like the rest of him for the job at hand, looked to the front of the room, where the priests prayed over a glowing sword of silver, covered with holy runes and enveloped with a sphere of bright light, plainly a magic shield of sorts.
It was time for the critical move. Phantom Jack reached into a small bag hanging on his side, retrieving a black glove, made of Ent leaves and treated with magic shadows. This was the most crucial piece of equipment that his employers, a cult of necromancers based deep in the southeast woods of Yew, had given to him. Slipping the small glove on, it stretched over his hand to a perfect fit, neither too loose nor too tight. He began his stride towards the front of the large room, pushing past the occasional chapel-goer in his straight and unstoppable path. As he reached the middle of the room, his speed increased even faster, now turning into a heavy run. Reaching the front, with the two guards nearly catching him as he jumped onto the platform, his gloved hand reached for the sphere and the prize inside. As the glove hit the shield, he felt as if he froze midair. Suddenly, the glove soaked in the shield, dropping the weapon to the top of the pedestal. Everyone in the room, including Jack himself, bore a shocked demeanor. Suddenly snapping back to the gravity of the situation, Jack grabbed the sword, running to the back of the platform and out of the stained glass window, with the guards yelling for his immediate halt as he ran off into the hot, steamy woods nearby, the rain now stopped.
Picking the glass out of his leather armour, which in most places had not pierced through, he continued walking on for but a few minutes before he met with his trusted Appaloosa, a horse which had both a strong and gentle look, it's bright, white spots giving contrast to it's mainly dark body. Riding off, Jack was home free, ready to turn in for the biggest contract he's had in months. It wasn't ten minutes of rushed galloping before he and his horse arrived at the cove that served as the cult's temple. Walking in to meet his employer Kathan, the leader of the cult, for the second and last time, the dark lord inquired of the sword. Jack grinned, pulling from his bag the prize, wrapped in some leather. Removing the covering, he proudly raised the Sword of the One in front of all, brightening the dark lair with it's glory. With an excited but sinister tone, Kathan motioned for his bodyguard to retrieve the weapon. Jack lowered the sword quickly, with a grin more clever than before. Simply put, he requested the payment in full before he would hand it over. Kathan sported his own diabolic smile. Mentioning Jack in his legendary name, rather than Jack's alias, a hot feeling came over Jack, as if both a response to the shock that Kathan knew his identity, and as well a frightened sense of what was to come. Kathan's hand moved once more, and with it a barrage of crossbow bolts met with Jack's armour, piercing through and into his tender flesh. Realizing he had little of a chance to survive, he, still holding tight to the sword's grip, threw the great Sword of the One at Kathan, piercing him through. As the villainous scum was impaled, celestial energy poured out from the wound, nearly blinding all in the room and giving Jack a critical moment to make a desperate run outside to his horse. Jumping onto the side and slapping his steed, he was carried off into the woods, away from the lair of Kathan's cult.
Minutes later, his steed came to a stop in a clearing, where Jack slumped off to the ground. Looking at the beautiful sky, he remembered his life and how he came from a family of noblemen and soldiers to the infamous thief Phantom Jack- his final thoughts before he closed his eyes were how Phantom Jack would die in solitude without anyone knowing. As his heart slowly stopped, he said his final goodbye to Sosaria in his mind. But as the darkness came upon him and all thoughts began to disappear, suddenly a jolt returned him to consciousness- his heart began beating again. His eyes flickering open, he saw a wandering healer, a priest of the Avatar, standing above him tending to his wounds and healing him with light magic.
The man looked down to Jack with a grave, almost sad demeanor, explaining that the Sword of the One was the only way to stop the threat that Kathan's cult had created. Jack weakly assured the healer that Kathan had been slain by Jack's final toss of the Sword. However, the priest just shook his head- this threat extended far beyond Kathan and his cult now. There was no way to stop it now without the sword. In less than three hundred years, the world of Sosaria would face the threat of extinction by a genocidal demon. Jack sat up, shrugging with a nearly inhuman lack of worry. This was his time, and those in the future would take care of their own matters, he stated. The priest stood up, as if having finally made a decision he had been considering since the beginning of their meeting. Stretching forth his old hand, he pronounced a curse upon Phantom Jack, that he would forever wander Sosaria without knowing the peace of death, until the Sword of the One would be reclaimed from the forces of evil and used to destroy the menace that threatened all the world. A light, tattoo-like mark appeared upon Jack's back, that of an encircled Sword of the One with angelic wings stretched forth from it. This would mark the vagabond as he miserably wandered Sosaria until he could fulfill his purpose and finally find slumber.
This is the legend of the man called Phantom Jack, he who long after I have written this and passed on to the next world, will continue to seek to save the world of the future from the evil of the past, to lift his curse of immortality.
<A signature preserved at the end of this old book reads, "Arkay, priest of the Avatar, healer of lost sheep.">