In my old age my memory has began to fade and I wish I could be in my prime again. I remember when I first arrived at the school. I remember when they gave me the nickname Mug. A foster child with no direction to go and no place to stay. Even as hard as my childhood was, loosing my mother and un ending rage to find my father, that was a more…simple time. I wish I could go back. I have outlived my friends and family and being protector of the realm is not a gift of immortality, its a curse. A curse that no mortal should have to bare, thats why I Mordis Unger Goresteel will bare this weight. The horrors and death I have seen would break any normal man. Unfortuantly I lost everything 800 years ago and that has fueled me since then. I am just a shell of steel and fist. The one thing that keeps me sane is the words of an old friend and his son, my son…
“Who is this old friend?” Asks Sithiring.
Sithiring is a young high elf. Musclular build and telling from his patches a follower of the Golden One. The holy symbol on his chest and the way he carries himself, shows that he is a paladin. To me, Sithiring reminds me a lot of you my dearest friend. I wish you could see him grow.
“Sithiring when the time is right, you will learn. For now let me regail you with the story of the champions.” With a cough and a clearing of the throught. Mug sits up from his bed. And begins telling the story of The Court of Dragons.