Writing new lore for a Demacian Dark Knight Champion; could use feedback
I just wrote this little "story-type lore" segment that I plan to use for my Nephree concept, but I was hoping to get some feedback first on it and perhaps even some advice on changes.
Expect changes according to feedback.
My name is Nephree, and I am cursed. I was once a proud knight commander of Demacia, devoted to king and country. I bled alongside my brethren in battle, and fought for honor and justice. There was even a time when my thoughts turned to our prince, Jarvan Lightshield IV, and his thoughts turned to me. But those are days long gone, and now my days are filled with guilt and torment. Ever since I took hold of this damnable sword… Ebonmere… I was sent by our king to rescue a group from Noxus who sought asylum in our borders after Jericho Swain’s rise to power. It was supposed to be a simple task, up until we were pursued. Swain’s loyalists hounded us as we tried to flee to Demacia, but it was clear they would overtake us. I sought sanctuary in an abandoned temple, built to honor some long-forgotten gods. It turned out to be the worst thing I could have done – we were trapped. Before us were the Noxians, at least five hundred strong. Behind us, the unscaleable walls of a box canyon. Only after did I realize our enemy had herded us there like sheep to the slaughter. My men fought valiantly, but it was hopeless from the start. There were but fifty of us against an army. Every man that I lost, we edged nearer and nearer to defeat. It was when I grew desperate, when I felt the gods had forsaken us, that he appeared. He bore a sword that looked as though it were alive. I knew he was some demon, even before he spread his wings. “You seek victory, Demacian?” he asked me. He extended his hand to me, and through some dark sorcery conjured a blade, floating over his hand. It looked as if it were made from some warped black stone, with glowing red runes along its side. “I offer you this blade,” he said. “It will grant you the power you desire. But know that such power comes at a price. Will you pay, knowing it may consume you?” The sword hovered off the ground before me. I turned back to the demon, but he was gone. For what felt like an eternity, I stared at the sword. Though I had never seen such dialect before, the runes upon the sword seemed as clear as day to me: Ebonmere. I knew such a dark blade had to be cursed. What else would a demon offer? The scream of another of my men snapped me from my trance. My men were dying. What choice did I have? I grasped the sword, and my screams rang through the temple. I cannot clearly recollect what happened next. Everything happened in an instant. Screams, blood, and steel. And just like that, everything returned to focus. Everyone was dead. The Noxians, enemy or otherwise… My men… Only I lived. I looked at Caius, my second-in-command, astonished to see him move. He was alive! I rushed to his aid. I nearly impaled myself on his sword, raised to me. His eyes were those of a madman, hell-bent on my death. He tried to stand, oblivious that one of his legs had almost been severed. He scrambled toward me, too consumed by rage to hear my pleas. With great sorrow, I ran him through. My legs gave out under me, and I collapsed amongst the dead. Only then did I see the state of the dead. They had all killed each other, friend or foe. And it was because of me. I drove them mad! "A magnificent display, Demacian..." said a voice I curse to this day. I turned to face the demon, who had returned following the bloodshed. He was smiling, as though proud of all the death I had caused. And then he left, his laughter echoing through the halls of the temple.
Any good?
