Tears…it seems that Gilneas is always crying, the people outside the wall weep for their lives, as the undead and worgen tore them apart, the people inside the walls weep for their lost friends and the slow decent into madness from being trapped. The witches weep as their families burned in the trials, and all of Gilneas weeps as the dead walk their streets and burn their homes. I have no time for tears, my heart has been as coal for as long as i can recall, my mothers tears filled with blood as my father chopped her into pieces before me. They taught me to fight, to kill, and cursed me with an arm that teems with power i can barely control. Our home, hidden in the mountains has survived thus far, though it seems the Forsaken have made a base out of it, the iron mines not far from here are a valuable resource they cant pass up. Unfortunately the master of the house has business inside, and i don’t abide trespassers. 

The bow string is pulled taught, the twin dragon mouths open, the arrows marking, a fire sigil burns from my perch. I loose the shaft, the arrow whips through the air, striking a leaking container of their foul blight, the rune ignites, setting the liquid on fire! A massive explosion is seen from just in front of the house, throwing the forsaken investigating through the air, covered in flame. I rush forward knocking another arrow as the forsaken move to the front door, i loose another shaft, this one coated in a bright golden light, blinding them before it activates, speeding into them with holy energy to pierce their broken rotting flesh. As the corpses burn and writhe in their holy torment i step through the house, ending the few remaining guards with swift arrows through their necks, severing their spines and leaving them useless. 

I look to the large door leading to my “Father’s” room, a large Eagle burned black is splayed across it in the wood carvings. The words across, our houses words:”We hunt the very shadows.” A pompous crok of shite, we hunted who the more powerful noble families deemed enemies..Witches, priests, the poor, other nobles it didn’t matter, we were the best assassins in the land, well, at least in our hayday. Before that we made our fortune hunting, and after that, by using this very bow i carry to protect the land. But like most of the stories of artifacts like this, someone buggers it all up. 

My ancestor wanted this thing so badly, he murdered his own brother to become the next in line, when it refused him, he tried to force the dragon spirits within to obey, big mistake. Dragons are not slaves, They cursed my family to never again be able to use magic, until one proved worthy of the bow was born. For whatever reason, I’m worthy enough that it hasn’t killed me yet, though before i found it, this arm nearly did. To get around this curse my family managed to find a way, carving runes and elaborate circles into their bodies and siphoning off magic from other things, ley lines, crystals, or in the case of my father, mages. They weren’t hard to find, mages, witches, priests, anyone with a hint of magical potential, he would drag them here, and drain every ounce of their mana and life energy into a massive stockpile crystal, not unlike the Nightfallen I’ve encountered. 

I push through the door, and i turned to the bookcase, peering along at the books i pull one named “The Ethics of Hunting.” And the bookcase slid back, and to the side, revealing the secret sanctum. Where the bow was kept for centuries, as well as the armor made by the first wielder of it. The Ebonwind Mantel, or at least that’s what the old man called it, according to research I’ve done its actual name is the armor of Greywind. Since the originator of our family was named Arron Greywind, It seems fitting, only after the curse did we become Ebonwind. Gale, it turns out is the name or our families bastards, since the mountain we built into is beside the Cove of Gales, a secret port that only the most skilled can sail into, now drowned beneath the waves. I walk down the winding stair to the chamber, there sits the armor, on a man sized amour rack, not a spec of dust on it. I look to the sides and a familiar skeleton sits on a audacious throne, wearing my fathers armor. He obsessed so much about the family legacy, he died protecting it, but somehow, the bow got away from him, likely stolen by a family member before the raid. So this was all he had left, armor he could never wear, a bow he could never wield, now to be robbed, by the bastard son he could never love.

The armor fits be perfectly, almost felt like it changed to fit me as my arm touched it, the clawed gloves are a touch much, but ill get used to it. But now, a different problem arises, my bow, this grand ornate thing, began to fall apart, the pieces scatter across the floor, and before me…the dragons. Two blue dragon spirits take Elvin form and smile to me. 

“You have done it, you saved us from the legions grasp, and now you wear the armor of your family we swore to serve as allies. But now, our power is fading from the bow, for you have fulfilled the bargain for the power to be restored to your family, magic once again flows through your blood, your arm will no longer be a conduit for your power, your arrows alone will be enough. It will take time for you to master it, but we leave you with a gift.” The dragon spirits step before me, placing their hands on my head, and heart, suddenly all the carvings and sigils made sense, i could see what signs made what arrows and i could simply burn them into the arrows as i draw, excluding holy arrows, since they ere a magic unknown to the dragons. But i knew. 

The dragons visages slowly fade, finally resting in peace, after so many centuries. But now, i was alone, their voices gave me council, their presence in the now destroyed bow gave me comfort. And no ordinary bow could be used for such arrows, i will have to make one.


Let heroes search for artifacts and trinkets of bygone eras, using the power of a weapon of somebody else’s legend. My legend will begin now, though, Sebastian Hadgale is not my name, a name half given by my demented family, and the other half by carnies at the darkmoon faire. Sebastian i like, but i think ill take up the old name…

Sebastian Greywind, the arcane archer. Heh…sounds alright to me.

Author Scond
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