The tragic tale of an unknown pacifist knight from the Bridgeland of Rowne, whose gauntlets, imbued with the power to break swords and shields, became an ironic rallying war-cry for his own countrymen as they battled the horde of the Sunthari. Unknown to his countrymen, the Sword-Breaker had a terrible and hidden past, despite harboring a hopeful wish for a peaceful future.

RYWEN's CROWN, Rowne (17 Aeyr, Tae 2033), The Bridgelands of Iorensia

On his tenth birthday, Kyp, a Rownean farm-boy with freckles, ginger-colored hair and a smile too big for his face, made a wish.

Word had filtered through that a new hero, dubbed the Sword-Breaker, had lifted the siege of Djinna in the desert land of Sunthar, using nothing more than his gauntlets and magic. The story was he single-handedly clambered up the city walls and broke a thousand Sunthari spears, before forcing the warlord into surrendering, sparing the lives of Rownean prisoners he had held hostage. When Bridgelanders in Rowne heard of what he did, many rejoiced, giving praise to the Paladin Gods, believing a new Rownean champion was born.

When he heard the Sword-Breaker would be riding through his village on his way home, Kyp knew he was about to meet his hero.

ULSETH, Nethulsis (Silence Day, 31 Sellestine, Tae 4053), The Ice Kingdoms of Serpentriss 

They huddled around their tables, watching in silence as the ale in their wooden mugs grew stale and bitter. There were a dozen of them - burly men and skinny boys, one woman, a Nolrim dwarf, an Akwipi (a Hawk-man or Primoerial-Hawk as some might call 'em in the southern lands) and an elf from one of those forgettable pirate islands in Morassin. They were seated in batches of twos and threes, some drinking their ales, others rolling bone-shaven dice, listening to the howl and hiss of the blizzard outside the inn.

QUEYUEDA, Queyan (34 Aeyr, Tae 3500), The Realms of Fawyrn

Narrow stone steps spiraled around the walls of a deep funnel. Robed men carrying spell books stumbled in panic as BOOM! -- an explosion outside rattled sand and dust onto them and into the abyss down below.

Two of the men, Tyracuse, a forty-year-old heavyset man with a black beard, and Septimus, his seventeen-year-old freckle-nosed son, moved past the rest as they hurried up towards a ledge at the highest level. Sunlight streamed through the archway and the noise of chaos was the loudest there. Tyracuse and Septimus were panting and supporting each other as they clambered up, their voluminous spell books clutched tightly under their arms.

Just as they reached the ledge, another BOOM! rattled the walls of the funnel, sending Septimus' left foot slipping over the edge of the stairs. Luckily, Tyracuse had foreseen it and grabbed his son's robes just in time to pull him back.

"Be careful Septimus!" Tyracuse warned, just as Septimus clung to his father's arm for safety.

"They have finally come father," Septimus said.