(Some of these tales I love, some not as much. Each I tried to make distinct from the others while retaining some things for the actual rp. Hard work, a lot of ideas, and I eventually got this intense look back on Witchblade. I wanted to give it depth and history and I think if anything that shows. Hopefully I provided an enjoyable read.)

You know that black and white, good vs evil sh*t yeah sadly it's not that simple. Look I have no clue how long this thing has been around, for all I know it could of been shat out when the earth was born. All I know is this, you can't save everyone, nor kill them all. There has to be a balance if its wilted down to just one it would just repeat the cycle. So at some point he was born, to make sure the "righteous" and the "corrupt" don't f*ck us over. My name is Fera and I am the seventh one to wield the Witchblade…..

The Presumed First The Great Nikita 335 BC

Nikita served under Cleitus as he took Pelion and the mountains that looked down on the city. They were waiting on Glaucias Nikita however had found Alexander however was planing to strike first. A small camp had been found on the river of Eordaicus. Nikita was one of the scouts to have founded this out and began to try and travel the forest to deliver the message. Nikita was not a popular girl, she was a good hunter though using spears to bring home meals countless nights. She had even scored a few tiger kills in her day which was rather impressive for a gangly woman like herself. Nobody exactly took her in as part of the military or even much as a person. Her skills with the spear however let her go on these patrols and so from the lush trees they measured the numbers as best they could that was until someone had let emotions get the better of him.

Leito was a rash young warrior eager to get blood of a Macedonian on his spear. Nikita shook her head addressing him in their native tongue "don't be stupid. So you throw your spear, kill one. About thirty arrows will be heading for you a few seconds after." She hated this why did chief whats his name have to bring him. Nikita doing her best to get his attention by eye contact and shoulder tapping. Like so many though she seamed to be ignored however. A second look to Leito showed a throw being readied and then came the release. Thick sharpened wood soaring through the air and then slamming into the shoulder of a Macedonian, Nikita's eyes widening a bit at what she just saw. A life had just been claimed that easy and now there was to be a hoard of similar attacks coming their way.

It didn't seam right that life be so easy to take, she wanted this fight to be fair. Running from those in pursuit of her and the others had her constantly thinking how she wished she had a way to balance things. Diplomatic situations were not in her job description she couldn't say if this Alexander was in the right. Or if Cleitus was the right one to lead the tribe, she just wished there was a way to give the Dardanians abetter chance of getting through this. Her mind was racing faster then her own to feet, she never saw when Leito took a arrow in the neck. The way the rash Dardanian spun to take another in the eye. Or how a spear wound up pinning the chief to a tree, her feet simply kept her going as brethren around her died. The woman taking refuge in a small cave and that was when she found it. A glove it looked like it was shinier then even the armor she briefly saw on Alexander. It had a claw like design on the fingers that reminded her of tigers she had slain. Something about it told her it should be hers like someone had whispered in her ear to put it on. Hours later Nikita would arrive at Pelion with the grim news of what had happened.

In the morning not to many were ready as Pelion's walls were attacked all the important men died why listen to a meaningless hunter. Though many girls loved the heavy crested bracelet she had found. With a sword in hand and strange armor along her right arm Nikita tried to help defend the wall. Thankfully nobody bothered to look into how she had such armor to busy with more important matters. Soon the Dardanians came from the rear from down the heights Alexander was quick to mount a defensive though as the battle came to a halt the general started to have a wall built up around the city to block it off. Nikita had earned some praise for her efforts not enough however to go higher in rank or anything of revelance. Instead she was to be left fending off forces like the rest, the young woman doing her best to except the idea of killing.

Come the next day Glaucias leading his large army came from Kortisa to join Cleitus in a force of numbers that the great Alexander could not fend off. As this attack transpired Nikita boldly without the aid of others or expectation of fame went to keep the general at bay. Her only goal a chance to balance the scales some. Nobody ever recorded it in history it would only serve as a myth, fact though was that it was by Nikita's hands keeping the tactician tied up in a stalemate battle allowed him to be defeated. As Galaucias sought to divide his forces to keep supplies coming Alexander doing the same. Nikita helped keep the city Pelion safe. The war goes on and outnumbered by the Illyorian assistance Alexander devised a strategy to diverge the forces. As usual the wielder sought to help keep the scale from tipping a intuitive mind telling her that things still hung in Alexander's favor. With war engines available and clever formations the Dardanians retreated soon, Nikita the only one to fight beside the Illyorians until they to had to retreat.

Three moons had set sense then and by foolish minds they thought that the Macedonians had fled the scene. Nikita the unheard voice telling people this to be a foolish thought. What did Alexander have to run from he had still been wining. No defenses were made and during the night as they were scattered the Macedonians came. Hypaspists archers came as well as Agrianians and two phalanx brigades the numbers over seven thousand all mounting a assault. Nikita fought hard against the waves that came in killing many before they could so much as wake. Cleitus and those directly under his command were lead to Pelion a plot put in motion to burn it down to prevent the Tactical Macedonian to seize control. Covering Cleitus back and in away Glaucias as well Nikita held off all she could. Eventually though Alexander clashed with the Witchblade striking his blade just short of the woman's heart. The artifact faded into the sands of time.

The Second Guinivere Saxon Scourge 686 AD

Perfectly aligned motion fluid strength genuine the mundane and Saxon half breed cleaved wood in two. Subjected to casual labor despite fire in her veins she hacked away again chopping fire wood. Mom had conceived her through forceful means of a Saxon who escaped killing a few as he fled justice never brought about, the ax swings again putting a grove into the stump used to brace the wood. Her father free of crimes and mother damned to begging for food for what she couldn't of resisted without dying, again wood is cut in twine the halves flying to the sides in high arcs. This morning she was caught stealing just trying to provide for herself and daughter, her precious Guinevere. Guin hated that, her only support was going to lose a hand today because of stealing. That was said to be justice but where had the executioner been when Guinvere's father fled the scene and every other transgression this family faced.

Screams could be heard, Guinivere blowing gold locks from her icy eyes frustrated she couldn't do anything. Her entire well of rage put in into her next swing as she saw signs of a raid, nothing she could do and it drove her up a wall. They were probably after St Willfrid and Aeoelwealth, and still everyone would be ravaged and slain just because it fit what they did, part of the bloody Saxon routine. Guinivere raging internally brought the ax down the stump seaming to almost explode like taking a hammer to a egg. The gold haired half blood wide eyed at what she had just done.

The stump seamed to have been somewhat hollowed out having to what looked like grown around the artifact. It seamed almost as if the earth mother was cradling it like a child. Who knew how it got here, perhaps a vagabond from a great war centuries ago had dropped it. The odd thing was that it seamed perfectly fine as if brand new. Sunlight kissed the metal that shined more then any blade Guin had ever seen. As if fixated on it, decision a vacant concept she slid the glove on. Soon enough getting up from the ground feeling stronger then she had ever been in her eighteen years of life. The metal coiled around her ax as well when she picked it up, the well built half Saxon heading for the city under attack by Caedwalla and his men.

Cold eyes zeroed in as she watched a Saxon charge at her, a wide arc quick duck and her hatchet sank into his gut armor accounting for nothing. A wet sound making her cringe a moment before she watched the man collapse as she pulled her tool free. Stepping into entrails as she continued, training of a warrior against Alexander coming to her mind making the half blood better then she could of been on her own. Blade hacking through a sword arm with ease, the leather armor and bone like paper. It became all to easy as the gauntlets lust for blood and her desire to save her mother worked in sync. A horse would knock her over a gesture of her hand all it took to send a burst of fire like energy at the animal and rider. Horse practically imploded on impact man screaming on fire. Raising herself another tackled her from behind intent to do to Guin what had befallen her mother. Mind of a halfbreed erupted with anger and a sea of spikes erupted from her back the man reduced to slivers.

None of the skill these bloodlines had met her skill blessed by the strange armor that took her body as a host. A trail of blood and the occasional fire marking the path Guinivere had taken through the streets of the city. Old wood and stone structures helped to set the tone nobody got out without going through the other. Conflict reaching a climax as Caedwalla entered the city to assail Aedelwealh. A large Saxon with furs of a large wolf keeping his back warm stepped before the mother of the half blood. A warhammer bigger then the types preferred dragging along the ground leaving a trail in the dirt. It looked the type for deconstruction more so then warfare. Guin giving a sharp whistle to get the mans attention before he moms head was almost reduced to a fine paste.

"You know I've had wenches with a better sense of armor then you." Saxon's wolf remarked ditching his furs to expose his rippling physique standing at least two feet over Guinivere. Like her he had only enough armor and attire to mask certain things from public and guard a few joints. "Question little one is you dressed like that because you can handle yourself or because your a wh" the bearer of the gauntlet raising a finger to silence him. Her neck craned left and then right cracking each time eyes like glaciers as she smiled at the man beckoning the man forward. Three dodges were made effortlessly before a hit was finally made knocking the half blood through a door splinters flying like the stump earlier that morning. A shield forming along Guin's left arm to block the coming strike, barbs sticking into the wooden shaft of the large hammer. Cold blond quick to cleave the weapon in two, broken wood tossed at the half breed passing by her harmlessly. Weapon of a daily task tossed similarly and digging into the Saxon Wolf's shoulder, the wound deep enough even he couldn't rip the blade free. Pouncing on the man her wrists grew dagger length blades above her fists, it felt natural though the results were not. Blades grinded bone flesh and splashed blood and bits of muscle as blades pounded again and again. Guinivere would go on to be known as the Saxon Scourge, after freeing her mother that day she sought to use the powers against any Saxon who attacked these lands. She wasn't exactly good, she did it because she simply figured nobody else could deliver the right punishment. It was never drawn out however for she was also not evil.

The Third Sakura Blossom of the Samurai 1180

Cherry Blossom leaves seamed to swirl in the garden formulating the most perfect zen like state to be in. The sweet smell seamed to crowed around her making Sakura Oremaru feel the most tranquil she ever could. A soft fabric kimono hided much of her physical beauty. Many found her to be one of the fairest women of the time. Of course those who decide the wife of another chose her for mental capabilities. Taking interest in diplomacy and arts of chi Sakura was known for being a diplomat, translator and showed a talent for being able to always keep a level mind hard to read. Hiro Yashima being one of the most respected samurai at the time deserved someone like her.

It was under Hiro's guidance that Sakura was also taught the way of the samurai. A loved member of the Minamoto clans teaching her all he knew, a mind for learning Sakura did rather well learning how to put a katana to use and how to shoot a bow. For years in off time Hiro made Sakura a samurai of equal skill to his own. Antoku had been given the throne only two years old it was certainly not a loved action of parliament and the Genepei War was soon to be started. So Hiro had his wife serve as a body guard at the palace in secret her skills the perfect cover. Being the lover of Hiro they never questioned her having a kitana on her.

Years of a struggling war had gone at some point a mysterious woman showed up at the home the leaves of the cherry blossoms swirling about her. The woman didn't look of Japanese descent her hair was golden and eyes cold as ice, a beauty Sakura admired in profound manner. "My family always knew he would eventually do this. Nobody chooses him, he finds them makes it happen. He flocks to the stages of conflict almost like a moth to a flame. I warn you though its not a blessing be weary Sakura." The young blond seamed to speak japanese as fluently as the natives. Never once though did she say who she was or where she was from. Not a word about how she knew Sakura's name just passed on what looked like a heavy armored glove.

It would be known as the Battle of Dan No Ura where things escalated into something none of them could be ready for. Sakura sat in the shadows of one of the armories watching the soldiers in silence. Eyes occasionally drifting to the pendent on her wrist, such a beautiful thing. It didn't seam like it should have the bloody history it suggested. There was a problem with its sharing of information though as well. Having studied how to keep a calm mind she had also learned how to shut things out of gaining entry. The connection with him and her was incomplete. A darkened path had been sown in that moment that neither hostess or he could predict.

The sounds of war should have never been heard in the palace they should not of been capable of even drawing close to the outer walls. Yet still they sounded jade eyes of the samurai snapped up looking to soldiers before her. "You don't want to do that" her words soft though scolding the young man to ready a bow. A soft hand resting on the hilt of her katana waiting, the twang of the string rung out and the arrow traveled, cut from its course as soon as it drew near. Casual garbs began to fall apart in tatters for something new as the samurai got to her feet. "You chose this, please forgive me for what is about to befall you all." With a burst of speed arrows wised by not able to get a lock on the katana user. Heads rolling in threes with her first stroke, none of the peons could touch her, many times executing their own as she wove around attacks and deflected others. A minute faded by and thirteen bodies littered the floor forming a pool of blood.

This number seamed to be a constant as she cut down attackers and traitors as she drew nearer to the child who held political power. It was always thirteen no mater which she fought be it the insurrection or predicted opposition. Slowly however she began to fall in love with the power at her display, each kill telling her that perhaps the adolescent should not be a commanding figure. Sakura Oremaru far more capable of leading with this gift. Not able to connect entirely to the Witchblade she had all the lust without the poise. Sakura rounded the corner of the palace the chambers of the emperor blocked by twenty six men trying to claim his life. The artifact's bearer would have them all dead soon.

A bow extending from a open palm heavy and metallic thanks to the powers at her disposal. Arrows spawning seemingly from her flesh, first arrow lacerating a man's throat. They turn to attack her another seven killed by arrows before they even get close to the fatal samurai. The bow forming into a second katana as they get to close. One countered on her right only to get speared through the heart with a artistic motion of the blade, left side countered twice then lost his legs. Both blades spear a lung of the one in front of her pulled free and another two fall. Dropping to a knee gets another four killed by their own blades. From her position a three sixty was made as she leapt upwards another five heads falling to the floor. In one hand numbers were great, a strong way to win a war. Not against her though Sakura simply grinning at the remaining four, her eyes seaming to lose their jade hue to become a faint red. They took positions in a t formation flanking her on every side. Rear coming first, spin the blade and the heart is pierced leaping upwards splitting the man almost in two. From where her toes were in her boot on the left side came a blade, it sank into the temple of the man on the right side. Rolling to her feet and taking the forward attackers entrails in the process. This left all but one, his fate sealed clearly.

On this day Sakura was a hero, the effects of the coming conflicts however would come to the forefront inevitably. It tainted her and one day years from that day at the palace the artifact would claim her arm. The charismatic samurai lost and thus killed off the artifact starting the long wait for the next time to arise.

Fourth Wielder Joan of Arch 1431

Jeanne d'Arc more commonly known as Joan of Arc received the Witchblade by accident. Or at least for her it had been, the full details of how they came together a loss to the world. It is believed however by scholars who look into the myth that the possible bearer of another artifact had planed to fuse with the young Catholic. This bearer however also carried the Witchblade the tool of balance manipulating the mind of his carrier. Given a head wound by the carrier the artifact was then dropped before the twelve year old. Through mental damage she believed the words of the Witchblade to be the voices of angels and saints. That by strict command of God, Michael, Catherine and Margaret had told her to purge France of the English.

Dedicated to her cause as he whispered orders into her ear Joan went to Chinon to discuss her visions. They were scoffed at that did not sway her as she left and simply returned later with support where they excepted the possibility. Under her perspective the war war reduced to a religious one, believed a pure Catholic virgin she was not put in question. Beneath the armor she dawned would always be the armor of him, never truly known. It was this unseen fact that led to her continuing after an arrow ripped into her neck. He stopped it before it was fatal, all believing from it Jeanne a true symbol of purity. Several battles were lead against the French each wound, like the cannonball to her helm were softened by the artifact silently saving her. A legend born beneath the Catholic arbiters feat, and never did she know she was under the guidance not of god but a simple trinket.

It was not of Joan's nature to kill or even shed blood she resisted that lust for blood despite the situations she was in. A hero in the eyes of her men they never questioned this though it would lead inevitably to her capture in La Charit'e-sur-Loire. Valor to be the last to leave the plains of war pretentious ideals to not kill lead to a easy surrounding. King Charles further refusing to lend assistance to the Visionary, many times on her own she tried to escape, refusal to use the Witchblade though or to end lives lead to every attempt to wind up in vein.

Heresy was the Catholic's charge, and she rebuked the possibility of that being true. Guards made passes at her and not giving into them while not resisting left her in a stalemate to be judged. Some supported and defended her there was no escaping what was to happen though. He stayed with her for her conviction, but slowly was losing his patience with the arbiter. Execution was scheduled, means by burning her at the stake. Crucifix's were made for her sight and with those she was fine with burning, torches lit white hot flames washing over her body. She did not scream, she did not resist she simply embraced what was to befall her. The sight of this made the executioner truthfully say he "greatly feared to be damned."

What was seen however was not the same as the truth though it was so much more complex. She begged for him to spare her life that her work could not be done so soon. He revealed himself as who he really was and things changed drastically within the arbiters mind. He offered to save her, she denied it this was her fate now. He tried to force himself to expand and shield her, Jeanne would not allow it her own divine will, the will of a truly purification saint pushing him back. Joan of Arc would not be saved by this unholy weapon and thus from ashes to ashes and dust to dust the resistant wielder perished.

Fifth Bearer Natasha the Slayer 1610

"Bathory I swear one day this is going to come to a close" Natasha Barinov remarked to herself cleaning the latest tub of blood. It was sickening and repulsive what this woman did, she had saved Natasha's life though and that bound her to the Countess. She was a political figurehead untouchable by lawful means nobody ever questioned her. Husband off attending to more pressing matters and never really home left the cursed self righteous woman free to do as she pleased. Servants wanted to conclude the things taking place that however was not a possibility. Basement home to various torture devices meant to rip bodies to flayed remains it was rather hard to build the constitution to start a conflict to the beautifully cold woman they served under.

Natasha Barinov was picked on as a kid always being shorter then everyone by what seamed like two feet at least. Not a dwarf just always small, she had reached her peek at about five foot one. Of all the people possible it often became her who took a beating be it physical or psychological. Thanks to this though she developed a strong sense of will. Learning to take the little good with whatever the bad. An apocalyptic optimist as she liked to put it, even in the worst she could manage a smile. When being kicked on the ground Elizabeth took her in knowing she would bring a smile to the faces of other servants and so she went from oppression to subjugation. In the confines of the Bathory home nobody cared about the short woman's green hair either. Natasha was a mutant, a odd ability to manipulate toxin's producing it from her body. Discovery involved killing her cat though and sense then she had tried to refrain from using it.

So for quite some time the victimized short one did her best to do as her mistress wished. Mental state however had begun to slowly unravel though servants made into vampires as well. The victims were growing in number steadily the population looked like it just might be running thin. For the longest time Natasha was able to shy away from the facts that she was aiding in the slaughter of so many. That was until waitress became the task of the servant. A portrait was drawn in blood, the others turned it was Natasha's job to go get the little girl for the countess. True to her pledge to serve Natasha went and retrieved the girl, she brought her there and helped with the task Elizabeth thought to be the key to immortality and eternal youth.

Screams haunted the emerald haired though latter that night, this couldn't continue. Driven by the ghost of the girl she helped kill the courage was mustered to reveal what Bathory was. All they did though was lock her away as she was sleeping. Crucifix and holy water kept the countess from being freed, their was no taking of her life however planned out. Tormented still by the youthful the servant went on a search to find a expert in the field of the occult. Ivan Hellsing taught her all he knew though the roots of what he knew were refused to be revealed. It was enough however to make Natasha confident she could bring a more solidified end to the dark history her home was slave to. A gauntlet was given to her as the main means to help her contest with this wraith of what could of been peaceful lands.

Night fell around the luxurious castle and a skin tight armor offered some protection to a woman who carried stakes in each hand that seamed made of the same metal as the armor. The full moon reflecting off the surfaces of metal beautifully. For the most part the job was easy, Hellsing had taught her exceedingly well. Skills with throwing knives, and or projectiles finally learned something she had always wanted to know. Exploding into puffs of fire and ash vampiric allies died easy the Countess however she knew would require some work. A explosion of energy reduced door to splinters of wood in varied size.

Elizabeth appeared to erupt into a cloud of blood to try to escape around Natasha. A outward palm shot out lead poison plucked from the armor though and was shot directly into the bloodstream entirely. Bathory dropping onto the ground in pain before getting up and assailing Barinov with long claw like nails. For awhile Natasha felt she would die, then the armor's instincts kicked in dawning the small vulnerable girl in complete armor. Nails broke, stakes went into the throat before Natasha scooped up a long sliver of the blessed wood from the door driving it through ELizabeth's heart. Her life as a vampire hunter and combatant of the occult launching off from there.

Sixth Wielder Samantha Blade of Sseas 1971

Felix von Luckner had a daughter instead of a son. Wife dead he tried to raise his daughter to be just like him. Samantha never really minded and when the World War came around (first WW) she was insistent on going to sea with her father. Setting sail with him on the SMS Seeadler a merchant raider and auxiliary cruiser windjammer. They were some of the best at the time, allied shipping in the Atlantic and Pacific plagued by the Luckner's and crew. Sixteen vessels were captured and the majority sunk once looted. A time would come though when even the mighty Seeadler would come to its end. A collision with the reefs around the island of Mopelia in French Polynesia lead to the Germans being stranded. Her father died in the crash and from that day forward Samantha promised no more of her men would die.

Her first and last journal entry had this to say. "Captin Felix von Luckner died today on the coast of Mopelia island. We sent him off to Davy Joans Locker later in the eventing. Though he is my father I did not weep I would not let my men show weakness. We would not faultier though stranded, I discovered something, history of it is deep as the sea and potential just as wide. With this I believe we can survive we can avoid more deaths on our hands. History may not remember me but my crew forever will."

History is vague of what happened on that island and after, they did escape however. Using lifeboats the crew headed for Fiji, all Allied prisoners died on that island they were not Samantha's concern. Sometime in September of nineteen seventeen a new vessel a French schooner was captured and named the Fortuna. From then on the Fortuna scored more captured more vessels and sunk more ships then any other. Commanded by one of the best of naval capability none of her crew would die so long as they were on her ship. Sea stories would be told of how Samantha seamed almost to make boarding ships like pirates a functioning tactic again. Her gift, a beautiful bracelet sent with her when she died sent off to same domain of her father.

The Seventh The Animal 2012

(If by some miracle I have held your attention enough to keep you reading and or coming back please comment. Seriously dedicated hours to making this something special, it may be 34 paragraphs but thats because it was my baby. If I was going to have something from a comic series like a artifact I really wanted to make it special ^_^)