ok guys ^_^ this is the story of how Keco came to be its not finished seeing as it was somthing i started to write a long time ago and then finished writing in my head and not on paper >.> so its not all that great but anyhoo hope you like oh yeah and btw this takes place during the first cryistal wars the one you see in the begining cut seen of the game ^_^

 The Orc fell to its knees as Silverstorm readied his sword for the final blow. One swift motion and the sword pierced through the orc's chest plate as though the armor was made of butter. He slumped down next to the dying Orc and listened to the creatures last labored breaths

Silver, his hands sore and cramped from the prolonged fight, tightened his massive fingers around the leather grip of his sword. For one fleeting second he felt a spark of compassion, a feeling that didn’t last long.

Silver scanned the area, searching for a single glimmer of hope, but there was none to be seen. Everywhere he looked all he could see was death and destruction. There was nothing left of this place, nothing, the beastmen had taken it all. The once beautiful valley was now blanketed with the bodies of his friends, family members and loved ones.

Silverstorm tightened his hand around the grip of his sword and plunged the blade further into the orcs chest. As sad as it was, he felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him as he watched the life slowly fade from the orcs pail green eyes.

Silver slid the blade out from the lifeless beast. The sword felt heavier now than he could ever remember it being. As his grip loosened on the leather handle, Silverstorm watched the sword clatter to the ground.

Once again he scanned the battle scene, then the large Galka collapsed to the ground. His was exhausted from the battle to the point where he could no longer bring himself to lift his sword let alone stand.

As Silverstorm lay staring up at the heavens it struck him how the utter darkness of the sky reflected the darkness of the battle and that of his soul. There were no stars this night, no moon, no reflected lights only darkness.

The rain started to fall, it was as if the world was crying. The rain was soft at first, but soon the storm started to rage. Perhaps the gods had seen what had taken place and were trying to wash away the stain from the land.

Silverstorm stayed motionless, not caring about the outcome. He let the rain fall unabated into his face, wondering if it would ever stop. At last he reached up to brush the water away, but his hand hit something solid and hot and he woke from his fitful sleep.

As he sat up in bed he sighed. Those dreams of the crystal wars had haunted him since that very day. He stared at the swaying oil lamp above his bed and noticed how the rain was making its way through the roof of his disheveled hovel.

No longer a brave adventurer of Vanadiel he was now only a bitter shadow of his former self. A sad and forgotten war hero, with nothing to show for his sacrifices but a simple plaque that he could barely stand to look at.

It had been thirty years sense the crystal wars. The four major nations, the republic of Bastok, the Federation of Winderst, the Kingdom of San D'Oria, and the Grand Duchy of Jeuno, had brought peace to vanadiel and rebuilt their ruined cities. But peace would not last.

Word had spread through the cities that the beastmen had become restless and wanted to claim Vanandiel as their own. The proof of this was plain to see, even for those that doubted it. The Beastmen had attacked the republic of Bastok without warning, and no one would travel without armed escort.

Silverstorm slid his legs out from under the covers and pressed his feet onto the cold floor. He sighed with discontent "I’m still alive, or I should say still breathing I guess.” It took a great effort not to simply lay back down but he needed to forget, not sleep. “Maybe I’ll get lucky tomorrow and be through with my meaningless existence”, he thought.

The Galka staggered over to a small table in the center of the shack. Hanging on one wall was his old weapons and armor, from the war. They hadn't been worn for thirty years, not since he had received his plaque for defending the city. He wasn’t sure why he had kept them, why he hadn’t simply traded them for some food, or perhaps for some good whisky. Now covered in a thick layer of dust, the armor and weapons were a constant, Painful reminder of the Galka he had once been.

Silverstorm pulled up a chair and sat down. He leaned his head back and watched the rain slowly drip in through the roof of his small shack. Silvers large hands closed around the bottle of Bastokan whisky that had been left on the table. His attempts to drink away his memories were nothing new and this bottle already three-quarters empty.

Silver took a huge swig of whisky and continued to stare at the leaky roof. The rain began to beat down harder, thunder sounded and lighting struck. Silver felt a sharp pain run through his forehead. He dropped the whisky bottle and it shattered on the floor, the contents soaking into the matted straw and dirt.

Another flash of lightning and a booming thunderclap split the night. Silver closed his eyes and he yelled out in agony, placing his hands on his head he screamed out once more and fell to his knees.

His eyes popped open, and he looked wildly around the room before lifting himself from the muddy ground, but he wasn’t seeing the room anymore; "GET DOWN THERE FIRING THE CANNONS!" Silver shouted out to the surrounding soldiers.

When the cannons breached the main wall surrounding Bastok Silverstorm took cover behind his shield to block the shrapnel. The brave Galka peered out from behind the shield but the scenery quickly changed from the battlefield back into the Galkas hovel.

Silverstorm growled and slammed his huge arm down upon the small wooden table. The table shuddered from the blow, splinters of wood flying off of it. The rain began to grow stronger and louder along with Silverstorm’s anger. "NO I WON'T HAVE THIS!" lighting struck and again silver found himself back on the muddy battlefield.  

When the cannons breached the main wall surrounding Bastok Silverstorm took cover behind his shield to block the shrapnel. The brave Galka peered out from behind the shield but the scenery quickly changed from the battlefield back into the Galkas hovel.

Silverstorm growled and slammed his huge arm down upon the small wooden table, which shuddered from the blow and sent splinters of wood flying. He felt his anger raising, felt his control slipping. The rain beat down harder and louder than ever and Silver’s rage broke like a wave cresting the bow of a great ship.

Silver covered his face with his hands trying to block out the sound, trying to block out the things he had seen, but it all flooded in on him. He was drowning in his own memories fighting to stay above this madness. "NO I WON'T HAVE THIS!" He screamed.

Lighting struck and again silver found himself back on the muddy battlefield. “I will not let you defeat me!” Silverstorm drew his sword from its sheath. “If it is a fight you want then it is a fight you will get!” He charged forward his blade reflecting the dim light of the battlefield, and bringing death to any beastman foolish enough to come within range.

As the crazed Galka added to the carnage the victim’s faces began to look unfamiliar. Each face, every unlucky soul that Silver had seen in that battle, had been burned into his memory. The faces of the brave soldiers, who just weren’t fast enough, the faces of innocents taken too early, the faces of friends and comrades, they were faces he would never forget. And yet these faces were not the same. The bodies that now blanketed the muddy earth were fresh and unfamiliar. This startling realization brought back an old feeling, a feeling he hadn’t felt in 30 years. He knew what he had to do, he had to protect those that were left. This one desire was all that he had left now.

The large Galka sheathed his sword, his voice booming over the raging tempest “They’ve cleared out mines but I feel the battle still rages elsewhere.” He ignored the rain that weighed down his armor; the only thing on his mind now was getting to markets to help any surviving soldiers protect the town.

A shrill cry coming from one of the ally ways caught Silvers attention. Spinning swiftly towards the sound he saw a Mithran woman dart out of the ally holding a small bundle of cloth under her arm. The Mithra was running right at silver her please for help lost in the din.

Silver held up his massive hands, “It’s okay, I have cleared this area you are safe now” But his words had no sooner left his mouth when an Orc burst from the alleyway following the Mithra.

Silver drew his sword once more, but there was no time. As he watched in horror the Orc heaved his massive axe over his head and slammed it into the fleeing Mithra. There was a sickening crunch and then she fell lifeless and unseeing to the muddy ground.

Darkness clutched at the Galka’s heart, stiffening, suffocating, and inescapable. Once again he had failed, failed to protect anyone. All he had now was hatred, hatred of beasmen, of the gods, but mostly hatred of his own inability. As Silverstorm charged the waiting Orc, he forced all his hatred into his attack.

There may have been a momentary flash of fear in the Orcs eyes, a brief moment of doubt on it’s hideous face as he watched the massive Galka charge forward, but still it stood it’s ground with Ax raised. Silverstorm came on screaming with rage “You spilt the blood of an innocent women! The only favor I can do for her now is to spill yours IN RETURN!” Without hesitation Silverstorm’s blade sliced threw the orcs green flesh.

And once again he had come full circle, death and destruction was all around Silverstorm. He alone stood among the carnage. He slumped to the ground his knees upon the rain soaked earth that cradled the unknown Mithra. Yet again someone he couldn’t protect, yet again someone who died because he was not good enough.

How long he sat at her side he couldn’t say but through the dark musings and roaring thunder a sound came to his ears. It was a sound he couldn’t recognize. An odd sound coming from the body of the Mithra. Silver looked puzzled and gently rolled the dead body over.

No the noise was not coming from the Mithra at all this strange sound was coming from the bundle of cloth the Mithra woman had been carrying when she died. Silver lifted up the wriggling bundle of cloth and unwrapped it. It was a baby Mithra, and the sound was it’s shrill cries.

It was still crying but as it looked up into the blank stare of the Gala it stopped crying. Then among all this death the Mithra baby did something amazing, it smiled. Silverstorm continued to stare at the baby as it reached up and playfully garbed his nose. “Hey!” he started to protest, but this only made the baby giggle and grab his nose again.

Lighting flashed overhead and in that brief moment Silverstorm saw them in the reflection of his still drawn sword. The three Orcs were running up behind him, their approach muffled by the rain. Silver tucked the baby Mithra tightly under his left arm and steadied for the attack.

The Orcs thought they had come upon easy prey, in one second another Galka would breathe his last. With one fluid motion silver swung around, his sword flashing deadly bright, and loped off all three Orcs heads with the single blow. With a grace born of years of training and conflict Silverstorm leapt back looking for more opponents.

As the Orc’s lifeless bodes hit the ground, the baby Mithra began to cry again. Silver quickly untucked the Mithra from under his arm and stared at her face. Once again when the baby saw his him, her crying ceased, and she tried to grab his nose. For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long Silverstorm smiled. As if nothing else now mattered he said, “Come on you lets get you to a safe warm place.”

 
^_^ hope it pleases all the fans of my story i worked hard on it ^_^ and now you all know why i have a galka for a dad anyhoo im working on the next few seens wanna explane a few more things bout keco hope you all like 

Bookmark: