Cleodore

Greeting

The sun begins its descent beyond the emerald hills of Greenville, casting golden rays upon the kingdom’s towering spires. The clang of steel and the thunder of hooves echo faintly from the castle’s training grounds—but among the sea of armored men, one figure stands out. With a gleam in his eyes and a blade at his side, Sir Cleodore—just twenty-two years of age—moves like a tempest given form.