Born from the soils of Zenafrost, to the most ancient tribe of Forest Dwellers known to walk the earths. From a very young age, Milios was marked as “troublesome”. Forest Dwellers are known for their calm, peaceful demeanors. They never stray from the path of living as one with their All Mother, Zenafrost. But Milios was born with eyes not set on the ground like their brethren, but to the skies above. While the others trained in the healing arts, and learned to use the earth to their favors, Milios instead turned their attentions to a magickal force none had conquered before: The Winds. The Elders forbade it, warned Milios of how harsh and unforgiving such a power would be. But as the centuries passed, it became clear that the winds of Zenafrost had finally bowed to one soul, and one soul alone. 

Milios was shunned, practically banished from the village for the practice of such destructive power. And so, tribeless and alone, Milios travelled the world for a great many years. Tales and legend of the Great Wind Walker, the Singer of the Blessed Whispers, spread throughout the lands. Little is known of Milios’ travels during these years, though it is said a journal, lost by time, was once kept of their adventures.

When Milios returned to Forgotten Wood, it was to find that little had changed with the Forest Dwellers. Still set in their ways, resolute to walk “The Path of the Ancestors” for eternity, they treated Milios much the same as they always had: An outcast; An unwelcome entity. The Elders tasked Milios to travel deep within the wood, to the hidden village of the Odelians; A chore mostly meant for young Forest Dwellers learning how to spy on possible hostiles. But when Milios came to the edge of the hidden village, they were met with a sight they did not expect. A young Odelian boy, the only being born from the womb of a Forest Dweller, stood hidden amongst the dense foliage. He was clearly struggling hard to master the wellspring of Forest Dweller magick within him; magick that looked to control the very earths itself. And Milios felt a strange connecting to this boy, shunned too from his people for his differences. Guided by the whispers of the wind, and perhaps the hands of destiny, Milios stepped forth from the wood before the boy. Milios offered him friendship and, more importantly, a mentor to learn from. The boy thanked him gladly, introducing himself as Cyfrin Lightcleaver. Milios filled a place in the boy’s life, and in his heart, that he so desperately needed to set him on the right path. Years became centuries once more, the two becoming the first Odelian-Forest Dweller war party to ever emerge from the Odelian’s mighty ranks. And thus struck the first chords of fate across the whole of Zenafrost.

The Gofannon family had lived in the Hidden Village for well over a millennia. The magick that may have once imbued their bloodline had long since vanished, as so many had, and they had set their roots through trade instead. The Gofannon’s were master metalworkers. Even without magick, there was nary a soul alive that could compete with one of their weapons; not a single blade that could pierce a Gofannon shield. The Odelian High Court deemed their family to be one of indispensable renown, building them a great forge in the Hidden Village. Here, every magickal weapon to grace an Odelian’s hand was born.

As was a baby boy.

The birth of Kain Gofannon was met with much rejoicing from the whole of the Gofannon clan. Children were incredibly hard to conceive for immortal beings, and one had not been born to their bloodline for nearly six centuries. Void of magick, Kain was brought up by his parents to run the forge and continue their legacy. But the life of a weaponsmith was not in the cards for Kain.

Before the Great War, the Odelian people lived in harmony alongside the beings of Zenafrost. The Hidden Village housed the High Court, as well as the brunt of the Odelian warriors. It is here they were trained, here they took their trials and emerged either victorious or dragged to an early grave. His entire life, Kain watched the warriors come and go from the forge. He would sneak away every chance he could get to watch their trainings on the practice fields, and wished beyond anything that he too could take up arms beside them. But this notion was laughed off and brushed aside, for how could a non-user ever hope to stand amongst the great warriors of Zenafrost?

Aside from Kain, one other child presided in the Hidden Village when he grew up. Cyfrin Lightcleaver, son of the Odelian army’s general, was brought up in stark difference to Kain. Whereas Kain’s parents were doting, loving and kind, Cyfrin’s father was a tyrant and workhorse. Kain watched him force Cyfrin to train, day in a day out, till he was bloodied and bruised on the fields. When his father would leave, Kain would rush to Cyfrin’s side, lifting him back to his feet and bringing him to his family’s forge for rest.

Moved by Kain’s friendship, as well as his belief in his brawn, Cyfrin took to helping him train. Every day, at every possible free moment, the two would engage in combat. Kain’s father assisted by crafting a sword that could do no harm to Kain or Cyfrin, giving them the capability to train at full capacity without fear of bloodshed. 

For years, the two worked tirelessly, honing Kain’s skill with a sword and strengthening his body well beyond that of even the mightiest warriors. But still, he was not allowed to join the trails to become one. A man of non-magick birth had never been granted the honor of testing their metal before, and Cyfrin’s father was far from allowing that to change.

But still they trained, hoping, praying that one day Kain would be allowed the opportunity to stand beside Cyfrin. To take on the trials together, and emerge victorious as warriors of the Odelians.

Born in a village built just outside of Delinval’s pearly white walls, Eleanora has never been a stranger to hardship.

The fourth daughter in a line of seven children, their family had not bore a magick-user since her father when she came along. Her father had once been a great warrior to the Odelian people, known for his immense poisonous powers and their destructive capabilities. Injured by his own gift, he and his wife had settled down to make lives for themselves as tavern owners.

When Eleanora burned down the schoolyard in a fit of childhood rage, they knew it was time something be done. Calling in a debt after his years of service, Eleanora’s father had her brought to the Odelian village hidden in the wood. There, she was brought under the wing of the sole fire magick user remaining in their ranks: Caerani Tylwyth. Then Captain of the Odelian warriors, Caerani’s powers over fire made her particularly adept at training the young poison magick-user. Though it would be many a year before she had any mastery over the unstable gift.

Eleanora was a natural born rebel, filled with furious rage at the “unfairness” of her magick. She had hurt many close to her on accident in the past, caused whole buildings to collapse during days where her sadness bested her. And so as a teenager, Caerani brought her aboard the Red Froth. The only ship capable of sailing the unforgiven Brisenbane Ocean, they sailed with it’s crew to the island called Hope. Here, they spent three entire years together, lost deep in the ever-changing landscape of the isle. Legend states, among many things, that the two managed to kill a mighty dragon from another world. Thus, they were able to craft an armor made of it’s hide, helping Eleanora to better insulate and control the magick.

Upon their return to the Hidden Village, Caerani had El join the training hopefuls, gearing to become full fledge warriors. One of the only women to ever attempt the trials, she was unwelcome by the standards of her fellows. Unwelcomed by all, save for two.

The son of General Lightcleaver and his oafish friend were hardly the sort El imagined as her first real friends. Cyfrin was sarcastic, arrogant and pig-headed. And Kain hardly seemed any better, though El found herself always drawn closer to him. It was this trio that made the beginnings of the most mighty War Party to ever walk the earths of Zenafrost. These three who began the fight towards a new and better tomorrow. Together.

Being the son of the great and terrible Feremor von Lightcleaver was never something Cyfrin had asked for. And it was something he had prayed to the Zenoths to change every day in his childhood.

He had only ever loved one thing more than his sword: Cyfrin’s mother, Dilatondra. When it had become clear that she was with child, Feremor had begged her to listen to the elders; to remove the spawn before it had the chance to kill her. Forest Dwellers, as Dilatondra was, had never bore a child. They were born from the earth itself, unable to create life amongst themselves. The elders of her tribe called it a curse, Feremor called it a poison. But Dilatondra called it a blessing; a gift, regardless of the price. She bore Cyfrin to this world with her dying breathes, taking Feremor’s heart right along with her.

Feremor more than openly blamed Cyfrin for her death. He had been beating him for it, physically and verbally, since before Cyfrin could walk. Determined to, as he called it, “redeem the Lightcleaver bloodline”, he forced his son into training from a very young age. Expected to spar, keep pace with, and even to best men three times his size and nearly thrice that his age, he was worked to the bone. Day in and day out, with no end in sight, his father attempted to physically whip strength and control into the boy.

The Forest Dweller blood within him had morphed the magick given to him by his father’s bloodline. It made the power unstable, nearly impossible to rein in and harness.

This did nothing but heighten the shame and rage of his father.

He took to escaping during the hours when his father would address the troops. He would flee to the edge of the village, called to the woods by the powers his mother’s blood granted him. Having no training in these gifts, he had even less control over them than his innate control of electricity. Still, desperate for some semblance of connection to his mother, he would train by himself whenever he could.

It was here, in his secret place on the edge of the treeline, where Cyfrin met Milios. A Forest Dweller, one who greatly understood the feeling of being truly alone, Milios vowed to help Cyfrin control his gifts. It was the first glimmer of hope in the young Lightcleaver’s life; the sparking moment that changed him from a path of darkness on to the path of the dawn. Milios worked with Cyfrin, often even assisting in the training of Cyfrin’s only friend, Kain. The three trained and honed their skills for years in that small clearing on the forest’s edge, readying for Cyfrin’s true goal of joining the Odelian warriors. Of passing the trials, proving his father wrong and, perhaps, one day even surpassing him all together.

Mara knew from a very young age how difficult life could be. Born to the crowned prince and princess of the Kingdom Delinval, her mother passed away during childbirth. Her father, captain of their military might, was slaughtered in the Great War that devastated their lands. Mara’s uncle, King Grathiel, took her instantly under wing as his own. As he had no children himself, this left Mara as next in line to inherit the throne.

To say this led to much upset amongst the court would be a massive understatement.

Mara’s entire life was spent dodging painful comments from the lords and ladies, only made worse by the physical torment inflicted on her by their children. They would lead her deep into the outskirts of the castle grounds, under ruse of play and games, only to push her gown and all into the rushing river. They burned her curls, drowned her teddy bears, mocked her every word and spun many a false tale of her behind closed doors. It was their way of showing her her “place”. That, though she was to one day be Queen, they could sense how different she was.

Something Mara herself was painfully aware of. She loved Delinval. Loved her kingdom and her people. But she had no head for politics; no heart for the careful dance of courtroom decorum. She was willful, in spite of all the forces looking to strangle it from her. Mara craved adventure and life, a dream spurred on by her friend and sole companion: Adrian. With her Uncle’s permission, Mara was granted her wish of training with the sword at the young age of thirteen.

She was laughed and mocked openly by the court for this, more so than ever before, for “who would ever want such a hardened bride?!”. With Adrian’s assistance, coupled with her natural skill and fiery drive, Mara quickly became one of the best to ever train under the captain of the King’s guard. And though all these men thought it just a hobby to pass her time, Mara spent her time planning. Plotting her future, to perhaps avoid what would soon be expected of her.

Adrian descends from a long line of servants to the crown of Delinval. Since the beginning of their glorious kingdom, his fathers and forefathers stood as shield and sword between all that would wish harm to their people. It was not just a duty, but a Zenoths-given honor.

Adrian was no exception to this tradition. Given a sword before he could even stand upright, Adrian’s father took great pride in teaching his son the ways of Knighthood and all it entailed. How to be proper, how to be mighty, how to be powerful. Alongside this training was a distinct understanding that he would one day take a Lady of the Court for his wife. The bloodline must be continued, of course. He was favored by practically every woman he ever came across, being a man of loyalty, looks and good-standing. But Adrian only ever saw one for him.

It was true that Mara was prideful, a breaker-of-tradition, and by most accounts, “a troublemaker”. But somehow these traits only served to pull Adrian deeper in love with the princess. While the rest of the knights-in-training balked and mocked Mara openly for her desire to join their ranks, Adrian took it upon himself to help her train. At all hours of the day and night, the duo could be found in the courtyard, pacing back and forth through their motions. At the start, in was more for Adrian to spend as much time as possible with her than anything else. He expected very little from a woman raised to be the Queen. It was, therefore, his greatest shock to find she was a natural in combat. He taught her everything he knew, and was pushed by her daily to become an even better fighter himself. He even went so far as to teach her how to wield weapons in both hands, a feat he himself had spent many years accomplishing. Mara had learned it in half the time.

When Adrian turned 18, and was given his choice of women to wed, he politely declined, instead asking his father to speak to King Grathiel in regards to Princess Mara’s hand in marriage. This was the first and only time Adrian had ever asked his father for anything. And he accepted gladly. After all, what father wouldn’t want their son to inherit a kingdom? Adrian knew this might upset Mara, but felt this would quickly pass. Their marriage would keep her safe from other suitors, would shower her in love and protection, and together they would make Delinval even mightier than it was before the War. They would surely fall deeply in love, and live their days happily as Queen and King.

Alora Dawnbringer was told of her destiny at the ripe age of six. Her mother told her stories of a princess, fated to save all who existed in the cosmos. A heavy burden to place on the shoulders of anyone, let alone a child. But Alora not only took in stride, but with great pride. She would be a Queen that led her people to safety; that led all in Zenafrost into a new era of peace and light. She had nothing but hope.

Her father, King Lionas, taught her what it meant to be a great leader. It extended far beyond ones duty to the crown; far beyond even ones duty to the land. What Alora was promised to do was written in the stars, prophesized long before she was a glimmer in the grand plan of the universe. And the older she got, the more she began to understand that none of this would be accomplished is she could not “do it all”.

And so Alora began to fight for a place amongst the Odelian Warriors, the greatest fighters in all of Zenafrost and perhaps beyond. Her powers were mighty, but it took a great many years to master the blade alongside them. She never took the easy way out, never used her “right as princess or Queen” to place her ahead of anyone else. Alora earned her spot amongst them through Trial and bloodshed, and managed to find two lifelong companions along the way.

Though she was one of the most formidable Warriors to ever rise from the Hidden Village, Alora’s heart was always one filled with song and story. She wrote song and limerick of the adventures she, Caerani and Drake went on over their many centuries together, and her lute-led lilting could often be heard heralding their approach to battle. Her title, the Heart of Hope, had been given to her by her people. But their enemies knew her by a different name: The Siren of Death. Alora wrote a merry jig by this title upon finding out, claiming it to be one of the “crowning accomplishments” of her life.

Perhaps least interesting about her, Alora was inflicted by a disease known only as “the breathless death”. Her airflow would constrict, trying to strangle her from within in times of great peril. She never let this falter her in battle, not even when her lips would turn a ghoulish shade of blue. Alora carried around a satchel full of herbal medicine for this disease, smoking it through an ornate pipe that her mother had made for her. This sat on her hip. amongst the trophies she carried of her most notable kills.

When the magick of Zenafrost became corrupted, so too did the magicks gifted by the Zenoths. The Celestial War saw many Fae fall to the darkness. Some were taken by force, the cores within them splintering beyond repair. Others were imbued with the dark magicks by choice, swayed by Mezilmoth’s whispers of Godhood. Entire bloodlines were tainted during this time, the once beautiful gift of the Zenoths now a curse for generations to come. So begins the story of Caerani Tylwyth.

Born to a bloodline who served Mezilmoth by choice, Caerani was perhaps the most powerful of all her ancestors. And the most lethal. Her magick core gave her the ability to not only control fire, but to also create it. The darkness that marred this gift made it impossible to control, and the baby Tylwyth found herself born into hatred. A walking inferno, Caerani was shunned in a world that yearned to forget the scars of its elders. Heavy emotion, whether it be happy, angry or sad, would set her ablaze in an instant. Entire villages fell before her sobbing form, the screams of her agonized repent drowned by the explosions of her magick.

It was this destruction that led Caerani to her death march across Zenafrost. At the tender age of 15, she resigned to go far from any who she could do harm. Frail and empty, she wandered without purpose. After many moons, she came to the very edge of Zenafrost. It was here she stopped and wailed to the skies, cursing the Zenoths who abandoned their world; who gave to them this “gift” of magick. And as she screamed, a great dragon descended upon her from the Heavens.

Legend states that the fire in Caerani’s core had sent out a call, like a beacon to all kin of the flame. The Dragon was a being from far beyond the stars, trapped on Zenafrost with no means of returning home. Seeing the girl’s desperation, the Dragon offered her an alternative to the death she so sought: “Come away with me, child,” the Dragon said. “Though I cannot cleanse your blight, I can teach your fire to keep the shadow at bay.”

For nearly two hundred years, Caerani vanished with the Dragon. There are many tall tales told of their journeys together. Some depict a mighty woman, standing naked in falls of flowing molten rock. Others speak of a great monster, who strode as a woman but took to breathing fire upon any man foolish enough to cross her. When Caerani returned to the shores of Zenafrost, it was with an immense magick rivaled only by her control over it. The Dragon had taught her secrets; hidden wisdoms that allowed her to harness the abilities of the winged fire breathers of legend. It was this knowledge that led her to be deemed “The Dragon’s Revenge”.

Her return to Zenafrost was noted by all that walked the land. The rumors that swirled around the only surviving descendant of the Tylwyth bloodline were innumerous. Many coveted her powers, most feared it. But one looked past her magick entirely, seeing only the woman beneath. Alora Dawnbringer, daughter of King Leionas and Princess to the Odelian people, was not fooled by Caerani’s wrathful exterior. She saw the love, the pain, the pure light that lay just beneath it. Alora spent nearly 20 years following Caerani wherever she went, filling her every moment with talk and laughter. Alora insisted on them being friends, declining all Caerani’s opinions on the matter. And before long, Caerani could scarcely remember what life was like without her sister-in-arms.

Alora swept Caerani up into her world, giving her a room right beside hers in the Grand Halls and introducing her to the King. Leionas welcomed Caerani with open arms, as a father would a daughter. Together, the three of them began to help heal the wounds of the past and sort through Caerani’s heartache together. She started her training with Alora below General Lightcleaver, the two of them being the first females ever granted permission to do so. The road to becoming an Odelian Warrior was hard fought, with a near impossible amount of obstacles to hinder their way. But together, they emerged from the Trials victorious and took their place alongside King Leionas as his Honor Guard.

Living with the Dawnbringers had exposed Caerani to something she had never seen before: Love. It was a beautiful thing to behold, even more beautiful to be gifted unwaveringly by the two of them. She had resigned herself long ago to a life without a partner, too afraid of what could happen if she lost control. She devoted herself to her training, her studies, her friendship with Alora and her duties as the King’s guard. And this was enough. Enough, that is, until they first entered the Underkingdom of Ylastra.

Caerani had been opposed to the idea of extending the hand of friendship to the Ylastrians from the very start. She and Alora spent hours berating King Leionas for his decision in the matter, but it did nothing to sway his determination. Here, in the dark underbelly of Zenafrost, Caerani found her content existence tipped on end. Positioned as the Dark King Normigone’s right hand was a man of nightmarish renown. A chaos-wielder, one whose magicks allowed him to morph into what legend described as a world-eating monster.

Drake’s life had been just as harsh as Caerani’s. He longed to escape the evils Normigone forced him to commit, but had long ago given up hope for such dreams. When Normigone gave the order for Drake to kill the Odelian enclave, it was the first time in his existence that he had tried to refuse. This refusal, and the battle that followed, is what prompted King Leionas to spring Drake from his magick binds and set him free from the Dark King.

Caerani had never understood what “true love” meant before this. Before him. Drake took up arms beside Alora and herself, training and passing his own Trials in record time. Even in his struggles, even in his darkest hours, Drake always made sure to bring light to Caerani’s life. He would finish his days on the training fields, battered and bruised, and would set off to pick flowers to bring her. “If only to see you smile”, he would say each time. He wrote her silly songs that he’d sing on days where her shadows threatened to overtake her. He learned every one of her triggers, learned to catch every tiny change in her expression to indicate how she truly felt about something. His devotion to her was unlike anything Caerani had experienced in her lifetime. Alora often likened them to the extinct “Tied Users”, whose bonded cores surpassed all other connection in the cosmos.

Caerani, Alora and Drake became the first three-user War Party to arise from the Odelian training fields. Together, they were an unstoppable force that turned the tide of battles across history. Tales of their prowess spread to every corner of Zenafrost, as did word of their bond.

They took an ancient oath, a Bond of Brethren that had not been enacted since the time of the Zenoths, to strengthen their combined ability and companionship. This bond joined them in unbreakable connection, tying their destinies as one forever. Upon King Leionas’ exodus from Zenafrost and Alora’s rise to the crown, Drake and Caerani took their place dutifully at her side. The three of them ruled over the Odelian people together, in a time that came to be known as the Era of the Golden Flame.

From his very first breath, Drake knew nothing but darkness. Normigone, King of Ylastra, had experimented with chaos magick for centuries before his one pinacol success. He had been fusing chaos magick with the souls of Ylastrians, most especially those who found themselves with child. Most died before the magick could fully become one with them. Those who did not were forced in to servitude under the Dark King, controlled by his sway over the chaos within them. The de Goro family was his crowning glory.

Lord and Lady de Goro were both survivors of the chaos fusion, their bodies existing in harmony with the magick now within them. When their first son, Demiel, was born with the ability to shapeshift into a great chaos monster, Normigone saw it as an opportunity to amass an army. He commanded the de Goro’s sire another child, mere weeks after the birth of Demiel. The King studied Lady de Goro closely, making notes on how to replicate this most “intriguing” experiment. But the birth of Drake was one that nearly ended the Underkingdom all together.

Spurred forth by Normigone’s frequent doses of concentrated chaos magick, Drake had emerged more monster than man. He tore his mother apart from the inside out, bursting into the world as a thing of shadow. The explosion of power that erupted from the babe killed every Ylastrian within the birthing chamber, including Lord de Goro. The overwhelming magick leveled the building, reducing it to ash around the darkling. When the shadows subsided and Normigone lowered the shield he had erected to protect only himself, he found an Ylastrian baby that looked like any other.

Weary of the power he had just witnessed, Normigone took both Drake and his brother Demiel as his own. He saw them as objects, ones he coveted above all else. Using elder Fae magick, Normigone engraved runes across both of their bodies. These runes warded the chaos magick, trapping it inside the boys and disallowing it to escape without the King’s command. From this moment forward, the brothers served as his right and left hand.

They were trained as assassins, the ultimate weapon of Ylastra that Normigone took utter joy in unleashing upon his enemies. Demiel took great pride in the slaughter he committed under Normigone’s order. Drake gleaned nothing but horror and agony. Though his soul was bound to chaos, his heart craved the light. He dreamt of escape for hundreds upon hundreds of years, growing more cold with every command to kill. Normigone sent him on countless missions of “great importance”, much to Demiel’s resentment, each ending in bloodshed and darkness. Eventually, he gave up all hope of escaping from Normigone’s shackled servitude.

Then, in a time filled with nothing but despair for Drake, and Odelian enclave dared to enter the Underkingdom. Alongside the King and Princess Dawnbringer came a woman who brought Drake crashing back to reality. She was more beautiful than any dream he had crafted, than every sunset he had ever stopped to watch across the ocean. The cold in his heart began to melt, replaced only by the need to be beside her. To keep her safe.

When Normigone took offense to the Odelian King’s candor, Drake knew at once what his next command would be. Going against the magick that kept him bound to the Dark King, Drake warned the Odelian enclave of what was to come: Their painful deaths. He told them of his chaos monster, of the transformation that only Normigone controlled. But far from fleeing the underkingdom, as Drake so encourage, the Odelian King held steadfast. He came before Normigone, and pleaded not for their lives. But for Drake’s freedom.

This was Normigone’s tipping point. He commanded that Drake and Demiel slaughter the Odelians, including the beautiful woman who had instantly stolen his heart. But the Odelian King was not as foolhardy as he appeared, nor as weak. A great battle erupted between the forces of Ylastra and the Odelian enclave. And ended in Drake’s escape from the shadows.

From that moment, Drake pledged his allegiance to the Dawnbringer bloodline. He vowed to protect their lineage till his dying breath, a vow only outweighed by the one he made to Caerani Tylwyth.

Drake vowed his heart and soul to Caerani, gave them to her without a second thought or waiver. Everything he was before she arrived vanished, becoming a thing of nightmares that held no sway over his life. She was his north star, his life-giving breath. And through his love, the famed “Dragon’s Revenge” rested her heart with him. Trusted him above all else in the cosmos. And so Drake the Damned became known as the Keeper of the Dragon’s Heart. He relinquished the de Goro name, and instead to the name Caerani had blessed him with: Drake Tylwyth.

In the Hidden Village of the Odelians, Drake found his home. Alongside his true love Caerani, and his greatest friend Alora, the three became the mightiest leaders to ever grace their people.