Amaunator.

300 years ago after the sovereign host was first formed. Sir Lathander, one of the founding knights of a new world order. Finally after years of being dormant, hiding his wisdom and knowledge. Revealed himself to the order, as a man made God. Ready to take his place among the divine halls.

Within few moons envy and hatred spread amongst the knights. Vanity corrupting once so many noble knights. His wisdom was called out to be impure by the traitor Sir Lorent, Whose envy surpassed them all. Lord Lathander knowing his fate to be was dragged out to the great hall and stripped from his armor. Lorent ordered his holy men to chain the divine man to a pillar and prepare the execution by impalment of bolts untill death.

As the troops took aim and fired Lathander never resisted, never faltered. his divine flesh only shedding his holy blood. His last words to grace the likes of mortals parting from his lips 'Omniscient, Omnipotent, Sovereign, Immutable, how sweet it is to be a god' As our founding father witnessed these sacred events. The words shaking the very fabric of space around him. He witnessed a man ascent to godhood. Lord Lathander was reborn, for he is risen like the sun.

                                                                    Lord Lathander

The Journey

The sound of a lute being played by novice hands. A tankard of ale hitting a hard oakwood table.  Laughter and chatter in the backdrop. A man speaking in a northern accent.

The Iron Tankard Inn. A seedy tavern located within the busy city of Waterdeep. This is where our journey begins.


Chapter: 1. The Assembly.

"So you'd like to be a caravan escort?" says the man in a northern accent, sitting at the table between two other men enjoing a tankard of ale each. "Indeed I would." replies Reylon, a slender half-elf dressed in long robes. "Bjorn, this fella looks like he'd be better off escorting a cart of books to the nearest library, not the kind of travel we have a head of us." Whispers a man sitting by the table, Bjorn seems to not pay much attention to his companions input. "I am Bjorn Steelstrike, and these are my companinons, Dürgen and Jürgen." Says the man sitting in the middle. "We'd like to ask you a couple of questions if you don't mind?". Reylon with a slight smirk on his face nods along, thinking to himself that people tend to underestimate him for his slender physic, but he is a wizard afterall, and who needs brawn when they have a mind like his. "Tell me, can you ride a horse?" Bjorn asks. Reylon begins telling a tale of his younger days when he once rode a horse. But before he can finish his intricate tale and conclude his answer to Bjorn's otherwise simple question. He is interrupted by a large man standing over two meters tall approaching Bjorn's table, having to slightly duck his head to not hit the catwalk above. "We don't have time for your life long tale, elf." he says as he slams down his tankard of ale on the table. The large man is in fact a Goliath, a half-giant. As he takes a seat he proclaims in a booming voice "I am Olav Grim, and I 'eard you fellas where looking for a caravan escort.". Dürgen leans over to Bjorn again whispering "This is more like it." With a stern facial expression Bjorn looks over the man before quickly asking "Can you ride a horse?." Olav smiles, his face turning into a large grin "If it's big enough". "You're hired" Bjorn quickly replies, before peering back at Reylon which is still standing by the table, with his smirk now turned into a slight frown seeming a bit frustrated with the interruption. "Now tell me, I see you wearing a mark of the Mages guild, are you some sort of Wizard?" Bjorn asks. "Indeed, I am!" replies Reylon.

Welcome to the Arena!

"The shadows flee as you step into the punishing light to the mob's deafening roar. Screaming faces, thirsty for blood, chant your name. They love you today, but they are fickle, like the gods. One misstep, and favor wilts to scorn. You will find no mercy if you disappoint them, but you never fail. This is your house. You raise your spear in one brutal acknowledgement of their favor, sending the crowds howling louder.

It is time. Let them come. The gates before you shriek, spilling red dust as they climb into the stands. From the yawning black pit, you can hear a slobbering gasping, grunting noise. Then it appeares-all bulbous eyes and teeth. The crowd gasp as one, but you just smil. All things die. Even monsters. You hurl your spear at the horror and sweep your steel from the sheath on your back, and the black blade glints in the unforgiving light. With an insane smile, you throw yourself forward to meet your destiny and send this abomination back to HELL!"

Welcome to the Arena fighters.
So you've decided to pick up your sword and fight for glory and fame? Or have you been captured like the rat you are, slave to the blood-spilling of beast and men alike. Your story doesn't matter, you can forget who you were, you're born anew in the arena, who you are and what you do is for the unrelenting crowd to decide.