Generation 5 Heroes

"You already know what I'm going to decide, don't you?" "I wouldn't be much of an Elder if I didn't..." There was a moment of silence as Young and Old regarded each other. "But if you already know, why give me a choice?" "You're not here to make the choice. You've already made it. You're here to understand why you made it." The Elder smiled, eyes gleaming. The young man muttered to himself, sheepishly, as if suddenly exposed. "So... may I pick the red one? I think it suits me."

He felt his consciousness drift up from his body like a feather caught in the wind. The mortal wound in his side faded into the distance, as did the sense of pain and all the other emotions he had been feeling up until then—rage, sadness, joy—everything faded into a dull fog. One of the last things he wondered was what would happen to his family and his wife after he was gone... There he was in a vast and emotionless sea when two hands suddenly yanked him back to gravity. There was a strong, spicy sensation... what was it? Liquid being poured down his mouth! He began to feel legs. Arms. Sensation. A sense of control. His hearing returned shortly after. He was surprised by how clearly he could hear a man yelling, "Hurry, Long Fei, come quick! He's alive! He really is alive!"

A peculiarly dressed outlander arrived at the bustling marketplace. His long, black hair was tied up, and he wore a neat training outfit, complete with a bronze beast-shaped belt and a crimson gourd hanging at his waist. His steps appeared unsteady, yet each was a subtle maneuver to dodge the vendors' flying sweat and greasy hands. The man curiously observed everything around him, strolling and pausing along the way. Eventually, he walked out of the city with the same swaying gait. "So, you've been trailing me all this time. Quite the patient one, aren't you?" he remarked all of a sudden. "You don't belong here, anyou aren't one of the rebels either. Who are you?" A gray-haired man carrying double swords on his back stepped out of the shadows and replied. "My name's Long Fei. My master and I left the mountains to gain some worldly experience, but we got separated. This town's far better than the last few places I've been. Maybe I should stay here and wait for my master to find his way here." With that, Long Fei took the gourd from his waist and twisted the cap, only to find it wouldn't open. He muttered, "Guess it's still not time yet..." "Thinking of staying? You need to prove yourself first." A fierce clash erupts between the double swords and the gourd.

"Young man, are you saying your father is here too?" "It's my master." "A red-nosed old man who walks all wobbly... Ah! Your master must be Marlin!" "Marlin? I don't know him. And let me correct you—the so-called "wobbly" steps are actually a basic footwork technique of our sect, called "Above And Beyond." "Alright, alright. I didn't understand a word you just said. So, if I manage to find your master, will you let me have a sip of that fine wine in your gourd?" After hesitating for a moment, Long Fei finally replied to the stonemason, "This gourd is a treasure. My master said it can only be opened when the time is right."

"Here lies one born in war." Baptized by thunder Bathed in blood and broken bones; Here lies one born of glory. Songbringer in the storm. Upon which enemies tremble and gnash their teeth; For whom the Golden Gates stand open. Until stars fall and sea overcomes land." ——Eternal Warrior, Thrud the Wolf-Kissed

What can one say about Thrud and Helga that hasn't already been said? Of their different temperaments it is known. Of Thrud's rashness and impulsiveness, love of wine and addiction to battle it is legendary. Well told are the stories around the Northland inns of Thrud the Great. It is well-known that her weapons of choice are twin axes, which she can throw at a moment's notice. Her choice of adornment is also noteworthy—a beautiful white direwolf coat, said to be a former companion who died at her side, spoken by some as a lost descendant of the great Fenrir who comes to her aid in battle. Well known is the honorific given to Thrud, the "Wolf-Kissed". For she has "kissed" wolves and death many times.

Thrud is a warrior of warriors but even she has served under greater legends, like the once great chief of chiefs Ivar Ironfist. A long time ago, before Ivar's sun had set and hair turned gray, Thrud was no more than a common soldier under his watch. Those were great days of pillaging! Plundering! Many towns were razed. Many gasps were uttered at the sight of the infamous longship of dread that brought screams and bitter nights. It was inevitable that deadly ambition would creep in to the purity of their swords as the plunder of the clan grew. One wrong move and any chieftain can lose everything. A new breed of warriors ascended the stage and cast out the old chiefs. The fate of a retired Viking Lord is sad indeed. Death in battle is far preferred to becoming a laughing stock of the able-bodied. Unworthy to be slain in battle, old Vikings frequently become nomads, shaking their fists at daily disrespect. "I'll give you an honorable death! Rise, Ivar Ironfist!" Thrud spoke in a low voice, "Come fight your finest duel with me! Should the gates of Valhalla be opened to one such as Ivar who had not the pleasure of dying on the battlefield? The old man's dry eyes could have wept for joy at the thought he would finally be released into Valhalla's glory. Red was the sword that delivered him from the earth. And joyous was the heart of the man who died.

"Upon the shore of the Western Sea stood row upon row of iron shields. Waves of our warriors were beatenack, spears splintered, legs and arms heavy with wounds. Our men looked at each other in fear and trembling, and then... then Thrud appeared." She had no speech to give, but lifting twin axes in twin hands, charged into the fray. Can you imagine? One woman against that wall? The laughter of the enemy soon turned to screams. The battle lines began to shake! Blue light flashed here and there... What was it now?! A great white wolf! Fenrir had heard the cry of Thrud and come to her aid!" "The enemy ranks broke! They fled! And everyone knew, crystal clear, who in that moment had delivered them, who had saved the Viking army from ruin!" Another colorful story of great deeds in battle told beautifully by Jaeger to the assembled. They looked to Helga occasionally to see in her eyes whether it was true. She had been there. But she only smiled from the door, content to keep her counsel secret.

The only child of the fabulously wealthy Ostervilts, young Vivian wanted for nothing—no jewelry was too expensive, no toy out of reach—except for her absent parents' love. This flaw in her childhood, her overwhelming sense of loneliness, was compensated by endless attendants and gifts. Young Vivian quickly rebelled against her parents' strict schooling regimen. Instead of studying numbers, she wanted to study the chaos of life, out in the streets, marketplaces, and alleys. That was where the stories roamed. That was where the adventurers traveled, eager to share tales of the wonderful world outside the walls of Vivian's gated estate.

The name of the Ostervilt family carried great weight on the tiled streets of Craftstone. It was probably more than a rumor the family collectively controlled more than half the town's assets, public and private. The word "fortune" was synonymous with the Ostervilt family; literally by their riches and figuratively in the common saying, "If only I was born an Ostervilt!" Skilled financiers to the tenth generation, money from all quarters of the world seemed to flow inexorably into their hands. With their Midas touch, Ostervilt financiers could transform the common works of any painter or sculptor into hot-selling products. Somehow they had a knack even for finding treasures buried at the repossessed properties of their various creditors. Money talks. And in Stonecraft, they say money flows down to the politicians and up to the Ostervilts.

Vivian's childhood was defined by a friendship with a tall and lanky young man with distinctive golden hair and a flair for adventure—which is how they met, searching for stories at the bazaar. Vivian was drawn to his confidence. He would go on endlessly boasting about how one day he would accomplish something great for his family. With a, Vivian would reply sometimes that she had set her sights far more modestly on "only becoming a famous bounty hunter." Since adventure could not truly be found outside their gated upbringing, the adventurous pair had to find it in the underground black market, the bustling tavern, the scary encounter by unguarded cemeteries at night there in Stonecraft. It was good practice for a future life of heroism—aiding the weak, opposing the unjust in public. And through it all their friendship deepened. This important chapter in Vivian's life came to a jarring close when Vivian's young friend mysteriously disappeared. She searched high and low for any sign of him. Before returning home that day she noted the dark outline of smoke rising up over the town. One of the major estates was on fire! A crowd had gathered and when Vivian asked what was wrong, they said the house belonged to one of the members of the City Council. Yet no one went to help. Disgusted, Vivian turned to leave. She didn't realize the previous day's outing with her friend was the last she would see of him for many years.

Soon enough Vivian came of age as her parents feared. She threw off their shackles and embarked on her own brave adventure out into the wilderness of life. She was no longer a young and defenseless woman. She knew how to handle herself. Her only regret leaving Stonecraft was that the most important person for most of her adult life had vanished and she still had no idea why. Fate brought Vivian and her childhood friend together once more in the streets of Stonecraft during one of her infrequent visits to the family estate. She caught sight of the dashing young wanderer from across the street and, overjoyed, flashed him a bright smile. He gazed at her solemnly and said nothing. ."I can't believe you never sent word! Couldn't you have told me what happened? You know how long I've waited for this moment? How much I missed you when you disappeared out of my life?" "I was all dolled up, ready to teach those gangsters a lesson! What happened to our plan? You never showed up!" Years later Vivian remembered their unfulfilled escapade as clear as day. "You're not going to say anything? Hello?" "You remember my surname is Lafayette, don't you? You don't remember... please tell me you have some idea of what happened to my family after my father was exiled from the Council." Vivian had never connected those particular dots before. Had her childhood friend actually told her he was a Lafayette? The only time she heard that surname was in hushed tones around the dinner table. "The Lafayettes are troublemakers! The ones stopping the Council from doing what must be done!" "I'm sorry for what my father did... if he did anything to you... But that's not me." "You know I don't like you talking to beautiful ladiesThe sound of laughter came from nearby. Who was she? "I know you had nothing to do with what happened. But it was a big deal to me, and... I think it's best if we don't speak again. Goodbye." Vivian still wonders if that will be their final goodbye.