The moon was glistening a bright silver, spraying a ray of white light upon the dirty, trodden ground. It was then replaced by a large, measly foot which gave off the sound of clanging metal as it hit the floor. His round blue eyes sparkled giving off the essence of holy enlightment and his entire body cast a consecrated, luminous aura. In his left hand, he a held a scared cross and in the right, a blood-stained, fierce sword.

Alongside him, was a woman embracing a collosalus staff with the marks of many ancient runes on it. Her long red hair blew in the freezing wind, and with its icy hands managed to creep upon her face. A face crafted with such perfection, the creation of the Gods.

On the other side however, was what looked to be an old man. Muttering incantations under his breath, concentrating... and also watching his fellow companions closely. He wore robes of a beautiful gold and white cloth, soft to the touch. He had muffled grey, short hair and surprisingly looked quite young, however he did seem very drained. Following him, walked a wonderful, flaming creature giving off a blast of hot, fiery ash as its paws touched the ground.

They were the saviours of the lands of Karta and they were here to claim the Three Thrones.

Although these mighty heroes may have seemed to act perfectly harmlessly between each other, they knew that they couldn't be together forever once they have chosen their path. They were one day to fight as enemies, and this day was coming close.

The soldier was determined to claim the Throne of the Mortals, the woman was thriving for the Throne of Hell, and the older-looking man was to obtain the Throne of Heaven. However, it is your choice who you choose to follow, choose wisely.  

 

The cracking of thunder could be heard in the distance and one or two bolts of fierce lightning could be seen, however so could numerous bright lights in the distance. He abruptly came to a halt as a sudden cry could be heard. It was not the cry of a terrified woman, nor the plea of any other victim. No infact, it was a booming cackle that echoed across the shaken ground. It lasted for abut five seconds whilst Tristen stood there trying to restrain his prejudisitc thoughts, he then silently creeped closer.

The rain had stopped and it was the beginning of dawn now, and the vision of a bright orange light emitted across the blood-soaked ground and then blinded the wandering hero. Infront of him was an old stone bridge with statues of grotesque gargoyles on each corner, they sat there staring into the distance. To the side of the bridge was a wooden sign which looked to be blood splattered across it, the sides weathered down which made it look old, battered and obviously needed an replacement. Upon it stated..

"Welcome to Bichon"

Bichon, it rung a few bells and then it came to him. Many years ago when he was younger, his father used to take im every year to Bichon, to watch the most famous Gladitorial Tournement. The town looked just as fantastic as it looked back then and hadn't changed much as it lay before him in full display, it was eight years since Tristen last been here. His last day still bared in his mind, haunting him, making him remember it as clearly as if it had just been yesterday.

His father was a great warrior, reigning champion for five years in a row in the tournement, and Tristen looked upto him so much.

However he witnessed how his father died, right in front of him. He was assaulted by five men after winning the tournement for another year running, people were cheering and he was lifting his mighty sword in victory. People became jealous and so they killed him, infront of thousands of people and his son.

Tristen had wanted his revenge ever since that moment, but he had not yet achieved it, althought it was time. He eventually built up his courage and then entered the mighty town of Bichion, his past...