The Birth of a Hero

The light of the moon and stars pierced the night above the Kingdom of Ventrius in Realms of Men, and the sound of crickets filled the air in the village of Yellowshire.

Inside one of the stone houses, an old man lays surrounded by the candles, with a group of knights standing around his bed. The old man was a priest in a church of Xorael, the god of light and order,

The most respected deity in the kingdom, often referred to as the King of Gods.

The man's face was wrinkled, and his beard was long and white, like the eyebrows above his golden eyes. The priest talked heavily through the cough as he was obviously nearing the end of his life:

„Before I answer the Lord's call, I need to bestow this knowledge upon you, my noble knights; for I am close to the realm of souls, just about to pass through it's veil, and through it, I can hear the Lord's whispers reaching out to me.

They speak of a great hero; he will bring hope to our people through the dark times that will surely come.“

„A great hero? Is he among us?" One of the knights asked the dying priest.

„He is yet to come to this world; the whispers repeat; they speak the name, Nogryl, the name of a morning star.“

There were many stars in the night skies above Elemorion, the world of mortals. However, two of them often stood out from the rest:

Nogryl, the morning star, representing light, hope, and kindness as a sign of a coming day, and Evandryl, the midnight star that appeared only in the darkest of nights,

for its light was dim, the crown jewel of Melanthe, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge that was cast down into the earth for defying the will of the gods.

„So ride, ride to the village of Lindenrow, half a day's ride west from here, and find a woman that is about to give birth to a child; the name of a child shall be Nogryl.“

The priest said with a heavy voice before he closed his eyes and exhaled as the candles went out. The knights unsheated their swords and kneeled around the bed as a dim white glow slowly left the priest's body. The group of knights alerted the clergy about the priest's death and

mounted their horses. They galloped through the night down the old road, across the bridge, and far away, riding west to the village of Lindenrow.

The journey was long, but the knights moved quickly, fighting the urge to sleep.

„Ember root will help you to stay awake!“ yelled Sir Victor, the knight who led the group, as he tossed to his fellow knights the dried brown root with a slightly reddish tint.

The knights chewed on the spicy remedy as the horses galloped through the night, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

„Nonesense! I will not participate in this witchery!“ Said Sir Wilfred, the oldest of knights, with a grudgy expression on his face.

„Your choice,“ replied Victor. The group rode for hours through the night, and their sturdy horses grew tired but still carried on. As the break of dawn shined through the green forest around them,

they saw a wooden sign that indicated that they were close to Lindenrow. After what appeared to be an hour of riding through the forest road, they reached the village. It was muddy, and the houses were much smaller than what they saw in Yellowshire, a larger and more prosperous town in the kingdom's heartland where they were from. The walls surrounding the village of Lindenrow were made of logs, and the people were dressed in less prosperous-looking clothes, and they appeared to be of a lower class.

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„Are you sure this is the right village?" Wilfred mumbled to his chin, with his face tired and sleepy, but the group simply continued.

„Is there a woman that is about to give birth in this village?“ Sir Daymon loudly proclaimed from the back of his horse in the middle of a muddy crossroad, the second youngest of the knights, a tall man in his mid-twenties, a wide frame, clad in plate armor with a large warhammer on his back.

The villagers stopped whatever they were doing, and they looked at him.

„I saw a lady that is with a child; she lives in the village center, in a large stone house next to the church!“ Replied a young peasant man in a leather vest as he shielded his squinting eyes from the sun with his hand.

The group rode towards the village center, and the houses seemed to look more prosperous, for it was a place where the lesser nobles lived. They approached the house next to a church and knocked on the door. A man opened it, and the knights walked inside without a single word, crowding the entire room.

„Who are you? What are you looking for?“ asked the man.

„We are the Knights of Yellowshire; we are sent by the priest. I am Sir Victor, the leader of this order. This beside me is Sir Daymon, the strongest of the knights. The man on his left is Sir Melvin, renowed for his cunning. on the right, Sir Wilfred, the most experienced of us.

And the young man beside him, Sir Collin. An excelling church acolyte that decided to learn the way of the sword.“

„Knights of Yellowshire, you...“ The man tried to reply, but Sir Victor started speaking again:

„On his deathbed, the priest told us that the child will be born in this village today, and that Xorael himself demands that the name of the child shall be named Nogryl."

"A boy! What else did he say? Will my son be okay?“ the man asked.

„Young Nogryl will grow up to be a great hero, and in the darkest times, he will bring the light of hope and salvation to mankind.“

Just after he finished the speech, the weep of a woman could be heard from another room, and the man rushed inside. Unlike other houses, the house where Nogryl was about to be born was large and outstanding. It's walls were made of stone, and it resembled a small castle. His family was clearly a nobility. Nogryl's father walked out of the room with a child in his arms as a servant woman took care of his wife. He lifted the boy in the air and said,

„Witness him, Xorael, the king of gods! This is my firstborn son, and his name shall be Nogryl, just as you desired!“

The man proclaimed boldly, and a flash of light lit the room. Suddenly all five of the knights dropped to their knees and bowed before the miracle that they just witnessed.

The word of a hero was told across the kingdom; everyone spoke of the child named Nogryl after the morning star by Xorael himself. The words could be heard on every street, in every tavern, and in every home. They spoke the tales of a savior that will bring hope in the days to come.