[center][h2]Keregar[/h2][sub]Warlord of Kereg-Kor
Interacting with: The Warden of Harand Kor[@ClocktowerEchos][/sub][/center]
[b]“Raise your arms!”[/b] The elder Warlord yelled at his youngest. The child was barely holding the shield before him. He struggled clearly. But that was to be expected. Especially with a solid iron shield. [b]“Raise your arms!”[/b] Keregar repeated as the second youngest child was slamming down upon his brother with both swords. In the makeshift pit at Keregar’s estate, the metal ring of iron could be heard long before the sun had risen. His children had been fighting and training, voluntarily, when he arrived home from a hard night out. He grabbed a few hours sleep and when he woke up, the warm-up was over. [b]“Defend! Counter! You’re giving him too much time!”[/b] he ordered. His youngest tried to throw his brother’s sword away. It only opened him up. His axe was not fast enough and the sword almost ripped open his belly. Though he could dodge it right on time, the edge still cut away some skin. Making the young Drakkan bleed from his chest. Exhausted he dropped his shield and sword and fell to his knees. Clutching the bleeding wound. His brother, only older by a mere 50 years loomed over him with a sword high up. Ready to strike him down. [b]“That’s enough!”[/b] Keregar yelled. Dutifully the second youngest stepped away. Giving the youngest a chance to get up. [b]“Varzar! Why did you drop your weapons!”[/b] Keregar asked in a forceful manner as he entered the small arena.

[b]“It hurts, dad.”[/b] The little cub said, biting away his tears.[b] “Pick it up again!”[/b] The child could barely understand it. Only when Keregar yelled it at him, did he bite away enough of the pain to move. Wounded, exhausted and suffering, the child picked up the shield and axe and got back into position. His face made it clear he was hurting. Yet his older brother stood with two blades crossed at his feet, ready to fight again. [b]“Can you fight?”[/b] Keregar asked. [b]“Yes father.” “Louder!” “Yes Father!” “Harder!” “Yes Father!”[/b] The kid screamed as he charged for his older brother. Tears ran from his cheeks. Vengeance were in his eyes. For a second the pain numbed. With a surprising amount of force, he slammed down his axe. It took two swords to block it. When the sharp edges were entangled, the kid pushed his shield forward, throwing his brother to the ground. Now he loomed over him with his axe still high. Though the pain returned to his face. [b]“Stop. Good.”[/b] Their father said. Once again the little one collapsed. But Keregar did not yell at him this time. [b]“Hitvich. Herstvich. To the middle.”[/b]  He commanded. His twin sons, both 152 (one a minute older, Hitvich never let Herstvich forget it).

Both had inherited their father's bull-like physique. Hitvich held up his Warhammer. It was so heavy most could not carry it with one hand. Though sometimes Hitvich managed it. Herstvich preferred bow and arrow. He was a hunter, like his father. But right now, when he had to fight in a melee, he opted for two axes.

The two went at each other with a viciousness akin to that of mortal enemies. In a way, brotherhood could forge the greatest form of hatred. Those close to you can become your worst nemesis. Keregar knew that much. As metal rang from the arena and Herstvich was flung around after a hit of the hammer, one of Keregar’s friends approached him. [b]“Keregar, you are summoned to the pits. The tourney.”[/b] Keregar nodded and rose from his chair. [b]“Watch the younglings. Herstvich has bloodlust in his eyes.”[/b]

Keregar was soon out of his house, heading for the pit. It was tradition really. Behind he him, he could still faintly hear the metal clashing. For the first time, he smiled at the thought. Some wouldn’t believe it. But he loved his children. Even the smaller ones. He loved them enough to be hard on them. He loved them enough to yell at them. He loved them enough to make them bleed. Gems would smother their children. Give them everything they want. He could pick those out in the Reapening.  They were just spoiled brats with an attitude. They thought everything was bound to a deed or a price of gold. Many Drakkans would believe that they were stronger and more powerful than the Gems. But looking around in the capital, Keregar thought it was more and more the opposite. Gems’ notions of civility were taking over. It was why Keregar lived at the edge of the wilderness. It was why he was so hard on his children. Everyone became sheep and Keregar was raising wolves. Deep down he would hope one of his children would eventually take up a blade against him. To die by your own child’s hand, yes that would hold honor. To have raised someone stronger than you and feel the proof of it. Though none of his brood so far would be capable. His youngest were yet too weak and he knew there was too much Gem in them that had to be burned out. Another two centuries and they would be forged just right. But Keregar did not have another two centuries. His eldest then would surely be capable. But they suffered another grievous flaw. One Keregar blamed himself for. Loyalty. It was undying in the both of them. He saw it time and time again. The bond they had with him and worse, he had with them. Neither would ever think of killing their father.

Keregar was sunken deep in his own thoughts as he pushed his way through the streets.  A Drakkan of his size could easily plow through the narrow roads. Yet that was not what the warlord was doing. Instead, he opted for the small, hidden alleyways. A few steps on those dark paths and you were miles away from the bustling city streets. However, he was not alone. It would appear that someone else had the same idea in mind. A familiar face no less! Or rather a familial mask. The Warden of Harand Kor! [b]“Warden!”[/b] he yelled, not using his real name. The ancient Warden was one of the few people Keregar thoroughly respected. [b]“Warden! What a luck to see you here!”[/b] Keregar greeted as he put a hand on the prison guard’s shoulder. [b]“Drun be praised, you must be heading for the pit as well! But that must mean you’re finally getting a bride! About time! It’s damn right two hundred and fifty years too late! A Drakkan of your repute should have gotten a bride so much sooner! The Warden line of Harand Kor should continue, don’t you think!”[/b]