It is a dark age. Slow the religions crawl and broken are all the covenants of kings. Hell gapes, and murderous ethers enwrap the bloodied air, as darkness chokes all eternal space midst watch-fires and walls. This is an age of wolves. An age of sharpened brands and demons' eyes. An age of sleeping saints.

Forgive me. My words are rushlights to the burnt beacons of my muses. I write histories, not balladries, and my glories are only borrowed feats, not my words--I am nothing.

Yet the unwritten, and nature's blind book of eternity, a little I can read.

And so.

You were...

>Born to an obscure parentage and sold to a spider-witch, who raised you far from the common creed, and envenomed you with all the tortures of her lonely art. [THE HERMIT, you have knowledge of alchemy, witchcraft, magic, medicine, demonology, and divination, and your body has been alchemically altered into something more than human, at the expense of your humanity]
>Born as the scion of a great house until your jealous brother, of mongrel blood, stole you to a secret gallows when you were young and hung you for the ravens' brood. And yet, you lived. A poor and ugly maid found you on her way, and revived you, and raised you with all her meager might. [THE HANGED MAN, you have cheated death and can see into his dread domain: ghosts, wights, shades, and demons are not hidden from your sight, but neither are you hidden from theirs]
>Born bastard to a landless knight, who took you as squire for his brutal war against the godless and the ancient fallen star. [THE HIEROPHANT, you have been taught the ways of chivalry and the manners by which it is defended. You are beloved by the angels for your oaths (when you keep them) yet are consumed equally by earthly ambitions your father does not love]