The knock at the door was Li’ell’s, but forceful and off tempo. She didn't wait for my leave, marched in briskly and set a book upon my desk. I recognized it; a book of lore liberated from Iggwilv's inner sanctum...one I had yet to examine. Li'ell waited; she hadn't calculated what would happen, and that was peculiar...peculiar that she hadn’t, peculiar that it showed. I glanced at the book, almost apprehensively. I didn’t know what to expect, but I could feel destiny charging the air around me, building a luminous, almost stifling weight. As I moved forward, she pointed to a particular passage, and it suddenly loomed large and vivid as all else recede away.
"Drunken tales abound of the cat-eyed thief, Ashen Grey, brandishing his black bladed swords and felling minions and champions alike. Though many accounts of his prowess are surly embellished, his name has not traveled down dangerous roads without cause.
Cocksure and fearless, he charged his enemies seemingly transformed into a maelstrom vortex of scything blades. Ashen bewildered opponents, weaving his body and whirling his blades, deftly evading attacks as he leapt and tumbled. Feigning strike upon strike he unbalanced his foes; deathblows were sudden and precise, piercing flesh and bone from impossible angles. Woe be to those who raised the ire of the Maelstrom Blade."
I stared at the passage over-long, increasingly aware that I was blinking at unnatural intervals. Li’ell finally spoke:
“Had you...seen this passage in some other tome?” My expression left no doubt that I had not. She continued: “You told me that before you met Keldimir...you told me your life had turned to ash and grey. Those words always struck me—ash and grey. Now we have this tale, the tale of Ashen Grey? A cat-eyed man...a leaping, tumbling man brandishing two swords...a man known as the Maelstrom Blade? This is you Tycho: uncannily you. Yet these words were put to ink before you were born...before I was born, and they tell tales older still.”
I was gazing at my reflection in a pane of glass. I contracted my pupils, a trick I use to unnerve my foes. My subtly fiendish eyes became cat-like indeed: fields of clarion green punctuated by thin, inky slits.
Had Keldimir known this tale, and planted a ‘destiny’ in my mind? Or was he a figment of Sylvexen’s machinations, leading me along her designs? Had I lived before, in some distant time by some other name? Had Keldimir somehow possessed me, and others before me, living through us each in turn without our knowing? I was dizzy with a cacophony of wildly divergent thoughts. None coherent. I came back to my senses and thanked Li’ell for these tidings; I asked a moment to consider their weight. She placed a hand on my shoulder, inviting me, should I seek her comforts, and quietly departed.
I resolved myself. I am not Keldimir, nor am I Ashen Grey. I am only what my deeds make of me. Mine shall be the deeds of Tobias Tycho Ralesh, now become The Maelstrom Blade.