Aidan's Diary
Aug 23, 2014 3:23:37 GMT -6
Post by Aidan Lowell on Aug 23, 2014 3:23:37 GMT -6
Name: It had another name long ago, but it's been lost to history. Now Aidan calls the lance Solothurn, after the land he was from.
Magic: Light
Tome: Divine
Physical Description:
Solothurn is a long lance with a double edged and bladed tip, making it useful to both stabbing and slashing. The lance has a gilded and golden sheen from its haft to its tip, appearing to be made from sunlight itself. The crossguard is a sunburst design that evokes the feeling of light in those who look upon it, it appear closer to the type of weapon an Etrurian official might be weiling as opposed to one a Bernese man would hold. The spear can be held in one hand, or two, it's relative size not restricting the movements of its wielder.
Personality: Solothurn is a spear of confidence. Faith. Belief. Valor. Arrogance. The spirit that resides within has a strong presence and is very picky about who holds it. It wastes no time on those not destined for greatness. It refuses to be the weapon for a pathetic child, for a dirty thieving brigand, for an average man. It will only accept those that it believes to be cut above the rest, that have some special quality the others lack. As a weapon it is haughty, and believes itself to be better the others, both weapons and their holders. A divine fire boils within, and it will not waste its time for those who cannot call upon the holy inferno.
For those that it accepts it reacts strongly to confidence. Confidence in self, confidence in what they're doing, and a strong fire of self-righteousness. It isn't concerned about petty things of what it's doing, and the actual morality of the situation, only what the one holding it believes. It liked confidence, even arrogance and undue pride. It cares not if the ego is misplace or misproportioned, after all whoever it deems worthy to hold it must be a great person. If they weren't, it wouldn't have allowed such filthy swine to hold it.
Origin: There are many tales of smiths creating the "work of their lifetime" floating throughout history. Some of them are compelling and interesting, some are pointless drivel. Rarely do these works go down in history like the ones who craft them dream they would, in the end their greatest work is just another greatest work from another mediocre smith that will amount to nothing. This spear was no different in many ways, just another item created by another smith with another spirit attached to it that would amount to nothing. It had some name or another "Light Spear" or "Soul Lance" maybe it was "Lux" or some other word that meant light, it wasn't particularly of any consequence. The one who forged it was of no consequence, for he was a fool who could not see the true worth of his own creation. No one could see the worth of this creation. People shook their head at it for being 'gaudy', for the spirit inside being 'hard to manage' Bah. Cretins that couldn't understand true art.
The spirit within the blade refused to just be another weapon. To be bound to some hackjob's weapon. If it was going to be a part of a weapon, that weapon would be grand. It would be glorious. The smith eventually died, as all mortals do, but his weapon lived on. Passing from hand to hand, never deeming any one to hold it to be worthy. The weapon itself, while not effective as a weapon, was effective as a decoration upon someone's wall. That's eventually where it found itself, its haughty seclusion leaving it abandoned. The spirit within was simply a spirit, it lacked complex thoughts and was simply an emotion given power in many ways, it couldn't understand. It had so much power to give, it just refused to unleash it for those dogs who dared to touch it. If they could find a man of upstanding Valor, but no. It wasted away upon the wall of some noble or another's home. The nobleman who purchased it one day had a daughter. Or was it his grand daughter? Perhaps even more, the passage of time meant nothing to the weapon. The home was accosted by some cretin or another, bandits perhaps, they threatened to steal the lance. It refused such a fate, even if the woman wasn't the hero it had waited all its existence for, it prefered that fate to the one that awaited it. It called out to the woman, her taking the spear from the wall and then the spear unleashed the glorious magic that it had waited so long to use. The holy lightly burst from the blade, becoming a show of glorious holy judgment, destroying the worthless swine that laid before it.
For better or for worse, it had chosen this woman to wield it, and she did. While she was no means a great hero when she first held onto it, she one day grew to be such a glorious figure. With the weapon in hand she unleashed her holy light upon blasphemers, and grew to be a figure in history. Which one? Well there was so many, it was hard to be sure which one exactly. A warmaiden of light and divinity no doubt, and when she passed as all mortals do, the spear was once again without a holder. No matter who took the spear in hand, none compared to the woman who held it before, to the figure it helped build up. It refused to go back and become some worthless dog's bone. So history repeated itself, as it always does. It once again became some trinket upon the wall of some unworthy noble or another. Passed from home to home, until a druidess bought it for some Fortress in Bern.
There it laid for years, maybe more. Time meant little to the weapon. Some time later men stormed the fort and slew the druidess where she stood, they weren't simply bandits but something... more. Perhaps these men had the valor it so craved? Two men approached the spears, one taking the spear of divine light, the other taking the petulant spear of darkness it had laid besides for so many years. This man was not worthy, not fit to hold this lance. He handed the weapon to the other and... There was something off about him. Something different. It was sort of... wrong. Impure. Dark. Something inside the soul, of which the divine spear's powers drew from. He was different, different from anyone to ever hold it. A good thing or a bad thing? Either way it decided to choose that man. Aidan Lowell. Hopefully he will be the figure of legend worthy of holding it, the one Solothurn deserved.
Post Count Obtained: 250
Magic Level: Advanced
Magic: Light
Tome: Divine
Physical Description:
Solothurn is a long lance with a double edged and bladed tip, making it useful to both stabbing and slashing. The lance has a gilded and golden sheen from its haft to its tip, appearing to be made from sunlight itself. The crossguard is a sunburst design that evokes the feeling of light in those who look upon it, it appear closer to the type of weapon an Etrurian official might be weiling as opposed to one a Bernese man would hold. The spear can be held in one hand, or two, it's relative size not restricting the movements of its wielder.
Personality: Solothurn is a spear of confidence. Faith. Belief. Valor. Arrogance. The spirit that resides within has a strong presence and is very picky about who holds it. It wastes no time on those not destined for greatness. It refuses to be the weapon for a pathetic child, for a dirty thieving brigand, for an average man. It will only accept those that it believes to be cut above the rest, that have some special quality the others lack. As a weapon it is haughty, and believes itself to be better the others, both weapons and their holders. A divine fire boils within, and it will not waste its time for those who cannot call upon the holy inferno.
For those that it accepts it reacts strongly to confidence. Confidence in self, confidence in what they're doing, and a strong fire of self-righteousness. It isn't concerned about petty things of what it's doing, and the actual morality of the situation, only what the one holding it believes. It liked confidence, even arrogance and undue pride. It cares not if the ego is misplace or misproportioned, after all whoever it deems worthy to hold it must be a great person. If they weren't, it wouldn't have allowed such filthy swine to hold it.
Origin: There are many tales of smiths creating the "work of their lifetime" floating throughout history. Some of them are compelling and interesting, some are pointless drivel. Rarely do these works go down in history like the ones who craft them dream they would, in the end their greatest work is just another greatest work from another mediocre smith that will amount to nothing. This spear was no different in many ways, just another item created by another smith with another spirit attached to it that would amount to nothing. It had some name or another "Light Spear" or "Soul Lance" maybe it was "Lux" or some other word that meant light, it wasn't particularly of any consequence. The one who forged it was of no consequence, for he was a fool who could not see the true worth of his own creation. No one could see the worth of this creation. People shook their head at it for being 'gaudy', for the spirit inside being 'hard to manage' Bah. Cretins that couldn't understand true art.
The spirit within the blade refused to just be another weapon. To be bound to some hackjob's weapon. If it was going to be a part of a weapon, that weapon would be grand. It would be glorious. The smith eventually died, as all mortals do, but his weapon lived on. Passing from hand to hand, never deeming any one to hold it to be worthy. The weapon itself, while not effective as a weapon, was effective as a decoration upon someone's wall. That's eventually where it found itself, its haughty seclusion leaving it abandoned. The spirit within was simply a spirit, it lacked complex thoughts and was simply an emotion given power in many ways, it couldn't understand. It had so much power to give, it just refused to unleash it for those dogs who dared to touch it. If they could find a man of upstanding Valor, but no. It wasted away upon the wall of some noble or another's home. The nobleman who purchased it one day had a daughter. Or was it his grand daughter? Perhaps even more, the passage of time meant nothing to the weapon. The home was accosted by some cretin or another, bandits perhaps, they threatened to steal the lance. It refused such a fate, even if the woman wasn't the hero it had waited all its existence for, it prefered that fate to the one that awaited it. It called out to the woman, her taking the spear from the wall and then the spear unleashed the glorious magic that it had waited so long to use. The holy lightly burst from the blade, becoming a show of glorious holy judgment, destroying the worthless swine that laid before it.
For better or for worse, it had chosen this woman to wield it, and she did. While she was no means a great hero when she first held onto it, she one day grew to be such a glorious figure. With the weapon in hand she unleashed her holy light upon blasphemers, and grew to be a figure in history. Which one? Well there was so many, it was hard to be sure which one exactly. A warmaiden of light and divinity no doubt, and when she passed as all mortals do, the spear was once again without a holder. No matter who took the spear in hand, none compared to the woman who held it before, to the figure it helped build up. It refused to go back and become some worthless dog's bone. So history repeated itself, as it always does. It once again became some trinket upon the wall of some unworthy noble or another. Passed from home to home, until a druidess bought it for some Fortress in Bern.
There it laid for years, maybe more. Time meant little to the weapon. Some time later men stormed the fort and slew the druidess where she stood, they weren't simply bandits but something... more. Perhaps these men had the valor it so craved? Two men approached the spears, one taking the spear of divine light, the other taking the petulant spear of darkness it had laid besides for so many years. This man was not worthy, not fit to hold this lance. He handed the weapon to the other and... There was something off about him. Something different. It was sort of... wrong. Impure. Dark. Something inside the soul, of which the divine spear's powers drew from. He was different, different from anyone to ever hold it. A good thing or a bad thing? Either way it decided to choose that man. Aidan Lowell. Hopefully he will be the figure of legend worthy of holding it, the one Solothurn deserved.
Post Count Obtained: 250
Magic Level: Advanced
