Young Sven clearly had a knack for magic, and he was taught the runes by a
godi in his home village, back in the Northern Sword Coast. Although a good student, he had his own ideas on how to use them, and began experimenting with engraving them on personal items.
This practice was seen as a sign of strong personality, and the gossips were that he was going to be a prominent godi when time was due, one that could be remembered by the future generations.
One day, however, something weird happened when he was on a hunting expedition. He and some other men were to stay outdoors for a pair of days, deep in the forests, gathering food, herbs, timber and some other things to be taken back to their village. The first night, during Sven's shift, a strange and thick mist invaded the camp.
Sven kicked his nearer companion, certain that something wasn't right. He took a piece of timber from the campfire and stood up, looking everywhere. In a matter of seconds, he could barely see his own hands in front of him. He shouted, asking where everyone was, but the only response was the distant howling of a pack of wolves.
Knowing the danger of wandering blindly through the forest, Sven stuck his back to a tree and stood alert with the improvised torch in one hand and his weapon in the other. Hours passed by, with only the occasional howling allowing him to keep a sense of time, until sleep finally won the struggle and all faded from completely gray to completely black.
And our story begins with our hero finally opening his eyes, liberated from the embrace of Diirinka...
