History of Vyth Kepesk

History of Vyth Kepesk (Steel Storm)


I have been bred for my role. Since birth, like my fathers before me, I would become the next vassal for our god, Bahamut. On my birth night, a chill wind blew out the torches of the villagers’ vigil. The moon went into a strange eclipse, darkening the night sky into a void of space. Some say the strange whispers of celestial beings filtered through the crowd into my parents’ hut. Some say it was Bahamut himself, coming to bless the occasion. Some say it was Tiamat, trying to prevent another holy warrior of Bahamut from coming into this world. Nonetheless, the strange darkness passed over as quickly as it had come, and the vigil torches burned brightly again.
No one could explain this occurrence, but my birth went without problems. As soon as I lived through my first season, I was sent with my father to train in the woods. For two years, my father and I fought for our lives in that forest. We lived with just the clothes on our backs, and the strength of our will. At three, my body was already building to a warrior’s stature, fit to start my training as a Zealot of our Liege.
At the age of four, my father gave me a sword and shield to start my battle training. Once again, we braved the creatures of the forest for another two years, and during this time my father taught me the sacred battle prayer of our people, to be recited during each battle and with each repeat to grow in fervor until our enemies tremble with our battle cries.
“Through my will and arms, I shall fight in his name. No matter the odds,
I shall persist until death. My blade be his divine judgment unto thy enemies. My shield be his unnerving hand to protect thy allies. I shall vanquish all who seek to conquer the defenseless, and I shall seek to liberate those in the shackles of contempt. I am his harbinger, and with my liege with me, I shall know no fear.’

With each affliction or wound from fighting, bred my strength. With each near death encounter, bred my iron will to survive and to shrug off the punishment. I was trained to carry out my patron’s divine will, and that was to free this land from the oncoming evil in it’s future.
My father also told me great tales to learn upon. But the one that stands out the most is about a certain sword:
Many many years ago, before the first Paladin of Bahamut existed, ruled a king of all those who were of Draconic blood. He united dragon kind under one mighty kingdom in the mountains, where magnificent towers of sorcery were built, and where magical wonders beyond the imagination of man were born. One of these wonders was the sword of the Dragon King, Maekrix Caex, or the Lord’s Blade in the tongue of man. It was said that the sword was made from a horn of Bahamut himself, through the promise that this King shall become his Vassal. This blade was revered among the dragon kin for it was rumored that the one who wields it, gains the powers of the first Paladin of the Platinum Flight. For many hundreds of years, this king reigned, until the jealous Tiamat influenced a faction of the dragon kin to revolt against the king. In a short year, the once mighty kingdom of the Dragon kin fell into chaos. In the most titanic of clashes, the Dragon King fought against the Vassal of Tiamat. Their blows against each other tore the earth under them asunder. The two warriors fought until exhaustion, until they eventually felled each other. The war around them continued, until no side could claim victory, just broken groups of dragon kin retreating from the horrors of their war. The magical wonders that the kingdom once harbored were rumored to be destroyed or hidden away, and the Dragon King’s sword was never to be found.
My father always told me of how many paladins of Bahamut go to search for the Lord’s Blade, and all have failed. He said only one who is truly devoted himself to the Platinum lord can find the sword, and be deemed worthy. And with his words, I do search for this blade, for I feel that through my travels, my only reason for living is to uphold the Holy Voice of the Platinum Lord.
When I turned twelve, I was made ready to begin my travels. My father told me I was destined for things far greater than sitting in a village, and told me to remember, only one who is truly worthy in the eyes of Bahamut can find the Lord’s Blade. Through my years of travel, I am not in constant search of the blade, in fact I am in search of where I can uphold the ideals of Bahamut, and provide protection to the weak or those in need. That’s where I find myself today, in my group of warriors, protecting this town from the growing evils of the world. Perhaps I shall be found worthy by my lord one day, but until then, I am his Harbinger and I shall know no Fear.

Samurai Fight

Alright, my first story to put up on this blog....

Their only light was the full moon, casting an eerie glow across the plains. The stars dazzled brilliantly, further illuminating the night sky. The chill autumn wind cut through the air, biting at the faces of the two warriors only ten paces apart. One stood facing the east, adorned in brilliant armor made from the scales of dragons, his helmet carrying the very visage of the beasts he hunted. On his back was a massive sword the size of a full grown man that glittered a pale blue in the moonlight. Hanging from his belt was a bastard sword, the pommel made from the fang of a red dragon he felled some time ago. Facing the west stood an Elven warrior, wearing a simple chain mail armor that glowed a faint light. He wore a longsword on his right, and a short sword on his left, his head bore only a white headband, his eyes focused on his adversary with a cold stare.

The wind once again blew between the warriors, leaves from an autumn tree fluttered around them. Neither warrior moved, both stood unflinching, the biting cold, their stone cold gazes fixed upon each other. There was a visible energy flowing between the warriors, causing a stillness in the air that silenced all around them. Even the wind seemed to die out, the powerful will of the two men stopping even nature herself.

In tandem, both drew their weapons. The dragon warrior unsheathing his massive blade, and the Elf swordsman drawing his two blades. Neither took a step forward or back, both just stood in their battle stances. Both men closed their eyes, playing out the battle between them in their minds.

“I am a Dragon Samurai. I have the plane touched blood of Elven royalty. I have fought countless dragons and fiendish beasts in my time. I can not lose this fight. The lives of entire cities depend on my protection, this foe stands in my way to keeping their lives safe, I will not lose.”

“I have trained in the art of swordsmanship my whole life. This man is the best in the world, I am here to show I have surpassed him. My whole life of training, all those years being ridiculed for being of Elven blood, now comes to this moment. This is my destiny to win this fight, I will not lose.”

Both warriors opened their eyes, neither submitting to the willpower of the other. Both took a small step forward, then, a flash. Both warriors stood where the other once was, their weapons forward from their attacks against each other. They held their poses for what seemed to be eons. Then, both slowly turned around to face each other once again. Weapons raised, they charged each other, blades clashing against each other, some glancing armor, no blows hitting home. The battle raged on, the two warriors clashed like mighty gods, their blows rocking the earth with each strike. The both charged in again, then, another flash;

“I have won.”

“I…..have……failed.”

The warrior dropped to his knees, blood flowing freely from the fatal gash across his stomach. The other slowly turned to face his dying opponent, gave a quiet salute, and slowly continued on his way, to continue his journey.