Long before the streets of Drakafell bustled with merchants and nobles, before the Pageshadow Estate became a place of luxury and pilgrimage, there came an age remembered only in frightened songs and faded carvings. The oldest dwarven records call it The Night of a Thousand Eyes, though no two accounts agree on what was truly seen.
What all stories share is one name.
Baldass.
They say Baldass was born neither king nor lord, but a wandering shield-bearer whose heart was as unyielding as the mountains of Sardoria. During the Siege of the Ruby Peaks, when every fortress expected to fall, Baldass stood alone upon the shattered walls for three days without food or rest, holding back horrors that crawled from cracks in the earth. When his strength finally failed, the heavens themselves answered.
From the crimson dawn descended Sardior, the Ruby Dragon, whose scales gleamed like polished gemstones. The Great Dragon declared that courage was the brightest jewel of all and breathed ruby fire upon Baldass’s shield. The flames did not burn—they became crystal, fusing into a shield said to shine with the light of a setting sun. From that day forward, Baldass was called The Ruby Warden, protector of Sardoria.
Centuries ago, when Drakafell was still little more than a mining settlement built against the cliffs, miners unearthed a cavern that should never have been opened.
No gold lay within.
No gemstones.
Only silence.
The silence spread like water.
Animals were born without eyes. Fishermen vanished beneath calm lakes. Children spoke in voices that belonged to no living thing. At night, the stars seemed to shift ever so slightly, and those who stared too long forgot the faces of their own families.
Then came the Hollow Tide.
No one agrees what it truly was. Some describe an ocean suspended in the sky. Others insist it was a city made of living flesh drifting between the stars. The oldest priests refuse to name it at all, believing that names grant it passage.
The horror did not march upon Drakafell.
Reality simply unraveled wherever it gazed.
Stone melted into impossible shapes. Time folded. Entire streets disappeared as though they had never existed.
It was then that Baldass answered the city’s call.
Though songs often make heroes stand alone, Baldass never did.
At his side rode Sister Elira Ashmantle, a priestess whose prayers could quiet madness itself. She carried no weapon but a silver bell, whose chime reminded lost souls of their own names.
With them traveled Torren Blackroot, a giant of a woodsman who wielded an axe carved from petrified worldwood. It was said no illusion could deceive him, for he trusted only what his calloused hands could feel.
The last companion was perhaps the strangest.
Merrick Nine-Crows, a smiling rogue and gambler, claimed to have cheated Death in a game of cards beneath a blood-red moon. Whether true or not, every tale insists he could hear whispers from things that had never lived, allowing the company to avoid countless unseen terrors.
Together, they marched toward the place where the world had begun to break.
The final battle is described differently in every culture.
The elves claim Baldass climbed an endless staircase into the heavens.
The dwarves insist he descended into caverns beneath creation itself.
Human storytellers simply say he walked beyond the edge of the world.
What is agreed upon is that Baldass did not slay the horror.
Some things cannot be killed.
Instead, Sardior’s blessing transformed Baldass’s ruby shield into a prison of living crystal. While his companions held back the impossible creatures spilling into Sardoria, Baldass struck the earth with his shield. Ruby crystal erupted across the battlefield, weaving a lattice that sealed the horror beyond reality.
The light was seen across all of Sardoria.
When it faded…
The Hollow Tide was gone.
So was Baldass.
Neither body nor shield was ever found.
Even now, parents tell children stories of Baldass to teach courage.
A winter wolf once cornered a young shepherd upon the frozen bridge north of Drakafell. Before the beast could strike, Baldass simply sat beside the terrified child and shared his supper with the wolf instead. By dawn the creature had wandered peacefully into the forest.
The lesson, elders say, is that not every monster hungers for blood—some merely hunger.
Whether this truly happened depends on who is telling the tale.
During a royal feast celebrating another victory, servants noticed Baldass continually asking that one chair remain empty.
When questioned, he answered,
“Leave room for those who paid the price for our comfort.”
No one laughed.
To this day, many taverns throughout Sardoria keep a single empty chair during festivals in honor of forgotten heroes.
One autumn evening, Merrick Nine-Crows wagered Baldass that he could steal the moon.
The next night the moon vanished behind black clouds, and Merrick triumphantly presented Baldass with an ordinary lantern.
When Baldass opened it, the clouds parted, revealing the moon once more.
Merrick had not stolen the moon.
He had merely reminded Baldass that hope is often no brighter than a lantern carried through darkness.
The two laughed until sunrise.
Scholars argue Baldass was merely an extraordinary warrior.
Clerics insist he became Sardior’s eternal champion.
Some whisper he still walks the forgotten roads beneath Sardoria, watching for cracks in the ancient prison.
There is an old saying spoken by the guards of Drakafell whenever they take up their watch:
“May my shield bear half the weight Baldass carried, and may Sardior find me worthy of the other half.”
Whether Baldass was man, myth, or something greater has long since ceased to matter.
For as long as the ruby banners of Sardoria fly over Drakafell, the people believe one truth above all others:
When darkness beyond understanding came for the world, one hero stood before it—and the world still stands because he refused to move.