Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20150327015504/@comment-24438639-20150331003854

Blade grabbed his sword, several more burning remains of armor were around him however he seemed for the larger part unhurt, a few scratches in his armor but no serious deathwounds or even deep ones like those he inflicted and those who attempted to fight him.

Blade was using a stone, mantaining his swords sharpness as any true swordsman would but he was quickly getting tired of the fish he fought, he was searching for the catch of a century and that came in the form of the Dovahkiin.

Blade had been orphaned at a young age, he was never given a name and was never adopted as such when he finaly left the orphanage he had only known himself as "Boy come here", and he really hated when people said that to him. As he searched for belonging in the large world he found none, no place to call his home in a world devastated by the gods themselves. One day he found his calling, a thief charged the much younger Blade sword in hand, and much to their suprise Blade disarmed and killed the Thief quickly, acting purely on instinct.

Blade grew easily, out fighting the greatest warriors who came to his path, the first battles were long and bloody the scars on his body could tell that, but after each one he became quicker, stronger and more merciless. Originally he had left those who crossed him leave, but now his care for human life grew to a minimum atleast in the small regard. He became the greatest swordsman the world had seen but sadly this was not true, not when gods walked amongside men like Lions through a field of sheep.

The purpose of Blades life was fighting, but fighting means little when gods walk among men. Blade found a solution to this problem, he would kill all those  called themselves gods, starting with the dragonborn.

Blade stood putting his swords on his back and began walking towards Windhelm, where his destiny awaits.

(Shille...lets do this.....?)