A champion was needed. Cadonnar of Makilor, the champion of Maia Wraithchild, would soon be no more. He sank to his knees at the top of the mountain, watching his own blood pool in front of him. A scant distance away lay the hulking corpse of an ogre chieftain, his head hewn from his body. Cadonnar looked out from the ledge, over the clouds below. He could see little here, and it was steadily growing less. He leaned on his notched and blunted sword, gasping for breath. "Folly", he thought. Seventy winters and two he had passed, and had been the Champion for over forty of them. Always first in battle, always on errantry against those foes of the throne of Makilor. He had finally overreached himself, as had been prophesied years before. An entire tribe of ogres had overwhelmed him, although they had paid a terrible price. His killers had fled, only a handful left, after he had butchered their chieftain. The sides of the mountain were strewn with their dead, and they would trouble no one for many years, but Cadonnar sadly realized the ephemeral quality of his deed. They would be back, and no Champion had yet arisen to take his place.
Cadonnar trembled, and clutched his sword to avoid falling over. His vision was fading and he was starting to feel cool. It was more than the mountain air, he knew. He mouthed a prayer, tasting his own blood on his own lips. "Mighty Phaet, accept the deeds of your servant, and select a new Champion to protect the young Queen and her realm." As the world went black, Cadonnar heard a voice in the darkness.
"A champion is needed".
Cadonnar blinked. He was surprised. He shouldn't have been able to blink. Nor should he have been able to stand, and yet he looked down and saw himself standing. The ledge appeared the same, although without the blood. The clouds surrounded him now. A hole in the clouds seemed to open, swirling with a golden light...the symbol of Phaet! Cadonnar immediately went to his knees. He suddenly realized that he was quite whole, but that he was no longer alive, yet not dead either.
A voice spoke from the swirling light. "Fear not! The young queen shall have her champion, and many more afterward shall have theirs, for many generations to come. Your sacrifice is noted, and thus Makilor will always have a champion. Thus is the word of Phaet."
Cadonnar bowed his head in relief, then the voice spoke again. "But a champion is needed. Those who fight with courage and honor, for justice and right, for the thrill of the fight, must be inspired. You, Cadonnar, will be that champion. As you were the Sword of Makilor, so you will now be the Sword of Phaet." Cadonnar looked up, wonder in his face, and then he was surrounded by the mists.
Cadonnar is the patron of warriors. He exemplifies courage, skill, honor, chivalry, and dedication. Mere lust for killing he derides as the work of simpletons. Carnage for carnage's sake is anathema. Slaying to cause chaos will bring the end of all things- let those who wish to do so serve some more malevolent power- or better yet, be slain with pride by Cadonnar's followers. Pacifism is equally anathema- only the dead have seen the end of war, and battle is the only true test of one's worth. Dedication is the warrior's armor- it protects him from the slow rot of complacency. Skill in with the blade, axe, or other weapon is the extension of virtue. Those who wish Cadonnar's favor must prove themselves in battle against worthy foes, not women and children, or those not ready to fight. Only by mighty deeds nobly and honorably done may one go to a fine reward as one of the select who mans the rampart's of Cadonnar's celestial citadel. It is the fate of all mortal men to die, but only some will be privileged to die well.
While most of the followers of the Sword of Phaet tend to be warriors, swordsmen, and those to whom battle is a profession, there are some priests who pay homage to Cadonnar. They are always templars, members of the Church of Phaet, naming themselves the Cadonnarite Order. They venerate the embodiment of the honorable warrior, and seek to do mighty deeds for the glory of the Church and to inspire others to do the same. Cadonnar rarely appears to his followers, but if he does, he either takes the form of an elderly knight, dressed in golden armor, or as a glowing greatsword. It is said that Cadonnar lives in a castle that rides in the clouds, watching battles to see which of the fallen deserve to join the eternal honor guard of his castle, and which deserve only to rot with the worms.