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I dunno
Yep, I dunno. Most of this I'll probably devote to sharing my studies (or just keeping them in a relatively safe place that I can look back on) on all of the stuff mentioned in the "about me" or whatever section
As he reached for his sword, a cry was let out. This cry was no mere mortal sound, as this cry could not possibly be issued by human ways. No, this was the cry of the Vadolich. Svenlek knew the Vadolich all too well, as they had used their Magiks to burn down his village when he was not even more than a few harvesting seasons old. That is one of his earliest memories, that and the one of the figure with the burn on their back, carrying him from the burning wreckage. He is the sole survivor from that night, the Massacre of Drusvid, land of the Wood-Elves. As the Vadolich started to overwhelm Svenlek, he opened his eyes. "It's that damned dream, again..." he said to his faithful companion and only friend, Groshthlebane. "Y'know what they say about re-occurring dreams, mate..." came a rusty sounding response. "Yes, yes... I know; they are the most ancient of any omens, I know you foolish sword... After all, it was I who told you that..." Groshthlebane responded with "Y'know how I feel about being called a sword, Svenlek..."
"I know, friend, but you know that it's true; if it were not for the fact you could talk, you'd be naught but a well made sword."
"Oh, 'well made'? AWWWWWWW, Svenny... You're gonna make me steam!"
"... You can't steam, friend..."
"... Must you take the fun outta everything?"
But there was much truth in what Svenlek confided in Groshthlebane; he had been wandering and found Groshthlebane abandoned in a trash receptacle, rusted and dull. But now Svenlek has known of Groshthlebane's abilities for quite a while, after the initial surprise he got when he nursed Groshthlebane back to health. As the reader may have guessed by now, Groshthlebane is a talking sword, which any one of us here in Boredania would find utterly amazing and fascinating, but is really just a matter of looking hard enough in the land of Vorthalude. There's an abundance of Magiks in Vorthalude, and is never boring there, as is all too many times the case here, in Boredania. But Svenlek has learned to live with the sword and its talking, even if it does get on his nerves every so often. He's also accepted the fact that he must now live in solitude, considering all other members of his race are dead, and it's dangerous to associate with elves of any kind, so here he is; abandoned by all in the world but Groshthlebane. "Groshthlebane, I think it's time to leave, again..." said Svenlek as he packed their few belongings; a hat, a whetstone, and Groshthlebane's sheath. "Right, mate. I got The Chills, too." came the rusty response. When Svenlek met Groshthlebane all those years ago in a trash receptacle, something happened between the two of them that enabled the both of them to get 'chills' whenever the Vadolich are near, and so they use their gift to leave before the Vadolich can arrive, keeping as little bloodshed as possible (that's if you could say the Vadolich actually HAS blood.) "Gods know what they'd do to us if we were ever caught..." said Svenlek to his halfway nervous companion. As they exited through the rear window of their room, they heard a brief but loud shriek. They knew all to well what this meant; they had been spotted by a Vadolich, and there's probably going to be more of them soon. As the one that issued the shriek started to rush towards them, Svenlek and Groshthlebane finally got to see what a Vadolich actually looks like for the first time in their many years of running from them. The cowl was flying behind its head, which had an ugly, hollow and sunken face, with bloodshot eyes, set deep and far apart with lank, greasy hair covering the top of the long, thin, and angular head with medium-gray skin covering it all, except for where it was shrouded in black from its robes that came with the transformation. It opened its mouth to sneer as it rushed towards them, showing broken, jagged, black, and yellow rotting teeth, with the stench of a long, long, long time dead animal all around it. As it reached with long slender fingers tipped with broken black nails across its cadaverous body for its curved dagger. As soon as all seemed lost for Svenlek, the rusty voice shouted in his ear "NOW, partner!!!" and with that, Svenlek drew Groshthlebane in a spinning arc, stopping when he was finally facing the way he had been and sheathed Groshthlebane. He turned quickly around to face the Vadolich, just in case he had not cut deep enough, and as the creature stopped running, it fell diagonally in half. Svenlek asked with slight annoyance in his voice "You know that I know when to draw you by now, right?" while Groshthlebane said "Yes, I know... But old habits die quite hard; even harder when you're a magical sword."
"Fair enough."
Groshthlebane had been Svenlek's fighting instructor, after all, he WAS originally a warrior's sword who had ditched him after remembering memories from the sword. "Maybe we should run now... Yea?" inquired Groshthlebane. "Oh, yes. I almost forgot." and so Svenlek ran off at full tilt.
**THIS IS A CONTINUING PROGRESS, SO I'LL WRITE MORE. I'M JUST BORED WITH THIS AND WILL BE BACK SOON WITH MORE. THANKS FOR READING, LIKE I SAID, THERE'S GONNA BE MORE SOON.**





 
 
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