The lands of Midgard are many. A thousand kingdoms spread across five continents. Kingdoms of man and elf. Of snow-capped mountains and arid desert. Forests and wetlands and rolling hills. And they are old. Older than the archives of the majestic city of Luxis. Much older, even than the archives’ most precious treasure, the Scrolls of Gelderrin, those ancient texts that tell of the last great war between the people of Midgard and the Dark Lord.
But for the scrolls, the war might have been forgotten by now, or slipped into song and saga, half historical, half imagined. The pens of Luxis’ loyal scribes saw to it that the truth survived, in all its horror and glory. Their lonely work ensured that while the truth was remembered, the mistakes of the past would never be repeated.
Gelderrin. Even the name is enough to conjure in the mind of any Midgard man a picture of perfect heroism. Gelderrin the Warrior. Gelderrin the Chosen One, standing alone against an evil foe of unimaginable power.
A thousand years before the oldest line of living kings began, The Dark Lord’s armies marched out of their subterranean realm to lay waste to the lands of man and elf. Their master sought to conquer and destroy every one of the kingdoms of Midgard, bringing all under his cruel reign.
Summoning the magic of their ancient race, the Angeli, oldest and wisest of Midgard’s peoples, imbued one warrior, chosen for his valour and his incorruptible honor, with elemental power to rival even the Dark Lord. Gelderrin led the armies of Midgard in countless terrible battles against their would-be conqueror. Until at last, with half the world ablaze, he faced his enemy alone on the snowy plains of Wenlock, a site held holy since that day.
They fought for days, rattling the skies and cracking the earth with their magic until Gelderrin, himself mortally wounded, caught his infernal enemy off guard and plunged his sword into the Dark Lord’s heart, destroying his corporeal form and banishing his blackened soul to the dungeon realms for uncountable years. Uncountable but not endless, for the Dark Lord was present when the world began and his essence will remain when time itself is ended.
With the last of his power, Gelderrin cast a spell that scattered his magic on the four winds. And with his dying breath he prophesied that should the Dark Lord return and the kingdoms of Midgard face destruction again, his spirit would return too; not to stand alone against the darkness, but in the hearts of a thousand young warriors - the Chosen - each of them called by Gelderrin across the centuries to defend their home from evil. Each carrying in their heart a sliver of his ancient glory, and the promise of true greatness.
This is the story of one of the Chosen.
