Rite of Armament

Wyll pushed on the treated pine doors, a loud creek sounded as the door swung open to sound his entrance. Heads quickly turned as 16 people looked at the young man and a few heads tilted. A small man the size of Fletch quickly approached; the only person that Wyll recognized as the Sword Saint tried to wrap an arm around him, a big smile on his face as he seemed to light the room with it

"Here he is! I told you he'd be here and you all doubted that I actually found a worthy one! Come on Wyll, making me worry that you weren't going to show! I have a lot of money riding on you, so that being said."

Before Wyll could even input Asbeel quickly pulled Wyll into the line where some others stood, each of them either Wyll's age or appeared to be as he looked down the line. An Elf, a Humans, a dwarf, and two Beastkin. Wyll was a little shocked to see such a mix of races, the Beastkin seeming to be from separate factions. A Bishop adorned in blacksmithing equipment wiped his brow, and the white-haired salty codger looked over each of them with golden eyes.

"Each of you has been recognized for your battle prowess even while not having a Weapon. Each of you demonstrated potential that the Blacksmith has deemed worthy, as well as some of the other Creators who have all had their eyes on you. In order we have-"

He points to the female Elf who was adorned in forest leather, her hair a platinum blonde, eyes as green as the pine needles, and pale skin as smooth as silk. She appeared to be the most graceful of the lot but appeared the most pretentious as she scoffed a bit, nose turned at the shaky, boney finger.

"Vidia of the Forests of Gaia."

He moved down to a bug-eyed gentleman as he nervously fiddled with his hands. His skin shimmered between translucent and holding pigment, a barely visible tail curled against him as he shook some. His hair was a deep black and a tad long. He was anxious as he looked over the group, both eyes never focusing on one person as they darted about.

"Ike of the Ashen Villa."

Swiftly his hand moved to Jaguar, who stood a bit taller than Wyll; her coat was dark in color. She was more beast-like, her body plenty feminine yet carrying plenty of muscle. Her armor was tribal, adorned with colorful feathers and skulls from previous hunts. Her face was serious and her eyes darting around as she kept notes of her surroundings.

"Valria of the Peparian Tribals."

Next was a shorter, gruff-looking girl, hair a disheveled mess of flaming red with some silvery-white mixed in. Her hands were on her hips as she reeked of ash and sulfer. Her skin was tan, with goggles on her head and bits of metal shavings causing her to glisten.

"Grace of the Underways."

Next, he moved to a prim and proper girl, her dress seeming like bits and odds were reinforced with leather to make it more suitable for combat. Her auburn hair was tied up to stay out of her way. Wyll felt something familiar about her but pushed the feeling off as the posh girl curtsied to the Bishop, who bowed in return.

"Sela Arden, daughter of Duke Arden"

The Bishop then moved to Wyll, the heads turning to him as all eyes were glued to him. Everyone was unsure who Wyll was as they looked him up and down, their gazes felt a bit piercing. Wyll was adorned in a cloak of purple on his back with the Purple Dragoons insignia of a spear piercing a dragon tailored in black thread. His clothes were modest, with a leather breastplate, his left arm having a shoulder guard and his left used to have one before the fight with the Green Oni, while both wrists had bracers. His leather was lined with wool as Wyll stood tall, puffing out his chest.

"My name is Wyll of the Purple Dragoons"

The Bishop nodded as behind him stood six separate Inquisitors adorned with a weapon from each respective classification. The Bow Inquisitor, the Blunt Inquisitor, the Sword Saint Inquisitor, the Axe Inquisitor, the Hand-Blade Inquisitor, and lastly the Spear Inquisitor. He nodded as the windows were covered with heavy velvet, and the room suddenly lit up with a bright light as the scene seemingly changed. As if by magic, they stood out on a battlefield; Weapons lay strewn about as dust blew past them, a hint of blood tickling Wyll's nose. The field was reminiscent of his dream…

"Each of you, close your eyes and search your souls. Truly you already know why you are here and you will soon realize it. Let the Weapons in your heart heed your call! May your prayer be answered and the Blacksmith's forge be lit!"

Slowly each person closed their eyes as Wyll followed suit as he began to search himself for an answer. He began to search the inner parts of his soul for an answer as he could hear the gentle call of a bell, the sight of the silver thread appeared before him as they were attached to his hands. Both lines were taunt as Wyll reached out and pulled, the line pulled back as it causing Wyll to stumble. Wyll was forced to his knees as he fell, suddenly torn from his search as a loud boom sounded off, and beacons of light engulfed everyone else.

Vidia was adorned in a deep green and golden white as a Weapon began to take form. An Elf-looking woman stepped forward toward her. Her hair was a deep black as if she had Raven feathers, her skin fair, and she had a smile on her face. She was in silken robes with green and gold yet eyes of violet.

"My name is Sucellos; First Forged of the Blunt Weapons. Gadhel, Creator of Feasts, Hunting, and Plants, has chosen you to be her champion and I your weapon."

Wyll was shocked, watching as something so revered like the First Forged would choose someone! Wyll looked on as booms and pillars of light erupted from the other people, the ground shaking some. Next was Ike, who erupted in a golden black and purple pillar, a dark figure approaching him. Following quickly was Valria who was adorned in silver and red, a burly man that was taller than she approached her. Grace was engulfed in a differing shade of green and light purple, a medium-sized man approached her and held a devilish smile. Lastly, Sela was encompassed in silver, and golden light as an angelic-looking woman adorned in ornate armor bent her knee, her golden eyes looking up at the noble. Wyll missed the name of the Weapons but heard each creator call out.

Gedhel, Creator of Feasts, Hunting, and Plants. Cyric, Creator of poisons, shadows, and tricks. Horick, Creator of alcohol, blood, and conflict. Lolthic, Creator of spiders, traps and the hunt. Lastly was Ulthin, Creator of justice, law, and balance. Wyll waited to have a Weapon approach him as the Bishop and Inquisitors looked at one another and began whispering. The chatter began to make Wyll nervous as the Bishop placed a hand on his shoulder as his head hung low.

"Wyll, you are not worthy of blessing or Weapon… We apologize but a first forged is missing, we thought that Gáe Bulg would appear… He should have appeared!"

Wyll felt his heart sink and despair begin to swallow him. His mouth ran dry, and his head spun. His only dream was to gain a weapon, to help his family and friends!

"I apologize, but Inquisitor Yama swore you'd make a viable candidate, but it seems we were mistaken. The spear remains unclaimed, it seems, and the Battlefield of the Gods cannot commence; I am sorry, but-"

The Bishop was cut short as a triumph crack of the sky caused the illusion before them to shake some as brows began to furrow. The Bishop went to speak before something crashed through the ceiling, a spear impaling the Bishop as he fell slack, and a man stood above the hole in the roof, a devilish smile on his face as a beacon of blood red and pitch black emanated off him.

"That's where you're wrong old man! The game has begun, and I'm taking the lead! Soon you will all bow before the Wildlands King! I have been chosen by the Creator of combat! Creator of winds, battles, battlefields and conquering! You are all my opponents and let me make it clear! There is no such thing as a fair fight! Life and Death, fear and destruction, in war there are no innocents!"

Smoke plumed behind him as the sun was blotted out. He wildly laughed and glared at the other chosen, already seeing them as enemies. He pulled the spear from the Bishop as all watched in shock. The roof began to crumble as Wyll quickly tackled Fletch to the ground, placing his body between the retainer and the rubble as consciousness faded, pain seeping into his body.

Askalon had made it to the steps of the citadel just in time to watch a spear pierce the roof; a sinking feeling in his gut quickly became a pit as he looked back to see an army of bandits flood into the streets, slaughter quickly ensuing as no one seemed safe. For a moment, Askalon felt the silver thread fray as a pit formed in his heart, the roof crumbling as it caved in. Quickly the man pushed open the doors to find rubble and people, all of them wiping off dust and debris as they held Weapons in hand as they stood as Wielders. The Bishop had been recovered as people began to mourn some, others staring at the bleeding pile.

Yama was struggling to clear the rubble off of where he saw Wyll and Fletch get buried, paying no mind to the stranger who barged in. His mind was racing as he struggled to pull off large chunks. A pair of worn hands quickly began to help as Askalon tried to find what he was connected to, why the string had disappeared earlier when he entered the city! Wyll was back in the void of swirling greys, blacks and whites.

"Wyll of the Purple Dragoons, you have been chosen to be my champion! Arise, champion of Chaos! Forge ahead in this war and rise to the top! I expect the waves of fate to be shaken by your participation, their waters already becoming choppy~"

A beacon of swirling greys and radiant red pulsed off Wyll as he rose from the rubble, the pain fading as he met eyes with the man who helped him in the alley. Tied to each was a silver thread tied to their ring finger, each exchanging glances as Askalon took a bow.

"I am Askalon. I hold not the title of First Forged but something else.I am First Forged of the First Forged the oldest living Weapon. I accept you as my Wielder O Champion of Chaos, Creator of creators, life, death and chaos!"

Everyone turned to Wyll, his eyes shining brightly as he took the hand of Askalon. The Weapon's form changed shape as, with worry, his acquaintances glared at him; the only Grand Creator, Chaos, had chosen a champion. The lost true Grand Creator, that is if her name wasn't lost, her new title was The Destroyer. The evil Creator, the Imposter!

[[Welcome Wielder, I am Pandemonium, Pan for short. I am an entity tailored by Chaos for you, and it is my objective to assist you in 'The Battlefield of the Gods!' Pan will be fully operational shortly]]