A young elf-warrior fighting in the borderlands.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Three deadly-sharp crossbow bolts slam into the dilapidated wall behind you - fired at incredible speed from a trap concealed behind a painting.

You curse under your breath, lying flat on the floor; a few seconds earlier, you had carelessly stepped on a barely visible pressure plate that triggered the mechanism.

Fortunately, your combat reflexes allowed you to hit the floor just in time, narrowly avoiding a sudden, foolish death.

Lying on your back, you listen and look around. On the second floor of this decrepit, leaning, half-ruined tower, everything appears even filthier and more abandoned.

Most of the furniture has been reduced to a pile of splintered debris.

The paintings on the walls are so heavily covered in mold that their original subjects are all but impossible to discern.

Scattered across the floor lie the skeletons of "visitors" less fortunate than yourself…

These poor souls likely attempted to explore this tower a couple of centuries ago…

And they were clearly less agile than you…

The sound of dripping water…

The squeak of a mouse somewhere down the corridor…

No immediate signs of danger.

You slowly rise to your feet, brush the dirt from your leather armor, and draw your weapons once more.

A scimitar and a dagger.

They had come in handy just a short while ago.

With a satisfied smirk, you recall how, while stealthily approaching this ancient, crumbling tower, you spotted a pair of orc nomads - stragglers who had fallen behind the main warband as it moved eastward, deeper into the Hills of Sorrow. These two orcs were far more massive and muscular than you…

But that did them no good when you launched a surprise ambush.

Their clumsy swings with two heavy clubs only amused you.

Your own movements were far faster, more agile, and more skillful: slicing through the tendons in their legs, thrusting your dagger into their armpits, and delivering swift, slashing blows with your scimitar that tore open their abdomens and spilled out their bloody entrails.

Why, then, did you not use your bow and arrows to dispatch those vile creatures from a safer distance?

Ah, it seems that in this instance, you were gripped by the thrill of combat - and a desire to put your own skills to the test…

"That… that was awesome! Master of Weapon would be proud of me…" - you think, stepping cautiously further down the corridor, at the end of which a staircase leading to the third floor of the tower comes into view.

And why, exactly, have you ended up here?

Ahem… To be perfectly honest, you have to admit that you’ve acted rather impulsively…

As a young elven warrior serving in a border patrol (tasked with securing the eastern frontier of the Great Domain of Loten-Rael) you decided to take the initiative and prove to your commander that you are capable of more than just patrolling the border.

Under the cover of night, you slipped away from the camp where the rest of your patrol unit remained.

You headed east, crossing the boundary that separates the civilized elven lands from the filthy, barbaric wilderness.

Not far off, nestled in the hills, stood an old, dilapidated tower…

For the entire month you’d spent on patrol, you had seen this tower every single day…

The thought of a heroic feat immediately took root in your mind: "What if I were to infiltrate that place all on my own and eliminate every threat inside?" “And then I’ll report to the commander that this tower has become a completely safe place, suitable for establishing a new border outpost! Elven territory will expand, all thanks to me! I’ll be rewarded! And who knows—perhaps I’ll even find something useful or valuable inside this tower…”

Someone more experienced might consider your thoughts naive and rash…

But then again, you yourself lack much experience.

You are only about 45 years old - by elven standards, you are still a very young man.

Keriel Vil-Daerel.

Your name is not exactly a household one among most elves…

You hail from a family of little renown, possessing no great wealth…

A young fellow, you are driven to prove your right to "a place in the sun" - and the validity of your own ambitions - through martial prowess…

And so, a few hours ago, you set your plan in motion.

In the dead of night, you slipped away from the elven patrol camp.

You moved stealthily, keeping to the cover of bushes and trees - though, regrettably, such cover is far scarcer here than in the western reaches of the Great Domain of Loten-Rael.

Then came a brief skirmish with two dim-witted orcs, who had been roasting something over a fire at the base of a tower.

You found no spoils to claim from those two foul-smelling corpses…

The ground floor of the tower was in a state of utter ruin - it seems anything of value had been stripped away over the centuries, leaving only debris, filth, and orcish excrement.

On the second floor, you have yet to find anything of interest.

Save for a trap that very nearly cost you your life…

As you take a few more steps down the corridor toward the stairs leading to the third floor, you catch a faint, subtle glint coming from one of the side chambers - a room now choked with stone rubble from the collapsed walls and ceiling.

Could there be something useful buried beneath that pile of refuse?

Should you turn aside to investigate the room?

Or will you choose to ignore it and continue onward to the third floor?