A young boy's face appeared--astray, confused, unsteady on his feet--by a great stone surrounded by mighty ageless trees. He was lost and unsure, but had a deep willingness to learn the ways of the land. He sought to discover the realm's lay, and to seek out knowledge where it could be found. His name was Angel.

This Angel came to understand the difference in people, being able to quickly recognize their personalities. Some were willing to help, and spent long hours telling him of many things beside a roaring fire. Others were mysterious and hostile, giving unwilling answers. Angel eventually began to search for a guild, looking into a few of the many that ranged the land. Learning of each, he found that none was his path, and chose to remain guildless for a time.

He wandered across the lands, seeking knowledge as always, not knowing where to go with his life. He roamed the land, from the City of Maine to the North; to the Southern City Nineveh, forbidden to those without citizenship or allegiance to the Lord of Darkness. Many battles were fought--ones with reason, and ones without. Angel remained peaceful, seeking to grasp the meaning of such happenings--of the feuds between Light and Darkness, and between guilds, and the personal grudges over improper behaviour.

The repeated bloodshed all around, the harsh words uttered, all new upon Angel's young soul, were burned into his heart. Each battle led to endless cycles of death and pain, only broken with the intervention of mighty powers, or the eternal death of an opponent. He knew he could not involve himself in such pointless fighting.

He came to learn of a new guild, one that was few in number. This guild, the Troubadours--dedicated to the arts, came to give him direction and a home. He took the title of "Scribe" and sought to record much of the battles in Cardea. Wandering the lands one day he came upon the last deer, a remnant of long ago times when deer ranged the land freely. Inspired by the innocence and helplessness of this deer, he sat down, pulled out his quill, and began to write. This set a new path for him, and his life shifted accordingly.

He wrote, and he wrote, of the gentle Spring rain, of the fiery Volcano. He composed many a sonnet to a fair Lady for a young man seeking to win her fickle love. He too scribbled of great battles, of epic deaths, and grand victories whilst crouching on a peak overlooking a battlefield. Ink flowed to form words of Death, of threats, of reconciliation, and of friendship. His life was guided by his quill, his soul filled with the inspiration of a bard.

Angel wanders the lands, seeking new adventures and knowledge, trying to live life to its fullest extent, while devoting himself to his guild. Perhaps, in time, he will come to know a city and an order, but for now, Angel is content with his quill.

(Written by Angel's player)

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