Arbiter: Shadow of the Sorcerer-King

I. 1. New Blood

Sixteen of Volinikus
Year of 1255 of the Sixteenth Cycle
Ravenwatch Keep.

Sweat drips down the brow of a man whose face only shows impassive indignation. His hand pushes open a big wooden door to a quiet room in the west wing of his keep. His wife, a long, gaunt woman stares at him as he enters. The room is dimly lit, with the only light coming from a single candle on a bedside table, flickering hopelessly against the dark. The air is thick with the smell of pain-killing herbs, sweat and blood. The midwives have left, and she rocks her newborn in her arms. The room is sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a rocking chair and an accompanying small table beside it. His heavy footsteps creak the old wood. He's just finished battle - a dangerous bout. He's tired, and his arms ache dreadfully. He was nearly disembowelled in this last Das'en'uei - A challenge of landright. Once a year, but getting ever bolder. Already his house's great fortune, prestigious name, and swathes of fertile land grow thinner and thinner. But despite the gloomy room, despite the nature of his tiredness and despite the woman staring daggers into his soul, he is happy. Happier than he has ever been - for the boy his wife cradles in her arms is the strongest omen of success he has ever seen. He's as quiet as they come, not making a sound.

There's a blue Mark on his forehead. A sign that he is borne to greatness, and of the Bluefeathers. Of House Daai. Like his father, and his father's father. He puts his meaty hand down towards the boy, and the woman offers him up. They don't speak a word, but there is a kinship between them. Forty years of marriage. Forty years of scraping. It wasn't meant to happen. He had hired the greatest doctors, had imbibed in the most potent herbs of the Tressa, and had the Motari sing their spells of fertility. He had even hired hunters to capture a live Atacchnai so that they might force a child to grow inside her. None of it had worked. They had never given up, but they had been resigned. With them, two Houses would die.
Now, the dark future is bright. The man raises his hand, removing the gloom from the bedroom as he pours the remainder of his Light into a beacon of hope. The woman raises her hand in return, and the boy squirms, feeling the warmth of the sun through them. He will be a fantastic Lightblade. He will be the next Champion, as the Sorcerer-King was before him. He will avenge and rebuild. The man's face goes dark. His resolve deepens, feeding from his happiness even at the cost of it. His light goes out. He'd spent it all fighting. Once per year, indeed. They stake their claim and they fight for it. They make alliances and creep in the dark. One will stake a claim, then another, then another until he is too tired to fight. Every year another piece of land grows, whilst his House falters further.

He looks at the boy. So innocent. So weak. But it is a sign of the Gods Above that they have seen fit to grace them with a Marked child - when no child should have come. The Gods have not abandoned the Bluefeathers. The man slumps to the ground, placing his head on the bedside. His wife hasn't spoken a word to him since they were married. Even today, it remains thus. The wind blows softly outside.
"Kyallan." He says.

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27 of Motarit
Year of 1264 of the Sixteenth Cycle
Ravenwatch Keep.

'Edgehaven. Once a small town of modest riches, it became an extremely important port city — and eventual capital — under the Sorcerer-King's reign. Whilst the lands of the Human were not known for their business acumen or particular skill in trade, nor for any advanced design on the behalf of water-bound vessels, the influx of slaves brought on by the myriad Wars of Domination created a great economic surplus, the result of which would need to be transferred almost exclusively by sea due to uncertainty of land routes.'
- History of the Human, Sixteenth Cycle; p. 67.