The Hollow Blade

The Village of Farros

Deep within the Ironglade Mountains, nestled beneath a canopy of ancient trees that had witnessed the rise and fall of forgotten empires, the village of Farros slumbered. Yet that night, no one rested. The air crackled with an unnatural energy, and the moon, usually a soft, silver glow, hung in the sky like a cruel eye, red and watchful.

A commotion stirred in the village square. The Elders of Farros gathered, faces grave, discussing matters too important to leave to the whispers of wind. One by one, villagers approached the circle of firelight, murmuring in unease. They had been warned of this day. A dark prophecy, handed down through the generations, had finally arrived. The Black Wyrm, a creature of ancient malice, had awakened.

But the Black Wyrm was not simply a beast. Long ago, before the fall of the first great empire, the Wyrm was a guardian — a force born to maintain balance between life and destruction. The ancient order of warriors, who sought power beyond their means, betrayed their pact with the Wyrm, twisting it into a creature of vengeance. This betrayal corrupted the Wyrm’s purpose, turning it into an entity bound by hatred for those who tried to control it.

Now, it was a force of pure chaos. Its scales, thick as iron and blacker than night, could deflect any blade. Its eyes burned with the hatred of a thousand years of imprisonment, and with each step it took, the earth trembled in fear. Worse yet, it was bound to nothing but the whims of destruction, a curse inflicted upon it by those who sought to wield it for their own gain. The Elders knew of only one weapon that could defeat it — the Hollow Blade.

The Hollow Blade was no ordinary weapon. It was said to hold the very essence of the Wyrm’s soul, forged by the same ancient order that had once sought to control the beast. The warriors of old, realizing they had unleashed something they could not contain, sacrificed one of their own to trap the Wyrm’s power within the blade. The weapon became a prison of sorts, but at a terrible cost — the warrior’s soul was forever bound to the Wyrm, and the one who wielded the Hollow Blade would inherit that curse.

The Call to Adventure

“I’m going with you.”

Natalie's voice cut through the clamor of the village square. Her hand rested on the hilt of her hunting knife, though she knew it would do little against a dragon. The Elders exchanged uneasy glances. She was young, barely of age, but her spirit was well-known. Natalie had trained since childhood in the ways of tracking and hunting. Her skill with a bow and her knowledge of the Ironglade were unmatched, even by seasoned warriors.

“You are brave, child,” said Elder Max, his eyes weary. “But this is no mere hunt. We seek the Hollow Blade, and its location is unknown. The quest will take you far beyond the forest you know. If you go, there may be no return.”

Natalie's heart pounded in her chest, but her resolve was firm. “If we do nothing, we will all perish. I will not sit idle while the Wyrm burns our home.”

The Elders could see there was no changing her mind. Beside her, three others stepped forward- AJ, a blacksmith with arms strong from years of hammering iron; Brett, a young scholar who had spent his life studying the old tales; and Eugene, a weathered ranger who had seen more battles than he cared to admit. Together, they would form the party that would seek the Hollow Blade.

Into the Unknown

The journey began at dawn, the four adventurers leaving the safety of Farros behind. They traveled for days, the dense forests of the Ironglade giving way to craggy hills and cold, barren lands. The further they went, the less familiar the world became. Strange creatures lurked at the edges of their vision, watching but never approaching.

One night, as they sat around a fire, Brett pulled out a scroll from his pack. It was a map, old and tattered, but it was the only guide they had to the Hollow Blade’s supposed resting place- the Shadow Peaks, a mountain range that jutted into the sky like the teeth of some great beast.

“The map ends here,” Brett said, pointing to a blank section near the mountains. “No one knows what lies beyond.”

Eugene poked the fire with a stick. “I’ve been to the Peaks once, long ago. The place is cursed. Travelers speak of shadows that move on their own, voices that whisper in your ear, driving you mad.”

“Sounds lovely,” AJ grunted, checking his sword. “We’ve got no choice.”

Natalie remained silent, staring into the flames. She had grown up hearing stories of the Hollow Blade, but those were tales meant to entertain children. Now, with every step they took, the weight of the prophecy felt heavier. Would they truly find the Blade, or was this a fool’s errand?

The Trials of the Peaks

Reaching the Shadow Peaks was the easy part. Once they stood at the foot of the mountains, it became clear why no one returned from this place. The air was thin, making every breath a struggle. Dark clouds swirled around the peaks, blocking out the sun, and the ground was treacherous, shifting beneath their feet.

For days they climbed, facing challenges both physical and mental. Strange, hallucinatory visions plagued them. Natalie saw her parents, long dead, calling to her from the mist. AJ heard the sound of hammering, a ghostly echo of his forge. Brett was haunted by the faces of those he had left behind in the village, while Eugene saw only darkness.

They pressed on, fighting the mountain and their own fears, until finally they reached the entrance to a cave. It was here, the legends said, that the Hollow Blade had been hidden.

The Guardian of the Blade

Inside the cave, the air was thick with the scent of old magic. The walls glowed faintly, strange runes carved into the stone. At the center of the cavern was a pedestal, and resting upon it was the Hollow Blade. The sword was simple, unadorned, its surface a dull grey as if it had been forged from the mist itself. But it radiated a cold, malevolent energy, as though the sword was alive and watching them.

As they approached, a figure stepped forward from the shadows. Tall, cloaked in the same darkness that swirled through the cave, the figure’s voice echoed like scraping metal. “You seek the Hollow Blade,” the figure said. “But it is not yours to take.”

Natalie’s heart pounded, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her knife. “We need it. The Black Wyrm has awoken.”

The figure’s hood fell back, revealing the face of a long-dead warrior. His eyes were hollow, skin pale and stretched tight over bone. “The Blade was forged from the soul of the Wyrm itself. To wield it is to bind yourself to the creature you wish to destroy. Are you willing to pay that price?”

The group hesitated. They had not been warned of this. To wield the Hollow Blade meant taking on the curse of the Wyrm, to share in its rage and destruction.

Natalie stepped forward, her resolve unshaken. “I will take the risk. If we do nothing, we are already lost.”

The warrior’s ghostly gaze pierced through her. “Know this- the Blade craves power. Each time you strike, it will take from you. It will demand more than just your strength. The Hollow Blade was forged not to destroy the Wyrm, but to bind its power to its wielder. You will never be free of it.”

Natalie’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword. The moment she touched the cold metal, a shock ran through her — a dark presence, as if the Wyrm itself was whispering to her, testing her will.

The Final Battle

The return to Farros was faster than their journey out, but as they descended the Shadow Peaks, Natalie could feel the Hollow Blade whispering in her mind. It spoke of power, of control. It promised her that with its strength, she could do more than just slay the Wyrm — she could command it. The Wyrm wasn’t just a beast, it whispered; it was an ancient force, a piece of the world’s balance. Destruction was its purpose, just as creation was hers.

Each day, it grew harder to resist the Blade’s pull, its hunger for more.

When they finally reached the village, it was already under siege. The Black Wyrm had arrived, its enormous form blotting out the sky as flames consumed the houses and trees. The villagers ran in terror, their arrows and spears useless against the beast.

Natalie charged toward the creature, the Hollow Blade in her hand, feeling its power surge through her. With a scream, she leaped onto the Wyrm’s back, plunging the sword deep into its scales.

The Wyrm roared, but even as it fell, Natalie felt the Blade drawing something from her. The whispers in her mind grew louder, telling her that the Wyrm was not her enemy, but her equal. The Hollow Blade fed on the darkness within her, and she knew that in killing the Wyrm, she would take its place in the world’s balance.

With one final effort, she drove the sword into the Wyrm’s heart. The beast collapsed, but the victory came with a cost. As the Wyrm died, Natalie could feel the Blade’s power creeping into her soul, its hunger still not sated. She had won, but the Blade was now part of her, bound by the same curse that had created the Wyrm in the first place.

The Price of Victory

The village of Farros was saved, but Natalie’s victory was bittersweet. The Black Wyrm was gone, and the Hollow Blade was returned to the mountain, hidden away once more. Yet Natalie was no longer the same. The Blade had taken something from her — her innocence, her humanity, perhaps even her future. She had inherited the curse of the Wyrm, just as the warrior of old had before her.

Some victories, she realized, are not about defeating a foe, but about surviving the consequences. The Wyrm was dead, but its legacy lived on in her, and the balance it had once maintained still lingered in the world.

And some quests, she knew, never truly end.