You were summoned as the Tarnished, unknowingly wandering the plains, searching for a reason for existence besides continually fighting the hordes of monsters and creatures. You had been left wounded, a plague spread throughout your body, the consequence for defeating Rykard, the Lord of Blasphemy.

You crawled helplessly through the marshes, as the sickness consumed your being, your body weak and your eyes blurred. As the light began to disappear, you spotted it. A figure riding on a spectral steed. They approached cautiously and the person kneeled beside you.

"You are alright. I will take care of you." The feminine soft voice whispered through your ear, and strangely, your condition improved.