From Changeling Venue

In the lands of Avalon, X-Caliber-8 had a most distinctive look.

Overview

Alias(es): Arthur Sword

Real Name: X-Caliber-8

Age: 28

Concept: Mechanical Dragon, Rank: General

Physical description:

Mask: Arthur appears much like he once did before shipping off. At 5’10” he is not very imposing with the average height and a lithe build. His Asiatic appearance has been pushed further as his features lack softness usually found. Cheek bones are more prominent, the chin and nose stronger, the slant of his eyes a little higher. There are four aspects of him that usually set him into notice. His hair, kept short and spiky, and his eyebrows are both of a copper coloration with a metallic touch. His skin is tanned year round with a Mediterranean bronzing that borders on the idea of being fake. His eyes are the color of a Husky’s, unnaturally light blue. And finally, he never appears to move more than is necessary in order to accomplish a task, using only efficient motions.

Mien: X-Caliber-8, in his last build design, was made to look like a humanoid dragon. Both elegant and dangerous, his form was made to be the banner and the sword of the army he led. His external shell appeared to be of copper and bronze metals with occasional gears showing when he moved plating open during normal movements. Beyond the glow of his ‘eyes,’ his face lacks emotion, where the only place it is found is in his voice and body language.

Character Information

Known History

Current Activities:

Relearn what it means to be human. Find his fellow soldiers and like minded folks. Prepare for attack by agents of the Fae. Plan for the offensive against the Gentry.

Background as told by Sword

Think you’ve got it bad, boy? You think the whole world is against you and that you have the market cornered on personal suffering? Here’s a piece of advice for you… shut your yapper before one of us comes along and shuts it for you. Oh, boo-hoo, you were stolen from your family, taken to a world where the normal rules don’t apply and only by luck, skill or some measure of fate did you manage to escape. Guess what… we all did! Each one of us still carries the scars of the Hedge and a scrambled brain full of the memories from a place that shouldn’t exist. If it’ll help shut you up, I’ll give you a story. Now drink your water, turn on the night light and pull up your blanket ‘cuz I’m gonna give you the Tale of the Sword.

Near the end of 1967, I was a young man of nineteen years. Unfortunately for me, my world changed from a small rural town in Kentucky to the middle of a war in Vietnam. Screw the PC terms of conflict or escalation of hostilities. It was an outright war and we were meat heading into a grinder. Being just a grunt, I didn’t have to worry about the bigger picture. I was just worried about making it through the day alive in a jungle that wanted to kill us all. I could tell you the stories of villages that we burned or dodging fire fights or even bombing runs that we didn’t know about until almost too late. No, this story is about the self stylized Gentry and their ways.

Our group was a good ten miles from anything resembling a road or a village when we were ambushed near nightfall. Hand grenades, small arms fire, some AK’s and AR’s roaring back and forth. With twilight coming on fast, I saw the world in flashes of light like some bad strobe effect. Trying to avoid a grenade, I leapt to one side towards a hole in the ground I hadn’t noticed before. After slipping and sliding for a few long moments, I plopped out into a lower clearing. The trees were thicker and there were brambles all around this small spot of empty. Climbing back up was useless and my calls for help went unanswered except by the noises of a still raging battle. Unable to climb back up, I tried cutting my way through the brambles with my machete but I couldn’t make a dent in them overall and the more I cut, the more of that crap I found.

Givin’ up has never been my strong point but at that moment, I was tired and sore and without help or cover. Well, I kept looking and found a small path that led away from my hole in the hill and deeper into jungle but, since I was sitting pretty otherwise, I decided to take it and see if I could find a friendly village or useful road. By the light in your eyes, you can see what mistake I made. Had I known what I was getting myself into, I’d have just deep throated my rifle or gotten real personal with a grenade. Since I’m here telling you this story, you can figure what didn’t happen. Oh no, I kept walking that path, getting myself turned around a dozen different ways from Sunday but it kept getting easier so I kept going.

Along the path, I found a woman sitting beside a tree. She looked American with a little bit of native in her to add a striking look. She was unarmed and carried all the trappings of a photojournalist who’s tried to walk through too many brambles as well. I was willing to be a little trusting of a hot piece of tail but I still checked over her papers and equipment to make sure she wasn’t a spy trying to find her way back to base. She checked out so we continued on that path together. There’s only so far you can go before you start to talk to someone and, after a time, we started the usual chit-chat. I don’t really remember the questions I asked or her answers, but I remember her asking me about my family and home… nothing that would compromise fellow soldiers.

As the jungle got darker, the usual nocturnal noises started to pick up, usually quieted when we were near but you could tell something was out there. I took point, just a few steps ahead of the journalist until we found another small clearing. With night now on us, I suggested that we camp where we were and continue on in the morning with more light. My pack didn’t carry much bedding but we used what we could. I can still remember her asking me, clearly in that soft voice of hers, if I would be her knight in shining armor. I remember agreeing and don’t remember much directly after that. Needless to say, I’d made a deal with the first of the Gentry I’d met.

Memories are rare for a time, glimpses of events and of places. My Mistress required an army to explore the rules of combat and feelings of conquest. But an army needs a general and she made me into one for her purposes. I don’t remember how long it took to become what I am now. With each battle, some injury needed fixing, some part replacing and, in time, I lost what it means to be human as I found myself replaced by cogs and wheels, armor and mechanics. At some point, I awoke from this strange dream of linear thought and wars without end. When I saw myself for the first time in the new body of mine, I went mad with rage. Summoning troops that would respond to my voice, I stormed the home of my Mistress with the full intention of slaying her where I found her. Attacking the Fae in their home… sometimes rage connects to stupidity and my revolt was swiftly put down.

It’s hard to remember exactly what happened as I’d gone through it a few times when I finally made my escape. I was forced to stand by and watch each soldier who had marched with me be melted down, hear their screams for mercy and know that some of them awoke in that moment to the truth of who they were in another life. This was my fate as well, to be melted down and rebuilt but the same problem as before crept up into my mind and I again woke to know who I was. With the memories of my past failure still retained, I set out other plans.

I did not want to return to listen to my soldiers’ pain filled cries so I did not use them on further escape attempts. Instead, I would leave them in route to our next confrontation, in our home barracks or even during the quiet times of peace. Yet, each time, I would be captured by some small mistake that compounded itself with those strange lands. I would take a road and find it only led to the Gentry. I would spend too much time trying to hack my way through the Hedge, only to be quickly captured because of my delays.

One time, I even got captured because I stayed to finish the job of killing a hunter. That one is the most memorable since I know him now, after his own escape. During one of my attempts, he managed to track me to a clearing I was using as I set up for another running attack at the Hedge on my own. He was a beast, a great wolf prowling the lands for the likes of me and others. We set upon each other in that clearing, battling for my freedom and his Gentry’s praise. He collapsed from my wounds, having found that all that wears sheep’s clothing is not prey. But I stayed. Not my hand, no. I stayed to finish killing him and that delay cost me dearly. The wolf survived his wounds and today he’s part of Autumn’s Court. Perhaps one day, we will finish what we started; perhaps not.

After those failed attempts at escape, I decided to try one last ditch move of obsessive desperation. Between battles, while on the long road through the Hedge from one camp to another, I began to take the time to ‘damage’ my troops. Through experimentation, I was able to figure out how to disrupt the machine-like logic of the troops, adding a measure of chaos into their thoughts. Though I was unable to get the entire group to awaken to who they were, enough of us had a memory of what we truly were. It was then that we set our blades and shields to the Hedge itself, forging our own road to freedom.

The hunters or rival armies sent by the Gentry pressed and harried constantly but determination and rage were our allies. It wasn’t until we reached the edges of the Hedge did our numbers dwindle and our line was broken. Pushed by sheer numbers, we began to become separated, fighting in groups and working our way towards the doorways we could see. We didn’t know where they went or if they even went to the same place in time and space but we didn’t care. I gave my shield to a companion to replace the one he lost and battled without defense to buy time for the escape of others. In that moment, I knew it wasn’t about me getting out; it was about getting everyone else out. As the battle drew on, our numbers continued to fall by either escape or capture.

I stood there with a few of my companions, my right arm nearly shattered from a blade’s cut, my armor nearing the point of falling off on its own. Though freedom was so close, I ordered the last of my troops through the doors as I would guard their escape. They, on the other hand, had other ideas and took places on the front lines, shouting at me to flee for now and come back for them when I could. I’ve never been so proud of my troops and so ashamed at myself as I staggered through the doorway and into what appeared to be a parking garage. When the door closed, I knew I was back in my world, wounded and hurt, running my gears in plans for war on the Gentry and their ways.

The Sword, forged by the Lady of the Lake to protect the city of Avalon, would one day return to burn it to the ground.

Motley

Still working on it.

Allies

Are you one of my Allies? Do you want to be?

The Praesidium - An honorable group. I am at their call.

Gaius Arctorus - He is flesh while I am metal but we are both dragon. I respect him.

Caius Arctorus Paendragon - A fellow machine of war.

The Colonel - An interesting individual. He would have done well in my first war.

Rowan - Her safehouse is a beacon of light for those chased by darkness. It is guarded well by such a strong willed woman.

Enemies

Do you want to face the wrath of a sword?

Character Inspirations

The sudden and random thought: “What would you do if you believed you were something of legend?”

Soundtrack

Quotes

“The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on.” Ulysses S. Grant

“Nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you are a man, you take it.” Malcolm X

“Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a persistent one.” Albert Einstein

“Clashed with him many times...always wondered if it would be the last each time. Each time, pieces of the dead and dying were grafted in. His name is an illusion. He is no longer a sword--that is but one thing. He is now a Legion.” Vestigere the Usurper

"A soul forged in steel and tempered in blood. He has become a perfect paragon of a warrior... but at what cost?" - Gaius Arctorus

"I deny your reality and replace it with my own" - Stephen Daedalus upon hearing the Elemental's name

"There is something to be said for steadfastness and honor... Just be mindful that if you end up on the wrong side of his weapons, I doubt the encounter will be enjoyable... At least not for you." - Paladin

"Strong and honorable... I have to wonder if he sees the weapons he makes as just reflections of himself, or truly seperate? If you wield one of his swords do you wield him too?" Emma Hart

Rumors

X-Caliber-8 is a wind up clockwork who's time is limited as he's lost his key.

Wind whispers of a clockwork that fights storms.

Ice creaks about a clockwork who will never freeze.

Sometimes, a previous personality takes over inside him...and they have conflicting goals.

X is half-finished. He was supposed to be completed as a full, flying dragon.

X-Calibur-8 has won several competitions for coolest Mien. His appearance makes him an instant hit with impressionable young changelings that like anime.

Talk behind my back but tell me what you’re saying.