The people of Grastagg stared in awe at the sky, unable to grasp the sight of the machine whirling overhead, it was no simple air balloon, but something greater, faster, and more meticulous. Farmers abandoned their tools and hurried toward it, while children paused their games, captivated with child-like wonder. Guards dashed from the city gates, and although the enormous, whirring contraption was quite the oddity, it showed no signs of hostility. One guard pulled out a spyglass to get a better look and noticed men in emerald green robes with copper masks waving down at them, signaling their friendliness. The machine gradually continued its path until it finally settled near a clock tower within the town of Stag-Point. Originally, some found it strange that someone from Oakhold chose to form land midway between Grastagg and Westwatch, but once shops sprang up and food was supplied, the townsfolk quickly lost their concern. The residents of Oakhold affectionately referred to the owner of Stag-Point as “The Cub,” but to anyone else, he was simply “Richard D Lion”. Citizens continued to stare in bewilderment as Richard assisted the robed figures in transporting supplies into the clock tower, with one of them removing his copper mask, revealing an aged man with lime green eyes who smiled and conversed with the young Lion before donning his mask again. He bowed to Richard before boarding the vessel he had arrived in, and just as swiftly as it had come, it departed once more. Guards rushed outside, swiftly moving into the town, but some halted, dropping their weapons while others took off their helmets to get a clearer view of what they were witnessing. Shops designed in Emeraldite style emitted steam from their sides, cogs spinning in place, and the clock tower overhead clicking occasionally. Citizens of diverse races and creeds spoke with one another, working with one another to advance the town at an impressive pace. One of the Grastagg guards turned to his companion and whispered, “W-was it like this last week?” The other guard began to reply but was abruptly interrupted by a booming voice emanating from the summit of the clock tower, resonating with the power of the storms. “Citizens of Grastagg and or Westwatch!” it announced, sounding youthful and graceful. “I hope that did not cause any worry! Please be assured that what you witnessed was simply the product of innovation and progress! Those who pilot such a magnificent machine are a blessing from our father! They provide us with numerous supplies!” The voice raised in volume, filled with optimism, “And if worries still persist! Just remember! Even in his slumber, the six great eyes of Planu watches over us all! He shines upon us! And with that, I say! That the Steppes shall shine! Forevermore!” The voice faded as the gentle ticking of machinery became the only sound, before applause erupted in the town…in that moment Stag-Point had been recognized, not just as a town, but something greater.

A damaged blade scrapes across a worn landscape, a tattered cape trailing behind it, the sound of clashing armor echoes along with the scraping of the blade. "Keep...going…”, a solitary voice echoes in the silence, youthful yet rough and weary. The clinking of armor fills the air once more as a knight falls to his knees, remaining silent in utter darkness. He is unaware of his location, unfamiliar with the realm he sits upon. The air is cold and stagnant, with only his muted coughs providing him company. His gauntlets rise to press against what remains of his helm, now just merely shattered steel. He lifts it and tosses it aside, watching it roll and roll until it falls into the void beneath him. He begins to cough repeatedly and tries to stand, only to collapse again. He looks to his side and sees blood—too much blood. He wobbles his head as he hears a loud crash nearby, and there, he finally sees it, the creature that had been chasing him relentlessly since his arrival. It had no true shape, merely a dark silhouette with piercing white eyes and a pearl floating where its heart should be. Its size was enormous, growing even larger as it spread its wings across the dark sky. It spoke in a harsh tone, “Son of the Emerald betrayers!" Its voice pierced the ears of the disheveled knight, who quickly covered them as the unnatural formation beneath him shifted and turned. “I have found you once more, and I will find you forevermore. Halt and succumb to your wounds! Grant me the privilege of witnessing the life of a green thief being extinguished before me!" The knight swayed his head, his patience wearing thin. "I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let me leave this realm!” The creature’s white eyes shifted upward, and a loud droning sound began to emanate from it, followed by the blaring of a horn. It was laughing... The knight once again covered his ears as his eyes became bloodshot, the blood on his side oozing more profusely. “SILENCE! I—SHUT UP!" the knight shouted at the creature, which glared back at him. “You’re right, silence is needed...if you refuse to fall before me, then I will simply force you to do so." The creature flapped its dark wings across the sky and latched onto his shoulders, applying immense pressure, it stared at the knight while lifting him off the ground. "As you bleed! I will ensure your final thoughts are nothing but pure darkness! You will witness the endless realm that our lord was condemned to see! Your death will not be quick, and peace will never find you! Emerald thief!" The knight swayed back and forth, attempting to jam his broken blade into the creature's leg, but it passed right through. He looked over as he was slowly being pulled toward the edge of the landmass. Thinking quickly, he shot his gauntlet upward, grabbing the pearl located on the beast's chest. The creature writhed and screamed as the pearl cracked under the pressure, and the knight shouted back, "I’ve had enough of you! Return to your vile lord! Tell him you have failed, beast!" Lightning crackled softly as he crushed the pearl, screams reverberated through the realm as dark powder gently settled on the bloodied knight, who now had begun falling…He quickly turned around, grasped the nearest edge, and pulled himself up with a groan. He crawled back onto solid ground and sat motionless, staring at his bloodied and darkened gauntlets. The moment was abruptly interrupted as two eyes emerged from the shadows, followed by another pair, and then another, and yet another. He jolted up, taking his chipped blade, turning his head to every set of eyes that watched him intently, and began breathing heavily as he adjusted his posture and grip. He spoke with nothing but pure hatred, “You pathetic fools are surrounding a Lion…I hope you know this.”

A blade rises high, glistening brightly in the sunlight behind it. It lowers to touch the left shoulder of a kneeling knight. The man was accustomed to titles and oaths, but this one felt different, it felt…more sincere. "In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave," a woman's voice whispered softly as the blade rested on his shoulder. He continued to kneel before her, ready to accept this charge. He was no longer a scared child, he had the strength to be greater, to be steadfast. The blade lifted again and softly touched his right shoulder as the woman's dark blue robes lit up in the sunlight, "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." Memories of his real father flooded in, a farmer who, despite the hardships he faced, never accepted dirty coin, never turned away a hungry son, and never abandoned a broken family, he always chose to do what was right, and the man knelt before the woman was living proof of that. The blade lifted again and pressed against the left shoulder once more, “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” Again, images of his true mother appeared in his mind, a doctor-no, a healer-who took in anyone in need. She would mend them, cure them, and nurture them as they recovered. A mother who gave up her own ambitions for her son, yet she bore no resentment towards him. She took pride in him, she was his guardian, his mother. She is the reason for his existence, and the reason for him continuing to live on. The blade moved to the right shoulder again as the woman continued speaking, "In the name of the Lord, I equip you to hold these charges." He didn’t question it, his trust in her was already set, just as her trust in him was set. The blade was then set on his head, and she spoke words he did not expect, “In the name of the Father God, I give you the blessings of olde. The charges of Meraldian of Valethorne. Of Verdict.” His eyes both widened, staring at the ground in surprise. His emerald, green eye sparkled while his light blue eye darkened to match the robes of the woman in front of him. This was the final charge that was tied to him, the one that would resonate the most. A thought crossed his mind, questioning whether he could truly bear these charges, but that doubt was quickly silenced by a voice, one that was louder and more assured, "I can."

After carefully examining the note and with Ser Byron's guidance, Richard thoughtfully evaluates his choices, ultimately returning a note to the crier that states the following: "I, Ser Richard D Lion, will join the campaign with Svarog of the Abyss and the warrior monk known as Syrra." -An Emeraldite stamp is positioned slightly below the letter- Team Tsunami-Stormers: Richard D Lion & Byron: (ign: KnightMann) Svarog: (ign: The_Gentleman34) Syrra (ign: Cole_108)