Drandolith was a dedicated student at the Monastery of Her Holy Edict, a sanctuary devoted to the worship and training of paladins for the deity of justice and valor, Ethora. Although his martial skills were commendable, Drandolith faced a unique challenge: he couldn't connect with the divine powers of his deity, no matter how fervently he prayed or how deeply he meditated.

“Your martial prowess is commendable, Drandolith, but a paladin's true strength lies in their connection to the divine,” said Master Elion, the head of the monastery.

“I understand, Master Elion. I've been trying, but the divine light eludes me,” Drandolith replied, his voice tinged with frustration.

Seeking solace, Drandolith ventured into the Vale of the Voiceless, a grove near the monastery said to be touched by Ethora herself. Drandolith had walked this path hundreds of times before, but today was different.

Today, he happened upon an old tree along the path; a tree that was far larger, and more ancient than any of the woods he’d ever seen. From the tree, a shaft could be seen—entwined between two sinewy boughs as if being embraced.

As he approached the tree, the whispers of the grove formed into a coherent voice. “Do you seek the power to fulfill your oath, young paladin?”

“I do. I want to serve and protect, but my own limitations hold me back,” Drandolith admitted.

“Take the spear, and the limitations shall hinder you no more.”

Better judgment was shouted down by hope, citing years of failure. After only a few seconds of trepidation, Drandolith reached for the spear, and found he didn’t even have to tug - the boughs encasing it seemed to soften and slough off, as if the tree had been holding back rot and decay for centuries waiting for this moment. A New Path Returning to the Monastery, Drandolith's newfound abilities were impossible to ignore. His divine powers finally manifested, albeit tinged in some intangible way. He became known as “The Persistent,” not for his successes, but for his relentless pursuit of his oath despite countless failures.

“Drandolith, we're all very impressed, you have shown a vast amount of improvement… more than we thought possible,” Master Elion noted, concern filling his eyes. “Thank you, Master Elion. I am committed to fulfilling my oath and serving with all the strength I possess,” Drandolith responded. Despite having every intention of divulging the source of his newly acquired power, something told him… or forced him not to. Master Elion sighed, his gaze lingering on Drandolith as if trying to read the depths of his soul. “Your commitment is unquestionable, but the aura around you… it's complex.. I believe it's time for you to seek guidance beyond these walls.” “Are you sending me away, Master?” Drandolith asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Yes, but not as a punishment. You have a unique path, one that we may not fully understand here. I want you to meet with the Abbot of our sister monastery in the city of Ineas. I have faith he should be able to guide you on your path. Drandolith nodded, understanding the gravity of Master Elion's words. “I will go, Master, and seek the wisdom of the Abbot.”

Drandolith set sail for Ineas, his new spear securely strapped to his back. The voice of what was previously thought to be a voiceless vale remained with him, a constant reminder of the pact he had made. As the ship approached the bustling port city, Drandolith knew that his journey was far from over.

He would meet the abbot, and whatever judgment was passed, Drandolith would persist, embodying both the just vision of Ethora, and… something else.