The White At War
An account of the life of Nil "The White" Kern
Young Nil Kern was a callow youth when war came to the Plains. War called to him and he stood and answered the only way honor would allow. He had not heard Lyria in his heart yet. Nor had he seen the ugly truth of war.
So he donned his armor and a robe of white. He took his sword and shield. Before the gates of Rathir he joined Varlaine's ranks. Under Varlaine he bravely fought. The conditions were grueling. Five days they marched east, then five days south, then five north again. Though he thought of slaying the foe night and day, battle came upon him like a swift and deadly blow. The field was empty, and then it was full of Tuatha, charging, screaming, waving swords. His side charged as well. Nil saw good men cut down. Some slayed one, or a dozen foes. Some cried and soiled themselves and died like dogs. When the battle was done, Nil stood yet. Nil stood and looked upon the carrion of the day. War is an evil thing, he thought, yet fight we must.
He washed his cape, brown with earth and red with blood, in the stream and girded himself for war. In the War of Parries, young Nil learned the true art of war. Of knowing when and when not to sit still. Of staring the maddened enemy in the eye. Of killing without hesitation.
When the day came we would show the foe our might, he woke as he always did, at dawn. He rose, stood outside his tent, and looked out upon the ranks and ranks of troops. This would be known as Orieator's Lance. And though he did not know it, the most proud and hard day of his innocent life. It would bring Lyria into his life and a pain that in the small of his back that runs down the side of his left leg whenever storms threaten or he steps too heavily on that foot, like a spark traveling the length of him, and leaving him weak. It would be the last day he would fight, and the first he earned the color white. White on his inside, and not just on his cape.