Hero Wars-Guardians’ Stories: Tank, Support and Control

“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 leaped 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!

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.

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 by 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 to eliminate 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.

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 the 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 an opportunity to taste cuisines from all the corners of the Dominion. Draw your own conclusions!

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 a 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.

"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 workday 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 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 the 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!”

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 was, 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!

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 tortoiseshell 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. At that moment, the Guardian’s attacks grew so rapidly 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 space on her shell. “Let’s go.”

Day 8. Outskirts of Wilheim

“Did you see how well the Foremother's Oath just worked? The 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!

Every so often, the events of years past find 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 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 titans and humans 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.

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 the 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 the 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!

Sebastian looked around the empty tavern hall. Everything could be seen in full view from the stage. There was nobody around, except for the maid quietly setting flagons out on the counter...

The school hall had been just as empty when Sebastian used to teach himself how to play the lute, many years ago. The lute hadn’t been his own, but one he had borrowed from the school. He spent day after day in that hall, replaying simple tunes from the ragged sheet music over and over again. The metronome kept tapping out the rhythm: one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four... The boy was trying his best to achieve his dream of performing at the school talent show. He was overjoyed when the show’s organizers made an exception for him, allowing such a young but diligent candidate to participate. And then, terribly disappointed when a string on the aging school instrument snapped in the middle of the performance. The senior students laughed, pointing fingers at him. Where might they be now?

In one swift movement, the musician checked the pegs and ran his fingers across the strings, from the nut to the bridge. The lute was in perfect condition!

A tired-looking man entered the tavern. He waved at the maid and plopped down at the table. The visitor’s face was wrinkled, and his eyes full of sadness.

Sebastian remembered his father’s exhausted, hangdog face when he told his son he was unable to pay for his studies at the music academy. And his own merry laugh when he replied that, having become the year’s top student, he had earned a generous scholarship that would allow him to study for free all the way to graduation.

The musician struck the chords. In a mere moment, the tired man’s eyes were gleaming, his face lighting up, and his wrinkles disappearing. Meanwhile, a woman of a decidedly military bearing and precise haircut entered the tavern. “She looks so much like Keira! Except for that peculiar fluidity of motion...” thought Sebastian, and continued playing.

He had just barely graduated from the music academy when the war began. The first war with the Darkness. Sebastian’s father managed to scrape together a hefty sum of money to buy an old lute and present it to him. “For good luck, son!” he said as he waved goodbye. The young soldiers had been assigned to Captain Keira’s unit. Their crude, bawdy jokes at the gorgeous young woman’s expense were quickly cut off by her stern temper, keen wit, and an incredible prowess in battle. And discipline, of course: the captain had a strong will and a steely demeanor. There had been only a few times that Keira let herself shed a tear, and those had been while listening to Sebastian’s lute beside the campfire. Under Keira’s guidance, the musician became a veteran warrior. Sebastian remembered the day when they were told that Keira had been transferred to Wilheim to become Lady Octaviana’s chief guard. The news raised quite a ruckus! In less than a year, the soldiers would learn the tragic news of their beloved captain...

The stern woman at the table relaxed a bit and nodded at the lute player. At that moment, a merry and noisy bunch of flushed young men piled into the tavern. They pushed tables together and raised their mugs. Sebastian’s melody kept taking off and falling down, flowing in a rapid current and rising like the sun in the morning fog...

The fog was so thick that morning, you couldn’t see your outstretched hand. The squad was headed for the Western Mountains to assist their allies and was forced to set camp somewhere near the Wretched Marsh. As nasty as the place was, the mist was so thick it would have been virtually impossible to proceed. And there weren’t any mages around to dispel the darkness. Some of them set about making a campfire, others cleaning their weapons or drying their slacks. Everyone was busy. Until things took a turn for the strange, that is. The fog parted slightly, showing the clearing, only to reveal that half of the soldiers were missing. Those that still remained fell upon one another like wild animals, maddened, eager to maim and kill. A strange, captivating melody beckoned them, drowning them in a whirlpool of madness. Sebastian could hear the same melody, but it sounded somehow different. The musician assessed it, breaking down the notes and modes... The music immediately lost its captivating charm.

And then, the screams started. The horrific, agonized screams of people dying. More soldiers entered the fog, murdering each other... Unable to shrug off the delusion, they cut down their comrades as though they were mortal enemies. The melody burned itself onto the brain, and even Sebastian soon realized he was moments from falling to it too. He grabbed his sword and charged into the fog. His lute was still there, over his shoulder. He couldn’t even tell enemies from allies. He could see nothing but the white fog and hear nothing but the melody and death rattles. The musician realized there was nothing his sword could do. There was nothing to be done, he thought.

Sebastian froze for a moment. The bustle and noise of the countless tavern guests ceased. Everyone turned their eyes to the stage, where the musician sat.

Sebastian remembered tossing his weapon and grabbing his favorite instrument in a sudden moment of epiphany. He remembered closing his eyes and playing, on and on... His mind drowning in the multitude of sounds, gripping soul and the strings alike. A large shadow flickered before his eyes, and a horrid creature crawled towards the marsh with a loud squelching. A bogger! So that’s who had attacked them! The monster’s mental power failed to resist Sebastian’s magnificent music. The music scared the monster away. The final chord made it scream with pain! As the soldiers snapped out of their delusion, they supported the musician with fire and swords. The bogger was defeated! Each warrior tried to thank Sebastian personally, hardly able to believe the miraculous rescue. Most of them had hardly any skills beyond fighting and celebrating their victories in debauchery, and therefore found this weapon, the power of art, completely new. The news of the musician’s deed spread around the Dominion like wildfire!

The lute sang and danced in the master’s hands. The people filled the whole tavern, clapping, shouting and standing up from their seats. The audience applauded the maestro. They had come specifically to attend his concert. And to know the great power of music in the hands of an unrivaled master. Not a sorcerer, nor a magician, no. The power of an ordinary person who had worked hard for many years. A power hiding, behind the guise of a dandy and public idol, a rugged soldier all too familiar with the horrors of war. You don’t always need a miracle for a great deed. Sebastian knows that, using his skill for the good of the country!

P.S. By the way, the woman with the military bearing really did turn out to be Keira herself. She found out the fate of her underling and decided to pay Sebastian a visit, tell him her story, and invite the hero to join the ranks of the Guardians.

She was rushing through a dark forest without looking back, feeling the 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. The little guy didn't plan on leaving and it was clear that it had no chance of 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 protecting an innocent child of the 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 savior!

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 the 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 of 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, the 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.