Back when I was content lead at Spellborn Works, I created multiple ‘mood pieces’ to reflect upon the universe of “The Chronicles of Spellborn”. These texts were written at a conceptual level, to provide artists and fellow designers with an idea of how the game world behaved on its own. This one was intended to convey the game mechanics of combat into Spellborn reality. Enjoy.
“It seemed to work for you.” Larrah turned towards the Berserker again. “But this guy is still staring at me, standing still, while I am standing still and we’re talking. Something tells me he’ll start attacking us any mom-…” As the Berserker’s axe suddenly cleaved down just a few inches in front of them, Larrah was initially surprised by its speed and secondly by the fact that she had been right. She jumped backwards out of the way and slapped her hand on one of the Crests adorning her armour.
“-What? Time to party already?” Brent tried his darnedest to sound sarcastic, but the fact that he also had jumped out of the way, emphasized his mock-surprise. One by one the Tattoos on his upper body flared up. A whirl of small stone shards encircled the Berserker and pierced its body as they slowly faded out of existence again. The pain obviously made it more angry as it started hacking away at the disappearing magic remnants. “-Seems the Pounding Shards aren’t working, madam. So which ol’ geezer are you going to acquaint me with toda-…”
“THE-NAME-IS-SIRORRATH, YOU-INSOLENT-FOOL!” A vague transient figure hovered around Larrah and fused with her body. Her eyes had turned completely white and her battle-stance was clearly that of a battle-worn warrior.“-Oh great! That narcissistic Vhelgar-slaying prince of yore again! With these Spirits you really do spoil us, madam…” Brent's sarcasm went unnoticed as a possessed Larrah drew her Ornate Sword. “-Deaf man’s ears… Really, next time she needs to be a bit more picky about the spirits she lets into her mind…” Brent’s self-addressed complaint went, again, unnoticed as Larrah’s sword and the Berserker’s axe clashed, veered back and clashed again.
“-Better do my part of the dance,” Brent sighed as his hands moved determinedly. The white markings of the Shellshock spell filled the air and crashed down upon the Berserker. While visibly hampered by its effects, the Speyrman was not yet beaten. It was pure luck that made it deflect Larrah’s blade just a moment later. Attained clarity through casting the Shellshock, Brent’s mind and body raced through the possibilities available to him. His Tattoos flared up again as his mind settled.
A single strike of Larrah rose upwards and the Berserker staggered backwards. “AWAY-WITH-THEE, FOUL-MONGREL!” It was all Brent needed. Holding his arms aloft crossed like an X, he pulled both back alongside his body, charged his senses and flared the conjuration around the Berserker. “-Exploded Ring of Flame, you boulder-tugger!” Brent shouted. Markings appeared on the ground and grass spontaneously combusted into flames licking up alongside the Berserkers legs and torso. Its cries echoed across the old Ringlands as the flames themselves combusted upon touching the Berserker’s flesh.
Larrah stepped forward as the Berserker clutched and clawed in panic at the flames hurting his physical being. “FEAR-NOT-CREATURE-STRAYED-FROM-THE-LIGHT! SALVATION-IS-AT-HAND!” Larrah jumped into the air, her Ornate Sword held high above her head. It cleaved the Berserker in two as it came crashing down upon the helpless Speyrman. The flames singed the remains and slowly started consuming the moist flesh laid bare. “ONCE-AGAIN, SIRORRATH-IS-VICTORIOUS!”
“-Put a sock in it ol’ timer,” Brent sneered. “And let me through to Larrah, OK?” Larrah swiped her sword clean of blood and stepped towards Brent, her eyes still white and filled with the life force of an Ancestral spirit. “YOU-HAVE-NO-RIGHT-TO-COMMAND-ME, BASTARD-CHILD!” “-Oh, by the Light, do I look like I care? Larrah, snap back please.” Larrah raised her blade. “YOU-SHALL-PAY-DEARLY-FOR-THIS-INSOLENCE!” The blade crashed down as Brent dived to his right into a bush. Not perturbed by the incident, Larrah turned towards him anew. Her eyes were still white. “-Tugging Storms! Larrah, what the bloody Light!? Snap out of it!” Larrah moved forward and raised her blade again.
Brent sighed. “-As you wish, madam.” The blade struck down, and Brent thrust his dagger upward as magic threads seeped through it and formed a giant Spirit blade around it, blocking Larrah’s blade. The momentum of the clash caught Larrah unaware and she staggered back. Brent jumped out of the bush and quickly sheathed his dagger as Larrah lost her balance and dropped to the ground. “-Sorry, 'Sir Orrath', this is going to be rather personal.” Brent moved his hands again and the familiar patterns of the Shellshock came crashing down once again. The force of the spell threw her body a few feet across the ground which abruptly stopped as she hit a tree. Falling back, Lerrah remained still, her eyes closed.
Slightly dazed, Brent sighed and kneeled next to her. Carefully he rubbed her left eyelid back. A dark-brown iris complete with dilated pupil stared at him. A breath of relief escaped his lips. “-If only she wasn’t as empathetical with her tools…” Brent picked her up, slung her over his shoulder and headed straight for Scourpool Village. “-Don’t worry madam, I’m not that mad yet.” The faintest of smiles appeared on her lips.