He whose Name means Victory (Patreon)

Ajax Kherylon (A-jax  Ker-il-ion)


A towering wall of red-tinted armor and golden-scarlet scales; a hulking warrior without equal; a terror of the battlefield, implacable, immoveable, and to this day, indestructible.  He whose blade has pierced the hides of Dragons, from which he carved out his shield, and whose glowing yellow eyes strike fear into the hearts of any brave enough to stand before him or his allies.

Ajax Kherylon, whose Name means Victory

This heavy-handed phrase is a label claimed and used most commonly by he who bears it.  For if one were to ask the meaning behind it, this would be exactly how Ajax would describe himself.  Many who meet the Draach warrior-despondent would also go on to describe him with perhaps other, less flattering phrases: brusque, taciturn, rigid, aggressive, confrontational, to name but a few.  And to these descriptions, Ajax would also claim with pride.

It is all too easy, to an outsider, to assume that Ajax is merely a blowhard, a self-obsessed warrior all too aware of his strength and having grown cocky or arrogant when discussing his lofty titles.  Many in the warrior culture of Alreigch's Bastards would and have eagerly challenged Ajax in order to knock him from his scaly pedestal.  Only then do they learn the truth, one that his closest of companions learned long ago, and have come to rely on.

Ajax's name is not just a mere boast.  Whether friend, foe, rival, or brothers in arm, all who witness Ajax fight, in duels or protracted battles, know with certainty that he lives up to even his own legend, wielding it as effectively as he does his over-sized blade which is his oldest known possession.  For Ajax has never once been defeated in battle.

But how does one gain such a title, to be able to claim that their very name means they are assured of victory?  It is a long and bloody story, one that even its bearer does not ponder happily.  

For as long as Ajax has been alive, he has been a fighter.

From the shadows of the slave pits of the infamous Red Gauntlet, out into the blistering sun and immediately deafened by the bloodthirsty roars of the crowd, Ajax's first memories are of battle.  None know, even he, how he came to be a gladiator of Malig's twisted arena, a place of monsters and equally monstrous men.  His first coherent thought was of a blade being shoved into his hand and forced out into a ring to fight for his life against a gruesome beast.

From the first time his weapon tasted blood, Ajax knew what a sword was, how to swing it, how to adjust to the weight, length, and shape.  From the first time he was struck in kind, savage claws raking his scaly hide, he knew what pain was, and quickly how to mitigate, to avoid, or even to just ignore it.  

From there, one would have described his debut as something born of a story of the Old Age, of the time of the All Conquerer.  Planting foot on his slain opponent, he roared in challenge, in opposition of the tyrannical Arena-Masters, taking his name before the assembled crowds as if to challenge even Malig himself.  He dared his overseers to pit their best against him and they responded with eagerness.  The crowds were ready to see blood, but even more, they were ready to see a champion be born.  Ajax did not disappoint.

The Draach was an oddity this far North, deep in the center of Malig's dark empire.  From many miles, from all corners of the lands, people came to catch but a glimpse of the one known as the Unkillable Gladiator. They wished to bear witness, to see with their own eyes the truth behind the rumors of his victories in the Gauntlet; vast menageries of beasts, of monsters, of equally desperate and savage fighters, unleashed against the lone warrior clad only in rags and badly fitted armor.  Against them all, however, he would charge without fear, and to his cell would he always return.

And so he fought, and won, for twenty long years.

But life must be more than this, Ajax thought, more than the ceaseless, never-ending struggle for life against the cruel and the tyrannical, all for the sake of entertaining the howling crowds.  Even alone, his dragon's heart burned with a need for true valor, for distinction above martial prowess.  In his darkened cage, surrounded by those who hated and feared him, Ajax was unafraid of death, so long as he lived, even briefly, by his own terms.

His chance would come, and come it did.

There were few friends to make in the Gauntlet; everyday one might be pitted against the other in brutal combat to the death.  But not Ajax.  He refused to deal the killing blow against his fellow slaves, drawing the ire of the Masters and forcing him into yet more and more battles against overwhelming odds.  

Even those who resented Ajax for his reputation could not help but be drawn to the Draach for his mercy and honor.  Even in rags, he had the heart and bearing of a knight.  All could sense he had a greater destiny than to die here.  And he would not be content until the entirety of their hellish imprisonment was brought to and end.
There, in the bowels of the Red Gauntlet's pens, amidst the desperate and the downtrodden, the sparks of rebellion were kindled.

It began with a bout between Ajax and one of his many rival-comrades.  Easily gaining victory over his fellow, he was commanded, as ever, to dispatch them, to which, of course he refused.  The crowds were used to this sort of behavior, but the masters were not.  

With rumors of Malig's supposed disappearance, their power and authority was beginning to slip. People came now to see Ajax, not to see men fight to the death.  He had become something more than just a fighter, a champion; he had become the very weapon against those who had used him for their own gains for over 2 decades.   And now, at their most tenuous of positions, he dared once again to openly oppose them.  How much power would they have if the common folk saw the warrior once again go unpunished?

Angrily, they repeated the command, to which Ajax again defied them.  Weapons were trained on the Draach, his life ready to be cut down for insolence if nothing else.

He would have been struck down, there and then, and the legend of Ajax Kherylon cut short before it was to ever truly begin, if not for the intervention of the crowd.  Their Champion to them was more than just a fighter at this point; to the victims of Malig's reign, he had become as a symbol to many, reminding them, inspiring them, to resist once again.  Malig's sudden absence from his own fortress had thrown many of his lands into uproar, and there had already been many rebellions now that their greatest enemy was seemingly gone.

The Arena quickly turned to a riot when the guards were forced to turn their weapons on the crowds, the survivors driven away or imprisoned, and the Gauntlet's remaining events brought to an early end.

The Masters were beyond furious, and terrified for themselves, now and knew they had to act.  That night they sent assassins after Ajax, but they did not find him unprepared.  Ajax had planned for this, as had his fellow gladiators.  

En masse, they rushed and overwhelmed the half a dozen would-be killers and then the guards who had long tormented them.  From the armory, they procured weapons, and in the dead of night, they launched a surprise raid upon the Red Gauntlet.  The Masters were put to the sword, the menageries were broken open, the captured citizens from the riots set free.

In one night, the horrors of Malig's arena were brought to an end.  Just like the tyrant himself, its vileness was wiped out as soon as those in power were abruptly no longer there.

Of that place, Ajax took with him only one thing: the resplendent sword he wields in but one scaly hand that another man might struggle to carry in two.  Free to see the world beyond Malig's crumbling empire, the Draach's adventures had only just begun.  Battles and wars untold were yet laid before him, and he would seek out them all, desperate now to prove who he was to a world he did not recognize. He does not talk easily his dark past, but carries with him always the name he fought and earned in that bloody place.

Ajax Kherylon, the Unkillable Gladiator, He whose Name means Victory.


But to me, I simply call him: friend.