Chapter 1

Therodin entered the Temple of the Chosen Blood with a sense of awe. He could feel the weight of history around him as he stared at the statues of all those ancient heroes that had first rose to fight the Dungeon Builders.

The scourges upon the world.

The brawny paladin moved in his armor of granite. It weighed more than any man should be able to bear, but he was blessed by Lord Abzu, the God of the Earth. A human, Therodin wore his armor with nobility. A grace as if he had the blood of kings or heroes flowing through his veins.

His eyes flicked to Argz, the Hero of Earth, a squat dwarf standing with both legs planted firm, the Blessed Sword of Earth thrust point down before him. It was impossible for Therodin to have Argz’s blood flowing through him, but he often thought he had his spirit.

The soul of Argz.

It took a bold man to take down the foul dungeon builders. And Therodin had a plan that would see him remembered as a villain. Castigated by history. But that didn’t matter. So long as he destroyed them all, it would be enough.

His eyes flicked from Argz’s statue to Vobreth, the Hero of Light. It was his descendant that had given Therodin the germ of his plan. Vobreth was a human standing tall, a handsome and calm man holding the Blessed Sword of Light.

“Did you know one of your blood would betray the world?” Therodin asked.

“We do not have time to gawk, Therodin,” purred Auniasiiriliiania. The elven mage came up beside the human paladin. Auniasiiriliiania stood tall in her robes of white marked with light-blue sigils. Her skin was nearly as pale as her clothing, her blonde hair falling in a braid down to her rear. Her bronze magic symbol draped over her breasts. “We have work to do.”

“You’re right, Ril,” Therodin said and ripped his gaze from the Hero of Light. There were twelve statues of the heroes, three from each of the four races of this world. His gaze fell on Kovianiliiseam’s statue. The Hero of Thunder stood tall, an elf in delicate armor with his mouth opened wide to bellow, the Blessed Sword of Thunder held at its side.

Not the real sword. That had been lost eons ago.

“Break it open,” Therodin commanded, hoping that the information was correct. That they weren’t desecrating a sacred site for nothing.

Zarn, a burly dwarf who fought with a mace in one hand and an ax in the other picked up the heavy hammer they had bought for this mission. The rest of Therodin’s adventuring party, the Company, gathered around to watch Zarn swing.

With a grunt, the brawny dwarf slammed the hammer into the base of the statue. The stone plinth it stood upon, made of marble banded with streaks of gold, cracked. Corthin, an elven priest of the Gods of Thunder, winced. His long, pointed ears twitched.