The Velkari
Few have seen the Velkari and lived to speak of it — not because the warriors are cruel, but because they do not linger. Like a sudden storm or a blade drawn in silence, they arrive, strike, and vanish into wind and shadow. Cloaked in ritual armor etched with the scars of ancestry and trial, the Velkari are a martial cult bound by an ancient and secretive code: The Kheltaran Path. To outsiders, they are ghosts of the mountain, a myth draped in steel and blood, appearing only at the turning points of history — to intervene, to test, or to remind the world that weakness is a choice.
Though many debate their origins, none can deny their discipline. The Velkari are not an army. They do not wage war for kings, nor sell their blades for coin. They are warriors honed through pain and purpose, sworn to a code that predates most nations. Children of the Path are not born into the order — they are found, forged, and sometimes broken. Their home, a myth-shrouded bastion known only as Khazmyrov, lies somewhere beyond mortal reach, perched in the breathless heights above the clouds, hidden by storms and legend. Some say it does not exist at all; others claim to have heard its war horns echoing down mountain valleys in the dead of night.
To be Velkari is not merely to fight — it is to be shaped. Each warrior is a vessel of purpose, a living relic of a forgotten age, and a reminder that strength without honor is nothing, and peace without readiness is weakness waiting to be devoured. They do not preach. They do not plead. They simply act — and in doing so, alter the world around them.
Though many debate their origins, none can deny their discipline. The Velkari are not an army. They do not wage war for kings, nor sell their blades for coin. They are warriors honed through pain and purpose, sworn to a code that predates most nations. Children of the Path are not born into the order — they are found, forged, and sometimes broken. Their home, a myth-shrouded bastion known only as Khazmyrov, lies somewhere beyond mortal reach, perched in the breathless heights above the clouds, hidden by storms and legend. Some say it does not exist at all; others claim to have heard its war horns echoing down mountain valleys in the dead of night.
To be Velkari is not merely to fight — it is to be shaped. Each warrior is a vessel of purpose, a living relic of a forgotten age, and a reminder that strength without honor is nothing, and peace without readiness is weakness waiting to be devoured. They do not preach. They do not plead. They simply act — and in doing so, alter the world around them.
Culture
The culture of the Velkari is one of unyielding discipline, sacred violence, and existential purpose. Every breath is a choice, every step a test, and every blade an extension of one’s will. To live on the Kheltaran Path is to see the world not as it is, but as it must be made — through trial, sacrifice, and mastery. Velkari do not seek peace; they seek clarity, forged in hardship and maintained through relentless refinement of self. Emotion is not weakness, but indulgence is. Failure is not shameful, but failure without transformation is unforgivable.
They see themselves not as soldiers or knights, but as living instruments — each one a force-multiplier capable of altering the course of a battle, a war, or an ideology through precise intervention. It is said that one Velkari is worth a hundred trained men, not by strength alone, but by the terror and awe they instill. Where they walk, silence follows. Where they strike, stories are born.
The Velkari do not recruit; they choose. Those taken into the Path are stripped of name, identity, and history — reshaped entirely, body and soul. To those outside their order, they are myth made manifest: figures of dread and admiration, invoked in both bedtime tales and battlefield prayers. The world does not understand them, and the Velkari do not care to be understood. They are not many. They are not kind. But they are always watching.
They see themselves not as soldiers or knights, but as living instruments — each one a force-multiplier capable of altering the course of a battle, a war, or an ideology through precise intervention. It is said that one Velkari is worth a hundred trained men, not by strength alone, but by the terror and awe they instill. Where they walk, silence follows. Where they strike, stories are born.
The Velkari do not recruit; they choose. Those taken into the Path are stripped of name, identity, and history — reshaped entirely, body and soul. To those outside their order, they are myth made manifest: figures of dread and admiration, invoked in both bedtime tales and battlefield prayers. The world does not understand them, and the Velkari do not care to be understood. They are not many. They are not kind. But they are always watching.
Public Agenda
The Velkari do not make proclamations or seek followers. Their public agenda, so far as any can be known, is centered on personal trial, self-mastery, and the pursuit of justice as interpreted by each warrior. Once shaped within the hidden fortress of Khazmyrov, a Velkari warrior is loosed upon the world to walk the Kheltaran Path as they see fit. Some become protectors of the weak, righting wrongs in forgotten corners of the world. Others act as quiet executioners of those they deem corrupt, tyrannical, or dangerously powerful. Many offer no explanation for their actions at all.
To the common folk, they are knights without allegiance, figures who might arrive to deliver salvation — or judgment. Their presence stirs equal parts reverence and unease, for their motives are deeply personal, shaped by their trials and interpretation of the Path. There is no central command, no hierarchy beyond Khazmyrov, and no true code of laws. Only the Path — and the will of the one who walks it. In this way, the Velkari remain both myth and reality. Their agenda is not conquest or control, but the presence of strength and clarity in a world prone to forgetting such things. And while they rarely interfere in matters of politics or territory, when a Velkari chooses to act, few dare question why.
To the common folk, they are knights without allegiance, figures who might arrive to deliver salvation — or judgment. Their presence stirs equal parts reverence and unease, for their motives are deeply personal, shaped by their trials and interpretation of the Path. There is no central command, no hierarchy beyond Khazmyrov, and no true code of laws. Only the Path — and the will of the one who walks it. In this way, the Velkari remain both myth and reality. Their agenda is not conquest or control, but the presence of strength and clarity in a world prone to forgetting such things. And while they rarely interfere in matters of politics or territory, when a Velkari chooses to act, few dare question why.
Laws
The Velkari do not follow written laws in the traditional sense. There is no legal codex, no court, no judge. Instead, their lives are governed by the Kheltaran Path — a philosophical and spiritual framework that defines acceptable behavior, right action, and the nature of justice. The Path is passed down through ritual, trial, and oral instruction at Khazmyrov, where each warrior is shaped not just in body, but in thought. These teachings become internal law — personal, weighty, and unshakable.
Each Velkari is expected to police themselves, guided by the clarity they gained through their shaping. They are their own enforcers, their own judges, and when necessary, their own executioners. When a Velkari is found to have strayed — to have acted in cowardice, betrayal, indulgence, or cruelty beyond the bounds of the Path — they are not punished by imprisonment or fine. Instead, they are summoned back to Khazmyrov to undergo a Reforging — a brutal and often fatal series of trials meant to cleanse or confirm their transgressions. Few survive it. Those who fail are cast out, stripped of their sigils and armor, marked as Unshaped, and left to wander in silence. To be Unshaped is to be forgotten, a fate worse than death among the Velkari.
There is no appeal, no bribery, no legal loophole. The Path is flexible in interpretation but unyielding in consequence. A Velkari may act with mercy or fury — but they must own those actions, and be ready to face the echo of their own blade.
Each Velkari is expected to police themselves, guided by the clarity they gained through their shaping. They are their own enforcers, their own judges, and when necessary, their own executioners. When a Velkari is found to have strayed — to have acted in cowardice, betrayal, indulgence, or cruelty beyond the bounds of the Path — they are not punished by imprisonment or fine. Instead, they are summoned back to Khazmyrov to undergo a Reforging — a brutal and often fatal series of trials meant to cleanse or confirm their transgressions. Few survive it. Those who fail are cast out, stripped of their sigils and armor, marked as Unshaped, and left to wander in silence. To be Unshaped is to be forgotten, a fate worse than death among the Velkari.
There is no appeal, no bribery, no legal loophole. The Path is flexible in interpretation but unyielding in consequence. A Velkari may act with mercy or fury — but they must own those actions, and be ready to face the echo of their own blade.
Education
The Velkari are not born — they are found, taken, or chosen. Most are children rescued from war-torn villages, orphans of collapsed dynasties, or those who willingly surrender their former lives at the foot of a wind-swept peak in hope of something greater. Once brought to Khazmyrov, all pretense of identity is stripped away. There is no family. No past. Only the forge, the shaping, and the Path.
Education among the Velkari is all-consuming. It is physical, mental, and spiritual. Recruits — called Ashlings — undergo rigorous training from the moment they arrive. They are taught to survive in the most inhospitable conditions, to fight with both weapon and wit, and most importantly, to think. Philosophy is as important as swordplay; clarity of mind is valued above brute strength. The attrition rate is high — as many as one in three do not survive the shaping. Death is accepted, even honored, as a sign that the Path rejected them or that they failed to find their truth in time. Those who falter but do not die are sometimes given a second chance through a trial called the Ash Reckoning — few succeed.
Not all who endure become warriors. The Path shapes each individual differently. Some emerge as masters of the blade; others awaken to arcane potential or form a bond with the primal forces of the world. A rare few find stillness within, becoming stewards of ancient rites, caretakers of the wind-hewn gardens, or lorebearers of past Velkari deeds. There is no hierarchy of roles — only purpose, fulfilled. Each Velkari is shaped not toward a single ideal, but toward the truest form of themselves.
There is no disparity in education, no castes or favoritism. All begin as ash. All rise — or fall — in the same smoke.
Education among the Velkari is all-consuming. It is physical, mental, and spiritual. Recruits — called Ashlings — undergo rigorous training from the moment they arrive. They are taught to survive in the most inhospitable conditions, to fight with both weapon and wit, and most importantly, to think. Philosophy is as important as swordplay; clarity of mind is valued above brute strength. The attrition rate is high — as many as one in three do not survive the shaping. Death is accepted, even honored, as a sign that the Path rejected them or that they failed to find their truth in time. Those who falter but do not die are sometimes given a second chance through a trial called the Ash Reckoning — few succeed.
Not all who endure become warriors. The Path shapes each individual differently. Some emerge as masters of the blade; others awaken to arcane potential or form a bond with the primal forces of the world. A rare few find stillness within, becoming stewards of ancient rites, caretakers of the wind-hewn gardens, or lorebearers of past Velkari deeds. There is no hierarchy of roles — only purpose, fulfilled. Each Velkari is shaped not toward a single ideal, but toward the truest form of themselves.
There is no disparity in education, no castes or favoritism. All begin as ash. All rise — or fall — in the same smoke.
“Shape yourself, or be shaped by death.”
He wore no sigils I recognized, only a weather-scored cuirass over black and gold cloth, his face hidden behind a helm of impossible craftsmanship. The kind of armor that looks grown rather than forged. He was not large. Not threatening. But he was. His presence displaced the world around him like a great stone in a river — not malicious, not boastful, just undeniable. - Victoria Pendrake, 219AV
Type
Religious, Monastic Order
Training Level
Elite
Demonym
Son/Daughter of the Path
Government System
Meritocracy
Controlled Territories
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