The lands of Keridia had been at war for aeons, the little city-state of Soria struggling to remain free from the greater nation of Cerel. It was not until recently that Soria won their freedom for good, and the story behind this historical event is riddled with improbabilities and superstition. Yet, as any proper scholar, it is my duty to describe these events precisely as they have been told to me, although I have heard differing explanations from various people. Hence I have chosen the version that seems more probable, and that bears greater support.

Twenty years ago, Soria was still a small, suppressed realm under the mightier Cerel nation, and baron Loreth held direct rule over the city-state. Or so it seemed; the real power was wielded by the priests of Yorkeed, the Cerellian Prime Deity; a sinister God of War. The Sorian Prime Deity was Methna, the Creator of All, who was... not so much of a warrior. The Sorian warriors were never true warriors; they were generally peasants who took to arms when the oppression was too much to bear, and thus, the Wall of Martyrs on Soria grew ever greater...

On Agther the Twelfth of Mridior month, it seemed that the prayers of the Sorian people had been answered, when a tall, fair-haired man entered the capital. Throughout the Sorian lore, it was repeatedly stated that the Angels of Methna were invariably tall and fair-haired; and fierce in the defense of their God, and the protection of their people.

Soria, the Twelfth of Mridior

The stranger stumbled in, seemingly disoriented and lost. A great robe covered all but his face and feet, revealing that he walked barefoot, and had a nasty bruise on his forehead. Several of Methna's faithful gathered about him, deeming their salvation to be imminent.

"Are you the Angel we have prayed for?"

"Have you come to deliver us from Cerellian rule?"

"Are we at last to be free?"

The stranger looked at them all in turn, confusion evident on his face.

"What... who are you talking about? Where am I? For that matter... who am I?" He slumped to his knees, hand pressed to his head. "I... I cannot remember... I must have hit my head in the wilderness..."

One of the Sorians, a doctor, rushed forth. "Loss of memory? Let me forth; I know of such matters."

"Are you... a doctor?"

"Yes, if you would come with me, I can see if I can help you. You bring us all hope, my friend."

Three hours later, the doctor stepped out from his office, shaking his head.

"He remembers nothing. I do not think him to be an Angel, either; he has come enough to his senses to ask for a drink, or some pipeweed."

The crowd outside sighed, spreading slowly.

"So he is not what we wished... Still, if he can work, he is welcome."

Three weeks later

They had called him Ios, after one of the Angels of lore. He had not showed any signs of regaining his memories, but he had started working in the fields on his second day in town. Strangely enough, it seemed the ground thoroughly enjoyed his presence; the plants grew taller and straighter where he had walked.

And, as it turned out, he was a man of great wit and wisdom, as his regular visits to the local tavern could verify. He always seemed to have an entertaining story up his sleeve, though he never was able to explain where he had heard it, and he had often given good counsel in disputes over a mug of ale.

Then... something happened.

The fields, the Seventeenth of Vradh

Virenna, one of the young ladies, came out to bring the midday meal to the ones working in the field, despite her being with child. As she was rolling the cart between the fields, she stumbled, and dark red blood began to stain her skirt.

"Agh! My child... it is too soon!"

Several of the workers rushed to her, seeing if they could find the cause of this.

"Virenna! What... your child? Already? But, it is yet a month before it is strong enough to live!"

Virenna glared up at her cousin for a brief moment. "You don't need to tell me that, Aster. Help..."

Aster rose, yelling to the next field. "Someone, get the doctor!"

Then, Ios knelt next to Virenna, palm against her stomach. What happened then could never be fully explained, but it seemed as though the blood withdrew, and Virenna started to climb to her feet as though nothing had happened.

"Ios? Your hands... they felt so warm..."

Ios stared at her, utterly at a loss. "What happened? All I remember is standing over there, and seeing you fall..."

The others gathered around.

"Healer..."

"Maybe an Angel after all..."

"Both she and her child might have died if he hadn't..."

"Miracle..."

Ios stepped backwards slowly, shaking his head. "I do not know what happened... I cannot explain it, nor even recall what I did..."

A little distance away, a Cerellian looked at the incident, stroking his chin. "The High Priest will wish to know of this..."

Months later

Ios was still looked strangely upon after the incident with Virenna, though most of the edge had been taken from the gossip. Still, there was something about him; he seemed to grow stronger still, and he carried himself with a strange proud humility.

He worked efficiently in the fields; the crops he tended were the finest available, and the most bountiful. He might have remained a non-concern of the Yorkeed priests, had it not been for his sudden rage at the sudden beating of a Sorian by a band of Cerellian guardsmen.

The Sorian had been stopped for the mere crime of walking on the same street as a Cerellian noble, and was beaten half to death when Ios arrived.

"Hold now, why are you killing this man?"

"None of your business, but his presence offended duke Yothr. We're giving him the due punishment."

"Offended? How?"

"Walked on the wrong street. Just beat it, or we'll beat you next."

Ios calmly walked up to the guardsmen, not saying a word, and grabbed the leader by his arm, levering him into the nearest wall. Then, he proceeded to attack the other guardsmen, who were unconscious before they even realized what was happening. As the last guardsman was thrown to the ground, Ios helped the Sorian to his feet.

"Are you unscathed, friend?"

"No... but had you not interfered, I would have suffered more than these bruises. I owe you my life..."

"Worry not about that. This town welcomed me, despite the fact that I remember naught of myself, nor do I know my own name. Hurry home now, before these scoundrels come to."

It did not go long before word of Ios' deed was on everyone's lips, and soon he became, albeit reluctantly, a figurehead for the Sorian resistance. Naturally, the Yorkeed priests were discontented with this, and laid a plan to remove this problem once and for all.

Outside the Tavern, the Eighth of Rodhel

Ios was walking home after a particularly cheerful night at the tavern; he himself was more inebriated than was his usual. As he passed a dark alley, he heard someone cry out for help, and, on a reflex, he ran toward the source of the sound. He found nobody. As he turned around again, he barely heard a rustle behind him, before something heavy connected with his head.

Next morning

The Cerellian guardsmen scared everyone out of bed even before sunrise. The Sorian population was gathered in the town square, and the Yorkeed High Priest appeared in person, smirking at the suppressed people.

"Sorians. It has come to my attention that you've got a new symbol of freedom. Now, why would you want that? Doesn't the Cerellian rule satisfy you? Indeed, what can this 'Ios' person offer that Cerellia can't?"

There was no answer.

"In fact, once he is dead, who can offer us any cause for resistance?"

Ios was shoved onto the stand, chained and bound, clearly weighted down.

"So... 'Ios'... do you have any last words?"

The executioner sharpened his axe, stepping forward.

Ios looked slowly up at the High Priest. "I remember everything now... my name... it is not Ios..."

The High Priest grinned wickedly. "I see... and what, then, is your name?"

"My name... is Ialeth, the Archangel."

A gasp went through the crowd as Ialeth tore through ropes and chains, shredding his gray robe to reveal great white wings and a white tunic in the process.

"I was sent here to end your dark ways, Yorkeedian, but I lost my memory in the process. The cowardly blow I was dealt last night restored it."

Ialeth reached out and grabbed the High Priest, throwing him past the city walls.

"The Cerellian reign is over! Soria belongs to none but the Sorians, thus my Father, Methna, has declared!"

And thus ends the tale of when an Archangel stepped down and liberated our fair city from Cerel. Personally, I would have deemed this whole tale to be naught more than tall tales and the imagination of drunkards and children... except that I remember some of Ialeth's memories, somehow transferred when he saved the lives of me and my mother, Virenna...

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