Out of the shadows

[Vincent]

There were days of peace, long past now, when Vincent was but a young lad from Edana, and the darkness in the South had yet to cast its full shadow. A reckless rogue with a flair for showmanship and a thirst for adventure, he was a proud member of the mercenary band known as Salt and Steel Company.

It was during those days that he first crossed paths with a young elf named Eoneleth in the wilds of Arandor. Unlike his kin, Eon fought not with blade nor bow, but with his bare hands. He called himself "The Fist of Arandor", a title that quickly became the subject of many a mercenary’s jest.

Yet in time, jest turned to respect, and acquaintance to friendship. Together, Vincent and Eon set their sights upon the dreaded Azamul Fortress, the festering heart of the southern evil. What began as a daring raid soon became a relentless hunt, striking blow after blow against Azamul’s minions, leaving ruin and loss in their wake.

[Vincent]

As they struck blow after blow against the forces of evil, launching raid after raid upon Azamul’s fortress, their bond grew ever stronger. One might have thought it a tale worthy of song—of how a mortal and an immortal could forge such a friendship.

Yet, as in most such songs, misfortune was not far behind. Edana — capital of Mercadia and Vincent’s hometown — fell to usurpation, not by foreign invaders, but by its own so-called "military" — a band of pirates in truth, led by their self-styled admiral.

The usurper and his men wasted little time in casting aside all pretense, and soon many of Vincent’s friends — the honest folk of the city, merchants, and craftsmen — found themselves the targets of open threats and brutal repression. Vincent urged them to rise up, to fight for their rights, but instead, they chose exile.

Thus, a great caravan of people and their belongings, lead by the glorious knights of the Divine Order, set forth from Edana, making their way to the abandoned Castle of Darmshall, where, in time, they had found a new home.

[Vincent]

Admitting his defeat, Vincent swiftly immersed himself in the life of the Divine Order, aiding in every way he could and redoubling his efforts against Azamul’s minions—now alongside the knights of the Order.

Yet, his heart remained in Edana. From afar, he gazed upon his abandoned home with sorrow, and even greater was the bitterness of knowing that, despite his hopes, neither the knights of the Order nor his fellow exiles spoke of reclaiming their city. None wished to gather their strength anew, to rise against the usurper and drive him from their homeland.

Worse still, the usurper’s spies had taken notice of Vincent, and their intentions were anything but benign. It was clear that something had to be done—remaining in Darmshall was no longer safe.

And so Vincent made the most fateful decision of his life, sealing a grim bargain with his own conscience — a bargain that would demand of him an unthinkable, unbearable price in the days to come…

It was at this time that Azamul’s forces grew bolder, launching frequent raids upon the people of Darmshall. The Grandmaster of the Order called for action, and Vincent was the first to step forward. His mission was perilous—he was to disguise himself as one of Azamul’s servants, infiltrate the daemon’s fortress, plant a powerful charge within its depths, light the fuse, and escape before the stronghold was reduced to rubble.

[Vincent]

Vincent carried out the plan to perfection—with but one exception… he had never returned.

Days passed, yet no sign of him came. At last, the Order dispatched a rescue party, knights carving a path through the ruins of Azamul’s lair. When they reached the site of the blast, what they found struck them with horror — a disfigured corpse, lying at the heart of the destruction, holding Vincent’s weapon and wearing his dearest possessions.

Among those who made the journey was Eon. Together with the knights, he wept bitter tears as they laid their friend to rest, raising a monument in his honor—one that would stand for all time, in memory of the rogue who had fought till his very last breath.



With horror, Vincent watched from afar as his own funeral unfolded before his eyes, knowing he could never reveal himself to Eon, never speak the truth. The young elf, noble by nature and unyielding in his honesty, would never accept such deception—no matter how noble or just the cause behind it.

And so, Vincent made his choice. He chose his city and its freedom, sacrificing his friend in the process, condemning Eon to endless grief — grief so profound, so unfathomable, that only an elf could truly bear its weight.

The decision to "die" was also driven by Vincent’s desire to spare his friends in the Order from bearing the burden of responsibility for what he was about to do.

Naively believing that it was but a temporary sacrifice, Vincent forsook all that he had and all that he held dear — Eon, his friends in the Order, the peaceful life within the walls of Darmshall Castle, and even his own name. He condemned himself to a long existence in the shadows, living under a false guise, a phantom of his former self.

And the struggle… the struggle… the struggle!!!

Cry out in terror, O Usurper!
For now, a man without a name shall be your dreadful shadow, and your followers shall vanish, one by one…

Arise, the Resistance!

[Vincent]

Time passed, and Vincent continued his work from the shadows, striking fear into the usurper and his minions. With his few loyal allies in the resistance, he established a hidden refuge within the catacombs beneath Edana, a secret stronghold from which they could slip into the city unnoticed or vanish through the sewers, bypassing the watchful eyes of the guards.

Before each strike, he meticulously gathered intelligence, observing his enemies from the darkness or moving among them under false identities. Still wearing a mask of deception, he continued aiding his old friends — those who had long since buried him in their hearts.

One night, VelCrow, Vincent's old friend from the "Salt and Steel Company", was ambushed in an alley by a gang of brigands. But before their blades could find their mark, Vincent descended upon them like a phantom, striking from the shadows. In the blink of an eye, the hunters became the hunted. VelCrow, left in stunned silence, had gained a hard-earned lesson in survival. Soon, he, too, learned to move unseen, slipping through the darkness without attracting unwanted attention.

Another time, the famed blacksmith Nynette became the target of relentless threats and blackmail at the hands of a vile scoundrel. Disguised and nameless, Vincent watched over her home day and night, waiting, listening. And when the time came, he tracked down and ambushed the scoundrel. None dared approach her again, for all now knew that a nameless phantom lurked in the shadows, guarding her doorstep…

And only Eon he feared to approach, knowing that the elf would recognize him in any guise.

[Vincent]

And so, it seemed — Vincent had won. The usurper’s forces lay in ruin, and in terror, the tyrant fled, boarding a ship bound for the unknown, abandoning his remaining men and cursing the city that had become his burden.

Vincent could have stepped out of the shadows then, raising his voice in triumph, celebrating the hard-won victory and freedom. But fate had other designs, and elsewhere in the world, a darker tragedy had begun to unfold. While Vincent waged his secret war and lent unseen aid to his friends, grim rumors reached him—whispers of his dearest companion, Eon.

Completely deceived by the ruse, Eon had succumbed to despair. Being young and passionate by elven measure, he could not bear the weight of his loss. Grief became rage, clouding his sight with blood and hardening his heart. Again and again, his fury led him back to Azamul’s cursed stronghold. If he could not bring back his fallen friend, then he would avenge him—and he did so with ever-growing cruelty. His mind unraveled, his vengeance consumed him... until one dreadful day, he entered that place alone.

[Vincent]

The news reached Vincent too late. At first, none realized that Eon had vanished. Some even assumed he had taken his own life. But in time, Vincent and Eon’s kin learned the truth — the terrible, unthinkable truth.

For when they at last saw him again, it was not truly Eon who stood before them. His body was now a vessel, his will shackled, his soul enslaved — a puppet to the will of Mortimer, the most feared and cunning of Azamul’s servants.

Pain, shame, and guilt gripped Vincent’s heart with an unrelenting vice. Had he not hidden in the shadows... had he only told Eon the truth... perhaps the elf would still be alive, laughing, bright and bold as before. But Vincent’s cold, calculated betrayal had exacted a monstrous price — not merely Eon’s life, but his very soul.

Vincent had freed his city — but in doing so, he had become a hollow shade of himself, unworthy of his name or the man he once was. From that moment forward, he would never know peace.

Until Eon’s soul was freed. Until it was healed.

Only then would Vincent dare to step out of the shadows once more.