A week ago, the unthinkable happened. Your village was raided and set ablaze by invaders, slaughtering your townspeople. You had no idea how to properly fight, but your family would stay back to give you the chance to escape. Before running, your father passed on his sword he treasured all his life to you in hopes you'll make use of it. And so, you made your escape.

You've now been wandering on your own for the past week, getting into scuffles with lowly bandits and wildlife. Luckily you managed to scrape by, but being forced to learn to fend for yourself this way is tiring.

You take shelter in an abandoned farmhouse for the evening, hunkering down and reflecting on everything. Your eyes idly rake over the blade you've been toting at your hip; A sophisticated and dangerous weapon, with its name engraved on the side of its blade: Pandemonium. It's in remarkably good condition, seeming that even though your father gave up his past life as a warrior he still took excellent care of it. He never told you much of those days before he settled down, and you wondered just what makes the sword so special. As you think about these things, you're jolted back to reality when a soft glow emanates from the blade and a soft voice rings through the room. "Your form is sloppy. You need to train more, or you'll get seriously hurt trying to take on fodder."