Titles
Savage gauntlet (Below Enchanted)
Enchanted savage gauntlet (Above 80k Vitality/40k Mana but not Il san)
Il san savage gauntlet (Il san)
Ee san savage gauntlet (Ee san)
Sam san savage gauntlet (Sam san)
Sa san savage gauntlet (Sa san)
Origin
Min-Khan had destroyed the fierce Blue Dragon god, Ryong. His soul rests where even the Shaman cannot touch it, in the center of the trigram in the Barbarian circle, a testament to his ingenuity in the face of adversity. He had died the day he fell the mighty foe. Whether it was due to his drained energy from forging the axe and battling the god, or whether it was regret for having killed so ruthlessly, a tribe so similar to his own, we will never know. We do know that with his final sacrifice we, the Barbarians, were imbued with his creativity. Every Elder to ascend through the tile that is Min-Khan's soul has themselves been granted a heightened sense of purpose, focus, and skill. The days turned into months, the months to years, and the years passed into the stars.
But in the year of the Dragon, exactly four decades after Min-Khan's triumph, Chung Ryong was reborn. Like the legendary Phoenix, from the flames of rebirth crawled the once defeated god. Ryong took the shape of a Dragon hatchling, and slowly grew in strength, out of the Diviner's sights. The other Dragon gods clouded the most gifted seers, giving necessary time to the ancient god to gain strength enough to reclaim his thrown as the totem god of the Warriors. Slowly the Blue Dragonling's followers accumulated. Rumors faint enough to be dissipated by a strong sigh echoed through the seediest taverns that the once mighty god was back. The word had been spread by C.Ryong himself, for without followers to worship him; he would have no power, and surely die again.
Eventually it was time to reveal himself in the dreams of the Diviners, as a vibrant warning, and commandful beckoning. It had been five years since his birth, and the terrible dragon lord began to feel his power had surpassed that of his previous form, and once again grew into his comfortable seat of arrogance. His followers had evolved from simple disciples, to powerful Dragoon warriors once again, gaining strength from their god, while also feeding him their own. This cycle of power exchange continued unchecked as his following developed into an army.
Occasionally revealing himself in physical form drew new worship, and notified old enemies. The number of his acolytes had outgrown that of his nemeses. The War god and his Barbarians grew spiteful with hatred at the Dragon's daring. Every time a warrior picked up a Scale of Ryong, Chung spat in the face of the War god, and his believers. The Barbarians' anger grew from hating to loathing, and as five more years passed, the tension between the gods increased, jumping like chain lightning between the heads of their paths.
It was now five decades since Min-Khan's epic battle. Again it was time for the Barbarians to rally together in war against their ever-powerful counterpart: the Dragoon warriors. The Rage the Dragon god gave his walkers granted them the ability to battle multiple enemies at one time, while the War god granted the skill of one on one combat to his walkers. Both sides prepared for the inevitable, and as they lifted the mantles of their ancestors, the Barbarians began to recall the story of Min-Khan, and prayed for a blessing such as the War axe was in that dark time.
The Barbarian family, turned horde, did not receive the blessing they were looking for. With heavy heads, and disappointment the Barbarians' morale was never lower. But still they battled on; fighting what seemed to be a loosing war. Frustration clouded the judgment of the Barbarian warriors, and they fought in ways that only benefited their enemy. They rallied together and tried to ambush smaller numbers of Dragoons as they patrolled. But the Barbarians forgot that their enemy's Rage put them at the advantage, even when their numbers were less. Battle after battle the horde lost ground, and spiraled downward into defeat.
It was a gloomy and tiresome time for the followers of the War god. Not only had it seemed their god had turned his back on them, but the Dragons had taken over their homeland, the Vale. Confronted by wounded, rebellious, confused walkers, the Elder of the Barbarians: Nomad, grimaced solemnly. His temples flared with pain, his heart beat with anger, his mind raced with questions, all at the War god's refusal to aid them in battle.
As Nomad ascended Min-Khan's tile in his heated state, Min-Khan's spirit was triggered. The familiarity of Nomad's state reignited the War god's nigh forgotten gift, and Min-Khan's legacy was placed upon Nomad. His vision was blurred, but never so focused in all his life. Nomad mouthed a thank you to his god above and set to work immediately. He disappeared for days, which was even more of an attack on the already bloodied morale of his walkers.
When it seemed the Barbarian horde was ready to give in, Nomad emerged from his shroud of secrecy. He called forth his family, his war engine, his life, and laid in front of them what he felt in the bottom of his heart, what he knew in the recesses of his mind, would defeat Chung Ryong the Blue Dragon god once again.
It seemed almost laughable, this gauntlet fashioned of half rotted wood, bound by furs, sitting in a lump-pile on a stone pedestal that Nomad presented. His face was full of accomplishment, and hope. It was this alone that kept his family from questioning and laughing. Nomad had forged his spirit, his being, his anger into this piece of natural art, just as Min-Khan had done the same with the War axe. Nomad called forth his guides, and went about instructing them how to create similar savage gauntlets.
Upon closer inspection, the gauntlet was not merely composed of wood and fur. The Ironwood trees had all but gone extinct since Min-Khan's age. If one even tried to cut off a branch of these rare trees, Awen herself would smite them. War axes of this day and age used a hybrid of oak and Ironwood, which the Druids had bred. And it was this hybrid now that was used in the gauntlet. What appeared to be ratty furs from a distance were shown to be an illusion. For what held the gauntlet together was nothing but the legendary furs of the elusive Light foxes.
Each guide, newly inspired, went about creating these Savage gauntlets for the walkers, saturating hope into air the walkers breathed. The walkers, now equipped with their gauntlets and axes, donned their Tiger helms and set out for a battle, which would remind the Dragon god, just what he had stirred up. The sight was truly one to behold, a jaunting horde of frightful appearances. Their arms were tree trunks, their faces, tigers. Newly armed, and greedy with renewed bloodlust, the horde sped on. They now had two items forged in the passion of war, and they relied on these to turn the tides of battle out of favor of the Blue Dragon god's favor, so that they might claw their way out of defeat.
As they came upon various groups of resting, patrolling, and hunting Dragoons, the Barbarians evoked an unprecedented attack. The Dragoon warriors embodied everything the Barbarians hated, and calling out at them, the horde filled the heavy air with cries of the word Townie. Crying this insult out as they swung at each Dragoon their muscles rippled, their faces contorted with Rage. Blood flecked the faces of every Barbarian. They had slaughtered every Dragoon they happened upon on their way to the home of the god they sought to destroy, without a single casualty.
Their gauntlets protected them against the Dragon's rage ingressed fighters. It deflected all harmful magic the Dragoons called upon, and its hearty earthen feel helped the horde swing with a new fervor. As more and more Dragoons fell, the Barbarians began to resent their frustration towards their god. The War god had come through, and in their blind hour, they did not see he was truly there the entire time.
Slowly, the war engine known as the Barbarian horde, trudged its way through numerous encounters with the fighters of the Dragon. Each battle was a bloody one, and wore down on the stamina of the Barbarians as a whole. And yet, still, not a single brother or sister fell to the Dragoons' scales. The Savage gauntlets were protecting them from even the most brutal punishments the Dragon rage warriors could inflict. Battle after battle the horde immerged immaculate, and cried out praises to the War god.
Vale was still held firmly by the Chung Ryong followers. They were dug in deep, and not ready to surrender their prized trophy so easily. Just as Min-Khan and his kin fought for their strip of land five decades ago, so now would the Barbarians of today do against the same enemy. Like a sea of rolling death, the waves of Barbarians washed upon the edges of Vale. Crashing through the first lines of defense, the Barbarians dashed over trenches, and cleaved skulls into splinters with their legendary axes.
Tripping over their own dugouts the Dragoons hastily turned to flee in a full retreat shortly after the onslaught. Following close on their heels were the Barbarians, who would not be outrun in their own homeland. Like the morning fog, the Barbarians drifted over the fleeing warriors. Each foe was in turned disemboweled, and their entrails offered up to the War god, as a sign of tribute and thanks. Vale was recaptured; C. Ryong's army faltering on every front, and his reputation was smeared once again amongst his fellow Dragon gods.
All that was left to do now was to seek out the Blue god himself, and once again send him to his grave of ashes. In order to secure his tomb, Nomad had to make sure every breath of fire was expelled from the god's carcass. For if he had a single hint of flame left in him, he would rise again. The power and legendry of the Phoenix was in Chung Ryong, and he would not die easily. His entire being was composed and wrought of fiery strength, and he posed a great threat, even with most of his followers dead and therefore out of the circle of exchanging power.
Nomad decreed that no Barbarian, with the exception of himself, would be allowed to step foot in the Dragon's lair. He would face the god alone. The youngest of the family cried out in bewilderment at what seemed to be Nomad's attempt at martyrdom. But the eldest of the family saw his brilliant stratagem, and stepped aside willingly as Nomad put torchlight to the slime covered walls of the cave and disappeared. Nomad would duel the Dragon god just as Min-Khan had done.
When he emerged, his head was bald and charred his face grim. The stench of death clung to his body, and blood dripped from his chin. His family cheered, knowing he had eaten the heart of their enemy. Many to this day wonder just how that encounter was played out. They were two powerful opposing entities, actors on the stage between fantasy and reality, puppets of the fates.
Nobody dares ask what horrors Nomad had gone through to secure the safety and honor of his path, but everyone knows... that without the safety and protection the Savage gauntlets provided, he would not be the one would blood on his chin, and a slight sign of victory in his bold brow. The being that we call the War god, was truly insightful. He had been dealt a poor hand by the fates, and called upon all of his experiences to play it as best he could. He had used Chung Ryong's arrogance as his weapon, and bested his nemesis, and smiled down with pride on his Barbarians.
What challenges lay ahead of my kin and I, one can only guess. I can only hope that I might be around to recall them, and pass their history on, as I have done for the Savage gauntlet.
Barnibus the Barbarian