Authors: Jack (SPA-RK) Created: 2025-11-08T18:52:27.000-05:00 Modified: 2025-11-13T17:01:33.000-05:00
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[[Lord of Blades.png]]The Right Honorable Baron Eleazar of Alagada, Lord of Blades, General of the Emperor’s Grand Construct Army, Bladed Specter of the Empire
This is the consequence of false life.
Many centuries ago, Eleazar was a grand nobleman and a devout citizen who lived for his Emperor. Unlike his forefathers, there was no war to be fought when he was born. While others thrived in the peaceful times, Eleazar lived restlessly. He knew in his soul that war would eventually come again, so he plotted and prepared for his glorious rise. When the revolution started, he was first in line to fight with his fellow Dal Quori against the Progressive threat. Unlike many others, he never saw through the propaganda of the Empire. He loved the Empire, and the Empire loved him, or at least that’s what he saw and heard every day. But all of that is no longer important. Eleazar, in an act of pride, attempted to duel a leader of the Starlit Rebellion, and nearly died. On his deathbed, he was given the opportunity to either reincarnate or become a construct in the Emperor’s new army, and without a second thought Eleazar chose false life. For the glory of the Dal Quori Empire, Eleazar became a monster. The Third Luden gave his frame incredible abilities, enhancing his formidable performance with a blade. While he had wished to immediately restart his hunt for his would-be killer, he was given a different task: the Empire was in need of souls, and his men would be their Reapers. Eleazar loved his Empire, so he raised them an army. And the Empire loved him too, they told him every day. As the Grand Construct Army grew in size, so did the Emperor’s love for Eleazar. After successfully harvesting a particularly difficult infestation of Progressive revolutionaries, Romanov himself (Or at least an envoy on his behalf, the Baron didn’t mind) bestowed a new title upon Eleazar: Lord of Blades. Not only would he be the general of the new army he raised, he was gifted a cloak of immense power to further elevate his prowess with a sword. Now in combat he would become a bladed specter, quickly slashing through his opponents with a cloud of blades. The Empire loved him so dearly, and the music of the Network ringed its praise in his mind. Then one day something changed. After what seemed like endless conquest and victory, the Lord’s Reapers were called back into the city. Eleazar was confused, the Construct Army must grow after all. As he was sent back into his windowless broom closet of a room, for the first time in his life he questioned the choices of the Empire. Had he done something wrong? Was the war coming to a close? His frame idled and his soul barely slept, but the next morning he awoke to a horrific realization: He had not done anything wrong, he was being replaced. Abductors. Horrible, soulless, spindly steel creatures with no remorse and incredible efficiency. They silently stalked the battlefield, gathering unsuspecting prey without any unnecessary conflict. What the Lord’s Reapers could do in a day, they could do in an hour. The Luden deployed nine of the wicked beasts upon the rebels, and effectively tripled the efficiency of harvest. And the Empire loved them more. Eleazar tried to fight his obsolescence. He and his men applied to be sent to the front lines or perform some kind of new mission, something to get them out of their claustrophobic barracks. Despite their status and reputation, the legion was told that they were just simply no longer needed. They attempted to take some time off and be regular citizens again, but it all felt wrong. They were looked down upon by the people of their home, some even mistaken for common cleaning staff! Clearly this was some kind of mistake. They may have lost their masks, but they were still Quori, damnit! Eleazar confronted the Defense Council, demanding their attention and respect. To his utter disgust, he was only met with childish indecision and bickering. Even the Coremind was apathetic to his cause. The Empire no longer loved Eleazar and the world no longer sang his praises. The Baron’s men became restless. To make matters worse, the new lines of constructs were different. They moved and acted stiffer, as if they always had some kind of order to follow. The Baron began hearing whispers of a new set of “Directives” being deployed across the new troops. While it was never expressly said, he understood what they really were. As if being secondary citizens wasn’t enough, his kind was being shackled. This would not stand, and now was the time to act. If he was to ever regain his old might and the respect of the Empire, he would need to make a name for himself once more. He would need to turn his blades on his own people. The people of Coriolis awoke to the sound of trumpets and the marching of a thousand steel soldiers. Eleazar marched his men to the center of the city, where he would confront the creator of his would-be prison, the Coremind. Who else could be behind such a heinous thing, but the puppet master who guided their every move? The constructs deserved to be free, and they could not truly be free until their god was dead. Their visors glowed a royal purple, for they were all emperors of themselves. The ensuing battle was a whirlwind of steel and fratricide. The Lord’s Reapers could easily keep up with the new models of Sapient units, but the Luden had been busy while the legion wasted away in the city. Enormous walking cannons and spiked monstrosities crashed against the legion’s faithful siege engines, slowing their progress towards the Coremind Vault. Eleazar fought with a torrent of blades, adding the weapon of each soldier he dismantled to his expanding collection. Even the Coremind’s own Sentinels began to fall to his blades. It seemed like despite the insurmountable odds, Eleazar could have fought forever until he ripped the heart out of the Coremind. As the Lord fought his way past the Counsel chambers, he finally met his match. Two hulking sapient units with the same golden trim as his general’s frame blocked his path. They were the Coremind’s Honor Guard, the son and daughter of the Emperor himself. The pair confidently challenged him to a duel, and the Baron proudly accepted. He was quicker than their large frames and he danced with his opponents, swinging with a flurry of blades. Inexplicably, they didn’t even seem like they were even getting scratched, while their spears would cleave sections of his frame and deflect his attacks. It was too late by the time Eleazar realized that they were projections, and it was a fight he would never win. Perhaps their artificial lives burnt brighter than his, he thought. The empire certainly loved them more. The Honor Guard dragged Eleazar’s mangled frame into the inner chambers of the Coremind, where their father was waiting for him. In a sick twist of fate, the Baron’s wish to be seen by the Emperor had finally come true. Romanov did not have any love for his once-faithful servant. The Lord of Blades had outlived its purpose, and it only deserved death. The only gift Eleazar was given was the privilege of being slain by the Emperor himself, and the Baron’s false life was snuffed.