Lords of the Trident - Legend

The Guardians - an ancient order of warrior arbitrators who exist outside of the strata of society.
Disconnected from any lineage or hierarchy, their unique position allows for incontestable
judgment - and punishment - to be doled out to anyone regardless of wealth, status, privilege, or
class. They hold sacred no gods, no men, but simply balance itself: an equilibrium of both good
and evil. This highly honored position attracts countless volunteers, very few of which survive
the ordeals of training in the Guardians' mountainous stronghold. Occasionally, the Guardians
will purchase children of the poor and destitute as servants. Even fewer of these children
survive.
This is where our story begins…

“Heed the words of your master.”
No sign of regret as they sold him away
For a pittance of silver
The tears of the child evolve to hate
Their name, their face
Condemned to an arduous fate
The guardians bend and break
In the halls of the stronghold
Bodies are tested; minds take shape
The boy will learn, and grow
Will you light a fire
When the world is bitter and cold?
Will you build the pyre
Out of that which you carry around in your soul?
Can you feed the flames
With the kindling of memories old?
Will they speak your name?
Over and over and over the story is told
Surviving the winter
No easy task for a boy of his age
In the halls of the chosen
Heartache, the one thing that they can't cage
He slips away
But is caught at the end of the day
His future they now debate:
“We'll harness the fire
Acolyte training will be his fate.”
Before it's too late
A child, left alone,
Robbed of the warmth of his home,
Will build, build a fire
Out of anything,
anywhere that he may roam
A child, with no home,
Through trials and training unknown,
Will grow, and desire
And build the heart of his pyre
Sit with me now,
watch as the story unfolds