Hero Wars-Stories Official Guide

Andvari

“Yesssss!” yelled Ragni right into the face of the head examiner. The element of Fire had made its choice, causing her to erupt with joy! Before the examiner had a chance to wrinkle his nose at Ragni’s tactless and rude behavior, Siungur let out a yell just as loud, unable to contain his glee as he was favored by the element of Water. 

Andvari, a contender for the element of Nature, was in another situation altogether. Despite his excellent forging and woodworking skills, vast knowledge of the history of the Elemental Spirits, incredible physical prowess, and strong determination, his target kept evading him. The young master offered his players to the Elder Oak, started a titanic fire in the Elemental Spirit, and forged an extraordinary neckpiece that could become a great artifact if the element so willed. All in vain. 

But Andvari wouldn’t be Andvari if he were to give up hope, disheartened. The challenges only served to rouse him, and the enthusiastic master never noticed he was approaching the Ticku caves, an area located far enough from the eyes of the examiners and inhabited by the small people who lived under the mountain. The Tickuits were completely blind, peaceful, and trusting like children. Nobody could expect the cruelty they displayed when seeing Andvari. 

“Food for our horrific Lord!” cried the Tickuits, dragging the captured Andvari into the caves. The unexpected attack caught him off guard. 

“Bring him to the dining hall! The Lord will have a great supper!” the miniature cave dwellers chanted as they dragged their victim into the depths of the mountains, even though they didn’t look happy with themselves. 

“Hold the chains tight! Our Lord will be satisfied!” the tiny folk closed in on Andvari while the local blacksmith grunted and swore under his breath, binding him in chains. 

In half an hour, the shackles embedded into the wall were forever locked on the young master’s hand. The Tickuits picked up their possessions and scurried out of the hall, leaving Andvari alone as he gazed apprehensively into the dark abyss. The abyss from which the mysterious and obviously vicious Lord was about to appear. The master examined the shackles carefully, realizing he couldn’t unlock them himself. He kept pulling the chain, trying to break the rock, but there was nothing he could do. Minutes turned into hours, the hours turned into...

“Stop it,” a thought occurred to the master. “What are you doing, Andvari? What do you actually want? 

What does it matter what I want?” replied he to himself, remaining surprisingly calm. “After all, I’m going to perish in these caves, and nobody will ever know what happened. And to make matters worse, I won’t even pass my exam.”

“Finding excuses, are you?” continued the voice in his head. “Sounds like you don’t have a purpose. You lost it.”

“No!” shouted the master aloud. The darkness rippled around him, as though coming to life.

“Andvari, Andvari!” whispered the master to himself. “He is coming, and you’ll have to show what you’re really worth if you want to deserve the element.” 

 The master looked at the shackles that were holding his arm in an iron grip and the bruises spreading around it. Then he turned to look into the abyss, clearly seeing something move in the darkness. He pulled his arm without the tiniest shred of hope to weaken the grip of the iron trap. Meanwhile, something dragged itself up from the abyss, scratching its claws against the stone floor and spreading a suffocating stench in the cave. Andvari pulled his arm again, and then again, with more force. Then he stopped for a moment, and yanked it towards himself with all his might. 

Blood! It seemed to have covered the cave’s floor entirely. The shoulder his arm had been attached to a moment ago had turned into a crimson mess. The master rushed to the exit, cradling the gaping wound with his other hand. His head was about to burst, as though something was trying to find its way into Andvari’s brain. Everything was going dark before his eyes, but a source of light appeared in the cave: the gigantic monster’s eyes studied the master, gazing at him like two blazing torches. A long, heavy tongue slipped from between the creature’s jaws in anticipation of fresh meat. The beast slowly approached its target, its gaze unwavering. 

“Let me help you, drommer,” offered the monster, suddenly covered in light fur.

“Come play with me, cute little drommer!” continued the beast. Its eyes growing larger, even starting to seem cute. “Follow me...”

“This is the Illusioner!” flashed the thought in Andvari’s mind. He shook his head, escaping the delusion, and leapt at the monster. He slipped through its paws, turned around swiftly, and sank his teeth into the back of the beast’s head, trying to constrain his foe with his legs and remaining arm. He bit, and bit, and bit again... The monster flailed wildly, rolling on the floor, scratching its back with its claws and further wounding Andvari. The Illusioner and the drommer’s blood gushed freely. But Andvari was growing weak. Red and green circles started appearing in the darkness before his eyes, reminding him there was just a little time left. Soaked in blood and slippery, his hand lost its grip on the beast, causing Andvari to instinctively move his other shoulder to secure it. And he succeeded! A stone shoulder appeared in place of the crippled arm, followed by a forearm and hand, strangling the monster on the spot. The vines suddenly growing across Andvari’s other arm pierced into the monster’s skin, crushing the Illusioner’s core – the organ that enabled it to conjure mental images – in one fell swoop.

The Illusioner immediately shrunk in size, cowering and letting out a pathetic whimper. When Andvari shoved it away, it quickly fled into the cave. 

When the drommer examiners found Andvari, he wasn’t even trying to exit the cave. His body covered with wounds, he kept practicing with his new power over the element of Earth, literally earned through blood and sweat. Once the Illusioner had been neutralized, the Tickuits snapped out of their trance. Realizing what they had done, the tiny people rushed to fix their mistake. They invited the drommer inspectors right into the cave to let Andvari savor his triumph. 

Never before had Ghirwil City witnessed such an examination! Glory to you, Andvari! You deserve this victory!

Astaroth

The day his snow-white wings turned to unquenchable flames, bringing endless agony, Astaroth realized that his father's love was not infinite...

Being God's son wasn't hard at all – or so the young angel thought at the time. All you had to do was wear a beatific look, and then while dad wasn't watching you could do whatever you liked. Gods are odd like that: they can foresee any action when humans are involved, but are barely able to watch over their own offspring. Or did father know everything, merely waiting for his child to grow up and see reason?

In short, Astaroth made the best of his time, messing with the puny humans, making fun of his siblings, and even mocking Archangels. Indeed, what's there to be afraid of when your dad's God?

An affair with the young demoness Lilith was, ultimately, the limit of his father's patience. Heaven and Hell know almost everything about each other, as they carefully watch the balance of power, making sure there is no conflict of interest.

Because of this, a relationship with Lilith would have been impossible had the reckless angel not employed a fateful trick: Astaroth assumed the appearance of Archdemon, a promising warrior.

Strong, muscular, and rough of manner, as though he had stepped right out of an artist's rendition of Hell. And so Astaroth enjoyed putting up this pretense, until he went too far. The demoness, surprisingly for a creature of the Nether World, fell head over heels in love with Archdemon. The reckless angel called her his wife, and Lilith was happy as she had never been before.

Yet this was merely another of Astaroth's whims, which he predictably soon grew bored with. He returned to his father's house, while Lilith threw herself hopelessly into the search for her missing husband. She left her home and wandered about, asking passers-by about him, only for them to casually reply that he had found happiness with another woman, a mortal. Archdemon bore a grudge against Astaroth for the foul trick, but the angel laughed at him, knowing that Hell's denizens could not travel to the Great Above. He was weeping with laughter when he suddenly realized that his snow-white wings had turned to unquenchable flame, causing eternal suffering. It was then that he understood that his father's love was not infinite...

Banished from Heaven and despised by Hell, Astaroth was filled with spite and hatred for all living things. He joined the Guardians to fight fiercely against Archdemon's hordes and earn the right to return home. His plans were thrown in disarray when Lilith, whom he had jilted, joined his squad. Whether the fallen angel has repented or is contemplating new malice, we have yet to find out.

Aurora

There's no safer and more prosperous place in the world than Riversar! Washed by the waters of the Sacred River the land of the elves is truly marvelous! But there are persons who try to escape the calmness, avoid the peaceful rhythm of life. And that's the story of the warrior named Aurora.

The dreams of military service weren't understood in her native lands which were spared from the wars. And why does a beautiful elfin girl coming from a happy family need battles, when you can study architecture and music! But Aurora's desire was so great that she ran from home enlisting in the Kharun's army.

Exhausting training, fresh scars from regular battles, sleepless nights on patrol and taunts from fellow men-warriors – Aurora put up with all of it for the sake of her goal. Once in a while when it was really difficult the girl silently prayed to her patroness Temari.

One morning alarming news came from Riversar: treacherous elves who chose the side of darkness opened the gates for the Lord of Chaos. With no delay Aurora went home. She was winning a battle after battle with the servants of Chaos. Like a whirl she struck enemies freeing villages and their people. The villains were shocked with what a single warrior is capable of. But when Aurora had no more power left she missed a poisoned blade and fell unconscious.

The girl woke up in captivity, in the lair of her enemy. Notorious monsters and executioners tortured her day and night, trying to make her acknowledge the new master. All the Chaos commanders came looking at the humiliation of the light elf who had struck horror in villains. But even when her wounded body turned into an ugly blood clot she wasn't going to give in.

Suddenly, the room filled with an unbearably bright light blowing up the torture room with everyone inside. When the light went out only Aurora was lying on the floor. And, lo and behold, completely transformed, beautiful and fresh, she looked even better than before! Aurora's hands and face were shining with a rainbow glow. Opening her eyes the girl realized that it was not in vain, and Temari helped eliminating the evil settled in Riversar. The gift received from the goddess made a Paladin out of Aurora, allowing the fearless warrior to serve for the good of her people.

Chabba

The volcano region is very beautiful! Lava flows solidifying in the sunset rays and geysers' steam coming on the surface create an amazing scenery. But there's absolutely nothing here to eat! Don't believe those who say that lava dragons don't need food – Chabba is a living example of it.

A real gourmet, he values a nice dinner and a good night's sleep the most. But several years ago sleep was his main and only delight. The volcanic wastelands had no yummies, and nothing troubled this future glutton. He just laid on the hot side of volcano spitting stones into the sky from time to time.

One morning he woke up smelling something unusual. His nostrils were catching air intensely, and his mouth with dozens of sharp fangs was drooling. Chabba jumped from his stone bed and rushed to find the source of this magnificent smell. After a few hours it brought him to a small village. In one of the huts a young woman was cooking a stew. Beautiful! The stew, it is. Fascinated with the smell of the food Chabba clumsily moved forward and dropped some cutlery from the table scaring the hostess.

The dragon was slowly walking forward, while she was backing away from him, pale as a ghost. She didn't know that Chabba wasn't going to hurt her. Suddenly, something sparkled outside, then there was a loud noise and smoke started coming from the street. Turned out orcs from Hardan's plateau attacked the village trying to enslave the people of it. But Chabba wasn't OK with that. What was there to think about? These vile monsters came to steal his soup! He stretched his arms and legs, and moved after orcs.

Oh, what happened then! The green guys were literally torn in shreds! All in all, several minutes after, the soup was saved. The villagers didn't know what to think about it all. And only the young cook guessed what the monster wanted – she got the pot off the fire and presented the savior with it. Since that time Chabba protects the village, and grateful inhabitants treat him with all kinds of yummy meals!

You ask what Chabba's business with Guardians is all about? He travels a lot, you know, and it provides him with opportunity to taste cuisines from all the corners of the Dominion. Draw your own conclusions!

Cornelius

A sharp knock at the window startles Cornelius Witt, respectable member of the Academy, well-known scientist and artist. The venerable man turns around and sees a Spring wren, a rare bird in these parts, beating against the glass. The sight takes him back to a time three years ago, when a bird just like this was flapping its wings against the windows of the Strongford Library. And then the stained glass exploded into hundreds of piercing shards, letting an army of Dark wizards led by Kragg into the spacious reading room…

Witt remembers the snap decision to burn his life’s work to the ground. He cast the Darganay Ash spell just in time to destroy his magnum opus: "Methods of Countering the Darkness." Enraged and disappointed, Kragg let out a fierce shriek. That very second, pain encompassed Cornelius' body. While the Dark squad escorted Witt, bound by magic, the scientist withdrew from the torturous sensations, trying to think the situation over in his head.

The emissaries of the Dark came for my book, and that means I must have been close to uncovering their secret, and thus became too dangerous for them. They most certainly want to find out if there are any copies of my work. As long as they are unaware of the fact that the only copy is safe in my mind, I still have a chance to survive.

Several days later, the group reached the outskirts of Graven, the capital of the Dark Elf traitors to the Dominion. At the time, high-ranking Dark officers were staying there, and they were quite pleased with such a catch. So, thus began the torture.

If only you knew, how thrilled the dark elves were to torment the scientist that brought up their hated Galahad, Aurora, and Ginger! And, trust me, mages are adept in the ways of inflicting pain without spilling a single drop of blood. His mind gripped tighter and tighter as if by a vice, Cornelius was brought to utter exhaustion. Painful hallucinations created by the best Dark sorcerers produced visions of his loved ones dying in front of his eyes, of the Dominion falling, and the Dark reigning supreme. Affect spells smothered him in clouds of utter hopelessness and despair. Two years went by from his capture, but he felt like the torture had already lasted several hundred years, and it showed no signs of stopping. 

But even when his mind defied him, even when his body was about to collapse, Cornelius never gave up. Despite being a man of advanced age, almost an elder, he still managed to stay sane and never reveal the secret of his research. And do you know why? He learned to oppose, and even suppress, the magic. The Dark mages themselves held the key to solving the mystery. Cornelius had realized that a long time ago, and had been honing his skills to perfection ever since. 

It was a sight to behold when Witt, imperious and dignified, descended from the platform, breaking his restraints as if they were made of glass. The sorcerers around him flapped their arms, made magic passes, and muttered the strongest spells. But all in vain. Cursed by Cornelius, they were no more harmful than puppies barking at an elephant. Even the great and terrible Kragg didn't last a minute. The once mighty wizard fell, stricken aside by a huge boulder Cornelius had launched with the power of his mind alone. Powerless, the servants of Darkness could only look on as their former captive, the famous scientist Cornelius Witt, walked towards the rising sun, safe behind a protective shield.

So now, sitting in the Strongford Library, Cornelius thanks Fate for how things turned out. His research on the methods of suppressing Dark magic helps the Dominion fight evil to this day.

Daredevil

I understand that you are fed up with this psycho. But what can she do if she got her father's temper, who was a professional mercenary? Gossiping with girlfriends, school and all these girly things bored the hell out of Daredevil, and her mother didn't understand her tomboyish nature.

You wouldn't believe what was going on inside a young troublemaker's mind when she had to put a dress on just because “you're a girl!” However, she didn't know she would suffer so much after the death of her mother. Oh, how stupid those insults toward her parents seemed now!

After the loss of her mother the only soul mate left was the girl's father. Daredevil followed him everywhere he went and tried to take over all his habits. Father, knowing her daughter's special temper, taught her everything he could. Daredevil learnt how to shoot with both hands, make bombs and got fit perfectly.

The girl didn't let women come to her dad, seeing them as nothing but a threat to their small family. You may say that was selfish, but it was a woman who eventually killed the father. A mercenary from a competing side orchestrated the death of Daredevil's other parent.Since that Daredevil is angry at all females for murdering his father, at herself for not saving him, and at the whole world in general. And you know what? Don't you dare blaming her!

Dark Star

Graven, the city of dark elves, lies far to the east, among lifeless mountains. Being related to each other, dark elves and light elves have long been locked in an uncompromising struggle. The dark clans threaten to conquer all enemy lands, including Riversar, the main citadel.

Dark Star always stood out among other dark elves thanks to her light skin and silver hair. And it worried the girl. Men and women always avoided her: politely, but deliberately. Blaming it all on her different appearance, Dark Star dreamed of only one thing: to be like the rest of her kind. She tried dying her hair and skin, but it was no use. One day The Supreme mother Ammana summoned the girl and said, "You're cursed, child. And that's the work of the mages of Riversar! Eliminate the Sentinel, lift the curse, and you'll become one of us!" Dark Star knew that Riversar’s Sentinel was a magical artifact that made the citadel impregnable for the dark elves. It had been created several centuries ago by the greatest of the light ones, and not a single of their enemies had managed to break through its spell. How could she obtain something like that? She'd never even seen light elves before. Early in the morning, Dark Star was summoned by the Council of Mothers and learned that a weak point had been found in Riversar's defenses. The council told her that an army or a squad would made too much noise, and so Dark Star was offered the opportunity to obtain the artifact herself. She agreed immediately, as it was her only chance to become normal.

At the agreed time, the girl crossed Riversar's magical border. The Mothers were right: the Sentinel didn't notice her! Using a map drawn by her kin, Star got through to the heart of the city, located the artifact, and smashed it into pieces. At that very second, an army of dark elves entered the enemy territory, leaving mayhem in their wake. An hour later the attackers' leading squad reached Riversar’s walls. Dark Star gazed into a big mirror, her eyes dim, her appearance completely unchanged. She was starting to understand. And when a squad of light elves broke in, it all became clear. Dark Star didn't look like other dark elves because she wasn't one. She was a light elf. She'd been stolen as a child, to become a light elf that could destroy the Sentinel and open Riversar to the dark clans. Too cruel to be true... When Star came to her senses, fights were breaking out all over the place. Thousands of warriors clashed in a deadly battle! Since she was the cause of the bloodshed, she had to put an end to it.

Betrayed by her own kind, Dark Star made a desperate choice. Fueled by rage and recklessness, the girl rushed towards her target. Blood gushed out of Mother Ammana's neck. Dark Star didn't look away. She watched the life seep out of the woman who had ruined her. The death of the dark elf leader turned the tides of the battle. The attackers retreated, and Dark Star stayed in Riversar. But, having destroyed the Sentinel, she became an outcast among the light elves as well. The Riversar Court pardoned Dark Star, taking into account the role she played in the defense. But she was ordered to leave the city immediately. Paladin Aurora expressed some motherly attention towards the outcast and presented her to the Guardians. Since then, Dark Star has had a home and real friends. But the pain of betrayal has never left her.

Dorian

The sun bathed the streets in bright sunshine. The air was crystal clear, just like the thoughts of the young man skipping across the road towards the Poe orphanage. His parents had abandoned him right after birth, and he had no possessions whatsoever. Still, Dorian (as Headmaster Poe had named him), grew up as a cheerful and mischievous lad. He helped the nurses in the orphanage, kept order around the place, and was a kind and smart boy overall.

As the years passed, Dorian became a stately young man, chestnut brown curls tumbling down his broad shoulders. Except that his former cheerfulness waned. It was time for him to leave the orphanage, and the novelty and uncertainty of adult life scared him. What was he going to do for a living? How would he pay for food and shelter? Dorian turned out to be completely unprepared for all that. And what’s worse, he found himself head over heels in love with Poe’s daughter, Agatha. The young woman reciprocated his feelings and couldn’t care less about his lack of wealth, but he still blamed himself for being unable to pamper his beloved with fine silks and jewelry. 

Dorian strode along the road pondering his situation, bright shop signs and displays gleaming around him in all their colors. Suddenly, something caught his interest. An unbelievably beautiful blood red jewel in an exquisite platinum setting, drawing him in like a magnet. In a minute, Dorian was already roaming the lanes and alleys, trying to cover up his tracks in case of pursuit. That very same amulet from the store was hidden in his coat pocket.

“I’ll give this precious pendant to Agatha, and she will love me more than ever!” thought the young man, a bit surprised at how heavy the amulet seemed to be. He clenched the stolen pendant in his fist and suddenly realized he would never, ever part with it. Dorian lifted his palm to see blood streaming out of it. It didn’t scare the young man at all. He hid in the shadows and pointed his bloodied palm at a lone stranger. With a muffled shout, the man dropped dead in the street. Dorian realized he would now be able to find shelter, money, and anything he pleased without any effort. That was certainly a beguiling idea... 

In a year, the novice mage owned forty acres of land with a huge castle in the middle. The previous landowner made him his heir just before his death. The servants obeyed their new master in absolutely everything after witnessing their not-so-obedient colleagues wither under the master’s strange mystical powers. Dorian forgot Agatha and the Poe orphanage, only listening to the voice of Blood. Despite living in luxury, the Blood mage could not call himself his own master. He would leave his castle every day to carry out heinous deeds and bring ill fortune to hundreds, even thousands of people. The blood amulet made him obey its will. Many women were widowed, many children orphaned during the bloody feasts Dorian carried out at the outskirts of the empire. His eyes were the only thing that gave him away. Their twinkle was long gone, replaced with gloomy bleak fog. Those were the eyes of a slave who despised his current position. Had he been this way all along, that little boy who used to sneak up on the nurses and pull on their skirts for a prank?

The young man decided to gain the upper hand over the pendant. He gripped it hard enough for several drops of blood to appear on his palm. And the amulet awoke. It started calling for him, begging, demanding! Their struggle was so intense the mage’s eyes turned bloodshot. His mind screamed in agony, and his body was wracked with unbearable pain. It lasted several hours. Even with blood streaming from every pore on his body, Dorian would not give up. At last, the young man snatched a knife from the table and with it, he staked the hand holding the amulet to his own chest. A sudden surge of pain, the crunch of broken bone, and the jewel burst into a thousand pieces, which fell into the pool of blood gushing from his heart. The pressure from the amulet relented.

Dorian came to in a few days, alive and well. The jewel was whole again, feeding off of the mage’s blood. Now that their souls were merged together, it was time to become what he used to be, a young man whose eyes twinkled with kindness. His conscience, however, insisted that he would be unable to live a normal life until he atoned for his sins. Dorian accepted this responsibility, and came to the Guardians to tell them everything about what he had done. The heroes placed their faith in the mage and trusted him with using dark Blood magic for noble causes. 

Elmir

What is a weapon? Good or evil, killer or protector? Who carries the blame for spilling a stranger's blood: the blade or the master?

By the order of zafir Sargor the Second, owning a weapon was prohibited under penalty or death. Only zafir, the ruler of the khaganate, and his guards had the right to bear arms. For a commoner, owning a weapon was a terrible crime, which spelled death for the transgressor.

But the young boy who managed to worm his way into the khaganate treasury had something way more interesting to think about. The street urchin had never managed to get this far before. With a proud look on his face, he strutted between piles of gold, his dirty fingers prodding at the diligently polished precious vases, cups and bowls. It wasn't the first time here for Elmir. He never took too much: just enough to survive. And yet, he kept finding new excuses to return. Quietly, he strolled in the quiet company of the piled-up gold, listening to something only he could hear. Then suddenly, he froze, as if a strange noise startled him, and briskly walked into the west chamber of the treasury. There again he stood still for a moment, listening intently, and confidently approached a small wardrobe full of precious cloth and rugs. As the door swung ajar, the boy finally saw what he had been looking for all this time: long, ornate blades adorned with a precious filigree of silver and gold. The very blades that beckoned the boy in his dreams, the reason why Elmir kept returning to the treasury time and time again in search of them. The street urchin grabbed both swords, and tripped up on a suit of intricate armor laying on the floor, falling flat as a strange feeling overcame him. 

He felt as his body was about to split into four, each with a life of its own. Everything his translucent copies saw and heard, he saw and heard as well. But amazement gave place to horror when Sargor the Second's guards barged into the treasury to investigate the noise. Suddenly, Elmir's copies walked towards the guards and started to fight them on their own. Not being a skilled swordsman, the street urchin grabbed both blades with one hand to make a quick escape. And then, to the boy's great surprise, the blades joined together as if by miracle, and turned into an exquisite bow as a quiver full of well-crafted arrows appeared on Elmir's back. He heard a whisper in his mind, telling him how to draw the bow, raise the elbow, and take aim. Several minutes later, Elmir and his copies escaped the treasure room, the guards all lying dead on the floor. 

Soon, the copies disappeared into thin air like a dream, and the street urchin found shelter in an abandoned home. Tired, exhausted, and completely confused, he was trying to understand what had just happened to him. And then he heard a voice, a voice clearly emanating from his newfound weaponry.

“We welcome you, Elmir, son of Tur Khazari born in secret. At last, we have found you: the last heir to the throne, son to a father murdered by the heinous usurper, Sargor the Second.”

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” — the boy looked around in panic, trying to find the source of the voice. 

“We are the Blades of Many Truths, keepers of a secret discovered by enemy.” 

The blades told the boy a story, a story of how the ancestors of the Khazari once provided great aid to the titans, and received a wonderful gift: legendary weaponry, ensouled and bearing immense power. A story of how Sargor the Second swore fealty to the Darkness, in return for the Cold Fire that brought all fifty blades to submission and made them serve him. Only the Blades of Many Truths managed to escape the king-slaying usurper.

All this time the blades had searched, calling out for the Khazari heir, to join him and bring retribution to the villain. 

Elmir believed the weapons, and accepted the gift openly. Once a street urchin covered in dirt, the bastard son of the khaganate's true zafir took it upon himself to save his homeland and the legendary weapons earned by his ancestors. He managed to wrest the freedom of over three dozen blades from evil, but the rest disappeared along with Sargor and his retainers when the evil usurper escaped. Elmir joined the ranks of the Guardians to purge the Dominion of all Darkness, and rescue the weapons forged by the Light.

Fox

Mother Nature must have planned Fox as a boy. The fidgety, personality-packed troublemaker always kept her parents on their toes. She used to ditch her arts and crafts lessons, so popular among all the other young ladies. Her mom and dad eventually resigned themselves to the fact that they would never see their youngest offspring in a wedding dress. You’d have to be crazy to propose to her, right?

By her race’s standards, Fox was no great beauty, either: her ears too tiny, her body way too hairless. The girl knew this, so she made it a point to get on everyone’s nerves with her stubborn and shocking behavior. At first, women laughed at her antics, but soon enough the respect and support that Fox earned from their male counterparts made them stop chuckling. Little boys, young lads, mature men, and old geezers alike; they all followed Fox’s shenanigans with ceaseless interest. Why? Because nobody could handle weapons quite like the mischievous girl. She hand-crafted at least three dozen different gunpowder-using weapons and self-propelled cannons. Unfortunately, since Fox’s homeland hadn’t seen war for more than seven hundred years, the only use people found for her inventions was to distribute pest-killing poison in their gardens, trigger avalanches, and scare off mountain trolls. What’s more, Fox’s weapons were never as popular as her sister Annie’s devices. Annie outdid Fox in everything. Except for weapons, of course. Armament was outside of her sphere of interest: she considered weapon-making a pastime solely for men, and also quite pointless in a time with no war. At the time, that is...

One night the whole city was startled awake by a dreadful thundering and the smell of something burning. The streets shook with a rhythmic pounding, as though an unbelievably huge giant had come through town, crushing everything in his path. As it so happened, that was exactly it.

Panic broke out, everyone screaming and running, mothers rushing to save their babies. Fox, though, simply stood at her window, warming up her tiny hands.

It didn’t even occur to her that, deeply asleep in her special new earplugs, Annie was snoozing peacefully in the next room.

Something exploded out on the street, and several trees crashed down noisily. Men were dragging their belongings away from the debacle, and some even began to fight over each other’s possessions. Trying not to wake her sister and quietly whistling a popular tune to herself, Fox carefully started down the stairs to the workshop. There was a deafening roar, and a house three blocks away from Fox crumbled under the weight of the never-before-seen monster. Dust filled the air of the whole neighborhood, making the steps of the killer beast even more ominous.

Annie, still asleep, stretched, smacked her lips, and turned over in her bed. The earplugs stayed right where they were supposed to, protecting the girl’s delicate hearing from all sounds.

Fox put on her gloves, grabbed a heavy bucket, and filled it with strange black powder. The house across was burning: the monster had broken the gas pipes her sister Annie crafted with such love and care. “What a dunce,” thought Fox, pulling down the sheet covering a strange, giant structure hidden in a dark corner.

Then the fearless girl opened the door of her workshop, the monster’s hot breath burned her cheek. It took her a minute to load the Stormbreaker, her newest superheavy weapon, with black powder and take aim. And then she fired. The monster let out a horrible howl, clutched at its humongous stomach, crashing right into a wall of their lovely house, and dropped dead.

The dust kicked up after the fall made Annie sneeze in her sleep. That sneeze finally woke her up. Annie glanced around, her eyes still half-closed, and took in the picture before her: the destroyed town, the defeated monster, the cheering townsfolk. Then, she sneezed once more, and fell right back asleep.

The news of what Fox and her miracle weapon had accomplished traveled far beyond the town, reaching the ears of Emperor Ingvar himself. He invited the brave engineer to the capital and appointed her to a squad of valiant Guardians. Here, finally, was somewhere Fox could really let herself go! 

Galahad

"Look mom, I'm a knight!" – little Galahad shouted swinging his wooden sword, – “C'mon, Mom, I'm really blave!”. Mother, tired from a long work day just smiled looking at her growing son. It's not easy raising a child alone, especially when the levies are becoming higher reducing the already meager wages of ordinary peasants.

The years passed, mother was getting old and Galahad, all grown-up, replaced her in the field. But even after all the work under the burning sun, the young man never stopped training with a sword, now with the iron one. Swing, chop, block! Sweat fills the young man's eyes, hands do not obey. Another strike! Loreen, Galahad's mother, was watching her son and waving from the porch, telling him that he doesn't need all that training and should rest. But her eyes were shining with an infinite love, hiding some long-standing mystery.

Once, in the middle of the day, Galahad heard someone screaming nearby. He dropped his hoe, grabbed the sword and rushed to the noise. A large group of heavily armed raiders surrounded a respected old man. Nevertheless, he was holding up. A sword was directed at the throat of one of the bandits, showing that the man didn't want to give up that easily. Taking advantage of the moment, Galahad rushed onto enemies and made them run away.

Since then the young man has become a faithful helper of Sir Raymond – that was the name of the man Galahad saved. All his life the famous knight has been serving his country and had no wife or children. Raymond and Loreen developed a strange relationship, these people seemed like they had known each other for years. The knight and his young protégé cleansed forests from the bandits and rescued people regardless of their ranks and titles. It seemed like everything was going in the right direction.

But happiness didn't last long. Some people envious to get his inheritance weren't OK with the lonely aristocrat's new friends. And when Galahad and Sir Raymond went on a hunt, one of the bribed servants fired at the young man. The knight turned his horse, pushed Galahad away and was wounded in the shoulder. The arrow was poisoned, and after a few agonizing days, Raymond died. But before his last breath, he gave Galahad a thick envelope.

It had inheritance papers inside, a note on the passing of the title and a letter in which Raymond shared that Loreen, Galahad;s mother, was his beloved whom he had to leave when he was sent to the war. And the young man was in fact his son. Hearing this story, Sir Galahad swore an oath worthy of his parent.

“I'm a knight!” – he exclaimed, waving his sword made of the legendary Kharunian steel, – “I will hold to the father's title and will always serve for the good of Dominion!”

Ginger

Ginger Hayes' fragile figure is the complete opposite to her rough character. A born noblewoman and a daughter of The Duke of Coldfield, Johnathan Hayes, she's not into social events. Ginger is annoyed with ladies gossiping and gentlemen looking at her expressively.

Science – that's what lady Hayes is really passionate about. Being a reclusive and silent child, she spent months without leaving her house. However the servants were always busy running to the store to get a new thing for the little genius. Whole rooms were filled to a brim with Ginger's inventions, but they were actually used only when the girl turned fourteen.

That year the plague was raging over Strongford and as if by someone's evil will the capital became flooded with the undead and other dwellers of the ruins near the Gravehall. Ginger started producing her own weapons and took control over the town's guard. Thanks to coordinated actions and red haired girl's courage Strongford was saved, and the monsters driven away.

Since that time lady Hayes has become a symbol and pride of her country. But the glory and laurels aren't what the scientist's looking for. And here we are again, locked inside her workroom Ginger is devising new means to protect her home.

Jhu

"Trolls of Zarakkar, quiver in awe, for you are standing in the presence of the true son of our tribe, Jhu the Destroyer! It takes but a glance for this warrior to make his enemies flee in fear! By the will of our Maker and following Chief Skar's orders, we hereby proclaim Jhu warlord to the peoples of Zarakkar!"

These words, spoken by a herald long ago, have etched themselves into Jhu's memory. For just a year later, sitting in a damp prison cell, he could only look back on the times of his former glory. There was no Warlord Jhu anymore, only Jhu the Outcast.

It all began back when the Habkhar celebrations were in full swing. The feast was to be held late in the afternoon, and during the day: the annual culling. That meant all infants less than a year old had to be carefully examined. Those deemed unfit were to be thrown off the high cliffs of Troll-peak. The Zarakkar tribe did not permit the weak in its ranks, and was not in the habit of leaving extra mouths to feed.

That was when Jhu found out sorting the children was one of his responsibilities. The newly-fledged warlord looked on as some women brought their infants forth proudly, while others tried to blend into the crowd, cradling their babes tightly. Several children were examined and given back to their mothers. There was a violent dispute regarding the fifth and the eighth babes. One was cross-eyed, and the other a bit too thin. They quickly ruled out the skinny babe, and threw him off the cliff. Jhu could barely keep from vomiting. He had witnessed his fair share of elders, children, and women dying, but that kind of calm, routine assassination disturbed him deeply.

The next mother brought in an altogether ugly child. She kept wailing, "Spare my Mojo, I beg you!" and tried to bundle her son up to hide him from their prying eyes. But the judges would not budge from their sentence: death. Suddenly, the woman looked to Jhu, her eyes imploring.

"Warlord, please, have mercy on Mojo!" she screamed hysterically. "He'll pull through and become a great warrior!" As Jhu hesitated, caught off guard, one of the trolls ripped the child out of his poor mother's arms and threw him into the abyss. With a frantic shriek, the mother jumped in after her progeny...

Jhu didn't sleep a wink that night. Yes, he did fulfill his duty and had finished the sorting. He even made a formal appearance at the celebration, smiling wanly at guests. But the whole time, Jhu had a nasty sinking feeling inside. A couple of months went by, but at last the warlord could take it no more and decided to find Mojo in that abyss, no matter the cost. The trek was a long one. But once he found the path to the foot of Troll-peak, Jhu realized he had walked right into an ambush. Scouts from an enemy tribe surrounded him, and he had no chance of escape. The Zarakkar warrior fought fiercely, striking down countless opponents with his bone boomerangs. But there were still too many enemies. Then suddenly, dripping with blood, a baby troll crawled out of the forest. Something strange happened next: green flame engulfed the baby, and a storm of magic skulls struck into the rank of the ambushers. A minute later, all of the attackers were dead. 

It happened! Jhu had found Mojo, so fate was clearly on his side. He took Mojo to the city to spread word of the child's mighty feat, but ended up in prison instead. And then the very same herald that had sung his praise a year ago spoke very different words:

"The third law of the Zarakkar says that a warrior of the tribe has no right to pity! He who is found guilty of it will be stripped of all decorations and banished! Warlord Jhu has broken the law, and is hereby proclaimed an outcast!"

As he listened to this spiel, the outcast calmly whittled a plank he had found in a corner of his cell, making a funny mask. Once Jhu had been escorted outside the city walls, a woman handed him Mojo, who had been bandaged up carefully and was ready for a long journey. Attached to the warrior's belt was the intricate finished mask, meant for his little friend...

Among the Guardians, Mojo was a model "military brat", and once he had grown old enough, he made a name for himself with many great feats. Along with Jhu, he became an example of valor and a warrior's honor for the entire Dominion. Also, the Zarakkar tribe abolished their tradition of culling the weak.

Heidi

They can't even get a decent king for themselves, can they? – Heidi grumbled, carefully wiping his pet, an incredibly poisonous snake named Koba. Heidi doesn't like impostors, especially after what happened fifteen years ago.

Heidi was just a child when Gurjar visited the forest with his escort. Eclipsing the sun with his grandeur he looked like the most beautiful tiger ever. The newfound favorite's wise words flowed like a river, and the animals listened with admiration to every word the guest said. And nobody had doubts that he should become the new king of the forest.

In those days people and animals just began getting along with each other. It seemed like things would get even better with the new king. Gurjar quickly got into role, found the servants and made a schedule. Tiger's character proved to be quite difficult, and only those who met the regal's demands without question could get along with him. Relationship with people worsened as well – on the king Gurjar's orders the servants ransacked people's fields and villages. With time raids on villages grew into the attacks on cities. But the most terrible of it all was when the ruler's newborn son disappeared. The grieving king-father accused the forest dwellers of stealing. Furious and heavily armed men moved into the forest. Animals, angry at people for such a serious accusation, prepared for a fierce battle too.

But little Heidi acted in a different way. Being a disguise fan and knowing the forest like the back of his hand he went straight to the Gurjar's house. What he found didn't look like a king for one bit. A huge and furious demon was preparing to finish off the baby! What to do, how to stop the murder? Heidi grabbed the first thing he could and threw at the demon. The snake, that's what the hero threw at him, bit the demon. Surprisingly, it was more than enough to send the monster back to hell. The child was saved, and the people, learning that Gurjar was actually a demon, realized their mistake. The forest dwellers weren't guilty, and the evil demon wanted nothing but to make them hate each other. Thus, humans and animals were at peace again. A very poisonous snake Koba remembers it all as well – since that time they've become best friends with Heidi.

Kings, queens... – Heidi shook his hairy head, – You can live without kings just as well!. He spat on grass and after stretching his legs went to the Guardians' camp.

Ishmael

Oasis Adjallahr has always been a crown jewel of the Oriental Sands. Spangled with graceful spires piercing into bright blue sky, this place has attracted many traders, people of art and science. But it became truly famous because of the great magician Farrukh. Tales of his miracles circlulated in Dominion from edge to edge. Noble looks, an aquiline nose and magician's prudence were admired by everyone.

But most people were touched by the boundless love of the great magician to his son Ishmael. That fatherly care which is so rare in our times, was indeed incredible: the descendant had the best education available, great food and luxurious clothes. Still Ishmael was brought up to be a humble, well-mannered and a very clever boy. His magic skills which were developed by the lessons of his father promised to be as good as those of Farrukh, or even mightier!

Years passed, and one day, joyfully dressed Ishmael left the house as an adult. He was sixteen years old that day! The boy received a note from his father with congratulations and a request to come to the Crimson Hall. Happy Ishmael ran to the venue expecting an usnusual gift for him coming of age. The nominal dagger he got for his previous birthday was sitting tightly in a leather sheath. Finally he opened the doors to the Hall to which it was forbidden for him to enter earlier, and stepped inside.

The great magician looked unusually solemn. His voice, gestures and facial expressions seemed too pompous to Ishmael. Farrukh invited the boy to sit down on a stone throne in the center of the dark room and turned to the wall to open an old casket. “I wonder what my father has as a surprise for me” – thought Ismael, looking at the raw edges of the throne, – “It will probably be the best gift of my whole life!”

And suddenly, as if someone had forced him to, he looked at his father, when he had already raised a long and sharp sacrificial blade over his son's head.

"Why, father?" – Ishmael shouted.

"You are my most significant sacrifice. Dark Gods will appreciate my gift and reward me with infinite power! Why do you think I spent all my time on you? I will ascend above the world and become the greatest magician!"

With these words, Farrukh plunged a dagger in the place where his son was sitting a moment ago. Ishmael, meanwhile, was already behind the wizard's back. The enchanter quickly turned and was ready for the second strike. But when he looked into the eyes of his son, he didn't see fear but an incredible desire to live. And even a moment later, lying in a pool of his own blood, his father didn't understand the mistake he made.

Ishmael was much more talented than what Farrukh thought, and could inflict a fatal blow to the traitor before he got it himself. But the victory over his own father wasn't easy - the evil magician's soul has remained with the young man ever since. Ishmael has been living a double life, struggling with his inner evil. His dark side gives him power, but always tries to possess Ishmael's mind. However, his own soul, wounded by betrayal, tries to find the right way in spite of inner demons.

Jorgen

Lars had always been a beloved favorite among the northern people of Hornar. As the eldest son in an illustrious family, he was lavished with honors and attention. And after the tragedy that had befallen his house, he came to be revered as the head thereof. Jorgen and Lars' parents had been attacked by outlaws and perished, while his younger sister, Krista, had gone missing. For many years after that fateful day, Jorgen lived in the shadow of the only kin he had left.

As a child, he adored Lars and tried to match him in everything, becoming a diligent student of the magic arts and always coming to the aid of the peoples of Hornar. Yet the older brother would seldom pay attention to the younger, as his own fame and glory were of much greater concern to him. Thus, however good Jorgen were, he would never hear any words of support. By the time he was a young lad, Jorgen's heart was burning with the fires of hatred and envy. "How can this be? What have I done to displease these people?" he would ask again and again, alone in a distant part of the Alder Forest. A man, of no great height, stepped suddenly into the overgrown clearing and said, "I know what is making you sad, Jorgen. I am an outcast myself, though I have chosen a different fate. The fate of an outcast who has attained greatness! I believe it is a path we are to walk together." "An outcast, you say? An exile?" The injustice sent a wave of anguish over the young man's soul. "Whatever I do, the Hornar people will never accept me for one of their own! It's always Lars, just Lars!" Driven by his feelings, Jorgen got up and obediently followed the man he did not even know.

The stranger turned out to be none other than Shavarakk, a mighty dark sorcerer. But it worried Jorgen little by then, as he absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Shavarakk praised him, he called him his heir and successor! What could be more gratifying? There was but one source of unpleasantness; the sorcerer would conduct peculiar and morbid magical experiments on his apprentice, which turned young Jorgen into a mockery of a living being. A hunched back and deathly pale skin, against which a pair of sharp and crooked horns stood out: such was Shavarakk's notion of an appearance befitting his apprentice.

Manipulating human life-force and energy was what the young mage was showing himself the most adept at. Day after day, he practiced on victim after victim, supplied by the sorcerer. As Jorgen devoured souls, his own power grew. The less life-force an enemy has, the more is available to the ambitious mage. "What a surprise it will be for my brother when I crush his little world with my incredible magic!" he smirked as he squeezed the life out of another victim. Shell after lifeless shell dropped to the ground. Jorgen's might was becoming truly impressive. When his apprenticeship was at its end, Shavarakk said, "You are prepared to receive truly arcane knowledge, my disciple. But first, you must prove your loyalty to the Darkness in a manner most befitting: by killing your brother!" "Let us make haste then!" Jorgen shouted, clapping his hands. And yet, there was no joy to be discerned in his words…

Jorgen did not immediately recognize his brother, whose hair had grown whiter than snow and whose once-perfect face was now marred by wrinkles. Eyes like those of a cornered wolf, an unbowed back, and clenched fists said much of Lars. The sorcerer's voice all but deafened his apprentice. "Kill him! Kill Lars!" yelled the wizard. Raising his magic chalice over his head, Jorgen uttered a spell in a barely audible whisper before bringing it crashing down upon – Shavarakk! Not even he could survive a blow of such force!

And as the sorcerer writhed in agony, brother stared at brother. There was neither hatred nor envy in that stare. He realized that his brother had changed. Lars had come to avoid the love of the people, dreaming only of restoring his family. He had spent many years looking for his two siblings. He felt lonely, but could not abandon his people—even as, blinded by resentment, Jorgen had yielded to the dark mage's tempting and sunk into the depths of sin. Oh how many errors he had made! How many innocent souls had perished at his hands

Repentant, the brothers decided to atone for their guilt by serving the Dominion in the ranks of the fabled Guardians!

Kai

The Senate old-timers were filled with indignation when an elf of the common people, even though he was pure-blooded, came to their inner sanctum. An angry whisper crept along the hall, and their perfect faces became even more wry as the grand chamber was graced with the appearance of the tall and lean Kai – the stumbling stone that sent ripples across the stagnant waters of the Senate.

Despite the scorn of his elders, he held his head high and day after day persisted in involving himself in Riversar’s life. Now, the most interesting thing is that he was quite successful in his endeavors. Aside from being busy with community service, Kai enthusiastically practiced magic. His interests went far beyond elven magic - he excavated the ruins of the orсish Santar, corresponded with the University of Strongford and kept up an acquaintance with the sages of the Adjalar Oasis. At all times, he was helped with this research by Thea, a young guardian of the Sacred Grove.

Less than three years passed like this, when the hordes of Darkness descended upon the Dominion with their full might. And all the mages somehow found themselves powerless against the dark sorcery. A new and extremely dangerous type of magic spread like cancer. Then one morning, the citizens learned that Kai had left the kingdom in a hurry, having informed Thea that he was going to study the magic of darkness. The Senate wasted no time in proclaiming him a traitor, and instead of searching for leverage against their common enemy, decided to focus on renouncing the defector. The people of Riversar went on and on about youngsters like Kai disrespecting elven culture, and warping the art of magic.

So, when six months later the wayward magician knocked at the city gates, nobody opened. Kai screamed his head off that the enemy was near, that he knew of a way to defeat them, that he had learned to counter dark magic, and that they had to present a united front… But the Senate remained silent, and instead deployed archers to kill the traitor if he even tried to use magic.

Then, several large deployments of the army of Darkness advanced from the forest towards the elven capital, with Kai alone standing in their way. The magician managed to cast a spell at the very moment a well-aimed arrow pierced his body. And had Thea’s healing beam not suddenly lanced out from the city wall, everything would have been over. Just as Kai’s explosive sphere burned several enemy troops to a crisp, and so pushed the attackers back, the fragile girl exhausted all of her power on that crucial spell, and fell from atop the walls of Riversar.

Kai easily caught Thea, and then threw such a withering glance back at the city that the elders became painfully aware and ashamed of their mistake. At that moment, they realized it was not ambition that made Kai turn to dark magic, but a burning desire to help his people.

Kai and Thea never returned to Riversar after that, even though they eventually let go of their old grudges. They’ve chosen the path of Guardians, and use their powers for the greater good! 

K'arkh

Bolts of lightning tore across the skies of Dagan-Nur. The gate almost opened, and he was to be the second to enter it, right after Brog. Another journey to take, another world to visit, another little death. For the world, that is. K'arkh recalled past shifts, the cries of the dying, and his own unquestionable strength and power, full of endless hatred for the world that dared surround him. A familiar heat started to spread across his body, nothing unusual when enjoyable and exciting work awaits. Ilyssa's voice reached him a second after he started walking to the portal.

‘’You're too self-conceited, K'arkh, one of four Negators of All Creation! Turn around, for you are seeing these skies for the last time!’’

Ilyssa the Weaver, his partner in battle and one of the Negators herself, had a voice that K'arkh found incredibly annoying. A queen of one of many planets, she wielded the gift of prescience, but here and now the pesky wretch was wrong. K'arkh knew himself, and his own wishes. Everything would go as usual: the four Negators of All Creation would devour yet another world until nothing remained, and K'arkh would return to the endless abyss of Dagan-Nuhr. He stepped forward and entered the Outland portal.

Darkness gave way to light, so bright it made K'arkh's sensory organs screech in hatred as they began readjusting to discern the world around. The gate brought the Negators to Dominion's exact center, and the game began. Blood, surprise in the eyes of victims, blood again, and death, death, death... K'arkh and the others spread death wherever they went, and nothing would ever compare to the pleasure they felt.

‘’Do you remember me, K'arkh? Do you?’’ came a whisper from behind the ruler of Dagan-Nuhr.

‘’Yes, Judge. I never forgot you.’’ K'arkh stood straight and turned to face the man behind him. ‘’Many paths cross in Dominion. Perhaps it's a sign that you can't run from fate, isn't it? Remember how HE said that one day you'll protect those you hate and despise so much? You laughed and called his words a child's prattling, and yet today it will come to pass.’’

Lightning started to course through Judge's body. His voice carried no anger, only steeled resolve, with a light hint of fatigue.

‘’Your only hope lies in saving these people. Once you were the best work of our Creator, yet you envied everything else that he created. Your hatred drives you insane, K'arkh, yet the only one deserving of hatred is yourself. The Creator is gone, and Nebula and I can't find him.’’

‘’Why should I care, Judge?’’ K'arkh winced in disgust. ‘’Go look for HIM on your own!’’

‘’Why should you care, you ask?’’ Judge let out a bitter chuckle. ‘’Admit it: your strength is not what it used to be. How often did you allow yourself to be wounded by your foes? How many mistakes did you make, each a cause for unrest among the Negators? The Creator is gone and the world has lost control; the balance has tipped, and the laws of creation no longer work. Your strength is waning, K'arkh; and that will continue until HE is found. You are still strong and fearsome, yet, but how long can this go on?’’

Judge's words stabbed at his mind like sharp needles. K'arkh did not want to listen, but what he heard was true. He has to, he must help this miserable human rabble. Oh yes, he hates them so much, hates Judge and his pitiful friends, hates the Creator. But above else, he hates being weak. Ilyssa the Weaver, Brog the Conqueror and Vadjar: they will never forgive him. But what good is a common goal, when your very own life is on the line?

‘’Lead me.’’ K'arkh muttered to Judge. ‘’I will help you so long as I need it. And when the deed is done, I'll kill this planet and everything, everyone on it, will be torn to shreds!’’

Thick, grey clouds covered the grim skies of Dagan-Nuhr. The first raindrops, like tears for their lost master, started falling into the abyss, so dark and endlessly deep." 

Keira

Personal guardians of the Empress Octaviana are natural born killers who were trained in the Brigg's school of mercenaries. For many years only men had been allowed to enter there, but everything changed when Keira appeared before the Deiss Brigg's cabinet.

Firm and daring, she made it clear that her lifework was to ensure the safety of madam Octaviana. And if this means graduating from the school of mercenaries, then Brigg has to change the rules. The old man was speechless for a moment, but then made the girl go away. She left only to return again the next day, and then again and again… All in all, as an exception, Keira was accepted.

From the very beginning she showed a great talent, passed exams ahead of the schedule, and quickly became a member of the Imperial Guard. Octaviana immediately noticed the girl and in a year they became best friends. Keira's streak of brave acts made her a captain, but it all ended with the attempted assassination of the Empress. At the cost of her life the mercenary saved Octaviana while fighting Mort Chronos in an unequal battle. Our story would have ended, if not for the wounded and vengeful demon who revived the girl and to prolong her agony made a ghost out of her, doomed to eternal suffering. Relatives and friends believe Keira's dead, while in reality her torment and the brave warrior's struggle go on. Turned into an evil spirit, she was able to use her curse for good – her help for the Guardians of Dominion is priceless!

Since that, to honor Keira's heroism the school of mercenaries opened their doors for all the girls dreaming of becoming a warrior.

Martha

Day 1. Zarakkar Jungle

“No, really, I tell you. I can just feel it! I have to see my son!” spoke the old woman with gray hair, patting a large tortoise shell with her wrinkled hand.

“We’ve been best friends since we were kids, Josephine, and you can’t just let me go on my own,” she continued lecturing someone as she clambered up the shell, hauling a pile of old clutter with her. “What if this is our last journey? Anyway, there’s no way I’ll stop pestering you, so don’t go counting on that. Besides, how would I walk on my own? My legs aren’t what they used to be!”

 Four legs and a wrinkled head appeared from inside the shell. The head replied in a grumpy tone: “What a crazy old crone you are, Martha!” A load of bags, crockery, and teapots clattered as the tortoise turned around and trudged off to the northeast with Martha on her back. 

Day 3. Hardan’s Plateau

“And I said: ‘Are you really going to the capital, sonny? Now, who’s going to inherit my ancient magic?’ 

And he was like: ‘Ugh, Mom, science matters most!’ 

Bet he just left for the University to walk around without a hat on in cold weather!” Nothing would stop Martha from rambling. 

“We can’t just invite him to the woods of Zarakkar all the time. This time, we’re going to visit him ourselves!”

The tortoise kept toddling down the road, nodding her speckled head and patiently listening to her friend’s emotional speech.

Day 6. Magic Thicket

“Look at that, Josephine! Could a demon really want to slay that cute little creature?” Martha was especially talkative on that day. “Uh oh, let’s go help the poor baby out, my friend!”

The tortoise changed her course with a sad sigh, and the two elderly friends went on to chide the demon a couple minutes thereafter. Unfortunately for the demon, it was too preoccupied with its potential prey, while the prey (Heidi, that is) looked at the old women. Martha nodded to Heidi and saw him nod in return. The tortoise reared up, raising a whirlwind of leaves, and shouted something she alone could make sense of. In that moment, the Guardian’s attacks grew so rapid that the demon simply could not keep up with them anymore. Deathflowers and Venomous Bites followed one another in rapid succession. Once the monster was defeated, Heidi bowed deeply to his saviors and hightailed it into the woods.

“Young people these days, how ungrateful! Here we are, supporting them like this, and they...”

“Stop grumbling, Martha,” replied the tortoise, offering a space on her shell. “Let’s go.”

Day 8. Outskirts of Wilheim

“Did you see how well the Foremother's Oath just worked? Kid just ran right off to give that demon what-for!” 

“Martha, get down!” exclaimed the tortoise, halting her movement with all four legs and dropping to her belly. 

Several huge boomerangs made of bone flew right over their heads like a hurricane. Their actual targets were the orcs following the elderly ladies, shouting and jeering. Martha turned around to face the master of the boomerangs. “Look at that, that’s Jhu himself! It’s been a while since you visited our woods!” she yelled excitedly, pointing her finger at the Guardian. Jhu leaped forward, landing between the women and the foes. His boomerangs shredded his enemies while the spirits of his ancestors healed his wounds. But a deep, nasty cut he received weakened him, slowing his attacks. The orcs advanced, and the Guardian found it all too difficult to keep holding the line. “How about a cup of tea, Josephine?” Martha suddenly asked. “Why ever not, my friend!” replied the tortoise in the same polite manner. “Let me brew some for us.” “Those old ladies have lost their minds.” whispered Jhu, barely opening his mouth.

Suddenly, an odd pyramid of cups and teapots erupted just beside the troll. The entire structure boiled over, spewing a multitude of bubbles that were directed straight towards the warrior. Surprisingly, the deep cut on his shoulder closed up at once, and the scrapes disappeared altogether, as though they had never been there. Jhu continued slashing at the orcs twice as vehemently, feeling his wounds heal as he went on... Soon enough, the battle was over. 

“Thank you for your help, grannies. The two of you truly are brave warriors!” exclaimed the troll. 

“Grannies, you say!” grumbled Martha, unable to sit still atop the shell. “Why don’t you show us the way to Strongford? Grannies! Would you look at that!”

“Come now, Martha,” replied the tortoise in an unexpectedly warm voice. “Let’s go. The capital should be just a little while away.”

Day 10. Strongford

The two travelers quickly found the university and the lecture hall they needed. Martha saw her son, sitting at a desk with stacks of papers and scrolls piled up on it.

“Meet your guests, Cornelius!” she cooed in an upbeat voice.

“Mom?” the scientist leaped up, surprised. “That’s so... unexpected!”

“Well of course, sonny. I can’t wait forever for my darling child to get married and make me a bunch of grandkids!” replied his mother, her eyes twinkling.

“Ugh, Mo-o-om!” Cornelius blushed and took a step back.

“Don’t you Mom me! Who am I going to bake pastries for? Whose grandkids will I change diapers for?” A sly squint gave her away, but the scientist could only keep blushing and mumbling.

“Come now, Cornelius! I’m just kidding! Josephine and I just wanted to say that we missed you, and that we love you very much! Go ahead and hug us, sonny!”

After that came hours of talk with tea, the exchange of understanding glances, and even crying tears of joy. The evening flew by, followed by a night’s sleep at Cornelius’ bachelor pad. When the morning came, Martha and Josephine got ready to head back home. But who would let them, now?

It turned out that the news about the two elderly women helping the Guardians in battle had reached Strongford before they did. Jhu and Heidi discussed events with Ingvar, and offered to induct the ladies into the ranks of the legendary protectors. Martha and Josephine didn’t think twice before agreeing. After all, they’re still young at heart! 

Maya

Every so often, the events of years past find a continuation centuries, sometimes even eras thereafter. This came to pass when the progenitors of all humans, called the Forerunners, first set foot upon the planet.

Tall and fair, they beheld a world full of harmony and beauty, of warbling birds and whispering brooks, a planet steeped in sunshine and protected by the magnificent titans. And thus the Forerunners decided to populate this place with their offspring. That was how humans were created. The Forerunners loved them more than anything else in the world; yet duty called upon them to leave the planet. Century after century, the humans and titans lived alongside each other in peace, until out of nowhere there came a darkness that upset the perfect harmony of the world.

One day, the humans were awakened by a loud din. It turned out that no less than ten dozen titans, angered to the utmost extreme, had approached Santar, the capital of the human empire. A giant named Seymour voiced his discontent the loudest. “Murderers!” he shouted. “Humans are murderers!” His accusatory tirade named every vice in existence and deemed humanity guilty of them all. At the conclusion of his speech, he pulled Floria’s lifeless body out of the forest.

There were exclamations of surprise in the human crowd. Everyone called upon Governor Brand to come and make sense of the situation. As Brand climbed the wall, he saw Floria, and his eyes welled up. The humans, having received no answer, started to squabble with the titans, who responded, after Seymour’s manner, by shouting insults.

The mutual abuse soon escalated into a skirmish, amid which Brand stood as though in a bubble of silence. In his mind’s eye, he saw the sunsets he had watched with Floria, their long talks at night, and the rustle of leaves on his beloved’s dress. Nobody knew about their relationship; nobody could understand the grief that Brand was feeling now. Yet who had killed the titan of nature, and why? Even as thoughts swarmed inside the governor’s head, the world around him became a battlefield. Brand had to lay aside his brooding suspicions and lead his people into battle, for that was what duty demanded of him. There was no telling now who had been right and who had been wrong.

In the heat of battle, no one noticed Seymour, the titan who had stirred the unrest, leave the plain in a hurry, as if someone were waiting for him. The human empire and the world of the titans clashed in a fierce battle, the likes of which had never yet been seen. And all the while, hordes of monsters gathered in the east. Kept informed by the traitor and murderer Seymour, they were waiting for the order to attack, which would come when both the titan and human forces were utterly exhausted.

When the feuding races realized they had been led into a trap by a mendacious traitor, they stood as one, trying to fend off the army of monsters. But it was too late.

It was a dark day for titan and human alike. Rivers of blood poured over the face of the earth; mountains of bones—human, titan, orcish, and demonic—stood forever as an earthly monument to madness and treachery. The titans were believed to have been completely exterminated after that battle. As for humans, theirs was the dismal fate of fighting for their survival against the demons destroying this world.

As chance would have it, Brand’s body was left lying on the plain next to the body of Floria. The blood of a human and a titan who were in love with each other mingled together before the earth soaked up both, so that many years later, the world would be given another chance to set everything right.

What, you may ask, is the purpose of this lesson in history? You see, now that the world is growing restless again, and the reborn titans are prepared to join forces with humans for the sake of saving the planet, a wondrous creature has been born out of Brand and Floria’s blood. Maya: a child of two races, who is to restore the Dominion to its former harmony.

Mojo

The flames were dancing, just like the fragments of shadows covering the sooty walls of the cave. Old Trott of the Zarakkhar tribe was telling his favorite story, surrounded by kids...

"Those was the days, Zarakkhar marshall and cruel, eager fer 'ealthy kiddies. And whot wi' the rest of 'em? Nuthin'! Thrown down the charm behind the Troll Mount, that's whot. But it weren't so wi' Mojo, oh no. Momma woun't give 'im away – but who cared? Feeble was the kiddie, feeble and ugly as mud."

The children, all ears on Trott, started touching their faces and glancing at each other. But the old troll kept speaking. "And so they threw 'im down the chasm, poor kiddie. But he woun't die!"

What he told them next bowled the kids over. All scabbed, scratched, and bruised, yet alive, the boy crawled through the corpses and weathered bones. At night, his exhausted body trembled with the cold. In the daylight, the unbearable stench of rotting flesh made him sick to the stomach. There was no bottom to this terror, and even the scanty troll tongue was enough to give the bravest of hearts shivers. "Whaddaya lookin' at? Add some fuel to th' fire. Or we all freeze cold, like poor Mojo," Trott yelled at the older kids. He waited for the flames to heat up, and continued.

"For a year, was Mojo cryin' and callin' for 'elp, and no one was ever answered. He crawled an' crept, and gather'd grass, an' ate its roots, soaked wi' his peers' bloods."

Trott slipped off a pale bladderwort tuft and continued, chewing it with his rotten teeth. For a long time, he told them about the forest where Mojo ended up, his bloody blisters, his cries and memories about his mother. He told them about the kid fighting a pack of hungry wargs, looking to escape the endless dark of the forest, and suffering from pesky gnats. But Trott did not forget about the infinite longing for life that overwhelmed the kid to the bottom of his little heart. And then, he came to the most important part.

"From nowher', Jhu was lyin' on the ground. 'E were the tuffest warrior o' Zarakkhar, and 'e was bleedin'. And 'e was bleedin' very very red! And the enemies was shootin' him from the hill! Oh was it dang-erous! 'T seemed they wud kill this Jhu an' off they go!"

Then, Trott tried his best to describe what Mojo was doing. It was unclear whether his gift was triggered by suffering, or that Providence led the kid. But he crawled towards the wounded Jhu and threw his hands in the air, creating a mysterious staff. Then he flung magical skulls at the enemies. Skulls so small, no one could explain where they come from. Spirits of late children led the skulls, beating their foes severely. Once Mojo had defeated the attack, he moved back to Jhu and healed his wounds with an unknown power.

"An' so", the old Trott finished, "Jhu was the best among Zarakkhar – but clever 'nuf to understand: the weak an' ugly can be o' more use than th' strongest o' warriors. He crafted a mask for Mojo, so that nobody wud ever laugh at 'is ugly face. And since back then, Mojo is the best of Jhu's friends, forever! And Mojo became the brave defender for the week an' wretched, an' the tribe now loves its kiddies well. That is that, young folks..."

Nebula

Myriads of stars were falling towards their oblivion. It was as if Nebula’s mind encompassed the whole Universe, her thoughts creating new planets and races. Ideas becoming embodied in matter; they died and reappeared, transforming the despair of death into the joy of rebirth again and again. Her meditation lasted for more than a century, but then something disrupted her routine. 

It was a signal from the Judge. They hadn’t seen each other in ages, but she would have recognized his call even across millions of light years. Her partner and lover, a detail they had both kept under wraps for several epochs, was summoning her to the Cradle of Beginnings. Nebula realized at once that worse had come to worst.

"Harmony, balance, equity: a ridiculous cliche, and an essential part of life at the same time!" Nebula thought as she reluctantly left the bliss of her timeless plane. But she had to return to the duty she was created for. Especially considering how dire the Judge’s signal felt. 

Once she arrived, Nebula blanched at the sight before her: the Cradle was empty. Where could HE have gone? The Judge only shrugged, confused as well. But the empty Cradle looked ominous. Tendrils of power that reminded Nebula of a severed umbilical cord splashed energy out into the chill of space. They had lost their charge, and that meant they had failed as keepers and put the Universe in danger. The balance had already been disrupted: several galaxies disappeared, leaving only quickly dispersing dust clouds behind.

Both keepers knew they had to hurry, as HE would never stop. Nebula and the Judge, guardians, almost babysitters, rushed after their charge. And what did they find? Protests had already started on the nearest planet. The people were restless, growing angrier and angrier with each other. It was evident that the world would be ripped apart by a civil war in just a few years. It was HIS doing. Next, they arrived at Jauddar, a lifeless moon lined with countless sulfur and acid springs. But what was that? The southern hemisphere was covered by a vast ocean, its water a serene blue. Lush rain forests appeared around the equator, encircling Jauddar almost entirely in an unfamiliar green ring. And that was HIS work, too! Nebula took some time to restore the worlds to their delicate balance. It never mattered if something looked good or bad, harmony was more important.

Traveling countless planets and worlds, fighting countless battles for the sake of harmony, the keepers had to part ways. Everything around them was reshaping. Wherever HE went, cities were built and brought to ruin, new races were born, and world religions faded into obscurity. The Universe was changing, but was it right? Peace had been shattered, and it looked like everything had come unhinged. HE is great, HE is almighty, but HE is also a child without understanding of its strength, chasing after fleeting whims. HE is a god and every part of this world; HE is both chaos and order, good and evil. And that is both our luck and our misfortune.

P.S. You must have realized that HE is the creator of all things. Don’t think him an evil demon that destroys everything in his way, though. He really is but a child, looking at the world with ecstatic eyes. A child that knows no fear and no doubt, that embodies both order and chaos at the same time. Nebula and the Judge will soon recover their wayward charge, and the Universe will return to the status quo. But now, they travel the lands of the Dominion, where a war against the forces of Darkness rages on. Where are you, runaway god? Come back! 

Orion

The Orion's coming to people was a sight to behold! A roaring red-hot spaceship fell from somewhere in the sky and crashed on the coast of Tyrr. All this rattling and clanking attracted local villagers, who came running. And there, out of fire and smoke, like a silver angel, Orion soared into the air. A blue flame coming from plasma engines highlighted a perfectly flat and shiny metal armor of the alien robot.

Since then, everyone tried making contact with Orion – the Guardians, courageous volunteers, and even the Emperor Ingvar himself. But it was all in vain! The alien guest was silent, though his deeds spoke in his favor. After joining the Guardians Orion helped them with the most difficult tasks and managed to succeed in seemingly lost battles. However, every night at midnight Orion flew into the orbit coming back only by the morning. What was he doing up there?

Eventually people have taken two sides: some see Orion as a threat, a spy from an invading race, while others pray, calling him a savior and the defender of the planet.

Oh silent space guard, reveal your secret!

Peppy

Peppy doesn't remember her parents, as she was raised by her sister Jill since the very first days. Both girls lived in an abandoned mansion, overgrown with web and ivy through the roof. Every morning Jill left for work, strictly forbidding her younger sister to even look outside.

First years staying at home didn't bother Peppy at all. There's no need going outside when there are so many interesting things: soft light coming from oriental lanterns, the smell of fresh buns made by Jill and... books. What a fascinating world opened up before her in the pages of dusty tomes, forgotten in the mansion by former owners! Brave knights, doing good deeds, and faithful ladies risking for the sake of true love – everything was beautiful in books and the good always won. Often captured by another story Peppy put on a skirt and posed in front of a mirror, grinning to someone or bending arms dramatically. Years passed and Peppy's acting skills were growing along.

And then the time has come when the girl wanted to see the world outside the house. One day after her sister left. Peppy grabbed her most beautiful shoes, wrote a note and ran outside. Where are all the princes, broughams and laughter? Why are there so many sad people begging? The world Peppy saw around her really differed from the books.

But the world fell completely apart when the demons on huge black horses came to the city square. Behind them walked the people of Dominion, thin, gaunt and captured into slavery. “No, the world can't be that bad”, – Peppy thought. She stepped towards the monsters and started the performance.

If anybody could see Peppy that time, they'd call her a witch. Stunned monsters looked at pink flashes of her weather vane, catching every gesture and sound, imitating the actress's mood. And when the show came to a climax, on top of every monster a theater mask lit up. Ta Da, the finale! But instead of applause there was only a sound of dead “spectators” falling from the horses. Peppy not getting upset calmly pulled the keys out of her pockets and undid the prisoners' shackles.

Now she knew the real power of her art and was ready to make the world like the one it was on the pages of her favorite books.

Phobos

"Sooner or later, fear’s sticky web envelops the mind of any being. There is no escaping it, no hiding from it. There is fear in every one of us. Do not fear death, or you will die!"

The Epic of the Ashlur. Chapter 1117, Innora’s rescript

The wooden shelves, rubbed down by a thousand sleepers, hit one’s side painfully at every bump in the road. The wagons carrying the cages were packed with slaves of every age. Sweat, the smell of excrement, nausea from eating spoiled food, and fear were the only things in which these poor souls were now united. Chained up and in pain, they were being taken to the other side of the world. And what would await the captives there? The slaves’ grayish-green skin spoke of their Ashlur origin. For a decade by now, this small tribe had been suffering at the hands of raiders and slavers, without being able to stand up to them in any way. Fear was bred into their very blood and bones. And so, during this nighttime passage, they sat sleepless, peering into the dark with terror-filled eyes.

Yet look at the lad over there, clutching a trinket in the shape of a bird! A little tense, a little cross, but without the smallest sign of fear. A moment later, a bluish-black feather appears out of nowhere on his neck! He clutches the bird tighter. His fingers run along the polished wood, touching its feet, its beak... another feather! Without letting go of his talisman, the young man slowly rises to speak:

– My fellow sufferers, hear me when I tell you this, fear ye nothing! Put your trust in me, and you will be saved!

Yet another feather, and now long talons on his right hand! The stranger gripped the wooden bird so hard that his knuckles went white. It was then, that, unbeknownst to the slaves, every lamp went out at once at the head of the caravan. “Forg, you son of a... Light those goddamn lamps!” yelled the drunken caravan driver, frightened by the sudden darkness. Meanwhile, the feathered man went on:

– Fear causes weakness, and we must be strong! It is time to stop thinking like slaves and trembling cravenly as we endure humiliation!

As he delivered his speech, he grew still more feathers, as well as talons on his other hand and, it seemed, also on his shoulders. A blue shimmer emanated from his eyes, and suddenly his nose seemed so very like a real bird’s beak. Besides, a provocative-looking top hat appeared on his head.

– I will help our people, but I will be merciless. I demand that you forget your fear of death, or die!

There was a commotion at the head of the caravan. One of the guards seemed to have glimpsed something that scared him. He screamed wildly, drew his sword and charged at one of his fellow guards. Blood spilled, and panic erupted. Some of the slavers tried to chase “the beast lurking in the forest”, only to kill each other off in the darkness. Those who stayed close to the caravan were terrified by the black shadow flying about in the sky. The driver gasped and clutched his heart. A minute later, he was already dead. Those slaves that felt fear as well were unable to calm the tremors wracking their bodies, draining strength and life, and perished as well. Others sat, and watched in silence. The man, if one could call him that, continued:

– My name is Phobos. Remember it, and cast off your fears!

Phobos opened the cage in a single movement and got out. All that remained of the band of slave traders was a handful of people crawling about helplessly. Fear had turned their hearts into so many frantic butterflies, trapped in a jar. And the thick, dark substance of their life force was pouring out of them and towards the human bird. Now free, the surviving slaves opened the rest of the cages, finished off their tormentors, and no longer had fear of anything.

Mysterious Phobos left the Ashlurs to help other people in distress, but the memory of him has been handed down through generations. The Ashlurs no longer knew fear, and no-one has since managed to force them to anything against their will.

If you wish to find out who Phobos is, and how he got into the slave cage, you can ask him yourself if you find him in his Guardian squad. But do not even think of approaching him if there is fear lurking inside your soul.

Thea

She was rushing through a dark forest without looking back, feeling monster's hot breath behind her back. No, perhaps her feelings are deceiving her... The enemy hasn't yet caught up Thea, but it was only a matter of time. The girl ran faster trying not to trip over the tree roots. The monster was killing everything in sight, relentlessly finding a victim one after another. Jumping into a meadow, Thea saw a small wounded deer standing helplessly. Little guy didn't plan on leaving and it was clear that it had no chance surviving the monster attack.

Run further or try to heal the baby? “I can't leave it here” – Thea thought. “If I am to die, then I'll die pritecting an innocent child of forest from a furious monster!” With this in mind she hugged the wounded animal, closed her eyes and concentrated. As soon as the wound started to heal, a giant wolf jumped out of the thicket. Its fur was covered in with blood and eyes shone with fire! The monster stepped toward the desperate girl. She covered the baby deer with her body and prepared for the worst. Step, another step...

And when the tragedy seemed inevitable, the trees swayed and she appeared at the meadow. The Empress of Old Grove, Ingrid, Lady of Light. She walked up to the possessed beast and touched its forehead with her hand. The wolf didn't attack her, nor show any sign of aggression. He laid peacefully on the grass, looked around and made the last gasp. Its eyes were bright and kind at that moment. The soul of the ill animal was at rest, and the demon, fighting for her, was sent back to the underworld.

Ingrid turned to the trembling girl and said:

– The soul of that is great who is willing to give life for others. Oh, my daughter, are you ready to become the keeper of the Old Grove and become my apprentice?

– I'm ready – Thea responded immediately.

– Remember that you'll have to make difficult decisions in order to save others' lives. – Ingrid waved her hand, calling for the girl.

Since that time Thea has been protecting the peace of the forest people, and her healing skills serve for the good of Dominion. By the way, the saved cub grew into a beautiful deer and never forgot its saviour!

Ziri

The glyph adorning the grand hall of the ancestral home of the Ormans in intricate relief depicts a scorpion ready to strike. The Orman clan’s origins can be traced back to the era of the Forgotten Gods of the Adjalar oasis. Gods such as Akhreb Ummi. The Mother of Scorpions, patron of the deceived, The Requiter: she went by a great number of names. The most prominent trait of the kind and just goddess, however, was her merciless retribution for traitors. 

The Ormans, having chosen Akhreb Ummi as their guardian centuries ago, honored her legacy for several centuries. Everyone knew the family worked hard and treated others with respect, yet violently punished those who betrayed them. Such an approach inspired respect and trust in people. The Orman family business soon became one of the most profitable in the oasis. The emperor noted their immense success, and before long the family was given an aristocratic title. Year by year, generation by generation, the Ormans multiplied their wealth, always striving for the pinnacle of power. Their faith in gods eventually gave way to a purely materialistic approach. Any trace of justice had been forgotten: the influential family was too busy discrediting and intimidating its rivals, cruelly disposing of the most resistant ones. A bas-relief in one their ancestral halls remained as the only reminder of Akhreb Ummi.

Only Ziri, daughter of Mensah Orman, remembered the patron of the deceived. A quiet child by nature, she would spend days in her room, playing with a scorpion carved out of smoky agate. The walls were also riddled with signs of the goddess. Ziri stood out among her relatives in general, regarded as a strange child, a lunatic even. She did not rejoice in wealth; the cruelty and stupidity of her cousins and her father’s greed appalled her. "How is it that the clan protected by Akhreb Ummi herself became the epitome of wickedness and injustice?" bewailed Ziri in her dim room, while in the courtyard her father executed yet another unfortunate for trumped-up charges.

But what was that?! A din had broken out on the street. She peeked out her window and realized that the peasants, fed up with the heinous deeds of the nobleman, had decided to do away with Mensah Orman and his family. "The poor might not have been treated fairly... but such an assault is a betrayal in itself," thought the child, curling up in a corner in fear. She could hear the peasants storming into the palace rooms, overcome with hatred, murdering the Ormans one by one and sparing not a single soul, not even the elderly and children. Cries of agony rose up from all over. Silently, with her lips alone, Ziri started to whisper a prayer. "O’ Akhreb Ummi, great Mother of Scorpions, save your faithful child..." — the noises of revenge kept growing louder as the peasants approached — "I, Ziri, swear upon my soul to become your sight and senses. I will not succumb to anger, but those who betray me will see no mercy." — the girl’s mind was paralyzed by fear, but she continued her prayer — "May your body protect me from pain, may your spirit help me tell Light from Darkness. Come, Akhreb Ummi!"

In mere moments, enraged peasants with bloody knives burst into the room. They had little difficulty claiming the life of the last heiress of the Orman family. The history of the great clan was no more... As the murderers turned to leave, they heard a noise behind their backs. The men turned back, and witness her: Ziri had transformed. Six strong, chitinous legs held the girl in a scorpion’s combat stance. No hatred warped her face, but her eyes burned with unrelenting conviction. Conviction, and a commitment to exact vengeance upon those who had betrayed their own promises and beliefs. Ziri’s heart beat violently, ready to burst out of her chest. Still, the girl knew she was doing the right thing. She was honoring the legacy of Akhreb Ummi. She was Akheb’s sight, body, and senses. She was Akhreb herself! 

Today, striding through the halls of her familial estate, the honorable Guardian reminisces on days long past: the moment of her transformation, the miraculous survival of the family’s last child, the choice to follow the righteous path, and the acceptance letter into Emperor Ingvar's hero squad. Ziri knows she has made the right choice. 

Annie

Ten years ago. 

“I wanna fly!” Fox shouted, jumping from bed to bed with her arms wide like wings. “Annie, Sis! Build me something, build me the coolest mechanical bird in the world!” 

Annie has just turned seven, but her talent was already shining bright. The shelves in their room could barely hold up under the weight of her inventions: mechanical dolphins, bubble fountains, walking dolls, self-winding bugs, and other thingamabobs; all odd, yet undoubtedly made by a genius. And there were so many of them! Fox certainly shared her sister's interests, but she was too restless and antsy to take the craft seriously. Fox enjoyed roaming outdoors and shooting targets with her makeshift gun much more than tinkering. And so today, on her birthday, Annie was alone. But she certainly wasn’t bored at all! The doorbell rang (the little inventor had latched onto any opportunity to improve their house with another mechanical device), and the birthday girl darted to the door to greet their unknown guest. She found no one at the door: only a big, ancient old tome with a bright and festive ribbon around it left on the porch. The girl opened the book, and realized she had found her true calling. 

Present day.

Now a beautiful young lady, Annie, spent day after day tirelessly working on the dirigible, the Dominion's greatest invention! The book that had miraculously appeared on the young inventor's doorstep had been full of descriptions of the City of Valkyries, sailing the skies under its own power. And there had been more: the old tome also had page after page filled with blueprints for a flight mechanism identical to the device that had filled Annie’s every daydream. Despite the tome missing some of its pages, filling in the gaps was an easy task for a talented engineer, and finally, many years later, the dirigible was taking off on its first flight! The Emperor himself put his trust into the young lady and supplied her with all she required. Her work had finally paid off, Annie was a decorated engineer with a team of her own, ready to serve for the good of the Dominion. 

And of course, she never forgot about the City of Valkyries sailing the skies. Turns out they had been the ones to bring the old book to the girl's doorstep, a hint, believing her to be the talent who would show them the road back to Sunngard. Thanks to Annie, who passed this test with flying colors, the Valkyries saw that humans deserve their help, and thus darkness will one day be vanquished!

"Fox, sis," Annie thought, reminiscing about her childhood, "guess what: I made you the coolest flying mechanical bird in the world!"

Wendy

Beautiful Wendy! Young lads write poems about her, while girls of all Dominion glance at her with envy! But nobody knows where Wendy comes from and when she will visit Dominion's capital again with her goods.

Though young lady's big eyes distract people and her smile gives hope, Wendy is above all a professional and appears at the town square only for work! Her goods are of the best quality at the south coast and that's why grateful buyers always line up in long lines. Sell, improve and make a hero stronger – Wendy can do practically everything! Her famous cornflower blue dress flashes here and there!

Perhaps the success of the shop doesn't lie solely in Wendy's skills! Everyone would give a fortune to see once again how under a turquoise cloth her breasts rise from breathing! To once again be looked at with piercing blue eyes... and then pay for the goods and leave waiting for the next meeting.

Wendy, come back soon!

Galahad’s Dream

From time to time everyone wakes up in a cold sweat because of nightmares. Galahad is no exception. One night he was recovering from a terrible dream lying in his bed and staring into a void. He still felt the weight of the armor, created by the gloomy masters of infernal forges.

Galahad remembered every detail of the nightmare: the clapping of clawed wings behind his back, the bright flame of a sword devouring human souls, and his own laughter bordering on insanity. But the strangest thing was that he stood at the right hand of Archdemon himself, like an old friend and a devoted servant.

What was it, mind games or prophetic visions of the impending disaster?

Ishmael & Vulcan

Many people try to avoid Ishmael as a malicious spirit of the sorcerer lives inside him possessing the soul of his own son. The eternal inner struggle and the fear of losing control over himself made Ishmael an outcast among the Guardians. Everything changed when Titans decided to restore an alliance with people in the fight against the forces of Darkness.

Vulcan whose heart burns with an everlasting flame understands him like no other. After all, if the flame goes out of control, it will destroy everything for miles around. That's why the Titan doesn't rest and keeps himself together. Now Ishmael and Vulcan are the best friends who help each other when battling enemies in the depths of the Dungeon!