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Fighter Profile

Kracken running his victims down

Name: Sir Atticus Kracken the Eldritch, First Knight of Minas Ithil
Fighting since: Spring 2006
Race: Human
Class: Definitely totally not a cultist.
Realm: Minas Ithil
Unit: The Sons of Sylas

Sir Kracken with Sir Skydd at Armageddon 2019

Other Information

Grix, Sir Kracken and Trinity at Sir Nenharma and Morgan's Wedding. Photo credit to Aron Cates Photography
  • Premier(realm leader) of Khador 2009-2011
  • Realm Leader of Minas Ithil from 2012-2014
  • Member of Clan of the Hydra from 2008 - 2014
  • Became member of The Sons of Sylas in 2014
  • Began Squiring to Sir Skydd January 2016
  • Knighted by Sir Skydd Armageddon 2019


Sir Kracken at Eastwind Castle for Winter War 2018. Photo Credit Elsea Photography

In the days before the plight, my time was entirely spent at the temple. I learned the rites of the dead and the ways of healing wounds. This was time I wish I had given more attention to, as the time thats followed has pushed me past my mental limits time, and time again.

Our temple served two purposes; it fulfilled the religous purposes of the villiage down the road and a check point for those making the pilgrimage into the mountains, as well and provided a safe haven for my people. We’ve hidden in plain sight for two generations now, just trying to live out our lives. The temple held twenty of us but I know there are more of us out there. Only the Palma knows where they all are, and that knowledge is known only to those that rise up to position of shaman.

The temple itself holds great value to us as well. It was on this spot generations ago that the bulk of our people were slaughtered. We had amassed our entire people as a whole to march on the capital. Our goal was as simple as could be: march... and burn. Not realizing of course the fate is not without irony. The opening to the mountain pass is amist a canyon miles long. At the opening stood what at a glance was a minor force of men. But the minor force was made entirely of hired mage. Four million people burned in those tight canyon walls, slaughtered. We had been sold out and the bulk of our tribes cleaned from the land. The war that followed was the wholesale slaughter of every man, woman, and child they could find.

This is how I spent my free time, learning the old ways and trying to piece together what little is left of our lore. From what I’ve gathered, the one to blame is a demon that possesses. In at least two other instances I’ve found clues to his doings. Where ever people mass, he will be there.

The morning of the last few days I spent at the temple a man came through on carriage. He was going up the pass with a writ of insurance from the King, ten thousand gold for his safe return. This wasn’t uncommon. Every now and again they would come looking for trinkets to sell or research, usually relics of my people’s long burned out towns. God knows what they’re looking for. The time he was scheduled to return came and went and still no return. Three hours till sunrise, a full day past him being overdue, we set out in search of him. The party was made up of myself and my two brothers. We didn’t have to look far, his carriage was over turned and the horse dead only a few miles from the canyon opening.

It was being attacked by a shade.

We didn’t waste a moment, we drew back and fired into the form that floated over the carriage. It’s mass enveloped the entire cabin but seemed to have yet breached its threshold. I took this to mean the man had been living in it for quite awhile.

Our arrows were tipped with iron forged in the ashes of the dead, and each that struck the shade’s form burned it with a blue fire that bore holes clean through. The bellow it gave out was a rake of cold claws down my back. It gathered itself up and flew at us, my brothers drawing it off with more shots while I shot the gap to the carriage. I had to ax the hinges off the door to get inside, and there found the man was dead. From at least the day before, he looked as if he had been outside with the shade attacked. The mental damage that a spirit that strong does to someone is never an easy sight to shake. It had to taken at least a day to carve that many runes into himself. I didn’t look long enough to see if he had used a knife to do it.

I closed the door and took off, giving the call that the mission was over. The shade was banished but we had to carry our younger brother back to the temple. He died just before sunrise. The days that followed were full of unrest. It wasn’t even a full week before there was a royal inquary into the death of the researcher. A dozen men in armor poking around, making sure he wasn’t assassinated or some such foolishness. I knew that everything was in order, but still I was uneasy. I hadn’t slept much in the days since. It especially didn’t help that I kept seeing my older brother talking to the soldiers. Numerous times they were seen together, him showing them around the temple. We were supposed to keep our distance; this active deception he was doing was completely unheard of. I should have seen it.

I woke that night to the sound of swords and fire. The Palma and the other shamans were killed in their sleep. I woke just as they were killing the monks and setting fire to the healing hall. In my training it was hammered into my head that before any fight to stock the situation. It didn’t take much to understand I wouldn’t survive this. I fled the third story out the balcony and escaped into the night. I haven’t looked back since. I can only assume it was my older brother that sold us out to the empire. Why, I can’t even imagine. Even contact with the shade doesn’t explain it. Never have I heard of the screaming madness causing someone to act with such method. Since that night, I’ve traveled. Everywhere I’ve gone I’ve looked for clues to my two mysteries: Where is he now, and why. From what I’ve gathered, the shade was the reminance of a demon.

“That which carries no name but plague.”

In the old age, when my ancestors burned, they had been reveiled by a scout that went to the empire and told them everything. His reward was to burn with his people. In at least three other instances and possibly a half dozen more the same story has comes up. I know what I need to do now. My people are lost without a loremaster, and without the Palma we are lost to each other. Even more pressing, there is a man out there wearing the face of my brother, posing as one of us. I need to find my people and warn them. Where ever people gather for war, that demon will be there. I will find him, and I will end his plague.

The god my people pray to is the Ifrit. It personifies new beginnings, good harvest, birth, and recover. It is typically depicted as a wolf made of flames, but may walk as a man or be channeled by its followers. Channeling our god results in strong instincts, clarvoyance in battle, and the rage of a God. Controlling this channel requires deep meditation lest the anger take you, and the fires of your hatred reclaim you.

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