"Would you like to hear a story? I can see the curiosity gleaming in your eyes. Very well then, gather around and make yourself comfortable. This is a sad tale of life that was taken too soon."

---

There was once a young Guardian. Slightly shy, but eccentric and always had a thirst for adventure. He was the apprentice of a decorated warrior, a general of high standing. What's more, he was this warrior's charge. This warrior was very protective of his charge, but that didn't bother the young Guardian. When he had a charge, he would probably be just as, if not more protective. He also under the tutelage of a very powerful witch, weaving spells of shadow and rejuvenation. He was happy, for he had a family and a place to call home.

However, this happiness was not to last.

The warrior had enemies. Powerful enemies. Whether they were from rival factions or if they were dirty criminals, it didn't matter. They all fell to his blade, and that of his apprentice's. Until that one fateful day. The general was locked in battle, unaware of the assassin slinking in the shadows behind him, deadly weapon held aloft in the air. But the young Guardian did notice. He leapt between the aggressor and his protector, his general, his friend, and took the blow himself.

In that moment, the protector was the protected. The young Guardian was struck with pain, the poisoned weapon causing his body to become weak and feeble. The world was fading, the only thing he could feel was pain. And then, he felt little droplets of something hitting his face. He looked up and saw his general, face wrought with grief tears sliding down his face. The young dragon heard whispered apologies and heartfelt pleas as his protector mourned. But the young Guardian wasn't sad. He was filled with relief that he managed to save his friend and he would gladly do it again. There he was, being cradled by his protector as he took his last breath, and the world faded to black.

---

And then, he woke up once again. He wasn't sure what happened. He knew he felt the blade sliding in between his ribs, the pain, his protector's tears. So why was he awake and seemingly alive? That question was answered soon when the Guardian passed by a lake and to his horror, saw a mass of black tendrils, smoke, and scales reflected back at him. He was a ghost, tethered to the world, and unable to pass on. He couldn't return to his protector in this form. It would only cause more distress.

And so, the spirit wandered, grabbing pieces of armor and clothing to shroud his unsightly form. He wasn't sure of how long he traveled the reaches of Sornieth. Days, weeks, months, or years. It was all the same to him now. His restless wandering was eventually ended when he came across a clan of dragons in the Glimwood Tangle, his birthplace. He was shocked to see that the clan leader was his former protector, now a Bogsneak. The other members seemed unaware of the guardian's status as a ghost and urged him to find a place to settle down and join their clan. He was finally convinced when the clan leader (who did not recognize his former charge, since he was covered in armor and tattered shrouds) himself asked him to stay. Who was the Guardian to ignore such a dear friend's request?

The Guardian didn't wish to spoil his former protector's happiness by giving him his old name, so he took on a new name that seemed fitting: Chernobog. Now the spirit spends his days with his clan, his charge, and never too far away from his former protector, Crescent.

---

"You see, not all sad stories have an equally sad ending. I am happy, I have found my charge, and I have found my old friend. I am finally at peace. And now, I will make sure no one will have a sad story like mine, or at least make their story have a happy ending."

Friends

Familiar