My name is Kalhas Veremon. I once served in the royal army of the Empire as a soldier in the Seventh Company of Swordsmen during the war against the Aran, fought for dominion over the western swamplands. Later, I served as a sergeant in the dreadful War of Kings, which sought to consolidate the Empire of Exeria across the land.
Exeria left behind magic, the Moonborn rites of Vestian priests, and alchemy, choosing instead to embrace science as the path to progress and prosperity for a new, modern world. This world would abandon the obscurantism of an era that gave birth to outdated traditions and fear-mongering, corrupting the spirit and rationality of the modern Exerian. This shift toward science was naturally accompanied—and perhaps instigated—by the Berikan Church, which, while not wholly different from the Vestian priests, followed the symbols of the Sun and Light, aligning itself with the enlightened path of the renewed Exerian Empire.
Yet this path of progress was not paved through peace; it came at the cost of countless lives. As a lover and servant of true history—not only of humans but of all races—I consider it my duty to record these events through my own experiences, so that the world may come to understand the true face of this empire.
When the War of Kings broke out, I was in the port of Izel, working as a cargo manager for the merchant ships that docked daily. My job was to inspect the merchants' crates and ensure that no goods which might threaten the country's integrity or tarnish its reputation entered or left the port. In truth, as a veteran of the war against the brutal and warlike Aran tribe, my real responsibilities were focused on controlling weapon shipments across the territory to ensure Exeria's technological advantage never fell into enemy hands. They called me a Hound, or a Wolf, because the sailors and dockworkers believed I could sniff out the tricksters' schemes. In reality, my skills came from simple observation and the basic education I received as a boy—one of the few advantages I had, unlike most of my colleagues and comrades-in-arms. The morning I received my marching orders, I was on the dock with a load of "stray" rifles, a mishap that would have caused a tremendous headache for the city's mayor. His headache could have led to a hanging for me, so settling the matter forced me to reveal my true character to everyone on the docks, both staff and non-staff alike.
I was young, though already a veteran, only thirty years old. My life before the war was confined to a few places around the town of Estil, where I grew up. My parents, Thoros and Kreda Veremon, had built a farm on the western outskirts, with many acres of land and enough livestock to weather the harsh winters that plagued the region. The estate bordered a cliff that served as the pass connecting central Exeria with what was called the True North, or the Moon Lands, where the few northern cities preserved remnants of the Moon Goddess Vestia's cult. Priests there hid in shadows, teaching forbidden rites to those who still clung to the Old Ways. Despite my parents' blessed financial comfort, a shadow loomed over our family, as my brother, Gratis Veremon, suffered from a rare blood disease. His health, both mental and physical, deteriorated day by day. My father traveled as far as Izel, paying doctors and alchemists handsomely for promising cures. Though a few agreed to come to Estil to perform painful transfusions, few were able to ease my brother's suffering, let alone lift him from his sickbed, which was stained with the blood and sweat of endless struggles. When my father turned to the gypsy fortune-tellers and healers of Ravera, I began to accept the inevitability of my brother's death. A few years later, when my brother died, I was drafted for the first time. My parents soon had to come to terms with the loss of two children in a very short span. Though I passed by our beloved farm while they were both still alive, I was no longer the same person they had known. I had to leave them behind, carrying only the Veremon name as my legacy, along with the family sword, already bloodied in war and now an extension of my own arm.