On this fine Martalo morning, the adventurers of the World of Twelve found a big surprise in their mailboxes. In among the payment reminders from their Enutrof banker and brochures singing the praises of the latest equipment sets, they discovered an unusual envelope with gilded edges and an unmistakable wax seal. Return address: Ingloriom…
Spanish Version
The Higher Spheres. The Lair of the Twelve. You only receive this type of missive if you've done something important (or terrible). The scrawled handwriting was easily recognizable: it was Iop himself who wrote this letter. The god of bravery and courage had written to them in person. Needless to say, this sort of thing doesn't happen every day in the life of an average Twelvian. For that matter, it's pretty rare for Iop to write anything at all… Only a select few can claim to have ever seen him with a Piwi quill in his hand. He's not too comfortable writing… It's just not something he does. No, the god of the brawl is far more interested in pummeling, scrapping, and walloping… In short, this is a god who loves to serve up a good beat-down. (And also plenty of delicious pie.) Iop knows what he likes – and putting words on paper, carefully combining phrases and addressing Twelvians in the Krosmic language is not usually on the list. So when Grado Malofoie opened this divine scribble, like thousands of other adventurers at the same time, he already knew that its contents must be incredibly important.
The style left no doubt about the author: While Xelor would have taken the time to choose the most elegant paper, and Eniripsa would have decorated it with little hearts, Iop simply tore a page out of the most recent issue of "The Weekly Brawler" to put his deepest thoughts on paper. Grease stains dotted the page – probably the remains of a divine snack of Lousy Pig sausage and cawwot chips, Sadida's secret vice.
Dear World of Twelvian people, (an elegant beginning…)
It has surely not escaped your notice that our world has been stalked by torment in recent times. Sacrier told me what that means, but I forget. In any case, one thing is for sure: Something doesn't smell right these days. Almost as bad as Enutrof's nasty feet, even. The situation is serious.
Not long ago, the earth was torn apart, a wound opening in its flesh like a Wabbit gutted by a sword. Monsters poured forth like none we had ever seen before, creatures that seemed possessed, as if controlled by demons… And it turns out that they really are controlled by Shushus straight out of the Shustuft Crust! It's true: This vermin is spreading across the face of our beautiful planet! Like puppets, manipulated by those vicious Shushus who are not content to roam their own polluted lands, but insist on invading our beautiful countryside and quiet meadows where Twelvians once beat each other to a pulp in peace. NO, my friends, we don't need them around to have a good fight! And it's time to let them know!
I'm someone who likes getting in a good scrap, playing a bit rough… But this time, I can't! I'm powerless! Xelor tells me that technically, we have no proof that these actions were sponsored by Rushu. The Shushus might just be acting on their own initiative. That means the non-aggression pact has not been violated, and we, the Gods, cannot intervene… so it's up to you to give them a good pounding!
Haven't you ever dreamed of being one of the legendary heroes who have saved the World of Twelve from terrible scourges time and time again? The ultimate scourge, he who roams the lowest levels of the Krosmoz, was pushed back by the strongest of heroes. What if you were the ones to teach these unwanted visitors a lesson this time? Wouldn't you like to have a set in your likeness, your name engraved in gold letters in the pages of Krosmic history and cited as an example in the most prestigious kanojedos, or your face on the cover of the next issue of Gamakna?
Today, it is you – yes, YOU – who will save the World of Twelve from these foul creatures. And to help you, I, Iop, god of strength, bravery and courage, offer you access to the best training facility in the World of Twelve, and indeed the entire Krosmoz. I am referring, of course, to Externam!
Externam… The last stop before reincarnation… where the souls of the deceased gather to await judgment. But don't worry! You're not dead yet… For the first time in Krosmic history, the gods have agreed, with Thanatena's consent, to open the gates of this distant land to Twelvians who are still very much alive.
Once there, you may meet the souls of legendary heroes who died in battle and were blessed by the gods. Rykke-Errel, Brutas, Crail, Galgarion: You will be training with the greatest warriors, in the heart of the Ell-Esian Fields, the sacred place reserved for Twelvians who reject reincarnation and prefer to go on fighting beyond death.
A tournament will even be held there — prepare to fight like never before, my friends!
But beware… There will be blood, sweat and tears, not to mention elbow grease and a healthy dose of spit and vinegar. It's enough to make your mouth water! But that's nothing compared to what you're going to do to them… Because I believe in you. Oh, if only you knew how moved I am – even if you can't see it in my eyes.
By now my message should be clear: It's time to put a stop to this! Together, we must face the danger that threatens our world. And so, just this once, I ask you to stop fighting, put down your daggers and swords, and come train in the Hall of the Valiant instead!
Glory calls!
Grado Malofoie couldn't believe his eyes. Externam? The realm of the dead? The Grey Country?! The young adventurer was torn between terror and excitement. The two feelings struggled within him, blending into a whirlwind deep in his belly that made him feel like he was levitating. Or perhaps he was already being taken by the gods to fulfill his duty: to enter the Hall of the Valiant and show what he was made of!