His chin was hardly stubbly when he was summoned a lifetime ago. The silver bullet that spelled his exile during the ceremony sits nestled on a golden chain next to his heart. Then, it had seemed a curse; now, he couldn’t fathom returning to the closed skies beneath the shadowy cliff.

During the Battle of Seven Kings on the fields of Amerin King Ulrich had become injured and was retreating from battle. Vulgar Berin, seated atop a basilisk, saw the Kings weakness and his chance to end the monarchs blood line. Baring down upon the stranded vanguard the basilisk peeled back the King’s honor guard as if it was an over-ripened orange. Vulgar Berin brandished his bloody warclub high above his head - mere inches away from King Ulrich - ready to strike a fatal blow. Suddenly the thunder of a single rifleshot clipped the air and Vulgars chest exploded in crimson red. The would be kings assassin toppled from his mount - stone dead.

In payment for his life-debt King Ulrich bestowed on Sharpeye the title of Savior of the Realm and commissioned him armor and weapons from the finest crafters.