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By The Sword

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12 June 2010, 03:53 AM   #1
Guest Poster
Title: By The Sword
Genre: dark!Fantasy, Adventure
Status: In-progress
Summary: There are four dimensions; four worlds. Each world cannot live or even be,
without the other three worlds so when one world dies the other worlds begin a descent
into destruction and a great evil will be released in each world.
Already, that great evil is ready to awaken with the help of the Faustians.
Adawolf Flint, a Faustian and a progidy of his time, has set out to unlock the power that
will make him the greatest Faustian to live - and to relive a life once lost.
This is his tale.
Enter the West Dimension: The World of the Elements.

A/N: This was based off a roleplay I had created quite a while back but I had
always planned to turn it into a novel. Naturally, many changes have been made to the plot
and characters but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. C: Of course, criticism and feedback is
much, much loved. Excuse the odd - euhm - 'chapters' if you could call them that.


“Live by the sword – Die by the sword.” A saying. A law. For the land of Thrae, it is the Way of life. The Sword is a Warrior’s being. It is their soul. “And his soul was forever lost.” He felt the power call him. Draw him near. He could taste it on his tongue. It was his to take. All he needed to do was hand over the Sword… “Darkness was his companion.” The power was his. It was undivided. Loyal. His. The darkness shrouded, and not a glimmer of light could be seen. His breathing echoed loudly in the emptiness. But he did not feel fear. For he was fear. He was the blood that spilled; The wind that howled. The chill in your bones. The darkness moved with him; through him. It moved him. “His name would be forever engraved in History.” Children would sit, huddled among the fire that the Storyteller had lit. His long, crooked nose would cast shadows and his hand flittered like birds as his spoke of the birth of the Faustian. The children shiver in the moonlight and the Storyteller smiles as he warns them. “Never sell your soul – for none know the price.” But it was just story to behold, so the children thought. As children reached their teens, the Swords that befit their souls were handed to them in a glorious ceremony. Many will defend the land from the Faustian and they will be praised by the People for their heroics. Then there are those who will seek Faust and retrieve his Sword – for either glory, or for other reasons of their own. “So a new story will be written.”

20 June 2010, 10:23 AM   #2
Guest Poster
Last edited by ‹ikaeros›, 20 June 2010
I Am.

They look upon me with something akin to sick curiosity and terror.
I cannot see them though; not with this blindfold or with these scars.
However, I can feel their fear seeping from their pores and I live for it. I can hear the
curses from their lips and I pursue it. I can taste their disgust in the air and I feed on
I am a rumour.
I am an outcast.
I am Adawolf Flint and I am a Faustian.
Cling onto your lost hope, pathetic Warrior.

20 June 2010, 10:24 AM   #3
Guest Poster

Imagine dear reader, if you will, the Grove.
There are multitudes of trees, each one varying in shape and colour but they all tower
impossibly tall, clawing at the sky. The canopy is abundant and the sun trickles through,
warming everything its beam touches. Lush grass lean upwards, swaying and brushing against
each other in an intimate dance. There is a scent, hinting at vanilla and jasmine. Amidst
it is something like the spice of cinnamon and it is coming from the purely white flora
that appears to have the faces of beautiful women. The branches are thick and wide enough
to fit at least four grown men. Hanging from those branches are dark, snake-like vines
that curl daintily around one’s shoulders. 
 “Welcome to my world,” a sing-song voice says in all nonchalance as he stands alone.
There he is, a boy of no more than eighteen. He looks as if he butchered his hair; it is
roughly cut and falls over jaunty shoulders like a dirt waterfall. His clothing is made of
leather and various metals; mostly gold and bronze. But he is not of nobility. It is the
boy’s eyes however, that are curious. They cannot be seen beneath the blood red cloth
wrapped around his head but there are scars: two, long vertical lines that stop mid-cheek.

“Please, do not fear me.”

20 June 2010, 10:25 AM   #4
Guest Poster

The tree he leans on bends gently over him, its drooping leaves shade him from an azure
painted sky. He lies there on the ground, back against bark and he tilts his head upwards
to a sound. There is a rustle of leaves and the wind whispers past, caressing his hair and
kissing his cheek. He’s in no rush to go anywhere; where would he go? The village is no
place for a Faustian, and the home of the Faustians – he sniggers at this thought, home
for Faustians? Ridiculous! – is no place for a blind man. Adawolf stands languidly as if
the simple act was too much of an effort. He smiles; pale, thin lips curling slightly at
the edges like slow-burning paper. The wind is his partner and his companion. The Grove is
quiet again, save for the gentle babbling of the brook but Adawolf pays it no heed – it
is not his element and thus the words it speaks are unconcerned to him. Adawolf places a
palm against the rough bark, and then raps his knuckles against the trunk firmly. Like
most trees in the Grove, it was sturdy and tall enough to be dangerous. Adawolf bends his
knees then launches himself into the air. He jumps once, twice and thrice; fingers
brushing the underside of the branch before he lands back onto the grass with only the
sound of rustling clothing. Adawolf pursed his lips. He needed leverage.
The wind breathes past again, as if guessing his thoughts. Adawolf flicks his wrist in
response and suddenly, the breath of air turns into a roar. He doesn’t turn his head
away, instead letting it whip around his ears. He curls his fingers, closing his hand into
a tight fist and the wind stops abruptly. Adawolf laughs. It is the leverage he needed.
Bending at the knees, Adawolf lunges for the branch once more and this time, he defied
gravity. It would seem to any onlooker that he was floating momentarily, and then with a
slight tap of his foot, the air beneath him threw him upwards. Adawolf flails for a
heartbeat before latching onto the branch he had been aiming for. He hoists himself up,
finally managing to rest his body weight on the branch and sighs in relief. From here, he
knows, it would be easier to continue climbing. The higher one climbed, the closer the
branches got. Pulling his legs into a crouch, Adawolf stands slowly; testing his balance.
He gropes upwards, fingers closing around the next branch. 
   Adawolf scaled the tree quickly now, relying on agility and strength – with an
occasional boost. He grinned upon reaching the top, resting his weight on one leg. This
wasn’t the first time he had done something like this. Straightening, Adawolf walked
across the branch, almost cat-like, and stood at the end. He held his arms out to an
invisible audience then began to bounce experimentally on the balls of his feet before
launching himself into the air. 
    He plummeted downwards, speed increasing. Around him, he could feel the leaves scratch
at his face and the air tears at him but he doesn’t seem to notice. The ground rushes up
to meet him and the only thing he is expecting the blade of the grass barely tickle his
nose as he wrestles with gravity. Instead, he lands on something very much unlike grass.
That something gives a surprised gasp and lies motionless for a heartbeat before flailing
suddenly, trying to push the lithe but otherwise heavy Adawolf. The said Faustian simply
rolls over on to the grass thoughtfully.
It would seem, he concluded, that he had landed on someone.
Surprised rustling to his right indicated that whoever it was he had landed on was moving
frantically to get away from him. Adawolf smiles sardonically; a thin-lipped Mona-Lisa
imitation – it was obvious to him; he had felt it when he landed. It is a sword hilt.
“Dear Warrior,” he laughs, making no effort to stand. He instead lifts himself to rest
his torso on his elbows; head tilted backwards -A picture of nonchalance. “I apologize
for intruding on your personal space.” He sniggers. “Did I break you?”
There is no response for a moment and Adawolf wonders if the Warrior has left. Then:
Dry and blunt. The answer makes Adawolf sigh. But the simple response is enough for
Adawolf. Men and women – their timbres were all unique to him, his sharp hearing making
up for the sight he lacked. A voice too high, a voice too low; was it a young boy? Adawolf
gives a quiet snort. Does it matter? He is a Warrior, and Adawolf is a Faustian. They
should not even be breathing in the same air space. 
“Who...Who are you?”
Adawolf’s head snaps upright in surprise; the Warrior is still there. Adawolf shrugs
lightly, and stands carefully, listening with amusement as the Warrior steps backward; his
sword clinking against its heath. 
“My name is Adawolf Flint, Wind Faustian,” he pauses for a moment, waiting for a
response and only to be disappointed with confused silence. He sighs again. “And you
More silence.
“I told you my name,” Adawolf coaxes, smile etching itself on his face once more.
“Or shall I have to force it from you?”
“Daniel,” was the hasty reply. “Daniel Lee McCartney. I’m a Warrior from the
Sanguis Village.”
Adawolf’s smile grew into a triumphant grin. “Well, Daniel – Warrior of the Sanguis
Village – did your parents teach you not to tell strangers your name?”
“I jest, I jest,” Adawolf interrupts, holding up his hands. “It’s a pleasure to
meet you, I’m sure. Now what were you doing under my tree?”
The newcomer, now known as Daniel snorts in response. “No one owns this Grove, but if I
had known some maniac was going to fling himself off a tree, I would have made sure to
stand as far away as I could,” Adawolf felt his eyes glare holes into him. “Especially
if I knew that the maniac would be a Faustian.”
“According to Warriors, all Faustian are maniacs,” Adawolf provides.
“And it’s true,” the boy spat.
A sigh, a glare and the wind – it was the only way one could sum up the awkwardness that
invited itself to the conversation, should one be willing to call it such. 
Yes, it was to be that Daniel Lee McCartney would become a constant in Adawolf’s
otherwise tumultuous life. 
For now, however, he was a variable; an experiment. 
The thought makes Adawolf smile.

20 June 2010, 10:25 AM   #5
Guest Poster
A/N: Critique and feedback is much loved.

21 June 2010, 03:29 AM   #6
Guest Poster
I can't wait to read more. But the only thing I can say bad about it, is that the
sentence, "it is not his element and thus the words it speaks are unconcerned to him.", or
part of one, whatever, might want to be changed around, it doesn't have the right feel to
it.. so to speak...

21 June 2010, 04:08 PM   #7
Guest Poster
I really like the style you're using.

21 June 2010, 04:17 PM   #8
Joined: 20 Jun 2010
Posts: 2
Tbh I didnt read it.

But it looks good


8 July 2010, 05:33 AM   #9
Guest Poster
A/N: Oh, thank you very much, everyone. C: Even if some didn't actually
read it. xP But here's the next part; sorry it's so short. D:


New Life

Zachary’s fingers traced the wilted petals and he let out a pitying sigh. Something so
ugly should not belong in the Grove, but if he searched hard enough in the memories he had
tried – and to no avail – to forget, he could remember in his teachings: death and
destruction is an opening for new beginning and life. New life; yes, he could give
this once beautiful flower new life or he could leave it suffering until nature took its
course and a new flower grew in its place. But it would not be the same flower, no
matter if he made it ten times more beautiful. His fingers stopped tracing though his hand
did not leave the flower. It was crying, he knew. One knew such things when they were an
Earth Faustian. He could hear the plants and the Grove whisper quietly amongst themselves,
trying to hide their secrets from the wind. 
   Finally, he moved his hand down to the base; prodding the earth’s surface and he
closed his eyes, breathing in the lingering scent from the singular flower and felt the
weakening roots. He said nothing, but he could feel the pit of his stomach begin to churn
as he pushed the energy out of him; it felt like an eel, struggling to breakthrough his
skin. He could feel his magic trickling through his fingertips and into the ground,
snaking through to find the roots. Slowly, the roots began to strengthen; moving gently,
no longer searching for a water source. Instead, it fed on the Faustian’s magic; for
now, it would last longer than most flowers in the Grove. Zachary stands, feeling content
and makes to move. Where to? – He’s not sure but he has to keep moving; it does get
awfully boring should one stay in the same place for too long.  But before he can, the
wind picks up suddenly, slapping his face and throwing his auburn hair over his head in
wild tendrils. He is suddenly grateful that most of his hair is tied back in a small
ponytail but the wind feels as if it is about to throw him off his feet.
   Then almost as suddenly as it came, the wind dies straight down back into a gentle
breeze. Zachary stares at nothing and at everything – flabbergasted. Well, that was
certainly interesting. He glances at the flower he had just revived and almost does a
double-take; the flower has been ripped completely from the ground. The flower’s roots
squirm in an attempt to find purchase in the ground once more but instead of receiving
help from the Earth Faustian, Zachary watches it, bored, with lidded brown eyes. 
  And he turns away and begins to walk; to search for the Faustian he knows caused the
sudden blast of wind – after all, it gets awfully boring when one stays in the same
place for too long.
Behind him, he hears the woeful sighs of the dying flower.

26 July 2010, 09:41 AM   #10
Guest Poster

“Did you know?”
“Leave me be.”
“Did you know that you smell of vanilla?”
The boy stops in his tracks – he is walking away from this bizarre blindfolded man.
Adawolf smiles and steps closer to Daniel, listening to any movement he might make. But
Daniel stands still.
“What did you say?”
“...Fine,” Daniel turns, rustling the crisp grass beneath his boots. “I’m
“I said that you smell of vanilla.”
The Warrior stops again and raises a brow incredulously. Adawolf seems to know what he is
thinking and laughs; it sounds dry and hollow. Not genuine, but the grin on his face seems
amused. Daniel does not know what to feel or how to react. Especially not when the older
man is suddenly in his face – Daniel makes to move away but Adawolf holds his arm in
place in a tight grip. Daniel squirms.
“You smell...weak,” Adawolf hisses and Daniel freezes at the sudden venom in his
voice. It frightens him. Slowly, Daniel reaches for his sword hilt – he knows the Law.
No blood is to be spilt in the Grove. Not even a drop. Even the Faustian knows of this
Law, he thinks desperately. And respect it – right? Suddenly, the pressure on
his arm is released and he stumbles back a few steps. This man is mad, he realizes, madder
than most.
But he draws himself up nevertheless. “I am not weak.”
Adawolf is no longer listening to him; he has turned away to study something most
interesting – at least, Daniel assumes it is seeing Adawolf’s intense focus – in the
bushes to their left. Or was he daydreaming? Then he finally hears it; the snapping of
twigs and a slight rustle of leaves. His hand tightens on the hilt; he had forgotten he
was holding onto it, but Adawolf was already moving. Daniel watches silently as Adawolf
slowed to a stop a few feet from the bush. The rustling stops for a moment. Then leaves
and branches are pushed aside slowly, carefully; Daniel stiffens, watching intently but
Adawolf seems relaxed – nonchalant even – when the figure emerges.
  It is another male with a thin, boyish face and brown pools for eyes; his expression
seems to be a look of perpetual boredom. Daniel eyes him quickly, noting the crudely sewn
dark green tunic and dirt brown trouser pants that scuff the ground – and the lack of a
sword hilt. Fantastic, the unfortunate Warrior thinks with an internal groan.
Could my day possibly get any worse? The newcomer, though a Faustian, is strikingly
different to Adawolf. For one thing, Adawolf stands with the posture of a high-ranking
Warrior and struts as if a peacock. But this man stands with a slouch and his clothing is
anything but exotic. 
   “Ah...interesting,” The newcomer says slowly. “So are you the one who caused the
ruckus with the wind then?”
Daniel stares – it was Adawolf who had caused the sudden change in the Grove breeze
moments before? Such power – should he be forced to fight...he knows he will not
survive. Adawolf is smiling again at the newcomer, listening intently to his voice and to
the movement, or lack of. 
  “Yes, that was indeed me,” he affirms and tosses his dark hair over his shoulder.
The man before him is standing awfully still with the exception of the rustle of a sleeve
when he raises a hand to scratch his nose. Adawolf sighs under his breath, irritated with
his lack of eyesight. “May I inquire as to who is asking?”
   A slow, thoughtful response. “Zachary,” A snippet of a swelling silence. “I
suppose that’s all you really need to know.”
Adawolf barks out a laugh, startling Daniel. “And pray tell, Zachary, would you happen
to be a Warrior?”
This time, Zachary laughs, a charming tired sound and Daniel wonders just who is this
curious man. He glances at Adawolf, then to the newly introduced Zachary and he realizes
that perhaps this would be an excellent opportunity to escape. Turning slowly, Daniel Lee
McCartney began to tread away from the Faustian pair as lightly as he could, careful to
avoid anything that could reveal his plans to the ever-sharp eared Adawolf. Perhaps
Zachary would let him be; after all, he had barely acknowledged –
  “Oh...and who might that be over there?”

27 July 2010, 07:08 AM   #11
Guest Poster
heheh, poor Daniel.

28 July 2010, 07:25 AM   #12
Guest Poster

Daniel stops stiffly and begins to slowly face Zachary who is leaning slightly to the left
to see behind Adawolf who has suddenly remembered the Warrior boy he had been previously
harassing. Already, a malicious grin is worming itself onto his face. Daniel swallows
loudly; he’s caught – though there is still a chance that he could run and distance
himself as far as he could from the Faustian. He is in enough trouble as it is, but he
knows that even if he decides to run Adawolf could catch him easily and while he could not
harm Daniel, he could still follow until Daniel was forced to leave the Grove. The thought
gives him a clammy, unpleasant feeling. But he knows that there’s not much he can do
right now. So he forces his back straight and as much as he can, keeps his expression
indifferent and turns to face the Faustian. 
   They’re both staring at him – well, Adawolf is staring as much as a blind man can
manage – but Daniel refuses to stoop. Before he can respond to the other man’s
question, Adawolf is already speaking for him.
“That, Zack dear, would be Danny,” 
“My name is Daniel!” the Warrior snaps. There is nothing more he wants than strangle
him. “Daniel Lee McCartney - A Warrior from the Sanguis Village.
Zachary scratches his hip contemplatively and Daniel can’t help but wonder if Zachary
did anything hurriedly. “I used to live at that village,” he says finally and Adawolf
claps his hands enthusiastically.
“So did I,” he gushes and his flits around to gather Zachary and Daniel closer to him,
draping himself over their shoulders. “See? We’ve all got something in common.
“Hardly,” Daniel retorts and attempts to shrug Adawolf’s arm off him, only to have
the arm tighten. Distressed, Daniel knows that fighting will do nothing. “In fact,
we’re worlds apart so if you don’t mind, it would probably be best if I just left and
you forgot me-”
“But I can’t,” Adawolf says dramatically. “You intrigue me,”
“You didn’t scream when I fell on you,”
“You fell on him?”
Daniel glares at Zachary for interrupting. “Yes, he jumped off a tree and fell on
“Well, maybe it happens to him every day,” says Zachary, staring at Daniel but clearly
speaking to Adawolf. Daniel groans loudly. “It does not,” he’s thoroughly
exasperated but the Faustians don’t seem to notice. “I doubt anyone in their right
mind would jump out of a tree anyway,”
“Maybe he just fell out,” Zachary suggests. A small smile seems to be tugging on the
corners of his lips and Daniel is quite certain that he is teasing him. Adawolf laughs.
“I’m too smart to fall out of a tree.”
Daniel stares at him incredulously.

28 July 2010, 10:39 AM   #13
Guest Poster
heheh, Adawolf is funny. ^^'

28 July 2010, 11:23 AM   #14
Guest Poster
Haha, I'm glad you think so. Cx

28 July 2010, 12:14 PM    #15
Guest Poster
:3 you're much better at this genre than I am. ^^'
The only reason I even wrote something like this is because I played too much final
fantasy and was bored.

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