Digressions on the Bladelings

Awhile back I was traveling through Acheron, and I stumbled upon a group of armies viciously tearing each other apart, not an uncommon event, most assuredly.

Not being particularly suicidal, I stayed as far away from the actual battle as I could. It lasted for what seemed to be hours, and in the end, all that was left was the carnage of mutilated forms, humanoid and otherwise.

I was young (you probably can't tell now, eh cutter), and this had been my first trip to this particular layer, so I opted to sift through the carnage, and see what would come up. As I walked through the smoke, ash, and bits of carrion, I found several things which held some value. Years have past like the dust that cakes everything in Sigil, and most of the trinkets I found on that lonely, pointless, and bloody battle field have long since turned to jink that turned to what you see now: A small, downtrodden hovel, and walls hidden by volume upon volume of lore.

Most of these books and trinkets are pointless baubles, but among them is something that has always held my interest. On that field of gore so long ago, I saw a sight that caught my eye: A man, not dressed in battle gear, but rather in a torn, soiled robe, whose face had apparently been torn off, and who was covered in shards of shrapnel, covered in blood. Clutched in one macabre claw was what appeared to be a small wooden box.

Later I found out that it was a magical container made to protect texts from dangerous surroundings. It took nearly three days to get that box open, but when I did, I was glad I had gone to Acheron (As addle-coved as that sounds). When I opened that container, I found a small box, a hand long and half a hand wide, whose cover was soiled with blood, among countless other things.

What I found was a journal, written in Orc, Infernal, Abyssal, Celestial, and even Modron, which forced me to spend several years agonizing over the text, learning all the nuances of each tongue, from the most base tongue that scarred my soul, to the most beautiful dialect which excellerated my being.

Yet, I must sadly and regretfully admit, the years took their toll, and I was only able to decipher a small segment, given the state of the text, and the strange context in which it was written. What I found I have kept to myself and myself alone, but given the fact I never wrote what I deciphered down, I find it necessary to use this mimir to preserve what I divulged from the clashing feud of Acheron.

Apparently written by a Orc spy, it was a written account of the culture, strength, and mythology of the Bladelings, and was recorded over a total of three generations. Oh... Only a small amount is left in my memory, but it still reveals many details that uncover their motivations and how they live.

There are many misconceptions of Bladelings, and their culture. The first and foremost is the method of their conception. Due to the anomoly of Zoronor, and its unusual religion, the race has been generalized as a race that does not reproduce like other living beings, but rather religiously, by impaling corpses on Hriste, the living forest cocoon that protects the city. This method is pure speculation by outsiders, an misconceptions construed by vengeful outcasts. In all actuality, they feed their corpses and the corpses of outsiders to Hriste, as sacrifice in exchange for protection. Bladelings, obvious upon closer examination (if you aren't caught in their sodding razor storm) have two seperate sexes, which are the same as other humanoid races: male and female. It is apparent that both male and females have equal standing in society, and occupy the same jobs and areas, so the gender line is somewhat blurred. Rest assured, there are two seperate genders.

Another relative unknown is the number of Bladeling settlements on Ocanthus. Only Zoronor, the relatively central and largest settlement, is known and named. It is obvious that more settlements are out there, and the number that was secretly recorded as four major settlements, and eleven secondary settlements, along with several smaller camps, both military and civilian. The other three large settlements were refered to as Sithin, Vilix, and Ahunat. Some of the more social (if Bladelings can be really called social) settlements include Nosun, Kasul, Xillad, among others.

They do not speak a seperate tongue, but rather (as is commonly known) speak as a collective language Infernal. In fact, this lone fact is probably what has led to the belief that the Bladelings are in fact descendants of tieflings born of baatezu descent. This theory is also supported by their peculiar traits that are shared by several varieties of baatezu, and the fact they live on Acheron, which is only a relatively short jaunt to the Nine Hells. In reality, unless recorded in some infernal library, the Bladeling origin will most likely never be known. The most suspicious fact is that the Bladeling elders dissuade the younger generations from such curiousity, siting the fact that the past is best left broken...Perhaps a group of dissident baatezu, exiled to another plane after a staged coupe? It will most likely never be known.

It is an obvious and immediate fact that Bladelings are ferociously hostile to outsiders, and even to other Bladeling settlements. This xenophobic trait is common to nearly the entire race, yet a few are hesitant to become so ardently violent. Obviously then the xenophobic trait is one that is not inherited through the blood, but rather through the culture itself. It is no suprise, living on a plane of eternal and pointless conflict, that this culture based on racial preservation would then become openly violent to outside forces in an act of desperation. This would also explain why they resorted to inhabiting the most isolated and sparsely populated layer of Acheron.

Their society is strictly based on one fundimental goal: survival of the race. The individual is secondary to the concerns of the community. Thus any attempt to place one's self above the rest is perceived as an act of treason, and is punishable by death. Most other crimes are also resolved by a death sentence, which is reason enough to fall into line. However, these death sentences are only the final bit to their complicated process of judgement. The Bladeling system of law is a strenous and tedious collection of different levels of torture and questioning. The Bladeling community is controlled by a strict theocracy, governed by the deftest high priest, who stays in his position by bribing or bullying his lower level counterparts into submission. This is another example of their survivalist existence taking hold of their culture.

Bladelings, going along with their inherently lawful nature, have a highly organized system corresponding to how one developes in their society. Beginning with birth, a newly born Bladeling is carried into the temple building, where it has all of its immature spikes removed, so that they will grow stronger, longer, and sharper (the immature spikes are soft and rubbery, giving one the impression of fingernails). This is percieved as a baptism into Bladeling society, solidifying the young Bladeling's link to the community.

Young Bladelings are playful, and often swipe at one another in mock battle. The children are watched by an older adult, however, and any child that refuses to participate is immediately reprimanded. As an infantile Bladeling matures into an adolescant, the Bladeling community inflicts painful initiation rituals that supposedly toughen up the young Bladeling, and prepare them to defend the community.

When at the cusp of adulthood, the Bladeling adolescent goes through a final initiation, mirroring the first except it is all the more painful. At first the Bladeling is suprised and beaten into unconsciousness by several of its community. If the Bladeling flees, it is hunted down and killed. After the Bladeling is knocked unconscious, it is bound by metal coils, and dragged to the temple. When the Bladeling regains consciousness, the High Priest, invoking divine power, paralyzes the young Bladeling. The youth is then untied, and one by one, each and every single spike on the Bladeling is ripped out, and the openings are then prodded with hot metal, and the Bladeling is ritually flayed. Only a third of the Bladelings inflicted with this torture survive, but the ones that do become the next generation, stronger than the last, so that the Bladeling race will survive forever more.

That is all that I wish to tell. Of their religion, I refuse to tell, and likewise their marriage rituals. These are best left untold. And now, if you excuse me, I will wait for my fate, because I am sure that sooner rather than later, I will feel the pain of Ocanthus' children...