Myrmidon - Archived: New Version Here

A man in heavy plate launches from the thin branch on which he was perched. A leather-clad dwarf below him dodges the first strike, but the knight follows through gracefully and brings a second strike down with remarkable speed. Off balance, the dwarf desperately attempts to parry the overhead blow with his buckler, but the staggering force of the blow pushes him to his knees and into the soft earth. The sound of bones shattering crackles through the forest, and the latest of many guild assassins sent to end the vigilante passes out.

A tall elf strides forward calmly as a horde of skeletons charges down the tunnel toward her. The first skeleton swings wildly, but the elf dodges easily, flowing past the dilapidated saber. Her polished cuirass glimmers in the torchlight as she thrusts her hand above her head. The skeletons are suddenly pulled into the air, slamming against the low vaulted ceiling. She pulls her hand down, and the skeletons burst against the stone floor. The clattering of rusty swords echoes through the catacombs.

The warlord and his entourage march up the narrow mountain path. Across the cliffside trail stand two sentries in thick bronze armor. Each has an unadorned zweihänder resting on a pauldron. The warlord takes a step in front of his flanking bodyguards, points at the bronze sentries, and demands, "Stand aside! I have taken this region and I intend to taste of all its fruits!" Motionless, one sentry speaks, "The wellspring is off-limits. Another step forward and your life is forfeit." Frowning, the warlord steps back and motions to his troops, who lower shields and spears into a phalanx. The phalanx begins to advance. The sentry who had spoken raises his sword to the sky while adopting a wide stance. He traces a spiral in the air with tip of his sword and then lowers it, pointing not at the advancing phalanx but to a space beside the trail. A dark speck appears in the air, surrounded by a shimmering distortion like a mirage. The phalanx is pulled off their feet and towards the speck. Their bodies collide and squeeze around the dark speck with a cacophony of folding steel, snapping bones, and shouts of pain. The warlord has grabbed a root and is holding on with both hands while his legs flail uselessly, like a flag in a gale. The second sentry launches into an arc, severing both the warlord’s hands with a single blow. With a gasp, he is pulled away and smashes into the sphere of metal and viscera that was once his most elite fighting force. The first sentry re-shoulders his sword and the ball of trespassers falls into the valley far below. The second sentry pulls her sword from the ground and tosses the two severed hands over the cliff's edge. Taking up her position again she asks, “Who was that?” The first sentry merely shrugs.

The Myrmidon is a martial class that augments traditional combat techniques by manipulating gravity through a specialized type of magic. Myrmidons train body and mind to fight with vigor and elegance, while relying on disciplines to control the battlefield and keep themselves highly mobile even in heavy armor.

Of Ants and Warriors Myrmidon translates to "ant people" from the ancient tongue in which the name originates. The unusual moniker likely came from a poetic observation of the traditional heavy bronze armor of most Myrmidon enclaves, or perhaps the mythic feats of strength performed by early Myrmidons. One account attributes the name to lines of pupils carrying heavy burdens moving around a Myrmidon school - a common sight in enclaves even today. In any case, the name masks the speed and agility of these warriors. Likewise, the mild bite of an ant is hardly comparable to the fury of a strike from a committed Myrmidon. These warriors tend to refer to themselves as "disciples" or, more often, as "guardians" because enclaves are almost always found on or near a site of importance.

Enigmatic and Resolute Their training is strict and ascetic, with masters often using seemingly-unrelated tasks or nonsense riddles to train their pupils in non-linear thinking so they can untangle the knots of the natural laws in unnatural ways. However, the exact nature of the training, tenets, and the structure of the group is kept a mystery to outsiders. Even the most gregarious disciples quiet when asked about these things, and speculation is often a favorite topic of conversation in pubs near enclaves. New disciples are usually adopted from orphans or unwanted children left at the gates, and most enclaves rarely accept older neophytes. However cryptic they may be, no one denies the combat efficacy of a Myrmidon.