K
Kylathew
Guest
Some of you may know me, some of you may not,
Memories of me elude you, like a passing thought.
I dress in hat and cloth of blue, sandals 'pon my feet,
My aim with kryss and spear is true, victory so sweet.
A saint that some may call me, a sinner 'oft called too...
My mark I leave upon this world, those who see are few.
Upon my steed I travel light, never do we tire,
Hoofmarks burnt into the night, blazing bright with fire.
I come and go as shadows do, with mystery and silence,
Leaving not a trace or clue, to the science of my violence.
A terror borne from fear and fright, is all that most recall,
Justice may I bring to those who wish for me to fall.
-Lord Vance Kylathew
************************************************************
As my poetic introduction states, some of you may know me, some of you may not. My name is Lord Vance Kylathew, or simply Vance. If you know of me, then you most certainly know of my family. My brothers Jayce and Xander, and my sister Alannah.
My mother and father having abandoned us at an early age, we were raised by a mysterious man known as Sebrian. We regarded him as our father and our sole guardian. However, he was not quick to speak of his history or personal matters. He was a stern, yet noble man. We knew not his age, but the lines in his face held untold tales of adventure, or so I believed. Locks of jet black hair cascaded from his head, falling neatly combed about his shoulders. His facial hair, however, seemed to have been touched by time, for streaks of charcoal and grey ran throughout it's midst. If there was one single thing I would remember most dearly about him, it would be his unending patience and devotion to my sister, my brothers and I. He would always allow us the freedom of choice, to reach for whichever goals we strove for, be them unattainable in someone else's eyes, he made us believe they were a heartbeat away. One thing he did stress, however, was the importance of defending one's self. The world was a harsh and unforgiving realm, and therefore, never completely safe.
The path I chose I will never regret taking. My brother Jayce became a reknowned archer and staff-fighter, as well as an authority in the art of bowcrafting. Xander, last I heard of him, was the terror of the Northern Legions. Singlehandedly he decimated two of the Eastern Armies when they met in war at the battle of Jhi'Throgard, on the isles north of Britain. It is rumored that he had introduced a new form of warfare, galloping into the midst of the enemy army, striking down a soldier, and then retreating, drawing whoever chose to chase him away from his comrades, then slaying him. When dawn broke the next day, he found himself standing atop a pile of corpses numbering more than twenty, his battle axe chipped and stained with dry blood, and his clothing tattered and torn, hanging in almost useless scraps off of his body. I have from good word, that this is how he now makes his living. Tailoring. He has just recently sent me a finely crafted outfit of the deepest shade of cobalt. I wear it with pride, and yet, still awe at how such a warrior of awesome talent became a humble craftsman. Alannah... Oh my dear sister Alannah. I believe of all of us, that she posseses more talent than any of us could ever hope to have. Always reading scrolls and journals at a young age, she dissected manuals and books voraciously, always thristing for knowledge and always taking things apart to see what made them run. Her spatial knowledge is beyond that of which I could ever comprehend, so I dare not try. Her blacksmithing and carpentry skills have earned her a steady and rewarding income as a craftswoman and private home decorator to many wealthy homeowners. Her ability to mold any metal sort into art is only one of her multitude of talents.
As for me...
My training began at an early age, with nothing more than a dagger and few bandages which my father provided for me. I practiced my fencing skills day after day, night after night, on a wooden dummy I had constructed in the glen next to our home. As my speed and skill with the dagger increased, so did my understandings of battle. Whenever I was not piercing holes in the mannequin outside, I was poring over notes and journals of warriors, generals and kings, and soaking in whatever I could find in the way of war. Little did I realize, that my father had craftily left these documents in the open on purpose, for me to find and devour. On my the sixteenth year anniversary of my birth, my father presented me with a pair of exceptionally crafted weapons, a razor-sharp kryss, and a finely honed war fork. He also slipped a scroll into my hand, upon opening it, I found it to be an invitation to Aleveronus' school of combat. I was more than overjoyed at receiving this gift, for I had begun to tire of practicing my skills with an inanimate object.
I left home that spring, little did I know, it would be the last time I would see that cottage for over a decade. I ran the brush through my horse's mane as I fed him an apple and leaped onto his back. His black mane shone beautifully in the sunlight, as did his coat of ebony hair. Gently nudging him on the sides, we started our journey to Aleveronus'.....
**To be continued...**
Memories of me elude you, like a passing thought.
I dress in hat and cloth of blue, sandals 'pon my feet,
My aim with kryss and spear is true, victory so sweet.
A saint that some may call me, a sinner 'oft called too...
My mark I leave upon this world, those who see are few.
Upon my steed I travel light, never do we tire,
Hoofmarks burnt into the night, blazing bright with fire.
I come and go as shadows do, with mystery and silence,
Leaving not a trace or clue, to the science of my violence.
A terror borne from fear and fright, is all that most recall,
Justice may I bring to those who wish for me to fall.
-Lord Vance Kylathew
************************************************************
As my poetic introduction states, some of you may know me, some of you may not. My name is Lord Vance Kylathew, or simply Vance. If you know of me, then you most certainly know of my family. My brothers Jayce and Xander, and my sister Alannah.
My mother and father having abandoned us at an early age, we were raised by a mysterious man known as Sebrian. We regarded him as our father and our sole guardian. However, he was not quick to speak of his history or personal matters. He was a stern, yet noble man. We knew not his age, but the lines in his face held untold tales of adventure, or so I believed. Locks of jet black hair cascaded from his head, falling neatly combed about his shoulders. His facial hair, however, seemed to have been touched by time, for streaks of charcoal and grey ran throughout it's midst. If there was one single thing I would remember most dearly about him, it would be his unending patience and devotion to my sister, my brothers and I. He would always allow us the freedom of choice, to reach for whichever goals we strove for, be them unattainable in someone else's eyes, he made us believe they were a heartbeat away. One thing he did stress, however, was the importance of defending one's self. The world was a harsh and unforgiving realm, and therefore, never completely safe.
The path I chose I will never regret taking. My brother Jayce became a reknowned archer and staff-fighter, as well as an authority in the art of bowcrafting. Xander, last I heard of him, was the terror of the Northern Legions. Singlehandedly he decimated two of the Eastern Armies when they met in war at the battle of Jhi'Throgard, on the isles north of Britain. It is rumored that he had introduced a new form of warfare, galloping into the midst of the enemy army, striking down a soldier, and then retreating, drawing whoever chose to chase him away from his comrades, then slaying him. When dawn broke the next day, he found himself standing atop a pile of corpses numbering more than twenty, his battle axe chipped and stained with dry blood, and his clothing tattered and torn, hanging in almost useless scraps off of his body. I have from good word, that this is how he now makes his living. Tailoring. He has just recently sent me a finely crafted outfit of the deepest shade of cobalt. I wear it with pride, and yet, still awe at how such a warrior of awesome talent became a humble craftsman. Alannah... Oh my dear sister Alannah. I believe of all of us, that she posseses more talent than any of us could ever hope to have. Always reading scrolls and journals at a young age, she dissected manuals and books voraciously, always thristing for knowledge and always taking things apart to see what made them run. Her spatial knowledge is beyond that of which I could ever comprehend, so I dare not try. Her blacksmithing and carpentry skills have earned her a steady and rewarding income as a craftswoman and private home decorator to many wealthy homeowners. Her ability to mold any metal sort into art is only one of her multitude of talents.
As for me...
My training began at an early age, with nothing more than a dagger and few bandages which my father provided for me. I practiced my fencing skills day after day, night after night, on a wooden dummy I had constructed in the glen next to our home. As my speed and skill with the dagger increased, so did my understandings of battle. Whenever I was not piercing holes in the mannequin outside, I was poring over notes and journals of warriors, generals and kings, and soaking in whatever I could find in the way of war. Little did I realize, that my father had craftily left these documents in the open on purpose, for me to find and devour. On my the sixteenth year anniversary of my birth, my father presented me with a pair of exceptionally crafted weapons, a razor-sharp kryss, and a finely honed war fork. He also slipped a scroll into my hand, upon opening it, I found it to be an invitation to Aleveronus' school of combat. I was more than overjoyed at receiving this gift, for I had begun to tire of practicing my skills with an inanimate object.
I left home that spring, little did I know, it would be the last time I would see that cottage for over a decade. I ran the brush through my horse's mane as I fed him an apple and leaped onto his back. His black mane shone beautifully in the sunlight, as did his coat of ebony hair. Gently nudging him on the sides, we started our journey to Aleveronus'.....
**To be continued...**
