– Let me sing a song to you, great men;
a song of old.
Beseech me not traverse the well-worn road
of legends told of heroes strong at heart,
but more obscure.

Entrench'd in mind, each bard, his duty, knows
of honoring the brave
with accolades and fame beyond the grave.
Leave not a man behind, forgot; for fame,
eternal life ensures.

So in this frame of mind I do implore
you, raise your goblets to the sky
and laude the one whose fame must never die.
Unending praise to him, Orelleos,
in this, his unsung overture.


His names are also Wraithsbane, Hands-of-Gold,
Lord Hammerfall.
Then also Frozensteel, and Thunder's Call;
and Eldritch, fire's ancient, sacred name -
his own to speak.

A gift beyond the mortal realm, they gave,
those gods who touched his skin:
the gold that marked him trueborn Dragonkin.
Within the womb, his hands, when touched by hosts,
were radiant and sleek.

So then therefore with head and chin held high
the very day he came of age,
departed home to meet the Elder Sage,
who taught the youngest of the Kin to make
great strength from that which they thought weak.


He learned from books and ancient tomes; and all
the arts of war
became ingrained: the bow, the lance, the sword,
high strategy, plus poem and song, and most
of all, Arcaine.

The ancient lore and knowledge stored within
the syntax of man's speech -
from culture, drawn; the conscious-spawned may reach
itself out to the minds of Kin. Some break,
but those that don't must train.

Orelleos was one of these, a mage,
a son of elemental Sun.
From four, they all transcended into one -
called Luna by the night, and Sol by day -
make fire and earth and wind and rain.


Each man, by stars, aligns with one or more,
but two is rare
and three, less than a score. Completely bare
was four, until he came with mind awake
to weave great spells.

The rules of One-from-Four the Sage did teach,
but some did not abide.
Against the ancient law did they decide
to practice reeking arts of death by way
of vile Latharasel.

Latharasel, the Demon King, who none
alive could ever hope to bind,
released to manifest his schemes designed
to end the world, came from a rift that sprung
from everlasting hell of hells.


His minions rose from graveyards everywhere;
the dead did walk.
His servants then removed the magic lock
that bound him from the earthly realm. The day
was lost to gloom.

His vengeant arm spread ever far and wide.
The center of his wrath,
the Kin became. His scythe came down in bath
of blood. The Elder Sage's head was hung.
The Kin succumbed to doom.

When planets then with stars became aligned,
a portal spat more demons out,
but good and evil balanced pow'r and clout.
Though undead armies multiplied, the light's
great champion came into bloom.


A vision told Orelleos to walk
alone; to leave
the mages to their fate, but not to grieve;
to ally with the Dwarves whose hammers rung
within the earth.

The Dwarven King, called Gothrogar by name,
the Lord of Stuurvaskast,
conceived to put the human to a task:
survive for seven days and seven nights,
the stone-shelled golem, Kirth.

"You will not fight," the old king said, "without
a weapon's pow'r." He brought him to
the smith, who made a hammer strong and true.
Then said the King to him, "Most excellent.
You now must prove to us your worth."