For 9 centuries and 90 years, the faithful orders have stood between the peoples of Cymmeron and total destruction by the agents of chaos, a great bulwark against the night.
As my 13th winter in this world began, I was sent with other children of my village to a desolate outpost of the order. Many of us perished in the rituals ahead but I survived triumphant, to be sealed into the armour of faith, to forsake my previous identity and become one with the forces of order.
Today, as the 991st year of the Kingdom dawns, we assemble into a mighty warhost. A sorcerous warband has struck the capital, causing great terror and capturing the royal heir. Such a brazen incursion cannot and will not go unpunished.
Reciting our ancient war chants, we join battle with the accursed ones. They scatter before us, torn asunder by our ancient blades.
I follow a stumbling coward through the forest, cleaving in his skull only to find myself alone in the shadow of an enormous demon surrounded by its lesser brethren.
With grim determination, I steel myself for a warrior’s death and charge the monster with sword in hand.
TO BE CONTINUED
