In the coastal realm of Vemecia, nestled in the eastern reaches of Surenia, there flourished a young man whose name was veiled beneath the guise of "Crisman Belson." Born into the esteemed lineage of a merchant family, he was groomed amidst opulence and abundance, ensconced in an aura of privilege and entitlement. Lofty expectations and a haughty disdain for those deemed beneath his station marked the path he trod.
The Belson kin, revered and widely recognized throughout the land, held dominion over the nation's prosperous orchards and nurtured steeds of unparalleled pedigree. These noble horses, of which a notable few found themselves serving in the esteemed ranks of the Surenian Royal Cavalry, were hailed as unrivaled paragons of strength and grace.
Yet hidden beneath the veneer of affluence, a secret longing stirred within the heart of Crisman. Amidst the gilded trappings and silver spoons, a flicker of curiosity yearned to venture beyond the boundaries of his pampered existence. A world thrived beyond the encompassing walls of wealth, whispering tales of trials and camaraderie, stories of valiant hearts that beat kinship regardless of birth or fortune.
As the winds of change began to gust, a journey unfurled before Crisman Belson, a sojourn that would test the mettle of his shallow perceptions. An odyssey where his name would echo through ages yet untold, untangling the complex tapestry of his destiny and weaving him into the tapestry of Surenia's history.

In the land of Vemenia, amidst the picturesque realm of Mereland, there dwelt a family whose lineage flowed with a tale of immigration and blood ties. At the helm stood Reginald, the patriarch of the kin, though his roots lay not in the fertile soil of Vemenia but in the distant shores of Mereland. As a young lad, he journeyed far and wide, leaving behind his homeland to seek a brighter future in foreign lands.
Reginald's fate intertwined with that of Valentina, a fair maiden whose grace and charm drew him closer with each passing day. Love's binding spell captured their hearts, and the two ventured into the sacred union of marriage. As the seasons danced, a seed of hope bloomed within Valentina, and so it was that their eldest son, Gottfried, came into being, heralding the dawn of parenthood.
Crisman, the second of their offspring, would later follow in the footsteps of his older brother, arriving in the world three years hence. And with each passing year, the family's tapestry grew more complete, woven further by the birth of the youngest, Celina, a mere twelvemonth following Crisman's arrival.
Reginald, a man of gravitas and unwavering resolve, was known to be austere in his dealings with the world. Yet, in the sanctuary of their hearth, the stern mask dissolved, unveiling a tender soul who found solace and communion in the presence of his beloved family. His days were mired in the world of commerce, for Reginald possessed an uncanny knack for discerning the true nature of deals, be they shrouded in deceit or draped in opportunity.
Amidst his travels across the vast realm of Surenia, Reginald endeavored to instill within his children a resolute sense of fairness, honor, and justice. Of his progeny, Crisman seemed to be the one most enthralled by this sacred legacy, his imagination quick to romanticize the virtues of noble heroism. He dreamt of righting the wrongs that plagued the world, shielding the innocent from the clutches of injustice.
Yet, the nature of Reginald's calling bore him away from the embrace of his kin, leaving them bereft of his presence for days, and at times, even weeks. These separations, like the passage of tides, were inevitable as he sought to traverse the vast expanse of Surenia, forging alliances and negotiating agreements.
While the bond betwixt father and son held a degree of harmony, Reginald regarded Crisman as impetuous and rash, forever wishing him to mirror the virtues of his eldest sibling. The patriarch's voice echoed with counsel, urging Crisman to temper his impetuosity and embrace the wisdom of his years. Though hidden within his reproach was a kernel of praise, as Reginald acknowledged Crisman's intellect and quick grasp when his heart was set upon learning.
In the annals of these domestic chronicles, Reginald and his progeny were but players in the grand tapestry of life, each shaping the other in their own unique way. In their shared bonds, the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of a family weaved a pattern that transcended the mundane, casting a fleeting light upon the ever-expanding tale of Surenia.

Valentina was entrusted with the sacred duty of attending to the care and upbringing of the children; a task imbued with great significance and weight. With utmost dedication, she fulfilled this noble responsibility, understanding the profound impact it would have on the unfolding of their young lives.
Valentina possessed a rare gift for imparting knowledge and instilling virtue in the hearts of the young. She firmly believed that within each child lay a potential for greatness, waiting to be nurtured and shaped through guidance and education. As a steward of their growth, she faithfully rewarded their endeavors, be they great or small, when effort and diligence were present.
Yet, Valentina also understood the importance of discipline and the need to forge an understanding of consequence. Thus, she did not shy away from meting out just punishments to those who succumbed to laziness and indolence. In her wisdom, she knew that the lessons learned through trials and challenges would serve as valuable stepping stones on their path towards becoming honorable and discerning individuals.
But Valentina's responsibility extended beyond the mere instruction of academic subjects; it encompassed the cultivation of grace and refinement within every child's heart. She endeavored to shape their understanding of societal decorum, teaching them to discern the right ways of behavior, especially when in the presence of esteemed company. In her teachings, she emphasized the value of kindness, humility, and integrity, molding their characters as if they were delicate sculptures crafted with love and care.
Of all Reginald’s offspring, Gottfried, being the eldest, garnered the lion's share of his father's attention. It was no wonder then that the echoes of Reginald's essence resonated deeply within Gottfried's spirit. Notwithstanding Crisman, who might have embraced their father's moral teachings with greater fervency, it was Gottfried who inherited Reginald's temperament, his cunning business acumen, and unwavering understanding of their place in this tapestry of existence.
In each whispered "yes, father," Gottfried sought to please his patriarch like no other. He yearned to shoulder the weight of the family legacy and embraced every opportunity that would prove him worthy of such a solemn responsibility. While Crisman and Celina often perceived him as nothing more than a sycophantic soul, a mere "yes man," to their father's whims, Gottfried viewed it as his noble duty to heed every instruction and emulate Reginald's ways to the utmost degree.
Even in the bloom of youth, Gottfried cast aside the allure of mirth and revelry, for duty and loyalty forged the core of his being. His heart swelled with pride when entrusted with the mantle of responsibility, relishing in the ardent pursuit of fulfilling any task laid before him. However, this unwavering dedication proved to be a rift between him and Crisman, their very natures colliding with a force of immeasurable strength.
Gottfried, spurred by his concern for the illustrious Belson family lineage, held it in higher regard than Crisman, whose soul craved personal duty and honorable aspirations. It was said that Gottfried would stumble in the art of swordplay, struggling to embrace the prowess displayed effortlessly by his siblings. Yet, in the realm of ink-stained scrolls and meticulous accounting, he found solace and excelled with unparalleled mastery, fulfilling Reginald's desire for his heir to be immersed in the intricate fabric of business-keeping. Yet in his heart did numbers become an end unto themselves, and he lost the understanding of the ways of man, and the whys of man.
Thus, the Great Hall of the Belson domain bore witness to a tale as old as time itself—an age-old struggle between two brothers, entwined in duty and honor. While Gottfried sought to don the mantle of their father's legacy with fervent passion, Crisman's path meandered along the pursuit of personal duty. Yet, amidst the clash of their contrasting spirits, the Belson family legacy stood poised on the precipice of destiny, its fate hanging in the balance, awaiting the moment when one amongst these siblings would rise and etch their mark upon history's annals.

Of Crisman and his younger sister, Celina, a bond flourished, nurtured by kinship and shared jest. Though she stood as the least, in terms of years, her cunning exceeded that of her brothers even in her tender youth. Forging a path befitting her, she would later stray toward a darkness and bloodshed yet unseen. In spirits mirrored, Crisman and Celina reveled in mirth, their hearts a fountain of joy, far removed from the stoic disposition of Gottfried.
The dismay of their mother mounted as she beheld young Celina’s audacity to embrace the rugged and the soiled. In her formative years, she disregarded conventions and found solace in the filth. And as she reached her blooming age, her feminine frame, handcrafted by her mother’s lineage, found no respite in gentle demeanor. The brawn of her spirit waxed, unyielding to the confines of ladyhood. Though she embraced horses and bore a great love for them, and she heeded the teachings of refinement, the notion of constant softness and delicacy drew forth her rebellious streak.
A mistress of her own desires, Celina yearned for freedom, aiming to embrace the trappings of ruggedness at her own behest. The shackles of conventions suffocated her, thus spurning the advances of suitors decreed by society's stratagem. She longed to carve her own path, adeptly maneuvering within the confines she so despised, resolving to bend the system she defied. To assume the role of “a lady” bent her will, yet in moments deemed appropriate, she would concede. Her skills ranged from the deft strokes of painting the landscapes, to the melodies strummed upon the harp, and to the twang of the bowstring, all of which she mastered with an ardor unmatched.
A surpassing affinity manifested between the young Celina and creatures of the equine realm. Their graceful stride beneath her stirred the depths of her heart, an impassioned love for their power and untamed spirit deeply ingrained. A vessel for disagreements, these noble steeds carried her through the verdant realms, far beyond the shadowed countenance of her kin. When her mindscape grew convoluted and clashed with her progenitors, it was no uncommon sight to see her astride her faithful companion, venturing into the vast stretches of the countryside. In those moments, clarity infused her consciousness, and with every stride, a sense of liberation washed over her very being. Though in the years after Crisman parted company with her, she did experience the waves of the sea, and her passion for horses waned as the pitch and toss of a deck became her obsession hence.

In the days of yore, when the world was young and filled with dreams, Crisman sought to join the esteemed ranks of the Queen's Cavalry. But alas, even in his youth, it became clear that horses held no fondness for him. Perseverance, with its noble intentions, only led to shattered bones and a bruised ego. Thus, his aspirations turned towards the path of the Cavalier Knight.
With sword in hand and shield upon his arm, Crisman delved into the art of the blade. His skills blossomed, and with each passing day, he eagerly awaited the day he would don the resplendent plate mail, reflecting the light like a thousand mirrors. Eighteen summers he yearned for, when the honor of the Cavalier Knight would finally embrace him.
Weapons held no secrets from young Crisman, for he was a quick study. His hands danced effortlessly with the weight of axes, hammers, and maces. Yet, the bow and arrow proved a challenge too great, for the marksmanship of Celina remained far beyond his grasp. Thus, he turned his focus to the beauty of melee combat.
In truth, Crisman was a scholar of swift comprehension. When a subject ignited his passion, he absorbed knowledge like a parched earth drinking rain. He mastered the arts of reading and writing, the gracefulness of dance, the art of proper speech and etiquette. He stood betwixt noble Gottfriend, embodiment of perfection in societal standards, and the rebellious Celina, who defied convention.
Crisman knew well the expectations laid upon his shoulders, yet he also embraced the mirthful moments that life offered. In his youthful years, laughter and joy flowed through him as easily as a gentle breeze. He reveled in the code of chivalry and gallantry, their prestige and the respect they commanded. And he grew tall, as to the height of the race of men were said to achieve in the times of the Imperium, and broad also.
As the tendrils of adolescence wrapped around Crisman, his attention turned towards the fairer sex. His charming demeanor and comely visage summoned no small number of hearts into his courtship. He plied the slender, silver flute, its dulcet tones captivating many a maiden's heart. And as fate would have it, he took to the weaving of verses, primarily to charm the hearts of his chosen ladies.
Yet, destiny had woven its own pattern upon his flesh. A birthmark, shaped as a serpent devouring its own tail, adorned his form beneath his right arm. A symbol, perhaps, of the cyclical nature of life's journey that lay ahead for young Crisman.

In the bloom of his youth, his heart was enticed by the allure of fleeting affairs, leading him down a treacherous path. Ah, but his dalliance with the young daughter of a powerful General proved to be his undoing, for not even his esteemed lineage could shield him from the repercussions that followed.
A month of toil and torment served as his punishment, a penance for his transgression. Yet, fate once more conspired against him as he attended a grand gathering, where the venerated members of Vemecia's cultural elite converged. Amidst the jubilation, Crisman, armed with charm, succumbed to the temptations of the beautiful young daughter of Countess Sibella. Alas, their stolen moments were disrupted by the very Countess herself, in search of her missing child.
But lo and behold, the Countess, burdened by a loveless union with an aged and callous Count, found solace in Crisman's embrace. Their clandestine tryst progressed, till the sun set low and darkness enshrouded their secrets. Yet, the enigmatic Count, Ignio Dubuois Ruiz-e Sibello by name, would not remain ignorant for long. Vast was his influence in Vemecia, dwarfing even the power of the Belson kin.
Pride swelled within the Count's bosom; his desire to safeguard his reputation surpassed his thirst for vengeance upon young Crisman. Thus, an accord was struck among the few privy to the truth. For the Count, a devout man of piety, sought not a scandal but a hushed resolution. Henceforth, the tale would be veiled, forgotten by those with knowledge, if only Crisman renounced his military vocation and departed his noble kin to join the embrace of a religious order.
In accordance with notions of honor and justice that resided deep within his being, Crisman made the decision to yield to the Count's decree. Thus, the Church of Tohr beckoned him, its sanctity meant to instill in his restless spirit the virtues of discipline and humility. Reluctantly, Crisman acquiesced, as part of the pact required him to venture far from Vemecia's embrace, to seek refuge within one of the cloisters nestled in the Ebranian valley to the north.
The tale of Crisman took an unforeseen turn, driven by the whims of fate and the machinations of an unforgiving world. As he embarked on this new chapter, he carried with him the weight of his actions and the expectations of those who believed the Church of Tohr could mold him into a better man.

In the realm of learning and lore, Crisman, a dedicated scholar, unfolded the mysteries that enshrouded rare Paladins. Captivated by their noble essence, he resolved to forge a path that would lead him to become one of these sacred warriors. A year of ceaseless ardor filled his days, as he engrossed himself in the sanctified teachings of the church, hoping to embody the ideals of a Holy Warrior of Justice. Alas, his pursuit met an inscrutable roadblock, for the cleric masters, in their wisdom, admonished him for his lack of virtuous intentions. Troubled, he was compelled to relinquish the blade and instead acquaint himself with the weighty heft of a hammer. Reluctance clung to his heart, but as the days wore on, the resolute grasp of the hammer began to weave its enchantment upon him.
With each passing season, Crisman found himself embracing the teachings of Tohr with mounting devotion. His spirit resonated with the fervor for justice that coursed through the halls of their shared deity. Fervently, he embraced the rituals and doctrine, his unwavering dedication manifested in righteous deeds, and he did take to himself a new name, Cephiro, which through folly he believed to mean ‘Chosen of Tohr’, yet others who were more learned rolled their eyes and scoffed behind his back at his arrogance, for the name in truth was to mean ‘One True King’ as it was the name of a great and prior King who was a mighty foe to the dark God whose name is not spoken, nor written of. Yet the ascension he yearned for eluded him, as if destiny chose to withhold the accolades he so earnestly sought. Frustration knotted within him, and a sense of stagnation settled like a shroud.
Desperate, Cephiro sought solace within the sacred walls of the church, burdened by his perceived lack of progress. With humility, he lifted his voice in prayer, beseeching Tohr for a sign. As his words floated heavenwards, a celestial ray of brilliance pierced the very heart of the stained-glass window at the rear of the hallowed edifice. Illuminated by this heavenly touch, Cephiro felt a profound warmth embrace his being, and his spirit thrummed with the unmistakable message of divine blessing. In that moment of revelation, he believed he had been anointed by Tohr himself, chosen to don the mantle of a holy Paladin and be a beacon of righteousness.
Yet unknown to Cephiro, the divine tapestry unveiled a hidden interplay of celestial choreography. Coinciding with his heartfelt plea, a radiant star streaked across the firmament, tracing its ethereal path just above the very roof of the church. Its radiant core, as it met the upper atmosphere, unleashed an outpouring of radiant luminosity, converging with unerring precision upon the sacred window. Majestic and unseen, this celestial dance determined the fates of mortals below.
In the symphony of cosmic whispers and heavenly designs, Cephiro stood unknowing, bathed in the profound glow that deemed him chosen. The merging of the sacred light and celestial incandescence whispered of an intertwined destiny, a path that awaited his footsteps. As he savored the divine radiance, untethered from his previous frustrations, a surge of purpose surged through his veins.
Little did he fathom the celestial ballet that had played out just beyond the earthly realm. The star, a fleeting emissary from realms beyond, had cast its cosmic message upon the sacred window. It was thus he burst upon His Clerical master, Avery, “Pray forgive my intrusion, Master Avery, for I mean no insult to thee.”

“And yet, I portent we hath arrived at this happenstance.” Avery replied, his manner chilly as his prayers had indeed bin interrupted by the upstart youth. “What dire occurance hath brought thee forth so?” And Cephiro did explain in great excitement that he believed a sign from Tohr had marked him as a Paladin.

But Avery looked upon him, and knew this to be false, for he saw none of the signs of such, being blessed with the sight to see these signs, yet he did seek counsel from the other scolars and holy men who populated the monastary, and these wise men saw an opportunity to both teach the youth a lesson, and be rid of him for a while, so he said, “Cephiro, I bid thee go, and seek this path thou believe thee hath been called upon.”

And so it befell that Cephiro, in his wanderings through the lands, came upon the grand and illustrious city of the White Tower set against the wide and great river of Ebon, once called Sapanendril, known as Tal Valen. A marvel it was, for its structure was formed of wide concentric rings, each teeming with life and purpose. The outermost ring, adorned with flourishing farms, bore the weight of sustenance for the city's inhabitants. The next ring, an orderly assembly of abodes, presented itself as a haven for the dwellers. Further still, in the heart of this wondrous city, stood magnificent structures - some devoted to the arcane arts, while others pulsated with the vibrant essence of commerce and trade, and at its centre rose the white tower itself.
Between each band lay a vast expanse of desolation, a barren wasteland that none dared tread upon. This desolation, indeed, was the product of the magical aura emanating from the towering White Tower itself. Its potent enchantment warned of impeding doom, dissuading any wanderers from crossing into its forbidden domain. Such was the power of the tower, which none sought to contest.
Within Tal Valen, a multitude of diverse peoples found solace and companionship. Cephiro's eyes beheld a sight uncommon in his wanderings, for he witnessed marvels beyond reckoning. It was amidst the wonders of this city that he sought solace and respite, seeking lodging within an esteemed tavern known as the Beard's Beard. The steward of this fine establishment was none other than a Dwarf of renowned fame, bearing the name Thalgrid. Unbeknownst to Cephiro, this very Dwarf was also the fabled figure referred to by some as The Un-Named Dwarf. His prowess in the trials of Glory Proving had garnered him rewards aplenty, enabling him to acquire and raise the very tavern within which Cephiro now sought employment.
While residing in the embrace of Tal Valen, Cephiro was drawn to undertake a task of helping an elderly woman in her time of need. This entailed the irksome duty of vanquishing the rats that plagued her cellar. Yet, lo and behold, as Cephiro delved into the musty darkness below, one curiously clever rat, spared from his hammer, displayed signs of intellect and wit. For upon closer inspection, Cephiro chanced upon minuscule inscriptions hidden about the rat. Entranced by this extraordinary discovery, he carefully took the rat in his care, nursing it back to health.
To his astonishment, Cephiro discovered that this rodent possessed a mind akin to that of a man. With a quill painstakingly grasped between its nimble forepaws, the rat penned coherent words of wisdom and enchantment. So captivated was Cephiro by the tales of his newfound companion that he christened the rat with the name Scribbles. And henceforth, they became inseparable, embarking on many adventures together.

During his time in Tal Valen, Cephiro, needful of coin sough further work, and as a Champion he fought, and won. But also did he work for one of the citys many libraries laborious work, which led him under the city where he met a powerful being. A great emerald Dragon rested deep within, and it spake unto him, and he to it. For the Dragon prized learning and knowledge above all things. And it bade him go hence, and from it’s maw it breathed a fog which robbed his mind of the memory of their meeting, a memory he would not recollect until he returned to Tal Valen over a year hence.

Cephiro embarked on a fateful journey across the perilous waters. Fear clutched at his heart as the boat he sailed upon, tossed and turned amidst the tempestuous waves, for the Ebon bore tides such as an open sea may. Yet, destiny beckoned him forward, leading him to the road that wound its way towards Anfang, within the kingdom of Mereland, once known as Normere.
As he traversed the path, Cephiro found himself engaged in conversation with a foreign woman, their words bridging the divide of different lands. However, their peaceful exchange was abruptly interrupted by the sudden appearance of mages, their presence casting a foreboding shadow upon the land. With great power, they unleashed a fearsome and formidable spell, bringing an untimely end to Cephiro's mortal existence.
Yet, it was not the mercy of death that claimed him entirely. Beneath his arm, a mark lay concealed, depicting the coiled form of a wyrm. This mark, unknown to many, served as a testament to his ordained destiny as one of the Chosen. These marked individuals, blessed with the favor of the divine, bore the weight of an unknown purpose.
Upon his resurrection, three souls found themselves inexplicably linked to Cephiro's fate. Sulin, an enchanting Amazon whose presence he esteemed greatly; Aedrin, an aspiring wizard apprentice, his speech entwined with a modest stutter; and Mara, the foreign woman who had shared their journey. Together, they emerged from the clutches of death, their spirits infused with a fiery determination born of the injustices they suffered while departed from the realm of the living.
No longer content with being labeled as beggarly peasants, Cephiro sought to rise above his station and prove his true worth. With his newfound companions, they ventured northward, towards the grand city of Aethaldur, known in those days as Sandromeirez.
Within its ancient walls, their names resonated, carried on the tongues of those who witnessed their courageous deeds. In the realm of dreams, Cephiro engaged in epic battles, thwarting the heinous plans of werewolves that threatened to sow chaos. Alas, their victories were not without cost, for among their company, Mara, secretly known as Hitan Hikaru, was lost.
Undeterred by this tragic loss, they united with Serafine, a Half-Elven ally, and set their sights upon a great hill named the Tump. This towering mound, adorned with crypts of the departed, held within its depths the ancient stronghold known as The Lament of Normere.
In the face of formidable challenges and obscure mysteries, Cephiro and his chosen comrades forged downward, their spirits kindled by a resolute purpose. For the song of their deeds echoed throughout the land, leaving an indelible mark upon the tapestry of fate.

his heart filled with reverence for the great artifact before him. Glorindal, the legendary sword of the ancient hero Almus Godsbane who wielded the blade, then called Lathlaeril, whose valiant actions had banished the darkness from the land. Its hilt shone with the brilliance of moonlit silver, adorned with intricate carvings.
Cephiro, with trembling hands, reached out to grasp the hilt. As his fingers closed around it, a surge of ancient power coursed through his veins, filling him with a sense of purpose and strength. The weight of Glorindal felt both familiar and foreign, as if it carried the memories of countless battles fought and victories won.
In that solemn moment, a cacophony of whispers echoed through the cavern, the voices of the fallen soldiers whose spirits still lingered. They whispered tales of sacrifice, bravery, and the indomitable will to protect their home. Cephiro bowed his head, paying homage to their courage and vowing to carry on their legacy.
With Glorindal in his possession, Cephiro knew that he held the key to vanquishing the remnants of darkness that still plagued the world. But he also understood that the sword was not merely a weapon. It was a symbol of hope, a beacon of light in the darkest of times. The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders, and he felt the burden of being chosen to wield such a revered artifact.
As he stood atop the zigurat, overlooking the cavern and the graves of the fallen, Cephiro pledged to honor the memory of those who had fought and died.
The Lament of Normere had granted him newfound understanding, revealing the truth behind the terrors of the past. It had served as a teacher, imparting knowledge that had long been forgotten. And now, armed with Glorindal, Cephiro would continue his journey, seeking to restore the land to its former radiance.
”Hearken unto me, Sulin, Aedrin, Serafine. This blade, I mark it as Glorindal, the blade which did cut free the Dark God’s eye.”

“Ye? And art thou permitted by thy God to wield such?” did Sulin ask, acidly, but not without purpose.

“Nay, but harken, Sulin. This blade is sacred, and must be born hence for we shall have need of it afore long, for the Darkness is drawing in, and we shall need its light.”

Sulin grew stern, moreso than was her custom, “Foolish man! If thou bear that hence, ever anon shall footpads seek to bring about thine end and take for themselves that mighty blade. Shall not meagre men seek to use that token to secure themselves a crown? Thou wouldst paint a sigil upon us which would shout, ‘Here are some fools, slay them at once and taketh this magic edge and thou shalt rule all the lands!‘ And the men of the dark God will come upon thee and take it for their master, not to wield it, but to deny its light from thee and all those thou wouldst rally! Cast is aside, let it lay here with those who keep it now, I bid thee.” And Cephiro drew it back from her, as though he saw some path afore them where she would seize the weapon and cast if from them.

“Nay, It came forth unto me, ‘tis destiny I forbode. I shall wrap it in secret, and not draw it, and keep it safe from unsafe hands. ‘til I discern the right hands in which to place it.”

But Sulin glowered, “I see thy mind, thou wish it for thine own hands! For this brand would make thou king indeed!”

“My most fervent dream would be torn asunder were that so! For no crown wish I, only to be as a hero, a Paladin, to travel the lands and do Just and good deeds. And this deed I deem good, ‘ere it bring us all hardship. And hardship to be endured, for an ideal untested by hardship and want is no ideal, no virtue. If thou would shrink from this duty, I bit thee part from my company and seek what fortunes you may.”

And Sulin it is said issued forth a rare smile, “This is well and eases my mind, for you see the right of it, and I spake thus only to be sure of thee. I am now sure and will travel hence with thee, if not for the full length of thy road.”

As he descended from the zigurat, the echoes of the fallen soldiers' whispers accompanied his every step. They had witnessed the darkness at its height, yet they had never faltered. Their memory would live on in him, driving him forward even when hope seemed to wane.

More did Cephiro undertake, venturing northward to the realm known as Frostwatch. There he encountered the Norgaard men, who had been summoned to this world by a vile enchantment, only to find themselves marooned and isolated. A messenger by the name of Bjorn, journeying from the north, recounted a dire tale that beckoned their attention. He spoke of a malevolent entity called the Frostwalker, prophesying the slaying of the Heart of the World, an act that would plunge all realms into eternal winter.
For countless months, they endured the harsh embrace of unforgiving frigidity. They engaged in epic encounters against the Frostwalker, confronting the fearsome creatures and undead that he commanded. Yet, their battles were not limited solely to the frost-laden adversary and the biting chill. For within their own ranks, treacherous individuals, whether by the name of Roman or borne by House Reins, betrayed and perpetrated the heinous murder of his own father. Furthermore, they conspired to execute the same fate upon his brother and seek dominion over the Wall of Spears.
Through countless trials and tribulations, Cephiro and his loyal comrades confronted the malefactor time and time again, triumphing over him only to see him rise once more, mocking the very concept of death. Yet, they persevered and relentlessly drove Roman southward, reducing his grand designs to naught but tattered remnants

In the annals of their journey, as they ventured forth unto Mereland, tidings reached their ears of a dire turn of events: the Kingdom had fallen under the control of the usurper, Roman of House Reins. Thus began a protracted and blood-soaked campaign, wherein the valiant resistance joined forces to liberate the land and restore the rightful monarch, whose claim to the throne remained unchallenged, at least at that time.
Pressing onwards, their path led them to the southern realms, traversing the rugged expanse of Bermania in search of the revered fortress known in those days as the Parchstone, a name that would later be replaced by the legendary appellation, the Rock of Aegis. This treacherous expedition proved to be a test of endurance and determination. It was during this venture that Cephiro, amidst the perils and tribulations, encountered a woman, who in time would captivate his heart. She was known as Roya, a minstrel and storyteller of exceptional beauty and spirit. Her stature was formidable, her countenance imbued with an alluring coquetry. Enthralled by her presence, Cephiro welcomed her into the fold, and together they embarked upon the arduous journey, braving the gravest dangers that lay ahead.
Their path was fraught with peril, especially as they traversed the desolate expanse of the Parchstone desert, a wasteland ravaged by the sorceries and dark arts that had blighted its past. The land, cursed and desolate, unleashed merciless sandstorms that devoured all in their wake. Only one steed remained, surviving the onslaught by a hair's breadth, as the tempestuous maelstrom threatened to bring annihilation upon their beleaguered party. Amidst this tumultuous tempest, an indomitable and feared creature, the formidable Tarrasque Jahn'senna, loomed large, its presence heralding certain doom. Yet, through a fortuitous intervention by the wizard Aedrin, they found sanctuary within a pocket of safety, concealed from the wrath of the roiling tempests and the unstoppable force of the Tarrasque.
Enduring great suffering and hardships, they persevered until they reached the fabled ruins of the Parchstone, a majestic fortress imbued with a profound malevolence. Centuries prior, desperate rulers had committed a heinous act, thereby bestowing a dreadful curse upon the city. Every night, as darkness draped the land, the fortress would relive the ancient horrors, replaying long-forgotten events, enabling Cephiro and his companions to communicate with the spirits of those long past. Gradually, they delved into the annals of history and uncovered the truth, seeking to rectify the misdeeds of the deceased and break the shackles that bound the city in perpetual torment.
Thus, through their ardent quest, they were able to liberate the cursed stronghold from the eternal torment it had endured. The righteous deeds performed by Cephiro and his brave comrades had released the fortress city from its malefic grip, thereby restoring peace and tranquility to a realm long haunted by the sins of the past.

The company of the Rat Paladin emerged from the treacherous depths of Parchstone, their hearts heavy with the weight of Cephiro's encounter. Within those grim halls, loomed an aged and dying paladin, whose years numbered thirteen centuries and more. This ancient man, his soul etched with wisdom, beckoned Cephiro forth to partake of a sacred cup, blessed by Tohr himself. With hesitant steps, Cephiro approached and drank from this vessel of divine consecration.
The draught had a peculiar effect, for it pierced through the veil of Cephiro's being, laying bare his flaws with merciless clarity. As the cup's elixir coursed through his veins, his arrogance and selfishness were revealed, displayed in cruel clarity. Repulsed by these unbecoming traits, he stood before his companions and decried himself, vowing to reverse these vices and kindle the flames of wisdom and righteousness within his soul.
Thus, Cephiro cast aside the remnants of his cavalier nature and devoted himself wholly to the pursuit of goodness. With newfound purpose, the transformed cleric ventured forth into the land of Bermania, cloaked in the radiant garments of wisdom. Their journey led them to the Town of Thelmoschtadt, their cart laden with the treasures they had amassed along their path.
Through the cunning twists of fate and the wicked machinations of a Viscount ensnared in depraved politics, their amassed wealth was ruthlessly stripped away. Bereaved but undeterred, the party pressed on toward the Capital of Einweg, determination etched upon their faces like the creases of a well-traveled map.
On the winding road to Einweg, they chanced upon Sir Radamir, a forgotten knight yearning for his heart to stir with noble purpose once more. Exiled from his ancestral home, his spirit was drawn to the company's cause, seeking redemption through valorous deeds. Thus, the knight joined their ranks, his seasoned blade at their service, as they strode closer to the fulfillment of his purpose.
As they traveled southward, the path of their destiny led them to the bustling crossroads town of Hassledorf. Beneath the veneer of ordinary life, a sinister presence lurked, ensnaring the innocent townsfolk in its thrall. Night after night, the people slumbered only to awaken, their bodies bending to the sinister will of some dark figure that sought to unearth a stone effigy, carved in the likeness of a Balrog of old.
To their great dismay, the company uncovered the malicious scheme that had gripped Hassledorf in its clutches. Bound by the courage that coursed through their veins, they resolved to put an end to the dark figure's rancorous designs and liberate the hapless town from its somnambulistic enslavement.
With swords flashing and spells weaving, the company of newfound heroes clashed with the minions of darkness, a symphony of justice resonating through the streets of Hassledorf. Their valiant efforts shattered the chains that bound the town, and the darkness that plagued the minds of the townsfolk blinked into oblivion like a waning nightmare.

With much perseverance, after an arduous journey, they finally beheld Einweg, the venerable Capital city of Bermania. A multitude of trials awaited them within its ancient walls, until they departed, safeguarding not only their precious treasure but also the official testament to Cephiro's rightful dominion over the illustrious Parchstone.
Of significant import during their sojourn was the rare occurrence known as the Thinning of the Veil, an event wherein departed souls could effortlessly roam the realm once more, while even an enigmatic representation of the Dark God walked brazenly through the bustling streets. The night grew treacherous, and they waged fierce battles against vile creatures that lurked in the shadows. Sustaining grievous wounds, their resolute spirit guided them to emerge victorious.
Amidst these tribulations, they chanced upon Eaton, a lycanthrope whose fate entwined her heart with that of Sir Radamir, and she became an esteemed addition to their valiant fellowship. Another occurrence of great significance to Cephiro's destiny unfolded when they encountered the enigmatic Eryran maiden by the name of Cephira, whose visage surpassed the stature of mortal kin. Her luminous complexion bore a gentle, golden hue, further enhanced by the elegant pair of horns adorning her celestial countenance, marking her as distinct from the race of man. Cephiro found himself inexplicably enamored by her ethereal presence, for in the moment of their encounter, a prophecy was unveiled within her mind. As a token of this profound connection, she bestowed her own transcendent hammer upon him, which he bore with a newfound purpose.

In the aftermath of their departure from Bermania, Cephiro and his valiant companions found themselves amidst the treacherous onslaught of Orcs. These vile creatures, driven by darkness and malice, mercilessly struck down the brave Sir Radamir, whose presence had garnered great affection and admiration from his comrades. Grief enveloped the hearts of the party, for they had grown fond of the noble knight during their perilous journey. And much had they shared in his blossoming love.
In the midst of this sorrowful event, the Wold woman Eaton chose to part ways with the group, her heart burdened by the loss of her beloved. However, little did they know that fate had different plans for her. It was not long before they encountered an unexpected encounter with an Orc, who, in a dramatic display, cast himself to the ground, writhing in anguish, and pleaded not for his life, but for release from his Orcish nature. He longed to embrace the ways of good, to dwell in the light of mankind's virtues.
Moved by this unexpected act of remorse, Cephiro, though hesitant and mistrustful of Orcs, permitted him to join their company. Yet, he advised caution, aware that trust must be earned, especially when dealing with such wayward beings. And so, with their newly acquired member, they ventured forth, their purpose now intertwined with that of the son of Merelands' King, whom they had vowed to escort safely back to his waiting father.
Alas, their path was fraught with further tragedy. Their eyes witnessed the heart-wrenching demise of the Merelands King, forcing them to bear the weight of his untimely passing. It was then that the young boy, upon returning to his rightful throne, assumed the name King Steven. United in sorrow, their journey led them to the land of Zice, where another catastrophe awaited them.
Here, Aedrin, a close friend to Cephiro, was set upon by the sinister Sorceress Ravenica Raptora Ritana Ravencroft. Through their shared escapades, Aedrin had come into possession of a coveted object known as the Staff of Ix, which had captured the sorceress's insidious desires. With her wretched magic, she imprisoned Aedrin within a cursed necklace, turning him into her helpless captive.
As this new loss woven into their tapestry of grief, Cephiro's eyes welled with tears, his heart rent asunder. Determined to rescue his young friend from this cruel fate, he swore a solemn oath, vowing to seek a way to undo the spell that bound him. For the bond of friendship refused to be severed by the malevolence of the world.
With heavy hearts, Cephiro and his steadfast companions pressed forth, their spirits undaunted. Their souls infused with the legacy of Sir Radamir, they persevered, for there was a glimmer of hope yet to be found amidst the shadows of their harrowing adventure.