While your adventuring party may not agree with your code, you will not be disheartened. The tenants of your faith have fortified you into the person you are: a noble warrior, pure of heart and a representative of justice. So, when your party wants to kill the bandit you’ve apprehended, you stand as a protector over your prisoner with Angelic Sword at the ready.

Whether they agree with you or not, the right thing to do is to take the bandit to the proper authorities. They may be miles away in the nearest town, but you will not give in to your party’s murderous tendencies.

As an Adventurer, you never know who you might be working for or what beast you’ll be sent to dispatch next. There’s only one thing for certain: if there’s enough money or glory to be had, you’re the right person for the job.

Admittedly, when the farmer came running into town claiming his crops had been torched, you hadn’t anticipated a trap. By the time you realized that the farmer was luring you into a bandit ambush, they already had you captured. At least your Adventure Sword is safe in your swordholder! Now, if you can just wiggle out of those ropes enough to grab the hilt…A bandit notices and takes your sword for himself.

You really need to rethink trusting farmers.

The dark crevices of society is your domain. In the safety of your lair you review the bounties you have collected, considering your next target. When night falls upon the land, you will emerge.

The cityfolk have come to fear you and the silence in which you strike. With your leather gear and Assassin sword, you are able to maneuver in the shadows until your target is exactly where you want him. You are formidable. You are the assassin.

The underdark is your domain. In the pitch blackness, the smell of damp earth all around, you wait with your raiding party. When night falls on the lands above, you will emerge.

The sun-lovers have come to fear you and the silence in which you strike. With your Bone Blade, you are able to maneuver in the shadows until your target is exactly where you want them. You are formidable. You are the assassin.

Ah, the satisfying sound of your dying enemy. The glory is not simply in the kill--an easy task, thanks to your Bone Scimitar--but in the revenge you find when you animate the dead and send them back at their own people.

Such terror have you wrought upon the land that no one forgets your name. You are the Bone Master.

Not every person in the tavern seems to believe your tales of adventure upon the high sea, but there are also very few who are not amused. You’re a grand storyteller--if not a professional embellisher--and at the end of the night you have more than a few coins to pay for your meal.

The truth of your tales? Perhaps the kraken was no more than a medium-sized squid. Perhaps the pirate ship battle was no more than two ships pointing cannons upon the other in a standoff. Either way, the truth is that you are quite the adventurer with your Cavalier Sword at your side.

Your Celtic Leaf Sword cuts down another goblin, leaving him in a pile of his buddies. They miscalculated your massive strength, and are reeling backwards on the retreat. They have learned too late that betraying a noble of the Black Water Clan would mean death. It’s too bad they won’t be able to share the word with their kin.

You adjust your sword, letting out a battle cry of rage as another goblin aims for your ankles. This one goes flying fifteen paces.

The underdark is your domain. In the pitch blackness, the smell of damp earth all around, you wait with your raiding party. When night falls on the lands above, you will emerge.

The sun-lovers have come to fear you and the silence in which you strike. With your leather gear and Corsair Cutlass, you are able to maneuver in the shadows until your target is exactly where you want him. You are formidable. You are the assassin.

You have traveled an impossible distance in search of the dragon’s lair, and now you stand before its entrance. You can feel the heat radiating from inside and smell the sulfur. This will be the greatest battle of your life.

You pull your Crusader sword from its sheath and continue forward to meet your destiny. Whether you succeed or fail, you will go forth with the confidence of a seasoned knight.

The Pirate City be dangerous, even when minding your own business in the corner o’ a tavern. Despite the Pirate’s Code, you be surrounded by cutthroats, scoundrels, and buccaneers alike.

Hangin’ from your shoulders and against your hip, your baldric keeps your Cutlass at the ready just in case things should turn ugly. But you be feelin’ lucky. The quality of your Cutlass’ blade be the sharpest you’ve ever owned. To all the would-be troublemakers, it’s a sure sign that you’re skilled enough to steal from the best...and if they’re smart, they’ll leave you to your ale.

Never go into battle before first tasting your favorite ale. That is the advice you would give any of your fellow Dwarves, for you never know when this may be your last fight.

You slam your Dwarf Double Edge sword onto the table as you await the finest dark ale you know. The tavern was quiet before you walked inside, tense with the anticipation of a coming war, but you are loud and bring life back to its walls. You raise a toast to the barkeep and to any nearby, granting them glory on the battlefield before drinking deeply from your mug.

It would be a true shame to leave this world while thirsty.

Never go into battle before first tasting your favorite ale. That is the advice you would give any of your fellow Dwarves, for you never know when this may be your last fight.

You slam your Dwarf Single Edge sword onto the table as you await the finest dark ale you know. The tavern was quiet before you walked inside, tense with the anticipation of a coming war, but you are loud and bring life back to its walls. You raise a toast to the barkeep and to any nearby, granting them glory on the battlefield before drinking deeply from your mug.

It would be a true shame to leave this world while thirsty.

You became a ruler during war time, and so you feel more at east with the Earl Sword in your hand than the feathered quill you now use to write a long and tiresome letter. The sword, with its beautiful craftsmanship, now sits polished over the mantel.

Your gaze turns to that sword now, gleaming in the firelight. In times of peace one should never hope for conflict, but you find yourself craving the thrill of one last fight

Your elven ears hear the rustle of footsteps behind you. A smile crosses your delicate lips as you realize a stranger is attempting to sneak up on someone as lithe and alert as you. You are the kindred of the immortals, having honed your skills for hundreds of years. No normal mortal being can surprise you.

“Come out of hiding,” you call over your shoulder. “I know you are there.”

As you hear the ‘thwap!’ of an archer’s bow, you spin and dodge the incoming arrow, unsheathing your Elven Blade in one fluid motion. The fight has begun.

There are guests in your family’s forest, and you have been tasked with guiding them past the tree’s many secrets. These guests are not fae folk, and so they walk with heavy and clumsy footfalls into sinking pits and bear dens. Were it not for you and your Elven Hunter Blade, they would have fallen prey to such dangers--traps, snares and carnivorous plants included--long ago.

With careful navigation and a clever mind, you finally lead the group to safety. Not soon enough, you are able to return to your beloved and mischievous forest.

Your elven ears hear the rustle of footsteps behind you. A smile crosses your delicate lips as you realize a stranger is attempting to sneak up on someone as lithe and alert as you. You are the kindred of the immortals, having honed your skills for hundreds of years. No normal mortal being can surprise you.

“Come out of hiding,” you call over your shoulder. “I know you are there.”

As you hear the ‘thwap!’ of an archer’s bow, you spin and dodge the incoming arrow, unsheathing your Elven Sword in one fluid motion. The fight has begun.

Your work is dirty, bloody and harsh. You don’t need the best; it’s beyond your pay. You just need sturdy, serviceable and durable.

Solid steel is better than adornment, and while your gear shows years of wear, it still works just as well as the day you bought it. Your Footman Sword might be plain, but when you’ve shoved it into the other guy, yours is the only opinion that matters.

War is all that you know. For your clan, war is a permanent state of being. Just as you need meat to sustain you and leather armour to protect your leathery green skin, war keeps your thirst for chaos and violence sated.

Your clan now gathers to prepare for the war against the goblins. The creatures used to be your allies, but in the last battle they became cowardly and ran. Now there is nothing more to be done than to hunt down every one of them and serve them over your fire.

You begin by picking up Hellfire, the blade that burns alongside your rage.

You stare down at your new weapon, taking in its incredible and awe-inspiring beauty. You have traveled so far and overcome great challenges and dangerous monsters to find this rare weapon. This is the legendary Jade Dao.

The Jade Dao responded to you immediately, growing warm and somehow familiar in your hands. It’s as though this sword has been waiting for you all along.

The sunrise peeks over the horizon long after you are already awake and practicing your sword drills. A jianke must practice daily with the Jian sword to become a true master, and you take your duty as a soldier seriously.

As you finish the thousandth practiced cut, slicing through the air with perfect form, you feel a certain peace overcome you. Practicing with your sword is like a form of meditation.

The best made blades are forged by the most skilled swordsmiths, the metal worked with such precision and care that the edge can cut through flesh so cleanly that a person might not even know they are dead.

You have commissioned a swordsmith to craft you a Katana. Before he is paid you want to be certain it is a properly made blade, and so you conduct a test. You produce a silken sheet, allowing it to descend lightly onto the Katana’s edge. The sheet is cut cleanly, not a thread mismatched.

The blade is perfect.

The best made blades are forged by the most skilled swordsmiths, the metal worked with such precision and care that the edge can cut through flesh so cleanly that a person might not even know they are dead.

You have commissioned a swordsmith to craft you a Wakizashi. Before he is paid you want to be certain it is a properly made blade, and so you conduct a test. You produce a silken sheet, allowing it to descend lightly onto the Wakizashi’s edge. The sheet is cut cleanly, not a thread mismatched.

The blade is perfect.

You strike your Leonidas sword against your shield, shouting alongside your legionaries outside the gates of Syracuse. Inside, their people are filled with terror, deafened by your army’s trumpets and noise. Arrows rain down and you and your fellow soldiers form a barrier with your shields.

There is nothing that can stop you. The design of your shield allows you to stand in close formation, advancing on their defenders and dispatching them quickly with your weapon.

An instrument of death need not look like one. The dance of a duel is a beautiful thing to behold, with the flash of steel darting back and forth.

You’ve fought many of such duels, with your prized Noble Sword at your side, and your fellow nobles know of your reputation. Your sword is an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.

Into the forgotten ruins you carefully tred, your Orc Cleaver grasped tight in your barbaric fist. The wind whips through the walls, cold and ruthless.

While there might be old traps and the danger of frostbite, you continue with no hint of fear. You are a brave northern warrior, and you’ve come to hunt down the elusive winter stag now hiding within these walls. You will slay it with your sword and bring it home to your people.

Your Persian Blade is the namesake of your people. Quick and sharp--precise in accuracy, and cruel when necessary--it is more an extension of who you are than a mere weapon.

In the early morning you wake to begin your sword drills. Honing your skill will one day mean the difference between life and death in this violent world. When you join the army and march upon the Spartans, you look forward to finally testing your blade against the most deadly fighters in the world.

Wherever you may roam and wander, your Ranger Sword is always by your side. Where you lay your head is home, and with your trusty steel by your side, you are always safe.

Your sword has seen you through countless battles, lain upon hundreds of stones, and been the last thing many orcs have ever seen. A ranger’s life is a hard one, but with a good sword at your side, it will always be yours.

You are a citizen of the Roman Empire, and a professional heavy infantryman of the Roman Army. You enlisted in your legion for twenty-five years of service, and you are both relieved and anxious to know you have only a few years left.

As you double-check that your military-issued Roman Sword and dagger are securely in their holders, you feel prepared alongside your fellow soldiers to go into battle. You just hope that your training will continue to serve you well. At the very least, you have confidence in the sharpness of your weapon

Hedgerow is an never ending maze within the fae realms, twisting and turning and leading the unsuspecting to the unknown. The hedges themselves are beautiful, however, as many dangerous things are.

You are native to these lands and so you do not have fear, but you are still careful not to damage the shrubbery with your Royal Elf Sword while traversing the maze. It is never wise for even a Fae Lord to threaten that which has a mind of its own.

The dark crevices of society are your domain. In the safety of your lair you review the bounties you have collected, considering your next target. When night falls upon the land, you will emerge.

The cityfolk have come to fear you and the silence in which you strike. With your leather gear and Sabre, you are able to maneuver in the shadows until your target is exactly where you want him. You are formidable. You are the assassin.

The likelihood of a scout getting lost was slim, but bound to happen eventually--you just never expected that such a thing might happen to you. You swear you’ve been by this same tree three or four times. Yes, you’re sure of it. You left notches in one of its limbs using your Scout Sword.

Suddenly you grow quiet, clutching tightly around the leather of your sword’s handle as you hear nearby voices. Just around the next tree you spot two of the enemy’s scouts...and they look just as lost as you do. Perhaps there is more going on here than you first realized.

Some consider you crazed. Perhaps you are not in your right mind, but then--who cares? No one dares to insult you to your face. You are too powerful. Too frightening.

With your Dark Elven Shadow Blade, you are a deadly and respected figure in the underground community. When you pass by, all pause and hold their breath.

Your squire buckles the straps of your custom-fit armour, adjusting it to be comfortable and snug over your gambeson. Then you are handed your piece-de-resistance: the Small Sword. You paid top coin for this sword, and you expect people will be impressed when they see how it shines on the battlefield.

Your blacksmith assured you that the Small Sword’s design was both effective and awe-inspiring, and you’re one to agree. You are a mighty warrior, indeed, to be the owner of such fine craftsmanship. A fitting symbol of your godly-given status.

As a squire, you are up before dawn serving your Master. You are expected to have your Master’s armour polished and ready at a moment’s notice. There isn’t a moment to yourself that isn’t being spent thinking about your work. Without your Master’s blessing, you’ll never become a Knight.

Only sparingly do you have the opportunity to train your actual knightly skills, however. What personal weapon you own, a single Squire Sword, is easy enough for you to wield as you practice your cuts. One day you will be a fearsome knight. For now, you must continue to work hard.

You fight for your king, your god, and your country. The fools who believe in change--in the distribution of power to those undeserving and inexperienced--shall know your sharp wit and even sharper Swashbuckler cutlass.

While you might not dream of soiling your best outfit in battle, you don the appropriate finery and mount your steed. Raising your sword high, you encourage your fellows onward into the fray.

The street is a hard place to conduct business, but it’s a way of life you’ve become very good at keeping. Unfortunately, a poor ol’ sap hasn’t paid his dues. You’re an understanding sort, but you can’t risk looking soft. Not on the street.

So, you decide to give the ol’ sap a visit. Pulling out your Trench Knife and preparing your most intimidating look, you don’t expect this meeting to last very long. You’ll get your money today or the chap will be missing a few teeth. You’ll let him decide.

What is true valor? You ponder the meaning as you turn your Valor Sword over in your hands.

You left your home at an early age to join the ranks of adventurers, seeking your own fame and glory like so many legends did before you. Yet, the longer you travel and the more you see, the harder it is for you to know what decisions are good and which are bad. Perhaps that is why there are so few heroes in this world--who is really worthy to be remembered in the name of valor?

You admire the Viking Sword that belonged to your father. The great warrior sailed his last voyage, but your brethren still managed to bring back his weapon specially for you. For that, at least, you are grateful.

Looking down upon the sharpened, freshly cleaned steel, you wonder what this sword has seen. Carried on countless travels, this sword may have shed blood raiding the English coast, been tarnished under the sun of Spain, and been drawn in defense of Miklagard.

One day you will add to its story.