In Vaustrava, an Elvish city of smokey skies and molten streams, Falis lived a lie. He was the luckiest orphan alive. Although his unfit mother had abandoned him on the steps of an Elvish chapel, High Priest Scrotivus Andrigale had graciously taken him under his wing. Falis trained as a cleric. He safeguarded the Torch of Calamity: a relic of unspeakable power, left behind by the elves’ extinct ancestors. For Falis, there was no note. There was no trace. He served without a family name, until Scrotivus’s tongue was loosed, because the chapel shook.