Kib Darastrix'Oth
Fighting Name: Warmaster Kib Prime, The Enduring.
Mundane Name: Talon Young
Started Fighting: July 2015
Realm Started in: Sunspear
Current Realm: Sunspear
E-Dating: Frederick
No Longer E-Dating: Vash
Warmastered War of Wrath X (April 2023) By Warmaster Bacchus.
Warmaster Bloodline
- Sir Cedric Winterbourne, of the Highlands of Chaos
Fighting Style: High crossing pinkys, Throwing stuff at People's heads
Current Units: Pledge to Brotherhood of the Falcon
Date Joined Current Unit: August 2025.
Peerage Orders Ordo Errantem Solis
Former Unit: Forsaken (Disbanded) Darastrix Okarthel (Disbanded, Became a house.)
Houses: Shadow wizard money gang, House White Lotus, Dragon Home, House Blep, House Little Smokies, Cult of Hydration, House Hippocrates, House Comrad, The Silver Host
Race:Awoken Kobold (Red/Orange Droog), Occasionally eaten by a big ass Frog
Kib says:Trans Pride, Black lives matter, ACAB, Fuck TERFS, Fuck Nazis.
Kobold Titles: Bringer of hydration, The House Bear, Breaker of Order, Seeker of Lore, Yeller in Yellow, The Voidfallen, The Blesser of Many, The Dead, The Soft, The Speaker of Truths, Checker of Vibes, Kib Pog, Chief Librarian, Chef, The Sand Frog, The Unbroken, The Crashed Out, The Pledged, The RatFriend
Interesting Facts: Currently the tallest Kobold Droog as confirmed by Mekoot Silo, Temporarily possessed a shard of the black mirror. Sir Round'Ded of The Knights of Wildwood
Warmaster Lore
"So... you seek to know what it means to be a Warmaster?" The figure before may not be what you expect. Standing a head taller than most men but almost twice as wide, the kobold is massive by his kind's standards—his limbs corded with old muscle, his tail curled around with practiced stillness. Scales the color of burning coals—deep orange mottled with streaks of red—glisten faintly beneath his layered garb: long, draping cloth in crimson and jet black, weathered by sun and battle.
His snout bears the faint white lines of past wounds, yet his golden eyes crinkle with an unmistakable warmth. He leans on a battered wooden and metal shield. His voice is low, gravelly, and unhurried—like smoldering embers left to speak their truth.
"Child, listen well. Many believe a Warmaster to be a creature of war—fang, fury, and fire. And they are not wrong. But those who stop there see only the blade, not the hand that guides it."
"I am not merely a master of battle or forge. I am a teacher. That is the heart of the title. When one comes to me with a question, I do not scoff. I do not hoard my knowledge like a Knight squats on their laurels. If I know the answer, I give it freely. If I do not, I lead them to one who does. For wisdom ungiven is like a weapon rusting on the rack—useless."
He shifts, one claw lazily scratching a spiral into the dirt—an old kobold rune for “becoming,” half-buried beneath his own shadow.
"I was shaped in a time when the world forgot the joy of its own stories. When quests and roleplay—yes, the soul of our craft—were left behind for sport alone. I vowed to change that. To bring back the sagas, the laughter of curious travelers, the path of the monster not only as foe, but as guide."
"My apprentices? I ask not just what they can do, but who they wish to become. What shape does their Warmaster self take? A savage? A smith? A stoic sentinel? All valid. All worthy. We do not stamp out warriors like swords on a line. We forge them one at a time—mind, body, and spirit."
His tail flicks once, and his expression hardens—not with cruelty, but with conviction. The kindness in his gaze never leaves, but it gains weight, like a hearth made of stone.
"I push them. I ask them to question me. Even to say ‘No’ to me. Because only those who test the walls of the world will ever find their true strength."
"And what is our measure? It is not medals. Not fame. No, a true Warmaster can be cast into foreign soil, barren and unknown... and there, either help the land flourish or build a new home from nothing. That is our power—not just to fight, but to build. To shape. To uplift."
The kobold straightens slowly, cloth rustling, shoulders set beneath the scars of a hundred drills and duels. He looks at you—not down, never down—but directly, steadily.
"So, you ask what I am? I am a Warmaster. Teacher of the willing. Builder of the broken. Spark in the soul of monsters and men. You may fear me if you must... but I would rather you learn from me."