A man in search of his people's redemption.
OCV — 8
DCV — 8
ECV — 4
Phases – 4, 8, 12
PD — 5/11 (0/6 rPD)
ED — 4/10 (0/6 rED)
Running – 6"
Swimming – 2"
Leaping – 3"
Tyr’ran Longblade had a typical Ulronai childhood. At the age of four, he was given his first blade and instructions in steelweaving. By the time he was 13, he was forging his own sword and was the pride of the Longblade clan. It was said he created music with the weaving of his swords in combat. Soon, he began to experiment with adapting his technique to different weapons. Suprisingly to the rest of the clan, he could sson be seen weaving intricate patterns with the quarter staff. As his father began to guide him down the warrior-mage’s path, the surprise turned to awe. Everything was leading to Tyr’ran Longblade becoming the champion and eventual leader of the clan.
This was not to be.
One the eve of his 17th birthday, Tyr’ran was sent out into the wilderness by himself to make the transition to manhood. He was only allowed the clothes on his back and his blade. He had to travel and survive for a week, and then track down and reunite with the Longblade clan. Days passed as he made his way through the land. He made his way to the River Shaanda where the Lord of the Graven Spear hand fallen long ago. It was here he had to gather some of the earth from the bottom of the river and bring it back home as a sign of defiance agaisnt the One that had cursed his people. He disrobed and made his way to the center of the river witha small vial.
It was then the bandits struck. Tyr’ran heard the shistling of an arrow through the air. Only his quick reflexes saved him. Casting Archer’s Bane, arrow shattered around him. The leader then appeared clothed in plate armor and carrying a longsword.
“Ulronai scumm, you will die now,” he growled.
“I think not,” Tyr’ran stated as the weapons of the other bandits exploded around the leader. “You may yet turn back.”
Even as the leader’s armor fell in pieces around him, he charged into the river, sword raised to strike. It was an enchanted blade and Tyr’ran’s magic had no effect. He quickly dodged, diving beneath the water. He gasped, grabbed a stone, and then kicked to the surface. The current must have taken him further than he thought it would because he surfaced within the rache of the sword. As it swung down, he instinctively raised his arm to block it. The sword hit, but did not even break his skin. Tyr’ran smiled fiercely and thrust the stone into the attacker’s heart. he was only a littl suprised when it withdrew just as easily as it had gone in.
He started to walk toward the shore as river behind him began to run red wiht the leader’s blood. The remaining bandits took off running.
Tyr’ran had no problems on the way to his clan’s new camping ground. Anyone who saw him found something else to do. He walked silently into the camp. The guards announced his presence and he heard teh clamouring of his family coming out of their tent. A crowd gathered around – staring. All the clan – except his father – slowly turned his back toward Tyr’ran. The smile on his father’s face faded.
“Why have you broght that cursed shard here?” he asked.
Tyr’ran took a closer look at the stone that was in his hand and finally realized it was a piece broken off a spear’s tip. He had picked up a shard from the Graven spear.
“But, Father, it has protected me. Maybe it will lead to our people’s redemption.”
“No, it cannot be. It is cursed, and will always be used for evil. Give me your blade.”
“Give me your blade, son,” his father stated holding out his hand.
Tyr’ran slowly drew his blade and passed it over to his father.
“Tyr’ran Longblade, you are no longer part of the Longblade clan, nor of the Ulronai people. Having touched that which has cursed us, you have become cursed yourself. You have dishonored our people, our clan, and your family. When next we meet, death shall be your reward.” At the end of his pronouncement, Tyr’ran’s father broke his son’s blade and threw the pieces at Tyr’ran’s feet. He looked at Tyr’ran one last time, a tear running down his cheek, and then stiffly turned his back on his son.
Tears filled Tyr’ran’s eyes as he knelt down and picked up the remnants of his blade. He turned and walked away from the clan’s camp. Only stopping when his sister met him at the boundary of the camp tear’s streaming down her face. She silently held out her gift for him – quarter staff made from the wood whose roots drank from the River Shaanda. The quickly embraced, and Tyr’ran took off.
That night, he struck out on a new mission – to seek redemption for his people by using the shard from the Graven Spear. He strapped it to the middle of his quarter staff, and also strapped the remnants of his blades to either end. With his newly made weapon, he set out to travel the world. No longer was he Tyr’ran Longblade, now he was Shard.