Most of my bounties never stand a chance. Some warriors would relish a challenge, but killing a number of foolish bandits or raiders never gets old. They always realize too late. I enjoy that look they get just before the slaughter. Though I will admit; a challenge now and again wouldn't be so bad.

I know how unsettling the sight gets; seeing me covered in the blood of my enemy as they lay around me. Most people would find it frightening. Yet when I'm there in that moment of victorious quiet I can only feel satisfaction at the calmest. Even anger gives way when the fight truly starts.

More people are suffering and dying by the day and I'm no closer to answers. I want to break something- no I want to kill something. Someone has to be behind this; there has to be. I want there to be. A fight would be good for the soul right now. Maybe the guard have some bounties that need killing.

I've decided to find out what's going on, but I've never been good at this investigative type of work. I can handle basic tracking with footprints and such, but I know nothing about how to track sources of a plague. I need to find someone who can heal better than the commonfolk's doctors.

Secrets? Not quite.

Lore? You'll find out.

Brother later told me that story was of our great grandparents and their friends who founded our village. I wonder if perhaps that dragon is out there somewhere. Something tells me that dragon is why my parents are dead. It could've been just bandits; but there's just something nagging at me...

The two servant drakonids found comfort and strength in the love they shared. They eventually decided they would escape their master. Many servants found strength in their example and joined them when they fled. Each went as far and fast as they dared until their master's gaze was nothing.

That seed was infused with the dragon's very own magic until it became an egg. That egg eventually hatched into a drakonid youngling who grew up as one of the dragon's many servants. The youngling knew only servitude and cruelty until he found love with a fellow servant.

I've heard of psions who are able to influence the minds of others, but this feels different. It could've just made me do what it wanted. Perhaps something else put that image in my mind? I can feel that thing is real somehow. What does it want from me?

I felt something calling to me. It felt and sounded like hatred given a vaguely spiritual form. Everything felt as if it was deep beneath the earth. That thing must have reached out to me from the depths of whatever prison keeps it. The temple commune is likely my best start after I've rested.

Every moment I can recall was consumed by visions. Most were of things I couldn't understand be they what I could see or what I could hear. One vision though...

I can scarcely recall the last few days I spent in that stupor. The doctor said I was thrashing and sweating for a week since I was taken here from the tavern. I should apologize once I've gotten some rest.

It is by the sword that I shall live my life; and by it that my life should receive a glorious end. To fall holding fast against the wicked is a most glorious gate to the next life. Perhaps I will be welcomed by those champions of old. Until then, the living world requires swords and good hearts...

The path of a Blade Mystic is one of magic and battle. A talent for the mystic arts can only be shaped into our sword when our heart calls us to fight. Through this unique mixture we summon a blade which reflects us and channels our power. My blade is a focus, a tool of expression that gives focus.