| Bladeforge | |
|---|---|
 The Winged Blade | |
| Max Health | 1600 |
| HP Regen | 24/s |
| Max Mana | 1000 |
| Mana Regen | 20/s |
| Gold | 1000 |
| Speed | 96/s |
| Role | Support Fighter |
| Stats | |
| Attack | 148
|
| Defense | 60
|
| Support | 40
|
| Difficulty | 60
|
| Health | 150
|
- "The cries of twisted metal, like the screams of a tortured maiden, were said to issue from the place."
Skills[]
- Inner Fire
The Bladeforge spews forth red-hot liquid steel from the forge at his heart, engulfing his foes with searing slag.
|
Level 1 | Level 2 | Level 3 |
| Damage / s | 120 | 170 | 220 |
| DoT Damage / s | 60 | 80 | 100 |
| DoT Duration (s) | 3 | 3 | 3 |
| Mana Cost / tick | 1 | 1 | 1 |
| Cool Down (s) | 0.1 | 0.1 | 0.1 |
- Forge Rippers
Shards of hot steel as long as a man’s arm are cast forth to spear the enemy, shearing armor and scale alike like warm lard.
 |
Level 1 | Level 2 | Level 3 |
| Damage / 1 projectile | 60 | 83 | 106 |
| Mana Cost | 50 | 60 | 70 |
| Cool Down (s) | 2 | 2 | 2 |
Lore[]
As a boy in the High City of Halvalas, Kelven wanted nothing more than to be celebrated, but try as he might, he always seemed to fall short. On the sporting field, he would drip the ball or accidentally pass to the other team, at dances at the town hall, he was never a popular choice, even at his father's forge, despite years of instruction Kelven was clumsy and unskilled. Though not particularly ugly or stupid, poor Kelven somehow couldn't rise above his peers in any way.
At the heght of his 17th summer, Kelven resolved to leave his home and find his calling, something that would show him how to unlock the potential that he was sure that he had. He packed his few things, took up a small short sword at the town forge, left his parents and his friends, and walked East into the mountains to seek his destiny wherever the road would take him.
After many days and nights Kelven had wandered far from his homeland in the plains below, and a great highlands thunderstorm had been raining steadily for 3 days. Kelven was sodden to the bone when he saw in the dwindling evening light the flicker of a lamp hung upon a large stone bridge. Thinking to shelter beneath it for the night, Kelven quickened his pace though the sheeting rain. But slowed when, through the dim and the chatter of the rain on the flagstones he heard the skirl of steel and an animal snarl.
Drawing the short-sword he approached the shadowed bridge itself. Stepping over a fallen pike and into the shadows he found a guardsman engaged in battle with a slavering hunchbacked troll. Kelven struck at the beast from behind and severed the beasts arm cleanly. It fell to the stones and writhed unnaturally, worm-like, toward its former owner. In revulsion Kelven stabbed again and again. In the confusion the guardsman had rolled away from the troll and returned now leaning heavily on his pike. He quicky speared the beast, pinning it against the wall and shouted to Kelven to strike off its head! When it was over. The old guard told him that the troll had been causing trouble for travelers at the bridge for days, but he had underestimated the thing's power and it had overwhelmed him. Georges was his name, and he was a captain in the Landsguard of King Teremyr of Gant.
He welcomed Kelven into the guards hut nearby, and invited him to return to the keep and be his squire in the Landsguard. Kelven, feeling that he had found his calling at last, enthusiastically agreed and thus struck out on his new life.
Over the years Kelven excelled, first as Georges' squire, and later as a well-respected knight of the realm. As he reached middle-age, Kelven had defeated evil knights, slain sorcerers, defeated great bandit hordes and defended his master's castle from a necromancer that turned the very land from the peak of summer to the dark depths of cruel winter. He was celebrated, but instead of being satisfied, the dark memories of his childhood drove him to strive for more.
On the far side of his 37th autumn, Kelven heard of a grand tournament in Halvalas, the High City on the coast. On horseback it was a week's travel hence, out of the mountains, back to the home he had forsaken so long ago. The purpose of this tourney was to choose the candidate for the Battles Above, the champion selected at this tournament would have a chance to brave the skies of the Eternal Lands and fight for the dominion of the Titans.
Kelven took leave of his station amongst the Landsguard, left behind all but his weapons, his plate mail, and his warhorse and set out for the High City, determined to win the tournament and take what he saw as his rightful place as champion above all in the land. He was sure that he could win.
When he reached Halvalas, he found that his old schoolmates didn't recognize who he had become. The city teemed with outsiders, and Kelven fell in among them, blending in with the others. In the trials his prowess was great, but still there were others that also showed promise. In the end Kelven stood with two others beside him at the altar at the time of choosing. When the elder stood before them and the judgment was made, Kelven was again left behind. The Elder had whispered only two words as he regarded Kelven at the choosing, "Too prideful." He gave advice to the other rejected candidate, but Kevlen didn't hear it. His ears were too full of his rushing heartbeat as sullen rage gripped him.
Before the ceremony was even complete Kelven stepped from the dais and shoved through the gathered crowd to the now empty tourney fields. Gathering the shards of the many blades sundered during the trials, the shivered lances from the tilt field, axe blades and glaive heads, breastplates and brigandines Kelven filled the a great swain. Then, with the herculean might of one possessed, he hauled the massive horse-cart to the forges of his youth. His countenance was dark, and the smiths at the forge fled his grim affect. After boarding the great barn-like doors and shuttering the high windows of the forge-house, Kelven began to work.
For days the forges blazed, a thick and hanging smoke poured endlessly from the stacks. The cries of twisted metal, like the screams of a tortured maiden, were said to issue from the place. None dared approach the madman at work within. Then, in the early morning hours while the stars still shone, the noises all stopped. Inside the forge house, the eaves choked with lingering smoke, scraps of steel and iron were heaped haphazardly around Kelven's great work, a monstrous sculpture of a mighty dragon. It stood gleaming amongst the disarray, a masterwork of shining edges and flattened blade.
As the duskstar sank low on the horizon, Kelven knelt before his creation, stripped to his waist and glistening with grime and sweat in the dull light of the subsiding forge. A shadowy form lurked near his shoulder, a noisome lurking shadow that whispered in a guttural voice in Kelven's ear. Gulgora, the formless tongue of Chaos was telling Kelven how he might make his creation live.
As the Dawnstar took the morning sky, Kelven spoke the last of the incantation. Gulgora leapt forth from the shadows, a momentary glimpse of shifting madness, and plunged bodily through the warrior and into the heart of the steel giant, cackling in its thick and echoing voice. Kelven looked on with grim determination as an infernal flame was lit within his creation, proof of the pact he had forged with the tongue of Chaos. The dragon lifted its shining head and regarded him steadily with eyes like forge coals. It was time to take his place in the skies, by force if need be.
The people of Halvalas still tell the tale of Kelven Who Would Not Be Denied and his mighty dragon of steel and fire. In the time since Kelven's ascent, other Bladeforge dragons have been rumored, but still their secrets are lost with their Riders. To this day none but Kelven alone know the source of the fires within, a Rider's heart burning eternally in infernal flame.
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