Art of the Phoenix: War
The Volcai live within the tumultuous fires of the Phoenix Cycle. To them, it is the rhythm of life itself, a rotation marked by rebellion and restoration, collapse and coronation. Some farmfolk whisper that the cycle is no natural law but the work of Infernai, Aesir of Flames, turning the great wheel from a far-distant slumber. No matter the cause, one thing is certain: when the phoenix rises, war must follow.
Blessing of Bellona
Bellona rallied the faithful, for without an army ready to fight and die for Sol's promise, there would be no enlightenment. It is said, the Archangel cast a radiant blessing upon the soldiers and together archangels and mortals marched as one. To bear that light was the highest honor, for Light had battled Shadow since the age of blood and would not yield then nor now.
Blunten
Much is written of the sun-blessed daughter of blacksmiths who, during her Awakening ceremony, reached for the smith's hammer but grasped instead the sword that would become Dawnblade. Yet few know of the day Dorinthea bested all contenders on the sparring field and won with such grace that even the knights-in-training cheered her name. To all present, Dorinthea was a legend in the making.
Boo, Resident Spook
Upon the storm-wracked High Seas, you'll find no cheerier phantom than cabin boy Boo. With a Yoo, Hoo, Hoo, and a bottle of booze, he brings good scare to his undead crews. He'll swab the decks in rain or rogue waves, for nothing to Boo feels daunting. And when his captain's rum-reading to raise some heck, Boo's right by their side for the haunting.
Sense Weakness
Snow learned a new color the day Jarl Vetreiđi thawed from the ice. Returned in an age where most have forgotten the horrors of the past, indulged as they are in the glow of ale and song, Jarl simply shrugs and gets to work hunting the remnants of the Old Ones, his bloodthirsty appetite for war a warning to all, monsters and men alike. And though his last great kill lies far behind and today's enemies are fewer and smaller, Jarl remembers them as they were, like an itch that he will do anything to scratch.
