Some lore, baby!

A few days later...

The Order of Light's meeting room in Solet City is a contender for one of the grandest rooms in the land, save for the throne rooms of great rulers affiliated with the Light. The Four Realms Council Chamber seats almost a thousand representatives.

Now, however, the hall only seats fifty. Major leaders of many factions including officers of the elven, human and dwarven royal armies and representatives of major rulers have gathered here. Despite the relatively small number of attendees, however, there is a great uproar.

"That is impossible! No Shade could possibly become the legendary Hero! The Shadelands are a vile, lawless place which no good can ever come out of!"

"Shut the fuck up! Like you aren't as vile and-"

"OI!" "What kind of barn were you raised in?!" "Damned savage, you sure you aren't one of them?!"

A loud bang silences everyone, not because of the sudden noise itself but the person who made it. The Superior Prime Archmage is the second-highest position in all the realms, other than the King of Humankind, and easily one of the most lethal people in the room.

The wizened mage gestures to the Prophet, a figure worshipped by some and reviled by others. The Temple of Prophecies allows Shades and various other skilled seers to join its ranks, decreasing the Three Great Races' dominion on it. And yet, his Temple's predictions were never wrong.

"He who shall take up the mantle hero of Legend shall be a child of the Dark. That is certain."

"Next you'll be telling us a holy man'll turn traitor and slaughter us all."

The bald and blind Prophet gives the speaker a look.

"...n-no. Impossible! He speaks heresy!"

"Enough, Hedel. We know he's telling the truth. Unfortunately, now we need to figure out which one of the millions of shades, orcs, vampires and the like is the hero returned."

"We could always bring them before the-"

"NO. Absolutely not! The buggers could defile the damn thing!" "I'd like to hear you give a better idea!" "You little- suck my wally!" He begins to pull down his uniform trousers but Paladins immediately seize him, and the room once more devolves into pointless bickering.

Up on the balcony seats, a particularly fuckable human rogue and a female Templar leave, having heard enough. And they're about to do something very, _very drastic._

The rogue sneaks into perhaps the best-guarded room in the Three Realms, the artefact chamber. Guards aplenty, protective charms, various puzzles and countless locks. She and her partner are prepared for the heist, and will risk facing grave consequences if it means saving the world...

And all of these measures have been disabled, at least the ones protecting the Guiding Light. It's supposedly a spirit of paragons long past, merging with and then leading the destined hero to victory against the forces of evil. Only one the ancients choose can wield it, and no other.

The rogue enters the artefact chamber, walking past the **** guards, and sees a message. "Glows brightly when hero is near. Handle with care. Destroy note when read. -P."

She memorises the words, brings the note with her, and leaves, aware that her actions will make or break the world at large.

Cathis the Rogue, lover and thief.

The Prophetic Seer, he who knows all fate.

Back at the council room, two men in shining plate stand above the bickering councilpeople in a raised area. The Armed Pope, Father Cen'tyr; and High Inquisitor Veiznir.

"Hmm, oh wow, I do wonder who the traitorous clergyman will be..." the senior man says to his junior.

"Oh, dear good sir, I would never! I've too much respect for you to stab you in the back, I'd much rather stab you in the face."

Cen'tyr raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. "Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer." The two men leave the council chamber, soon to discover the aftermath of the heist of the century.