In days of yore, there dwelled a band of remarkable souls, veterans of battles long past, who lent their valor to the aid of gallant knights. These stalwarts convened under the banner of the Frenic clan, their home nestled in the hamlet of Linsdei.
Their prowess made them objects of fervent desire, yet, regardless of the allure or extravagance of the offers presented, they steadfastly declined. Not out of haughtiness, but due to the stipulation that bound their true potential: to consort solely with the chosen few, the Heroes.
But fate took a turn when the Hero, vanquished in combat against the demon king, left our midst. In that hour, our village was beset by a cabal of demon worshippers, their promises laden with gold, seeking the allegiance of the Frenic Clan. Yet, true to their ethos, the Frenic folk refused, sworn as they were to safeguard humanity from monstrous assaults.
These fiend worshippers, christened as [Dooms], were unaware that the key to unlocking the full might of a Runemaster lay in the presence of a hero.
Growing weary of their entreaties, the Dooms turned to aggression. Initially coercive, they soon turned to bloodshed, claiming lives from our kin.
As unease gripped our village, the decision was made to seek refuge in the city. But fate intervened, and on the road, we were accosted by the Dooms.
One by one, our brethren fell, some fleeing into the forest only to be pursued by our relentless adversaries.
In a desperate bid for survival, our clan leader, with spouse and child in tow, made for the river, hoping to distract our pursuers with a well-placed stone.
Yet, as tragedy would have it, their offspring, hidden away, bore witness to their demise at the hands of our relentless foes. Silenced by a stranger's hand, he watched in horror as his parents met their end.
But the stranger, sensing danger's abatement, released the child, who, in grief, sought solace by the side of his fallen kin.
In time, the stranger led the child to safety, guiding them to the city's refuge. Along the journey, he revealed himself as Darwin, a warrior of the realm.
Upon arrival, Darwin secured sanctuary for the child, summoning Ashley, who, upon hearing their tale, offered succor.
As the Frenic clan found respite, amidst the solace of Ashley's hearth, Raynie, Ashley's own progeny, sought to assuage the newcomer's sorrow.
And thus began the bond between Raynie and Lenia, two souls forged in the crucible of tragedy, bound by shared grief and the pursuit of justice.
Years passed, and though separated by four cycles of the sun, Raynie, the swordsman, and Lenia, the inheritor of her family's legacy, grew as siblings in arms.
Within Lenia's heart burned the desire for vengeance, a flame stoked by Raynie's tutelage in the ways of the blade. But even as her skills burgeoned, she chose solitude over companionship, driven by the singular goal of retribution.
Yet, news of Raynie's withdrawal from the Guardians and his new role as mentor gave Lenia pause. Confronting him, she learned of the encroaching threat of demon forces, prompting her to reconsider her solitary path.
Thus, she joined the Guild, her first day marked by a quest and the search for allies.
But her endeavors met with reproach when her meticulous incantations failed to avert harm to her companions, their trust waning with each passing trial.
And so, she waited, a solitary sentinel amidst the clamor of the Guild, until destiny at last delivered unto her the one she had awaited.
The Hero.
***
As I lay upon my bed, thoughts of Lenia's plight weighed heavy upon my mind.
"She is the last of her kind... perhaps her reticence to embark on quests stems from the ever-present threat of the Dooms."
Yet, the notion that Darwin, by mere happenstance, had saved her, strained credulity.
...
"Be that as it may, my own existence in this realm is a testament to fate's caprice. Perhaps all of this is but a part of some grand design."
With that, I surrendered to sleep.
***
In the court of the kingdom, King Grim listened intently as one of his warriors delivered his report.
"Your Majesty, we have identified the fallen in the Verde forest. Among them, Guardians Arna and Fashan, while three remain nameless. Their tattoos mark them as Dooms acolytes. Others, alas, defy recognition, their forms too marred by strife."
"Excellent work," the king acknowledged.
"Leave us," he commanded.
"Dooms," he mused, "It seems our vigilance must be redoubled."