The Return of Valor and Corruption

The sun was setting on the shores of the eastern seas when a group of Shallam's citizens, returning form a trip to Shastaan, heard a faint voice on the breeze. Worried, they decided to investigate. To their great surprise, they found a ragged, soaked man washed up on the shores of the ocean. Lifting his head weakly, he choked on the sea water that poured forth from his mouth, his mouth barely moving in a pleading whisper, "Are they here? Has it begun?"

Under the skillful hands of Sahmie and many others, the soldier soon began to recover somewhat. Urgency replaced weakness in his tone as he spoke of a great danger rising. "We must rebuild the bridge" he kept repeating over and over again, and would not budge until wood and rope were brought to him. It was at this point that those present realized that what they had taken for an ocean pier was in fact the broken remnants of an ancient bridge. Quickly, everyone set to work, and in a matter of days the proud spans of a wide wooden bridge plunged into the waters once more.

Crossing the bridge with some trepidation, the Shallamese were surprised to find themselves on a misty island. Fog curled around a tall fortress centered upon its shores, and from its depths came the welcoming cries of many warriors. They were greeted at the gates by a tall, handsome man who introduced himself as Yilien, the high priest and voice of Arion - the ancient God of Valor who had passed from these lands many years past. Yilien began to uncover the old story, telling those gathered of a time when the armies of Arion departed over the ocean to meet the advance of a dreaded threat. Yet before the priest could answer the concerned questions voiced as to the nature of this threat, the thundering beat of war drums echoed over the city of Ashtan.

For even as the bridge's spans were being built, ship after ship slid smoothly into the Harbor of Balaton. Grotesque shapes covered the ground, forming into perfectly arranged battalions. Yet even as the fearsome troops formed, a cry rang out from every one of their twisted throats, a desperate cry of worship and power as they chanted, "Chakrasul! Chakrasul! Chakrasul!"

The battle raged on for many months as the dreaded armies of the invaders, who called themselves the Nazetu, plunged through the streets of Ashtan. It seemed that their plundering was unstoppable, and the disunited armies of Aetolia were unable to slow their tide. Nevertheless, some brave warriors such as Ishuri swore to not cease their attacks until every Nazetu lay dead. In the midst of desperate battle, many a warrior cried to the God of Valor, begging Him to manifest Himself and guide their efforts. And so it was that Arion Himself rode down upon a white steed to lead a desperate charge of his knights against the black-armoured troops of the Nazetu. And yet, guided by the dark will of Chakrasul, the invaders pressed on, unstoppable and unwavering.

It seemed that at last all hope had left the city of Ashtan, when the cries of its citizens finally fell upon the ears of Duiran. In a last desperate attempt, they gathered their troops and threw them against the strength of the invading armies. All hopes hinged upon this single stroke. In a great battle, the troops of Duiran defeated the divisions of the Nazetu, and the last of the invaders fell dead beneath the claws of a wolverine.

Yet despite the unexpected and glorious victory, a silence brooded over Aetolia. The invaders had been beaten off, and the God of Valor had returned Yet now, the Corrupt One walked the land once more. Friend or foe, dark or light, god or mortal - all knew that nothing would ever be the same again.