The locket in your hand sways back and forth, all else forgotten. It's strangely familiar to you, but you can't quite place why. In fact, for months... years...? you've been searching for the purpose to the locket. Nothing else matters. But then you see it. The dawn of recognition, glowing dimly, in your mind's eye, rushing back to you until you see a brightness of the noonday sun. In the same moment, the world warps and rushes past you, twisting like the branches of a giant tree- no, it's a staff, not a branch. Albeit a gnarled wooden one. And the person holding it, a woman in charred red clothing, hooded and dark.
"It worked... Tell me, do you remember who you are?"
You are Kreaal, of Carim.
You serve Velka, the Raven, and your pale skin sets you apart as one who hails from this land. You are a special sort, indeed.
You are Chosen; a Hider.
You win when all threats to the town, Darkwraiths, are eliminated.