oh boy what kind of lore will you get

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aha what if I wrote lore for later but never for you aha
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The boy ran at a dead sprint, driven by pure terror.

Under the silver of the waning moon, darkness swallowed his surroundings with only the faintest of starlight giving a silver sheen to the misty night. Silhouettes of trees flashed by, the lantern in his hand flickered and sputtered, in danger of snugging out.

But it wasn't the darkness he feared.

It was the think that stalked him. The boy had felt it first -- a sudden chill in the summer's heat, a creeping dread that clutched his poor little heart. Sensations that he might have dismissed as symptoms of the late hour and a long night. On any other occasion, he would have chastised himself for indulging in his imagination. But he was thirteen now, too old to be afraid of darting shadows and harmless spirits.

But this one opened it's glowing red eyes and stared into his soul. The shadow has whispered his name.

The boy risked a glance behind to see if it followed and promptly slammed into something. He fell back, the breath knocked from his lungs. His trusty lantern clattered to his side, its weak light fluttering desperately. Surprise and pain shifted quickly to fear as he saw the looming figure over him.

A man, tall and lithe, stood with a bare torse. Unfazed by the unusually chilly night. From the waist down, loose robes (Lenny) billowed in the wind, frayed from wear. An intricate belt of woven rope tied strange masks across his waist, monstrous visages trapped in alabaster. Bandages bound both his arms, and each hand a blade -- one of tempered steel, shimmering pure as can be in the moonlight. The other, an ominous red.

Yet it was the man's face that left the boy frozen.

Those cold red eyes peered down through a cruel mask that radiated the strange red as the blade. The mask grasped the man's face, nearly devouring his stern frown.

"S-stay back!" The boy croaked.

"It is not me you should fear," the man spoke, his voice a soft grown, eyes fixated on some point beyond the boy.

Confusion found its way into the boy's brow as he followed the man's gaze. What he saw sent him scrambling back up onto his feet.

A vague shape hovered in the mists. If the stranger hadn't pointed it out, the boy might have missed it altogether. The darkness twisted into wide eyes with slitted pupils, the outline of a lumbering body took form. Visible where it pushed the fog away to leave a negative space. The boy squinted. Were those teeth?

He had never seen anything like it, it was outlandish. Yet it felt familiar. Like he knew this thing. It drew him in, allured, and compelled him towards it. He took a tentative step forward.

Something cold pierced through his chest.

The boy looked down in shock at the tip of a shining red blade. His mind raced as his breath grew choppy from panic, expecting pain and blood. But neither came. Instead, a strange numbness spread through his body. Behind him, the stranger muttered under his breath. A strange sigil appeared in the air in front of them, as if painted by an invisible brush. A word --or name? -- the boy did not recognize.

"W-what--"

The man ignored him. "My blade sees your true name, [DEMON]."

The boy felt the sword pulled from his body, and he fell to his knees, gasping. His hands flew to his chest -- but there was no puncture, no wound. And even more strange, the boy felt lighter. As if some unseen burden had been taken. He looked up and realized he was right.

Those were teeth.

The creature lunged.

A clash of steel rang out, the masked stranger stood before him. His blades blocking the creature's massive pale fangs. No -- that was no man. A shadowy spirit in his form. Dazed, the boy looked behind him where the man stood, eyes closed, as if in meditation.

Seriously?

A shiver ran down the boy's spine as the chill in the air now seeped into his bones, and with each motion of the struggling monster and the spirit, he felt his soul lurch and sway. As if their very existence exerted a palpable force over him. He stared in awe.

What is he?

The spirit swordsman pushed the creature back, then burst into swirling tendrils of smoke, washing over the boy as it returned to the body of the stranger. The hideous creature bellowed in rage that shook his soul. The boy squinted once more, perhaps he'll get some glasses after, but he could see other parts of the beast through the mist -- unruly fur, claws as long as blades, and a massive torso -- but when he tried to focus on the whole body, parts would fade out from focus.

You dare deny what is already mine? A rasping, impossible voice reverberated in the boy's mind, cutting through the rattling growls he heard from the monster. The boy belongs to ME.

The boy's stomach dropped. It can speak?

"Nothing in this realm belongs to you," the man said, unfazed. "Cower, [SUPER AWESOME COOL NAME]!"

Though the words meant nothing to the boy, their utterance made his skin crawl. The heebie-jeebies, if you will. Yet the effect was far more pronounced on the creature, which emitted an ear-splitting squeal. Twisted, sinuous muscle wrapped around pale teeth and claws. Four scarlet eyes narrowed on its horrific face, glowering atop a lumbering torso of gray hair that shimmered into existence, ephemeral wisps turned to flesh and bone.

"So you are named," the man with the broken mask said. "So you are revealed." A defiant howl shook the ground, the man shifted his stance, crouching low as he brought both swords to bear.

"So you shall perish."

The beast charged, but the stranger dashed forward so fast that the boy nearly missed him. Sword sliced through the moonlight, one flashing silver, the other a leaving a blood-red trail in its wake. Ichor sprayed from the creature as it fell to the ground.

"Slumber, [SUPER AWESOME COOL NAME]. You are unmoored from flesh." The man strode forward and plunged both blades deep in the creature. It roared, then wheezed (:wheeze:).

The boy stared as its body dissipated into a swirling fog, its monstrous face contorting through a gamut of expressions as it shrank and calcified into an almost human-like appearance, finally assuming the shape of...a mask. His eyes widened in recognition. Though it still possessed the four eyes of the monster in a distorted, exaggerated pose, it looked almost mournful -- and eerily close to his own face.

With a shudder, the mask floated upward toward the man's outstretched hand. With a fluid motion, he sheathed his sword and tied the mask next to the others on his waist. Then he turned to leave.

"What are you?" The boy asked.

"Once, I knew the answer. But now..." The stranger paused as if mourning. He fixed the boy with a steel gaze.

A question tumbled from the boy's lips. "Was that thing.. was it me?" Crap, He didn't want to say that.

"Only a festered nightmare, feasting on your sorrows. But you aren't defined by it any longer." The man hummed.

The boy bit his lip. "It's my fault. I'm weak -- never good enough. My father was right."

Without a sound, the man turned although to approach. The boy recoiled almost by habit. Seeing this, the stranger's expression softened ever so slightly. "Those we love say the things that hurt us most." The man pulled the mask from his waist, examining it. "Despair devours our own voice, wearing the guise of reason -- claiming to show us who we are. But it only shows us a warped version of our true selves." He turned the mask around and held it aloft for the boy to see. It seemed small, fragile.

It had no teeth.

"Pierce through its falsehoods to find your truth." The smallest hint of a crooked smile crossed the man's face. "You'll be just fine, Andu."

With that, the stranger turned away, leaving the boy alone in the dark woods.

---

AND IN RELATION TO THE STORY ABOVE

---

The source of the crying is a boy. Six, maybe seven summers.

How obnoxious. He sits cross-legged with his back to me, in front of a tail sapwood. The weeping settles into sniffling, wet hiccups. I stop at the edge of the trees and look back at the shade of the road below. The midday sun is merciless, streaming bright into the boy's meadow. He doesn't seem hurt. The clearing is open.

Unprotected.

You're not needed. Keep to your path.

The voice rings clear in my head, though I haven't heard it for some time. I turn, but about-face at the sound of a deep, racking sigh, ending in renewed little sobs.

When I am about three sword lengths away, I step on a dry twig to announce my arrival. The boy starts at the sound.

"Teo, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." The boy's rushed apology is muffled by the swipe of his sleeve across his face. He stops dead at the sight of me.

"Emai paid the Brotherhood," he stammers. "I wasn't playing on the road."

At the mention of the group, my hand goes to my blade. The boy stares at me; his crying gives over to a series of shallow gasps.

Of course.

He thinks I'm some [COOL NAME] thief coming to take something from him.

He thinks you're a criminal.

I release my grip and force a smile, trying to appear more friendly. "No, I'm not with the Brotherhood," I say. "I heard someone from the road. Sounded like they were having a tough time."

The boy wipes his wet cheek with his sleeve again, trying to save face in front of the stranger standing before him. He reminds me of, well, me.

"Know anyone like that?" I joke.

The boy starts to shake his head slowly, but the truth tumbles out of him

"It was me," he admits, shame evident with his head hanging low and roughing his voice. "I...I just wanted to play with it." He points up. Among the tree's uppermost branches is an old festival kite, it's silk tails fluttering in the light breeze. "It's Teo's." His eyes glisten, waterworks about to burst again.

He shows me the palms of his hands, covered in sap, darkened with dirt and bark. "I tried climbing the tree, but it's too tall. Teo's going to be so angry with me! He told me not to..."

A moment passes between us. Fond memories wash over me, "Brothers often say that," I murmur.

There is a small pile of broken soil in front of the boy. I kneel, wiping away the top layer to reveal a newly sprouted sapwood nut.

"My emai is a woodweaver. I'm learning but I thought..." He hands his head once more, embarrassed. Woodweaving even a sapling would take much longer than a simple summer's afternoon.

I keep the smile and chuckle from my lips. "An admirable effort." He most definitely reminds me of me.

The boy's gaze lingers on the fluted edges of my pauldron. "That pattern isn't from our village," He says, caution edging into his voice. "Or the village in the next valley."

"I'm on my way to [COOL PLACE]," I reply. "I was making good time on the [NATION] road. Even if the stone is a bit hard on the feet." I force another smile, but with the thought that [NATION] could leave us anything of value, I know it comes off a grimace.

"Can you help me?" he asks, starry hope in his eyes.

I look up at the kite sitting delicately in the high branches. "It's been a while since I've climbed a tree, kid."

"Andu," he says. "My name is Andu."

I offer him my hand, my own name hesitant on the tip of my tongue. It's been long since I've said it with anything but shame.

Come on. You've been called worse.

"[NAME]," I say, and pull him up from the ground.

I step from the shade of the tree, and back into the sunlight of the clearing to get a better view. The day is hot and still. I close my eyes to feel the tiny currents of air lingering at the edges of the meadow. A small breeze picks up, pushing the wisps of hair from my face.

"I wish I could just blow it down. Woodweaving is useless," Ironic. "There was an elder once who could move the wind, but he's dead. And his student could too, but emai says he's dangerous, that he killed the elder..."

Oh.

I reach for the blade at my side.

As I draw the weapon, I focus the magic. Eddies of wind swirl around it, gathering in tighter and tighter whirls. Dust and dead leaves dance on the steel until I shape the whirlwind to my liking, then release it with a flick of my wrist.

The invisible force hits the tree dead-on, the trunk shuddering with the impact. The branches shake as if some unseen spirit rises through them, finally reaching the kite. The colorful silk lifts off gently as the air returns to the sky above, and drifts into my outstretched hand.

The boy's mouth hands open a bit, but he closes it quickly. The fear is back. "You?" he gasped. 'The elder's student?"

All of Sornieth knows what you are.

Andu looks to the forest road, maybe for someone to come hunting for me. "Did you escape?" he whispered. The childhood innocence reminds me of my past. I shake my head. "Did they let you go then? I mean, were you pardoned?"

"I can't be forgiven for a crime I didn't commit." It's a technicality, but I say it before the voice in my head can.

But you killed the others.

I take a deep, steadying breath, concentrating on the cool breeze at my back and the kite in my hand to keep the memories at bay. Andu chews on his own thoughts for a moment. I watch him intently. As his mouth opens for another question, a glint of metal emerges from the forest and catches the sun. I raise my blade in anticipation, only to find a slightly older version of Andu carrying a small farming tool attached to a long rope. I lower my weapon quickly, but too late-- fear and wariness settle into the meadow.

Too fast to react, too slow to stop.

Never enough for him. It's my whole life in miniature.

Andu's brother watches us. He does not leave the safety of the forest edge. "Andu," The brother calls out. Andu runs over obediently but stops when he sees the tool and the rope. I pull on the light breeze, straining to hear.

"What's that for, Teo?" Andu asks, realization turning to anger. "You knew I would take the kite?" I hold down a grin and shake my head. Of course, he knew.

Big brothers always know what little brothers do.

"Yeah, always the exact opposite of what I tell you, Andu," The older brother starts, still watching me. "Who's that?"

Andu glances back, then leans over and whispers in his brother's ear. Teo's eyes grow wide for a moment, then relax into a dismissive scowl. "Emai says it's time to eat," Teo says as he turns to leave but Andu pulls on his arm, trying to slow him down. He whispers again in his ear. I try to quiet the wind that carries the next words, to stop listening, but it's too late. "No, he can't come.

He's [EXALTED]."

[EXALTED]

The words catch in my throat and the wind finally stills around me. [EXALTED] is something unwanted. A misfortune brought by outsiders or greed.

A little pest that follows big brothers around...

The sun beats down, heating the blade at my side. A word I've heard all my life.

You're not needed. Keep to your path.

I steel myself and walk to the brothers.

"Listen to him, kid," I say, handing the precious silk bundle to Andu. "Brothers know best."

Before either of them can answer, I walk on, returning to the road.

---

AND IN REALTION TO THE ONBE ABOVE

---

When I was a child, my brother asked me;

"Does the wind flee, or does it follow?"

For a long time, I chose to run, for death followed at my back. The people hunting me once me their friend. Now they draw their blade.

They call me a murderer.

One by one, they find me. The first a swordsman of strength renowned throughout Ionia. When we were young, I saw him cleave a tree in two with a single swing of his blade.

But he could not cleave the wind.

The second a warrior of speed and grace. Agile and cunning, she outran even the clever foxes in the woods.

But she could not outrun the wind.

The third was a man of great compassion. He taught me the meaning of patience when I was just a prideful child.

My guide. My friend.

My brother.

How long can I keep going? Even the strongest wind eventually dies.

Until then, I will not flee. I will follow the truth. Let the wind guide my blade, and lead me to the true murderer.

The one responsible for the blood on my hands.

---

AND ONCE MORE IN RLATION TO THE STORY ABOVE

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What is a sword without the man behind it?

Teaching a swordsman to kill is quite simple. The true challenge lies in teaching him not to kill.

When I watched my young brother begin training, he breathed life into the blade at first touch. One heard whispers in the halls comparing him to the swordmasters of old, but as he grew and his skills increases, as did his ego. He was impetuous and boastful, obnoxious and unbearable. He ignored our masters' lessons.

He knew nothing of patience.

Fearing my brother had strayed too far from the way, I went out not to warn him, but to make an appeal to his honor. I gave him a simple maple seed, our people's highest lesson in humility, one [NAME] seemed to have forgotten.

A seed is just a seed, but given time, one may come to know the beauty it holds within.

He took my gift, and the following day he pledged himself to the Elder. I had high hopes he would learn the patience and virtue of a true swordsman.

It was not meant to be.

Today, it seems clear to me that [NAME] murdered the very person he was sword to protect. He betrayed his people, his friends, and himself. Were it not for my actions, I wonder if he would ever have been swept down this dark path.

But my task is not to question. I must bear the burden of my duty.

At first light tomorrow, I will set out to capture a sword without a sheath.

My brother.

[NAME].