Aeris

"There is a story behind every mask." -Ain Once, there was a soldier, a man who marched with purpose, cleaving a path of blood in his wake. He'd worn his allegiance like armor, shielding him from all the horrors he'd wrought–those that have haunted him since. His past deeds hid in the shadows, slipping free as sleep claimed him, twisting his dreams into nightmares of the dead he'd long since buried. Night after night, their silent faces came for him, leaving him hollowed and broken. Aimlessly, he roamed Tya, his hands bearing the scars of both blade and bottle as he struggled to outdrink his past. Still, some dark tether held him to this world, as if there were yet something unfinished for Aeris to face. One bleak night, drunk and seeking a dry place to waste away, Aeris found himself at the threshold of an abandoned house of worship, its pillars cracked, walls draped in dust. Suddenly, a soft rustling broke his stupor, for among the derelict mess lay a falcon with a wing fluttering at an unnatural angle. Aeris stared at it, torn. He had spent so long numb to suffering that to care for another being seemed an absurdity. Against instinct, he took the falcon in his trembling hands, binding its wing and nursing it to health over the coming days. When it finally took to the skies, he felt the loss more keenly than expected, as if it had carried away a piece of his own fractured spirit. Left alone in the quiet ruin, Aeris rebuilt the sanctuary, his hands moving with long-forgotten purpose. Others soon appeared, lost souls drawn to the shelter he created, seeking guidance he felt unworthy to give. But in his silence and his scars, they found hope, and in their trust, he unearthed fragments of himself. Aeris was no holy man, but he knew what it was to be lost, and for the first time in years, that knowledge gave him strength. Yet darkness never sleeps on Tya's shores, with corruption seeping through the land, twisted and malevolent. His sanctuary, this fragile peace he'd built, was threatened. His followers looked to him for answers, and despair gnawed at him once again. One night, he heard a familiar sound—a soft beating of wings. The falcon had returned, circling above him like a sentinel, its feathers gleaming strangely in the dim light. For three nights, it lingered, a constant presence assessing him with piercing eyes. On the third night, the falcon descended, shaking its wings and scattering fragments of shimmering gold upon the floor. A blessing. Awestruck, Aeris gathered the gold and with it forged a magnificent suit of aviary armor and a halberd that gleamed like a sun trapped in steel. As dawn broke, Aeris donned his new armor, the weight of his past battles nearly crippling. But something else had taken root: Purpose, fierce and unyielding. He would lead by example, not as a savior, but a warrior. With clear eyes he set off to join the Watchguard, prepared to confront the darkness threatening to consume them all.