Prequel Article

His hands were already raw and his knuckles bleeding when his grandfather knocked him to the ground for the fifth time. "Weakling," the old man shouted, "where's your spirit? Where's your fire?"

"My lord I haven't the strength of --"

" Silence! The power is within you; draw it out ." The Supernal syllables pounded his eardrums like thunder as he pushed himself up to his knees. As he brushed the dirt from himself he tried to open himself to the divine might of Kord as his father had shown him he could. He felt his spirits rise slightly and some of the fatigue in his limbs fell away. Mustering what little strength he had remaining he shouted in faltering Supernal, " Strength, Kord, please! " He surged to his feet and lunged at his grandfather, training sword held high. The old man swatted the blade aside and threw his arms out wide. The fury of his voice, ringing clear in the language of the divines, was deafening and the words alone blasted the boy off his feet once again. " By the Might of the Storm Father, this is divine power! " A bolt of lightning struck down upon his outstretched great-sword, held easily in his right hand. " Defend yourself or die whelp ," the man snarled. A trickle of blood ran down from one of the boy's ears as the massive crackling blade swept towards him. A shower of dirt nearly blinded him as the steel rent the ground where he lay moments before, having rolled to his feet just before the attack split him in two.

"My lord you are too powerful," he pleaded. His grandfather ignored him and continued to attack. He was barely able to knock each blow aside with his pitiful training blade. With each collision of the two weapons a jolt of lightning coursed through the boy's already weakened body, sapping his strength further and further. With a final whirl Aidric brought his great-sword sweeping across his grandson, shattering the brittle longsword and felling the boy for the last time that day. He hung the massive blade from his back and muttered, "Find your mother, she'll tend to your weakness. When your father was your age he was twice the fighter you are."

Ademar lay there in the dirt for what must have been hours before he had the strength to stand. The Supernal his grandfather shouted at him left his ears ringing. His words contained such impossible power. Ademar couldn't understand why his connection to the divines was so much weaker than his grandfather's. Aidric had been born of the gods; that much was true, but Ademar was of his blood just the same. Should not then he be able to channel the divine in the same way? He stood, shaking, and lifted the hilt of his shattered sword. I am like this, he thought, weak, broken and useless. He threw the piece of metal away from himself in disgust. It was trash. He left the training field that day defeated, searching for his mother to find comfort.

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Cotton fibers rough against his skin. Leather straps binding, constricting his muscles, but needed to support the heavy armor. On top, chainmail to keep the tips of arrows at bay. A massive cuirass and set of pauldrons. Heavy gauntlets and vambraces to protect his arms, and cuisses, greaves, and sabatons to shield his legs. All this hung on his body, weighing it down even as it shielded him. He cinched all the straps tight and heaved himself to his feet. Today he would fight. He lifted his helm made of thick steel. His real armor would be heavier. It was being forged for him even as he dressed for the day. Adamantium, stolen from our enemy. They say it is twice as strong as steel, and twice as heavy. This armor was merely practice. Training his body to bear the weight of the new set. He wore the steel like a second skin. Placing the helm upon his head and tightening the strap his eyes adjusted to the familiar field of view. Limited as it was he had learned to sense his surroundings. He belted on his longsword, its weight temporarily unbalanced by the absence of his shield. The enormous sheet of metal was inlaid with lead. More practice. Wielding a piece of pure adamantium would be impossible without preparation. His footsteps were heavy as he left towards the training ground. He took care to place his feet gently, too many paving stones had cracked due to his carelessness. His foe stood waiting for him on the practice field clad in only a plain cotton shirt, woolen pants, leather shoes and belt. His chest was divided by another leather strap that supported the great-sword resting on his back. That sword had broken many of his bones and shed liters of his blood. It had pierced his chest and severed his limbs. He had tasted its edge more times than he could remember. It would not touch his skin today.

"Show me what you've learned, whelp." The old man raised his great-sword skyward and shouted a phrase in Supernal. That voice once would have knocked the armored man from his feet. Ademar raised his shield and drew his longsword while a familiar bolt of lightning arced down from the sky to encircle his grandfather's weapon. Holding his shield forward, and his blade ready at his side, Ademar uttered a simple prayer to Torm, "My lord, I am your humble champion. Make fast my armor and true my blade." Torm listened. The sparring of these two had become something of a good natured contest between Kord and Torm, regardless of how seriously either of the humans fought. The light of Torm gently limned Ademar's armor and shone from his blade. The two men circled each other, Aidric twirling his great-sword, drawing shapes in the air with its lightning-wreathed blade. "Come, my lord." Ademar said. Aidric was streaking through the air toward him before he'd finished speaking. The great-sword whistled through the air, crashing into Ademar's shield with a crack like thunder. The blow shoved him back, but he kept his feet. He was more prepared for the next attack, moments later. He angled his shield as the blade impacted, causing it to skid upwards and he thrust his sword forward at his grandfather's exposed chest. The old man's off-hand rapidly formed a series of shapes faster than Ademar could track and the tip of his sword seemed to vanish as it would have pierced the old man's skin. Ademar growled, he would have to be quicker. A pair of signs from his grandfather blasted his sword back towards him as the old man simultaneously leaped backwards from Ademar. He landed lightly on his feet, holding the great-sword before him in one hand. Ademar surged forward, the power of Torm shining bright within him. He slammed his shield into the outstretched great-sword, knocking it towards his grandfather who allowed the impact to carry his blade backwards and turned using the momentum imparted into his weapon to grant speed to his spin. With a grunt the old man whirled, his blade moving with impossible speed around him and towards Ademar's head. With no time to raise his shield, Ademar poured divine energy into his blade and parried. Parrying his grandfather's sword was always a last resort. The lightning of Kord numbed his main arm temporarily as he managed to turn the huge blade aside. The two parted briefly.

"At least you can keep your feet now weakling." The old man taunted. "Shame you need so much metal to protect you. It makes you slow." The last sentence came from Ademar's right side as his grandfather teleported and came hurtling at him once again. Ademar let his grandfather come. While the massive blade screeched off his breastplate, Ademar placed his weapon directly in the path of the old man's head. When he tried to duck under the blade, Ademar brought his left arm down over the great-sword and swung his shield up, smashing into his grandfather's hand from beneath while also bringing his sword down on it from above. The old man actually looked surprised as the sword clattered to the ground. Ademar pointed at his grandfather with the tip of his sword, "You are defeated."

"You might be a match for others of your generation, the beasts of the wilds, or the abominations from the depths." He began to walk towards Ademar as he spoke. "But you will never be a match for one of the First." His body became wreathed in lightning and he took hold of Ademar's glimmering sword with his bare hand. The metal seemed to evaporate under his touch, scattering in a shining mist. "Until you have truly felt the touch of god and received your divine inheritance, you will be weak." He seized Ademar's cuirass and tore it from his body with one hand and slammed a fist into his now bared chest with the other. Ademar fell to the ground, unconscious and did not awaken for three months. He never saw his grandfather again.

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He went on to wear the suit of adamantium and wield its shield. Tales were told of his thundering steps and implacable advance. Such was his determination and mettle that even those around him seemed impervious to harm. For a time he was a champion of Torm, but his power grew so much that he eventually slipped the bonds of subservience to that deity. While he still had a positive relationship with the god, Ademar no longer relied on him for power. During the Dawn War Ademar, along with his companions, saw the deaths of thousands. Primordials, humans, gods, demons. Ademar was unique among humans. He learned that he was able to take within himself the fading spark of a dying god. With each new spark his strength grew.

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Ademar the Indomitable, Shield of Humanity, Vessel of the Gods, last survivor of the house Celestian, you are called upon in our darkest hour. I have need of your armor, your sword, your shield. I have need of your authority. I have need of your strength. Join me and we may put an end to this war that threatens all of creation. I seek the King of Terror. With his end comes the end of this conflict. I implore you to answer my call.

-Asgorath the World-Shaper, Swallower of Shades, the Ninefold Dragon.