A vile wind was blowing in the skylands. The unforgiven knight stood on the cliff’s edge, his eyes narrowed with intense pressure but not focused on anything in particular. His cape and bound hair whipped about in the unnatural breeze, the sheer wrongness making his nose wrinkle with distaste. His suit, by contrast, was an immaculate gold and prismaglass vision of martial glory long past. An elite suit of pre-war power armor in impossibly pristine condition.

The scent of the otherside's corruption defied easy description. A bouquet of rot drenched in sickly sweet temptation, contrasted by the tang of cravings both alien and all too familiar as well as an actinic bitterness of raw power and potential? He wished more than anything that it was unknown to him, but it was always the same where the taint ran unopposed. The stench of Edean, lost all those years ago to mortal hubris and ageless corruption, was alive and well.

He scanned the village below, his timeless armor feeding data back into the dark skinned giant's wrist display. He was handsome as far as humanoids went, a body of taut muscle cut at sculpted angles, but the more one looked, the more one could see the ravages of combat and the singular dedication of several lifetimes of an unachievable quest. Young and old all at once, the wrinkles and scars on his stoic face speaking of conflict befitting the legend that surrounded him. As if on cue, clattering and screaming rang out. A lumbering growl of pure malice. An insane cackle all too familiar in its wanton need to hunt and kill. A perverse groaning like the wood of a decaying ship flexing on stormy seas.

“I’m not the only one after the kid, “ he mumbled, a metal clad hand going to the hilt of the massive sword slung across the back of his power armored frame. This so called ‘white wind’ of the sky, the boy who blows in to sew chaos and upheaval only to leave gratitude in the downtrodden, consternation in the cruel, and profound confusion in both. Seeing the scrawny runt leaping from house to house with small children clinging to him like a dishevelled opossum mother, it was hard to believe he could be what was described as nothing short of a force of nature. Yet it was all converging here and now.

A brief burst of gunfire and flash of a feminine body clad in purple fur and spattered in blood signaled that it was time to act. If Artemis was here, the boy was indeed important to someone. Amyrr locked his wrist cannon into firing position on his left arm. Panels on the back of the legs of his gilded armor swung open exposing thrusters. In a burst of light, Amyrr vaulted into the air. A cloud of dust and pebbles flew in his wake and his white cape billowed as the thrusters slowed the descent. A small armature on his back swiveled and ejected his titanic glaive from the secure position across his back. In a fluid motion, as though the mass of gleaming metal arcing electricity weighed nothing, he drew the blade and angled it downward.

A hulking beast reeking of exposure to the otherside lumbered towards an old farmer and his daughter, swollen with child. It’s mandibles spread wide as the crude cannon strapped to it’s back sparked with charging plasma. Before it could atomize the fleeing villagers, Amyrr came crashing down upon it. The point of the wide blade came down and cut right into the creatures brain stem, killing it instantly even though the armored boots landing on its neck would have done so moments later. In a scintillating whir of motion, he swung the sword in a wide slash, neatly bisecting the cannon. He leveled his free arm and fired a pulse of energy, blowing apart the scrap lest it’s power source cook off and detonate.

The armored giant tilted his chin down, making eye contact with the pregnant woman with eyes framed by the sharp angle of eyebrows ever in a scowl. He had a resting war face, as though irritated to exist at all. The downward tilt of his lips tightened as he flicked blood off of the sparking glaive. “Where’s the auroran boy? If he is who I think he is… what I think he is…” The woman finally retracted her jaw which had dropped the moment a massive gold man fell like a meteor to save her. She breathlessly pointed towards where Kit had moored The Flying Bucket and where he was evacuating the civilians to. Amyrr gave a grunt and a nod before tearing off after the wayward auroran.

“For good or ill, everyone he meets is changed. Is this really it?” The words imprinted on the sash across his chest came to mind. ‘May they be a nucleus upon which the universe turns. The light itself will ripple with mirth when they laughs, and collapse with untold despair when they weeps. In the darkest hour, we beseech they join their hand with ours and become our Paragon of Harmony.’ He grumbled as he moved like a gold blur, “I signed up for penance, not this babysitting horse shit. Gods help us all if everything really does depend on the reckless, unpredictable, naive little bastard son of Soria Kabbit.”
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And here we have concept art of Kit's highly reluctant mentor, Amyrr Qahaar. Amyrr is a complicated character and ties into the most convoluted and frankly risky part of my story. As long as he wears the armor of ages, he's functionally immune to time and immortal. But it comes with a heavy cost. A commitment to a quest assigned by the most desperate of benefactors. A shot in the dark from beyond spacetime where shards of the ravaged Scion Network (the aurorans faster than light travel subdimension) imprison countless people still in the throes of war. Design wise, he wears hulking armor. His is of a quality above and beyond suits worn by the interspecies auxilia so they could keep up with aurorans on the battlefield. He's intentionally supposed to parallel how Kit fights but with more power and skill. A sword in one hand and a firearm in the second. Amyrr represents the power and stakes of the war. A time Kit thinks is long past. He's without a doubt the most well equipped and high stat member of the party, a show of what Kit could be if ever truly unleashed. The catch is that his growth curve is almost non-existent, so other party members can eventually rival or surpass him.

Personality wise, Amyrr is Obi-Wan Kenobi but absolutely loathes his Luke at first. He's serious, irritable, gruff, and to the point. This clashes with Kit's carefree and reckless wanderlust. Their biggest source of interpersonal conflict is Kit's pacifism. A stance Amyrr finds supremely naive and weak. He thinks Kit is who his lineage swore to guide and protect, The Paragon of Harmony. An auroran who can unite all the great anima and heal the deep wound left in reality by the dying of the light civil war. He does eventually bond with Kit, forming a grudging respect and admiration for a type of strength he never understood before. I admit that ages ago (when the character was originally named Ceta), he was heavily inspired by Zero from Mega Man X. As he's developed, he's got a very different demeanor and relationship with the protagonists. Amyrr has done some terrible things he'll spend lifetimes atoning for, and one day his final task will be fulfilled: Passing on the corruption burning sword he's carried for so long to the worthy successor of the nearly lost auroran species, the supposed Paragon of Harmony. Is Kit really the one to take on that mantle? Kit doesn't think so but more and more Amyrr does.

Art by Kitfox Crimson
Character by  kitkabbit