VEITHAEL

""

Veithael is an agility-based tank hero of the Celestial faction.

Veithael was born in the empire to a scholarly family. His father was a scholar of folklore, and a devout follower of the Divine Light, who every evening would regale Veithael with forgotten stories of humans and gods. His enthusiasm also inspired Veithael, who as a child wished innumerable times to become a bard, able to gallop alongside the glorious gods through song, exploring magnificent deeds.

Unfortunately, the first Hypogean War broke out soon after Veithael reached adulthood. Hypogeans started appearing everywhere, bringing calamity to humans. Veithael's village was embroiled in the flames of war and his father, mentally and physically exhausted, succumbed to a sudden illness. To protect his home, and repel the Hypogeans, the young, yet hot-blooded Veithael decided to enlist. "Dura and the other gods lead us in opposition, and the Divine Light shall grant us victory!" Thus did Veithael console his mother; until the god of war fell, and despair and the haze of defeat rapidly engulfed the soldiers of the empire. Frequent battles plunged the empire's forces into chaos, but the novice Veithael would not allow himself become disheartened. He still looked after himself meticulously, as he had at home, and as had the gods of whom his father had spoken. The handsome Veithael, with his lustrous blond hair and confident demeanor, cut so dazzling a figure in the barracks that he made those soldiers who had lost their will to fight look weak and incompetent.

Cognizant of such a different mentality, the veteran soldiers, worried and terrified, turned their cynical attention onto Veithael, insulting and bullying him. No matter the ones instigating the violence, or those who merely watched, they temporarily forgot their fear in the midst of their wanton cruelty. The young Veithael did not understand that they cursed the light because it iluminated the filth even more. Despite being unable to comprehend this, he bolstered his own spirits by quietly singing ancient songs of the empire, encouraging himself to persevere by remembering heroic deeds, and to become the light which penetrated the darkness of the battlefield.

As the Hypogean attacks came ever faster, the years became purgatory. Veithael was the same as the other soldiers, forced to endure one vicious, bloody battle after another. Those battles were dominated by the presence of a particularly powerful Hypogean, possessed ofs strength which no human warrior could withstand. During one such attack by this Hypogean, Veithael and his comrades were captured and taken to a barren location deep in Hypogean territory. Here had been erected an arena of cruelty, with the supposedly merciful promise that whoever managed to survive would earn their freedom. Some of the soldiers couldn't resist the temptation, and picked the old or weak to face slaughter in the arena. Thus they hoped to win the chance to escape with their lives and vanish into the barren scrubland. The cause of all this evil, the great Hypogean, sat upon his elevated platform and watched the slaughter, feasting each day upon the cries of those in total despair, and growing all the stronger for it.

As the number of old and weak prisoners fell, so too did the others' chances of escaping from their hellish existence. Veithael eventually reached the end of his tether too, listening to the whispers of the Hypogeans day after day. Yearning to live, the day came when, holding his shackled hands aloft, he chose another young soldier, just into adulthood, to be his 'sacrifice'. When the young man discovered that he had been 'chosen' by Veithael, confusion and despair clouded his otherwise limpid eyes, in which Veithael saw himself the day he had first enlisted. This brief flash of deja vu was like sharp claws, ripped apart his faltering will as if reopening an old wound. What Veithael was about to do to this young man made him no different than the veterans that had bullied him: people who lost their faith and hope, reduced to nothing but selfish beasts, trampling on the weak to snatch their own, selfish redemption. But at least, right now, Veithael had not taken that final, fatal step into the abyss.

Veithael turned around, his once-lustrous blond locks now matted and unkempt, caked in dust and grime. He tried to comb his dry fingers through his hair, before tearing as strip of cloth from what remained of his tattered clothes and tying it back. He strode alone into the arena, singing once more an ancient song of the empire:

Oh, how I've wandered far and long;

Almost forgetting my home of old;

A hundred times did I build my walls;

And a hundred times were they trampled down;

The beast devoured the old and the young, with terrible, gnashing mouth;

It broke my bones and rended my flesh, with awful, razor claws.

But oh, I have come home,

From the splendid mountain city, the very ends of the world!

As the old song rang in the ears of the soldiers, their expressions softened, then became resolute. First one, then another, banged their emaciated fists on the cage as they started to sing along.

Oh, the splendid mountain city, wherein the gods do dwell.

I take out my bow of gold;

My quiver full, let the arrows of vengeance loose!

I drive the blazing chariot of war;

Spur on the divine stallions, in my sacred charge!

Oh, until my home is rebuilt once more; Oh,I came from these fertile lands, and here too shall I rest!

When the Hypogeans arrived to quell the noise, Veithael spoke thus to the great one: "Raising a blade against the weak is the act of a coward. True warriors take on those who are stronger. We are thus destined to win." The piercing defiance in his gaze filled the Hypogean with hate. It flew down, brandishing an enormous sword with which it wished to crush this annoying ant. Veithael averted the blow at the very last moment, deflecting it onto, and breaking, the lock of the cage. Still not finished, Veithael grasped the Hypogean's blade in a deathlike grip. He ignored the blood which streamed from the savage cut, shouting: "Comrades! There is no retreat! We fight the Hypogeans to the bitter end, for our fo homeland!" Inspired by his words, the soldiers poured out of the cage one after the other. They grabbed weapons and, rushing to his side, fought desperately until the ground was sodden with rivers of blood. They all hoped that this young man might survive, as he seemed destined to bring about great change if he returned to the empire.

Less than a tenth of the soldiers survived to return home. When the people once again laid eyes on Veithael, he was nothing but skin and bones, emaciated and weak, but with steadfast resolve still blazing in his eyes. Most survivors stayed as far from the front as they possibly could, but Veithael shose to return to the barracks.

Years later, when Ancelot was locked in bitter combat with the Hypogeans in the Frozen Prairie, Lucretia the Betrayed led a sneak attack on Malden, behind allied lines. The garrison suffered heavy casualties, but as the routed forces were being chased and massacred by lower Hypogeans, Veithael appeared, mounted on a golden-armored horse. Again he charged, and again, like a streak of golden light slicing through the darkness. Encouraged, the soldiers gradually reformed their defensive lines, the golden brilliance dispelling their fears in the face of the assault. A forest of spears attacking together easily pierced the Hypogeans' hearts; they were ultimately repelled, and the humans' losses redeemed.

Since then, the legend of a well-dressed warrior atop a magnificent steed has spread: he has gorgeous armor and brilliant blond hair, and seems as if he'll stride straight along with the gods. Whenever the blond arrives on the battlefield, the horn of victory blares. The more Veithael showed a presence in a fight, the more soldiers rallied around him, and gradually they became known as the "Golden Bulwark". In the final, decisive battle, the siege of Frost Rift, Veithael's forces held the front line to the very end, driving hordes of Hypogeans into the plight. After the war was over, Veithael received the gods' recognition, thanks to his stellar efforts, and was deified as the new god of war. The historian who recorded this period noted this at the end: mortals are as frail as reeds, but their hearts and deeds can equal the gods.