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[Caridry]

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Morning had not quite given way to afternoon when Caridry pushed the door to the Jhelom library open and slipped inside. Making certain he was unseen, he strode over to a nearby table and fell into a chair with a grunt.

For a month now he had been evading lunch with the other fighters in the pits and had been seeking refuge in the library. Risking a beating, he had forgone food for the comforts of the old tomes and documents that lined the shelves around him. The grand stories of Sosaria's
heroes and their epic tales enthralled him and certainly made him forget he was nothing more than
a slave.

Caridry sighed to himself as he let that word turn over in his head. Slave. The formal title he and his fellows possessed was Pit Fighter. In reality they were mostly waifs and orphans shipped from all over the world to joust in the cities arena for the amusement of the rich. Jheloms dirty little secret.

Rubbing his bruised face, Caridry tried to push the thought from his mind. Here, within the confines of the library he was safe for the moment. Safe to let his mind wander to more fantastic thoughts.

As he sat in his chair thinking, a parchment splayed on the table before him caught his eye. Strong black markings were penned over its surface and read:

"The sleeper rests uneasily
Golden wings tucked away
Its children fight in vain
To keep the dark at bay

The second blood journies
Thought dead long ago
From a far and foreign land
To aide those below

Nightmares plague the sleeper
Who longs to see the light
Locked away by treachery
While its chosen loose the fight

The crown has been stolen
By a thief in the night
Driven by lust
With a heart bent on blight

Who will wake the sleeper?
That weilds the fire in its hand
Courage in its breast
Spread the light across a troubled land

Eight servants of Virtue
For incantation's sake
On an isle in the old world
At his temple he shall wake"

As he finished the letter Caridry felt his heart beginning to pound in his chest. What was this about, he thought?
Truly it reminded him of the old tales he had been reading and yet here it was laying simply on a library table.
Carefully he reread the words and excitment rushed through him.

Eight servants of Virtue.

Golden Wings.

The Crown.

The words gripped his heart like a vice and he could not let them go. The heroes bound within the books around him
seemed to speak to him. For so long he had yearned for a quest and a reason to flee Jhelom. Now, could it
be this parchment had given him one?

Gripping the paper in his hand, he shoved it into his breeches and made his way to the door. I am not a slave and will not continue to live as one, he thought.

"Whoever these servants of Virtue are, I will seek them."