To pull the cursed blade (Exam)

Aberham was sick of the snow.

After his last quest he would have been content to simply spend some time in the far warmer kingdoms. He had been to no place colder than the frozen woods. This quest had all started in his research on magic and the hero. He uncovered a myth about a dark parallel to the master sword. It's power and corruption as a blade drew dozens upon dozens of great warriors to seek it out.

Like many knights before him he started the quest to find the nameless sword. It would be a sure upgrade from his blade of the night. It was dark, and it was cold. But that never bothered him, his under armor kept him nice and toasty and his blessing let his eyes pierce the darkness. He held in his hand a map torn from an ancient book where a scholar had pinpointed the precise location of the sword. The snow was deep as normal and there had been a break in the wintry storm for the last few hours. It seemed to get darker and darker with every step he took, the locals said that such a relief in the snow so early meant that a blizzard was sure to come. Bah! He would be fine.

That's when he heard something ahead, was it a moan? He crouched down, put his map away and drew his jet black sword. He peered past a tree to see....

The fog mostly obscured the path ahead. Outlines of trees dotted the distance, their bare branches winding out in ominous spindles as the snow continued to lighty fall, dusting the landscape. No longer a storm as it had been, but still enough to keep the Woods difficult to navigate. The storm could begin again at any time. A risk Aberham should know.

But then there was a crunch of the snow...And another. Soon outlines of men could be seen shambling through the heavy mists. Nothing could be seen of their features yet...But there were a lot of them, though they didn't truly seem to be traveling together. The way they carried themselves, however, was worth note.

They seemed half-dead, dragging themselves through the snow. From what could be seen from their outlines, all of them appeared to be wearing armor, some wielding shields slackly to their sides, but all dragged a sword to the ground...Suddenly the one closest turned to the tree Aberham hid behind seemed to turn to him. Pausing for a moment...Before letting out a low moan and turning away to continue on. They seemed to have no particular destination in mind...But as soon as any strayed too far into view, they turned around. As if they weren't allowed to go too far out of this area. As if they had a purpose.

Aberham raised his sword just a bit when he saw the zombie men in front of him.

It was true, even if this was not a darker version of the master sword (it was something he highly doubted) it had a large amount of power to draw this many adventurers in to find it, and a much larger corruption to somehow drive their body's even after the point of death. He was just about ready to charge forward or perhaps march forward to carve a bloody path through the trail of them all.

But then he had a much better idea, surly this would not be all that the swords challenges had to offer. He was almost certain he could take them all on, assuming they were not as strong as they when when they were healthy people. Instead he did the smart move, Aberham had read countless zombie novels about hero's cutting their way through hordes of dead men like the one he could barley see right before him. But he had read a few more where the stakes were dire, and the hero could not possibly beat them all. They attempted a disguise, covering themselves in blood and shambling through the hoard.

Instead, he figured they were all frozen on the outside and had ice coming off of their armor. Just like him. He put his sword down on the ground and started dragging it behind him. He had almost identical posture to one of the zombies, taking jerky steps. He would not make a beeline strait past them but would rather move like them, slowly. Occasionally stopping in the middle to evade this calm hoard. If it were larger or more ravenous then this was sure not to work. But since it was just him and some sleepy zombies outside he figured this would be a good plan.

He realized the storm could come at any time. This would actually be an incredible thing for Aberham. The snow would freeze the undead solid to where they could not move while he sought shelter. But on the other hand the sword could get buried under a dozen feet of snow. He pressed on with renewed zombie like resolve, he did not need to make a zombie face since his helm hid it for him. He followed them with his eyes. Not his head.

The monsters continued their shuffling. They all quieted slightly as he entered the open, but made no active movements against him. The shambling corpses simply only continuing their endless, meaningless walk. Why did they do this? Clearly they had no meaning in this...Nor the thought capacity to know.

Apparently the wanderer was right...The cold was helping mask their judgement for what qualified as food. The snow beginning to slightly come down harder from the skies, though not too much. The storm was beginning to brew up again.

As he continued on, however, the forest became more dense, the trees growing closer together, as the amount of beasts shuffling about grew. Whatever it was these things were guarding...It was likely worth it.

A powerful aura was growing the further he went. A dark power that was likely help empower these corpses. It was likely connected to why they were risen from their graves in the first place.

But then, one of the dumb things bumped into the traveller, its shoulder roughly brushing his own. It paused, slowly craning its head towards him, as it made another low moan, watching his actions. He didn't seem like food...But he also didn't seem like one of them. Was he food? The monster needed to know.

Aaberham cursed himself. He had made an error. In an effort to be zombie like he had walked directly into one of the blighters. Imediantly he tried to mimic what the zombie was doing almost like a taller mirror. He held his breath, for if his breathing were to be seen in this cold or heard then it would be a dead giveaway that he was still alive. The snow fall and sounds of zombies walking around would help his breathing from being heard.

He looked at the zombie for a few seconds then allowed his eyes to wander away, over to a tree. Then he shuffled over there with no real set pace. In many ways the zombie's eyes reminded him of the many empty holes he had seen in stalfos many times. He did not allow a single bead of sweat to apear on hi brow. He had nerves of steel and had washed recently. Good gods he was cold. He shuffled in the direction of the force, if he could just get that sword then everything would be alright. It would be worth coming all the way down here. He generally went in whatever direction he felt the power. But he also followed how many zombies there were in the area. Often choosing to bypass thicker crowds in favor of going around, he avoided them like land mines.

The corpse watched him as the warrior shambled away in the hopes of fooling it...And it did. The monster let out another low groan before turning and beginning to shuffle away, its attention taken to something else entirely. The cold truly was messing with the already limited senses of the dead.

It seemed that wherever the power grew, the more zombies there were. As he avoided them, some looked in his direction but none approached. Their senses were too muddled to do anything in the least.

Continuing through the dense trees, while the number of monsters grew, they also became strangely more spread out in a way due to the trees blocking them clustering together...Though there were still plenty. The power was growing by the second. A dark omen lingering in the air.

This was something that was not meant to be obtained. The growing snowfall only added to the ominousness of the ordeal as he approached...The number of Zombies in the dense wood didn't help either. Their presence alone was a testament to the darkness engulfing this particular part of the forest.

But it seemed as if the trees would be ending soon...The area ahead seeming to clear of them...But beyond them, the zombies seemed grouped once again, the forms of their masses shuffling aimlessly about...Before their forms became impossible to make out as the fog began to return.

Aberham skillfully avoided zombies. Very thankful he had chosen this plan over a direct assault. These zombies would surly overwhelm even him in this snow. If he was not wearing such thick clothing he would be showing the early signs of frostbite. He he to draw the blade and get the hell out of here. As he walked through more and more zombies he had to get shoulder to shoulder with them many times. But he was very, VERY careful not to full on touch any of them. He noticed the tree's were ending soon. Perhaps this was an indication of a clearing where the sword might be? He pressed forward and entered the clearing ahead. If he were not so pressed for time he would have used this break in the opponents to light a fire and get a few minutes of heat. But the storm would be coming soon and he needed to find this sword fast. He could feel the ice gnawing on the edges of his very soul, trying to prevent him from going forward. It was a good thing his disguise was shambling and not standing up. For his stamina was being tested and walking perfectly would not have helped things. He looked away from the falling snow as he finally set foot in the clearing. Then he looked all around for the swords steps as depicted in the books. Weather this was legend or fact however, it was definitely in a stone.

As the trees ended, Aberham did indeed end up in a clearing...A clearing hidden away from the rest of the world. Zombies still crowded all about the place as well. The beasts shambled into each other, crowding all around...Surrounding a pedestal with a sword in the center.

The pedestal seemed ancient. Built in a long forgotten age, the blade silently awaiting one to approach...But not without challenge. The sword somehow glistened with power. A dark power. This was it. This was the source of the power that had been guiding Aberham through the forest.

However the challenge was not over yet. The monsters all surrounded the sword, still shuffling aimlessly. As if they were defending it. On some level it was rather pathetic. It seemed as though this cursed blade was the reason for the demise of all these warriors. And now it was their job to protect it and add to their ranks.

The energy surrounding the blade pulsed slightly. As if calling out to Aberham. The snow began to fall even harder, as the mist became so thick you cut it with a knife. Was the blade itself doing this? It was a very well possibility as the beasts somehow seemed to be growing more aware...Perhaps the sword was now warning them of how close Aberham had gotten? That amongst them there was one who didn't belong? Their aimless walking began to stop as they all gathered around the pedestal, more entering from the Woods so as to defend their master.

When Aberham saw the golden shimmering steel of the sword he had to stop for a moment. It was the finest blade he had seen in his entire life. As a weapons enthusiast he could marvel at it from this distance all day. But once he saw more and more zombies come in to defend the sword he knew he had three options.

One: Continue to sneak through the zombies until you reach the sword.
When Aberham looked at the zombies they seemed to become more and more aware the closer they got to the sword. It was their source of power after all, would drawing it make them all stop? He decided that it was to risky, the zombies were to alert and he would be found out within ten feet of them. He would have to think of something new, or risk being totally surrounded.

Two: Use your ace in the hole to get to the sword.
He could see it now, if he activated the magical item he could get himself there for sure. But once he did get there he would need to deactivate it's magic to draw the sword. If the zombies still stood, which they very well might. Then he would have to fight through an endless army of fallen soldiers, albeit with an amazing sword in toe.

Three: FIGHT
The simplest plan, this is the one he opted to do. As he drew closer he stood taller and more refined, he pulled his sword off the ground and shook the ice off of it gracefully. He rose his shield and popped concentration. He would need every advantage he could get and the adrenalin that rushed through his system dramatically improved his reaction time and ability to fight. He took a slow pace, but he knew he would not stop. When he reached the first zombie he swung his sword. Hoping to cut through the more easily cut dead flesh and cleave him in twain. But the zombies out here were literally freezing, they would be hard to kill. But the ice also meant that they would only be able to move dramatically slower, especially the ones in armor. He used his speed advantage to slash at two others on his side trying to use their brittle flesh to his advantage and break their legs so they could not stand.

As Aberham began to straighten himself up and drop the act, the zombies all gathered their attention to him more than before, now knowing this was not another member of their own, but an intruder. They all began to approach him, the hoard regrouping into a large mass. This was the one obstacle now standing between him and the accursed blade that had caused all of these warriors to become the shambling husks that now stood.

The first Zombie went down without a fight, it still trying to figure out what was going on at the time. As it fell, now two halves of a whole, the rest became more aggressive. Knowing that this was a true foe and not simple food.

Two attempted to reach for him on one side before he suddenly slashed at them, making them stumble back...Before he broke their legs. They fell unceremoniously, the foul liquids of their insides beginning to stain the snow...But they did not stop. They continued to try to crawl after him within the snow, reaching out their arms to leverage themselves forward.

Otherwise, all around him were the less armored, and clearly less experienced souls. Most wore simple leather armor, and so while they were still slow...The ice did not affect them near as much as their more heavily armored allies that still lagged behind in attempting to reach Aberham.

Aberham was so focused right now.

He was wired like no other man could be. He spun around delivering multiple slashes to his poorly armored foes. With great effort he cut through swords, gouged out hearts, cleaved through head all with one goal. Push to the sword. After he had spent a few seconds considerably weakening the zombie troops around him, he pressed onward. The sword was calling to him, tempting his very soul with power. It's golden light filled his eyes with thoughts of greed, and magically obtained power. If he could draw that sword he knew he would go down in the history books as the legendary general of Ganodorf.

He yelled and kept his pace, moving significantly faster and making his way through the horde at a great speed. His armor took clumsy blows all around him and he never really sustained great damage. Just to give you a feel for how wired Aberham was, a zombie ahead of him tried to gut him with his sword. He leapt into the air, did a sidways flip and drove his sword deep into his skull before pulling it out ans shaking off the foul liquid with a single slick of his sword. He could feel the adrenalin waning.

Driven on by desperation and a blind desire for power. Aberham drew an his boundless inner reserve of courage. And charged forward with his shield raised high. He could see it, it was the golden gleam in his eyes. He would do anything to reach that stone. His heart was pounding and the snow fell down om them all agressivly but he pushed forward with very once of strength he had in his heavily toned 6"6' body.

The zombies fell to the crazed man's assault in droves. Despite their obsessive desire to protect the sword, they were no match for the warrior's hopped up energy. The snow was becoming more and more stained as the corpses fell all about him in mangled messes. Heads, limbs, and torn torsos laid strewn all about the meadow.

The amount of zombies was dwindling greatly though there were still plenty around. It seemed as if it were impossible to land a hit on this maniac...This was some rather tough food. Even when they did manage to land a hit on him, he seemed to simply shrug it off. This was a monster amongst them...Even the more heavily armored ones didn't stand a chance.

They didn't stand a chance as he plowed through them with his shield up...Towards the accursed blade they were forced to protect and the reason for their predicament. The Golden Blade shimmered with its power...Tempting the fighter even more.

The storm was now beginning to rage again. the snow falling harshly around, the fog growing more...Though it mattered not as Aberham now stood in front of the sword. Now the power almost engulfed him, temptation washing all over him. Yes...the sword WANTED him to pull it...

Aberham took his sword in two hands and cleaved through a heavily armored foe from his neck to his hip then ran up the short flight of steps to get the sword. He threw his own bloodied blade to the ground beside it and the snow started violently pouring down all around the pedestal. A magical wind blew around him parting the snow for him alone so that he could see the sword in it's splendor.

He had greed in his eyes. But as the adrenalin wore off he got more in control of his body and steadied his heart rate. He planted both of his armored hands on the sword and his cape billowed in the background violently in the magical wind. Already he could feel it in his mind, trying it's best to corrupt and taint them. Ages ago this was the best sword that mankind made. It's blade forged from the finest golden alloy, cooled in water blessed by a priest but tinted with blood, then enchanted by master wizards until in glowed with a power to great for anyone at the time to wield. It was sent away here after it's owner caused many deaths and anyone who had gotten so far as to touch it immediately lost themselves to the madness and became a zombie. A slave to the sword doomed to guard it until the end of time.

This story flooded into his mind as with great effort he began to lift the blade from the stone. His mind was assaulted on all angels with images of the gates to the heavens opening up and the sword falling out. For a few moments he struggled against it, the visions turning black in his mind. Terrifying pictures of shadow consuming the entire world. He knew he would give in, and be subjected to a lifetime of this horror. His mind was plunged into a sea of terror and he was about to black out.....

But then he looked up and could see his father looking down on him, it reminded him of the time he had broken his leg in a wagon accident. He looked down on him and said. "Your in quite the pickle aren't you Aberham. Why, to even think that a poor old dirt farmer like me might raise a bonified legend like you to go around on these great adventures might make my heart stop. You can't quit now Abe. You got to many people caring about you and to much business to attend to to just die now."

"Father! I-It's so black... It's so black and I can't see through it!" He said reaching up to his face as he sunk ferther in, he could feel himself getting lost in the sea, trapped in his own head. He looked at his father and saw everyone he had ever cared about look down on him like he was nine feet over in a grave. He saw a certain merchant. "Come on! It's not your time yet! You've saved me a boatload of times before! I won't let you give up now!" He saw an impressionable young fighter with something to prove to his brother. "You're not weak enough to die here are you? Where was that warrior I saw duke it out with all those Stalfos in the graveyard. He saw a man with shackles on his wrists and ankles. "Come on, I've been through worse than this. Your not gonna let your older brother get ahead of you now?" He saw a young woman clad in blue. "Come on little bro! Swim out like I taught you to! You know this is not real right?" He saw a dead knight who was missing his helmet because Aberham had slain him, but he still cared about him deep in his heart. "Come on now! I still look up to you even in the heavens high above, your not going to go nickin my helmet to go croak down here aren't you?" Among them was a horse who neighed something, it was probably the most heartfelt neigh ever uttered from beast to man, he could barly understand it in his dwindling state of consciousness. "I won't fail you master! In this life or the next!" Towering above them all was a dragon with a long neck and eyes that reflected the little light available back at Abe. "Where is that warrior who brought me down from the sky so many months ago? Surly after surviving that fall you can pull yourself out of this pit of despair...." A Gerudo man just a single inch shorter than Aberham, a man blessed by Din and granted eternal power by demise was holding the had of his wife. "No champion of mine dies anywhere but out on the field. Pull yourself up soldier, we have a war to fight!"

He saw a bunch of men and women he did not recognize. But then something clicked, less than half looked to be warriors and the other half looked like villagers and travelers. They were the Stalfos and the zombies he had killed to get here. The very last one he had killed leaned in. "You struck down more of us than anyone of us that came before, I know you are not going to succumb to this illusion like we all did. You have to much spirit. Just look at all these people who care about you. Tieing you to this word, every action you have ever done is to make them happy or proud. I can not think of a single other man who is more worthy of pulling this blade. Now come on Aberham, FIGHT!" Aberham struggled against the darkness around him alone, but he was failing. Beneath him he could see a sea of the monsters he had killed, all jumping and grabbing at him even in death to end his life. They were lead by an eight year old clown Zora who looked just the way he had left him, with a caved in skull. They were all winning and his view on those he cared about was dwindling.

Thats when something his clever sister and the leader of the deceased warriors told him sprung up to mind. Was this all an illusion? If it was he should have no trouble! But this was a master illusion and he was not powerful enough even with his gift to see through it. He clenched his fists in rage. He would make himself more powerful gods be damned! A thin thread formed out from his heart up to the surface, it seemed to be so far away but he had to get there! It felt like climbing through an avalanche in these very woods, which he had done before. As he came up the thread got thicker and thicker. Eventually forming into a solid rope. The people around him faded, they were all just a hallucination anyways. The rope disappeared and he clawed his way to the surface, and he pulled the top of his body out like it was solid dirt. He saw the golden sword in the ground in front of him. He would not let it beat him by any account. He put both hands on it and with great effort began to slide it from the stone. It fought him like a bass on the hook but he gave it no quarter. His eyes began to shoot off a blinding light as his blessing of shadows sneak was upgraded in a power capable of destroying all lies and shining light on the truth. The illusion crumbled, and in the woods of winter the knight who was now a legend drew his sword.

He gasped, he had only been out for less than a second. The swords magic had effected his armor. It was the same color of gold as the blade itself and his cape was three times longer. A crown was worked into his helm and he looked like the king of battle. He turned to face the zombies, he knew a thing or two about magic and that they would soon perish now that their source of power had been removed. If it did not happen immediately it would be soon. He held up his left hand, chained around it was a phase amulet. A gift from a Zora clown boy he had killed, from someone who he did not even bother to ask his name. It shimmered and he became completely intangible to anything but the floor. He walked right through them, cape fluttering in the wind. If they pursued him he would walk through large tree's and piles of snow until he gave them the slip.

Aberham was now a legend.