Conquistador Vela Warmonger Hero Skin
A bloodthirsty Warmonger of Spanish descent, Vela quickly rose through the ranks of the Order of Horkos thanks to her ruthlessness, her cunning mindset and her bombastic flair. Through sheer determination, Vela proved herself a pack leader – a wolf among wolves. This won her the attention of Astrea. When the esteemed Horkos leader heard outlandish tales of an empire of gold on the other side of the world, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fill her war chests. It mattered little that the veracity of this legend was uncertain. Astrea asked Vela to lead a convoy of ships across the sea, and the latter didn’t hesitate to accept. This was her chance to prove herself, to earn Astrea’s favor – maybe even become second-in-command.
Vela and her company were gone for months. But one stormy day, they returned, clad in new golden armors and draped in capes of red – the colors of their triumph. The traveling warriors disembarked their ships and stepped foot on the shores of Heathmoor as something else: Conquistadors. Vela had succeeded in her task. She had found the empire of gold, and she had decimated it, bringing back its treasures along with her. She and her fellow Conquistadors told grand tales of their heroic conquest, casting themselves as valiant, conquering heroes. But the real story of what had happened in the New World was a much darker affair…
Greed & Ambition
The wind pressed hard against her. But she pushed back, a force of nature of her own. The ship rose and fell with every motion of the waves, each bigger and taller than the last, but she kept her balance, her feet guided by years of expertise. A long-haired marauder rushed towards her, a rusted sword in one hand and a knife in the other. What her opponent lacked in finesse, they made up in sheer strength and intensity. This was someone used to striking fear into the hearts of ordinary men. A man, she wasn’t. And certainly not ordinary. She was a Warmonger. She was Vela. And now, she was known as something else. Conquistador.
So why did she feel such a rushing sensation?
Something that was, in her heart, almost crippling. Thankfully, she brushed it off just in time and avoided the oncoming attack. She didn’t even turn back to see the backwards thrust of her sword stab right through the marauder’s chest. Then, she lopped his head off with a mighty swing, and it was on to the next.
A battle was raging on across the deck of the Domitor, the ship she had called home ever since she left Heathmoor six months ago. Her fellow Conquistadors, men and women she had come to depend on as her crew, all locked in battle against dozens of sea marauders. Their boat was just as massive as hers, and it was nearly at arm’s length. These marauders were perhaps not organized, but they had a system. They were used to this sort of attack, and had used the storm as an advantage to get close. But already, the Domitor’s canon fire was plastering the enemy ship with damage it would never recover from. Wood splintered and caught fire, burning a vivid red against the charcoal-colored clouds. Flames the rain wouldn’t put out. Soon their attackers would all be dead, and they could resume their course back to Heathmoor.
But while she was already looking forward to her glorious return home, Conquistador Vela had to focus on the here and now. A horrendous scream came from the left – from one of her own. She turned to see two blades sticking out of a body that had been raised overhead by a hulking brute. The dead Conquistador was thrown overboard. Vela’s only concern was for the loss of their armor. The gold it had been forged with was priceless. Irreplaceable. What a waste.
Without even skipping a beat, the massive marauder let out a vicious roar that silenced the lightning’s thunder before kicking a door down – the door that led directly to the ship’s bowels. And the prize that lay below.
It appeared word had traveled fast. This was no random attack. These marauders knew what the Conquistadors had done. What they had destroyed. And what they had taken.
Vela yelled out, once again pushing back a strange sensation of fear. She had been through too much to lose it now. After all the lives she had killed, all the atrocities she had committed, she couldn’t risk losing what meant the most to her. The crown jewel of her victory. Her golden key. With it, there would be no denying her resolve, her commitment, her grandeur. With it, she would be hailed as the greatest warrior in the ranks of Horkos. A savior, a provider, and a conqueror. With it, she would be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with Astrea herself.
But for that to happen, the prize needed to stay alive.
With haste, she ran towards the brute, her golden armor heavy on her shoulders. Her sword stabbed the marauder right through the shoulder, but her opponent’s strength didn’t waver in the slightest. Using all her weight, she pulled back and down. The enemy swung a heavy punch that she avoided at the last possible moment. This gave her the opening she needed: with a hard kick, she broke the brute’s knee. Then, with a swift motion, Vela removed her sword from his shoulder, planted it upright into the wooden deck and grabbed the marauder’s head, grating their face down the blade until it was nothing but an unrecognizable, bloodied mess.
Wiping the blood away from the blade with her cape, Conquistador Vela walked to the edge of the Domitor just in time to see the enemy ship collapse into the water. Her ship had, once again, lived up to its name. And she had lived up to hers.
And soon, all of Heathmoor would know it.
The green of the jungle seemed to close in around her. There was no way to tell left from right, North from South. She was lost, confused. A rat trapped in an emerald maze. She gripped the handle of her sword, reminding herself to remain calm, but the cold sweat dripping on her skin betrayed her. Sunlight pierced through the thick canopy of intertwining branches above, and the faint mist that hung in the air. The air was unbelievably hot, and it was difficult to breathe through her helm. She heard a horrifying scream coming from far behind. Then, silence once again, the buzz of unseen insects the only sound she could hear. An animal hooted close by, and it made her jump. Another scream tore through the rainforest, coming from the same direction. Only, this one appeared closer. Her warriors were being picked off. Sooner or later, she would be next. Her body was trembling. A shadow moved behind the trees. All she could do was try to follow it, but always she was a moment too late. She was being hunted. And all she could think was that perhaps, after what she had done, this was exactly what she deserved.
“No,” she thought, commanding her body to be still. Steadying her breath. Closing her eyes. She wouldn’t fall like the others. She would fight.
“NO!” she bellowed out. She turned, letting out a guttural cry, sword held high above, as the shadow dropped from above.
Conquistador Vela sat up in her bed screaming. Her vision was impaired by her messy, loose hair. For an instant, she was completely lost, unaware of where she was. But the sound of the soft, splashing waves outside and the creaking wood of her ship anchored her. The jungle was far away – a continent away. The fight was done. It had been won. So why did she feel this way? Why was she carrying that uneasiness? That fear that she had to fight against when those pirates attacked. An uncertainty. A… weakness. No, there was no room for weakness. Not inside of her, and certainly not in the ranks of Horkos. But as she looked out at the black sky meeting the calm sea through her window, taking in the soothing, salty fragrance of the water, she came to realize the reason why. The source was five decks bellow, locked in the dark.
Covering herself with a cloak, Vela lit a candle and stepped out of her quarters. A full moon shone brilliantly in the sky, lighting a dark horizon of nothingness. Before heading below deck, Vela briefly looked at the stars, taking note of the ship’s location. They would be home soon.
The broken door had already been fixed. Opening it, she stepped out of the moonlight and into the darkness of the Domitor’s bowels, the candle in her hand illuminating the black staircase. At the bottom, the glow of the flame revealed the iron bars at the end of the room – but the interior of the cage remained draped in shadow. Vela sat upon a small wooden stool, and stared deep into the chasm of the cage. She knew he was awake. She could feel it. And even though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was staring right back at her.
She sat in silence for a while until finally, she spoke.
“Are you hungry?”
“Have my people fed you properly?”
Again, nothing but silence.
“I know you can understand me.”
The candle’s flame danced softly, the only movement in this utterly still moment.
“I don’t know where you learned to fight, or who taught you, but I wanted you to know this. You are the fiercest, most perceptive warrior I’ve ever faced. That might not mean much to you but, if you knew anything about me and where I come from, then you’d know it does to me. You made me feel something. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. It felt so… impossible. To be afraid. But I am thankful for it. For you. Because I realize now. There’s a vulnerability that lies inside us. All of us. Something… fundamental.” She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “But it’s not a weakness. It’s a strength. It’s what allowed me to survive. It allowed me to win.”
By now, Vela knew her prisoner wouldn’t answer, so she rose to her feet.
“I’m sorry for what will happen to you. Truly, I am.”
She blew the candle out, and headed back up the stairs.
The chuckle stopped her dead in her tracks. Low at first. But it got louder. And louder. She slammed the door shut behind her.
The bright light of the rising sun outlined her castle as it came into full view. Upon seeing it, Vela finally felt a great sense of accomplishment. She looked behind the Domitor, at the rest of her fleet following not too far behind – ships all bathed in the peach sunlight of this glorious new day – and she thought of the impossible treasures they all contained within their keeps. More gold than any man or woman could ever hope to carry by themselves. More than anyone could ever count. The lifeblood of a fallen civilization. The remnants of a stolen empire. And it was all theirs. Under her helm, Vela couldn’t help but smile. Her mission was now – officially and irrevocably – a success. She was home, and what a story she had to tell. Her accomplishments would be the basis of legend. Nothing would be the same. She had left a Warmonger, but she returned a Conquistador. And the Order of Horkos would fit in the palm of her hand.
As soon as her feet would touch the ground of Heathmoor, her life would change – and she couldn’t wait to get started. But as the shore approached, she came to realize the celebration would have to wait. What she initially believed to be a welcome party in the distance turned out to be something else entirely: a battle between the forces of Horkos, and a contingent of warriors from the Chimera Alliance. Her smile turned into a full grin. This was even better.
As soon as the Domitor reached a stop, Vela disembarked. Her feet splashed down in the shallow water and, sword in hand, she joined the battle. The fear and the hesitation was still there. But this time she didn’t push it back down. She embraced it. Used it. None would stand in her way. Not pirates, not that prisoner – and certainly not any member of the Alliance.
Vela surprised a Warden by stabbing him from behind. Grabbing him by the neck, she pushed him to the side, her blade dripping red, and she moved on to attack a Tiandi. As she plowed through enemies on the battlefield, Vela was all too aware that she caught the attention of anyone still standing. And how could she not: no one had seen a Conquistador in action yet – not on this side of the world, anyway. Her golden armor glinted in the sunlight. Her crimson cape flowed in the eastern wind, waving like a flag of conquest. She was a sparkling spectacle of death. Of victory.
Soon, other Conquistadors followed Vela in battle and, with their overwhelming numbers, the Chimera warriors were defeated. This time, no prisoners would be taken. This was a day of triumph, and it would be sealed with the blood of their enemies.
When the battle was over, the warriors of Horkos could do nothing but cheer. They praised the Conquistadors, and their monumental arrival. But most of all, they applauded Vela. And she answered back, saluting her fellow warriors. This rare display of recognition only heightened her popularity. This was the reception she had dreamed of. There was no more time for doubts or remorse. Soon, they would chant her name.
Seeing the admiration in their eyes, Vela threw fuel to the flame by stretching her arms wide and addressing all in attendance.
“Warriors! Friends! I stand in awe of you. Faced with your eternal bravery, your unending dedication, I am humbled. You inspire me. You are the air in my lungs, the wind in my sails. Your service has not gone unnoticed, and it is high time you be rewarded. Behold,” she said, turning towards her ship. Upon her command, members of the Domitor’s crew threw down chests and barrels filled with treasures of gold that spilled into the water, and quickly piled well over the surface. The crowd turned speechless.
“But that is not all,” Vela continued. “My greatest prize has yet to be revealed. In the bowels of my ship lies a prisoner. Last of his people. The trophy of our impossible endeavor. Proof that the might of Horkos knows no border. A gift for Astrea. A neck for her sword. An execution that will complete our supremacy.” The applause resumed. “Let this day be remembered. Let this day be celebrated. Nothing shall stop us!”
Cheers resumed, turning from loud to deafening. Overhead, clouds seemed to be gathering. The storm was catching up to them. But it wouldn’t stop the celebration. Nothing could.
The Ghost Festival has strict rules to follow: from leaving offerings untouched to a ban on fighting after dark. But the elite hosts have also ensured new weapons are readily available for all warriors in attendance. Once the guests finally give in to their hunger, the rule-breaking begins. As night falls, warriors pick up their new weapons, and fight whoever they come across.
This season, you have been invited to the Ghost Festival. Unlock 100 tiers of rewards for all heroes! Available during For Honor's Y7S3: Deceit.Learn More
New Hero: Afeera
The Afeera are the tactical geniuses of the battlefield. Highly trained and precise in their attacks, they can deftly dispatch an enemy with their mace and shield. Nimble and quick, the Afeera are also capable of impressive acrobatic feats—using their every limb as a weapon to fell opponents. They are elegant yet deadly warriors.