Choose your place, Skyborn! Awaken. Awaken and know the Temple of the One. Of all places on the planet Valk, there was but one to which no one dared lay claim. From these same ancient stones, you would stride forth and change the very course of time. Life'd gotten stale enough on Earth.

"You are he, Skyborn- Champion of Men!", said a weathered old greybeard, flanked by guards and banners. Olive Green Banners with a golden sunset, though it wasn't too clear what that meant yet. He and his compatriots were but one of many voices you could hear in these grand halls.

"Nay, a champion verily- but not of men! Of the High Elves! For whom else would the Skyborn want but the most able of Valk's spawn?!" These words were spoken light, but not quiet. An Elf. The sort that could have popped out of Tolkien. The High Elves, then... nice robes, to be sure. But what of everything else? Despite it all, this elf was certainly... pretty.

"Mummer's farces and children's games! By might so dearly purchased... the Skyborn should find kinship amongst the orcs!" Whoa. That was a big man. Or not a man, really- but an orc? He was definitely armed. But that was not to say he was... orcish, in the metaphorical sense. His armor was beautiful, and his hair neatly braided.

"Bah. The Skyborn will choose as they wish, as all before have! What use is this discourse?!" A dwarf? It had to be a dwarf. Short. Shorter than you, but strong for sure. No weakling could carry the warhammer this one did. It must have been ceremonial... but you swore there were scuffs and marks from battle on it.

"Or does the champion want yet? For that which beckons from the shadows...? Aye... that is a calling we Goblins know well." Oh, lord. The goblin is a haunting, pale figure. He and his kind wear clothing that could not have been made by unskilled hands. And a rapier, too? It certainly fit their look. Experts of craft, then?

Choose. You have to choose. Going it alone was probably not the best idea. But hey- you'd had worse ideas before, no?