"I swear upon my life, we will find a way to break this curse, together." Those were the last words my best friend said to me before I possessed his sword. Okay, that sounded really weird when I put it that way. No helping it I guess, nothing about this is normal.

I suppose when someone starts to write a memoir of sorts, they should introduce themselves. So, might as well. My name's Vimok Blackmont, an apprentice in the Seekers' Guild. Today, my soul was separated from my body by a strange artifact, and I'm now bound to my best friend Rorick's sword.

It's not so bad actually. It's like a cozy pocket dimension with a comfy chair and a large window to the outside that I can see out of. Somehow, I have a pen and a notebook in this place, so I might as well write down what happens. I'm inside of a sword, there's not much to do but write. Write and watch. Gods know there's nothing interesting to watch while Rorick is sleeping, so writing seemed the best option.

So then, how'd I end up here anyway? It's not too interesting really. I recovered an artifact from some ruins, turns out it was cursed, and it separated my soul from my body. Simple as that. The more interesting story is what's going on with Rorick and his companions that I am watching unfold from within this sword. It's a really long story but I guess I have the time to tell it now, don't I? Who knows, I could write a book about it and get it published.

All books have main characters, so let me introduce mine. My best friend, Rorick, the Arcane Storm. The one whose sword I am possessing. What do I even say about Rorick? We've known each other since birth and have been friends for as long as we can remember. Rorick's kind of a weird guy, not going to lie. If you see a tall, muscular man with lilac skin, spikes all over his body, and a black void for a face with glowing red eyes, that's Rorick. Not going to find anyone else with that description; his parents never had another child.

Rorick is the son of two living legends coming from my home kingdom of Drit. Ariel, guildmaster of the Shadow Hunters' Guild in Drit, and the Demonslayer, the legendary faceless swordsman cursed to attract monsters wherever he goes. Or, as I know them, two of my own parents' best friends. The Champions of Drit they were called, alongside my parents and two others. They saved the kingdom nearly twenty-five years ago, but that is not the story I want to tell.

No, I want to tell the tale of my best friend and his companions. Truth be told, I was angry at Rorick up until very recently. He left Drit six years ago without writing, visiting, or leaving any way of contacting him. Then, when I was recovering that cursed artifact, there he was suddenly. I'll get to that part later. Right now, though? I should start at the beginning of his quest since that's when everything went to Hell in a handbasket.

I'm hearing parts of this secondhand so sadly some of the details are lost on me. Oh well, I'll tell the story the best I can. Most of the time these days, I see what Rorick sees since he always has his sword on him. Battles though? Kind of hard to see anything when you're being swung into foes.

Anyway, enough of my rambling, let's get this show on the road.