"Sooner or later, fear wraps its tendrils around the mind of any creature. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Fear is in all of us. Do not fear death, or you will die!"

Epic of the Ashlur. Chapter 1117, Innora's rescript

At every bump and turn in the road, metal bars dug painfully into ribs, just as they had done to thousands of other bodies before. The wagons were packed with slaves of all ages, crammed into the cages like cattle. Sweat, the stench of excrement, nausea from rotten food, and fear — the unfortunate souls glanced at each other, commiserating their shared fate. Burdened by shackles and heavy hearts, they were on a journey to the other side of the world. And what awaited them there? The gray-green skin of the captives indicated their belonging to the Ashlur tribe. This small people had been subjected to raids and slavery for over a decade now, and they were helpless to do anything about it. Fear was bred into their very blood and bones. And so the Ashlur sat sleepless, peering into the darkness with terror-filled eyes as their convoy made its way relentlessly through the night.

But look at that young man in the corner, clutching a trinket in the shape of a bird! He looked tense, yes, a little angry, but he seemed remarkably free from the signs of fear. In an instant, a deep-black feather popped out of his neck, shining darkly with blue shades. His hands squeezed the bird tighter. He let his fingers run along the polished wood, stroking its claws, its beak... Another feather grew on his neck! Without letting go of his talisman, the young man slowly rose to his feet and began to speak:

"My fellow sufferers, my brothers in misfortune — be ye not afraid! Put your faith in me, and you will all be saved!"

Another feather, and now long talons on his right hand! The stranger gripped the wooden figurine so tightly that his knuckles went white. Unbeknownst to the slaves, at that moment every lamp at the head of the caravan was suddenly and inexplicably extinguished. "Damn it, Forg!" yelled the drunken caravan driver, frightened by this strange occurrence and the enveloping darkness. "Get those goddamn lamps lit again!" Meanwhile, in the wagon, the feathered man continued his speech:

"Fear leads to weakness, but we must be strong! It's time for us to stop thinking like slaves, trembling cowardly and putting up with this humiliation!"

As he spoke, more feathers grew all over his body, and talons sprouted out of his second hand and his shoulders. His eyes began to shine with an eerie blue glow, and his nose lengthened into something very similar to a bird's beak. And to top it all off (literally), an extravagant top hat appeared on his head.

"I will save our people, and I will be merciless to those who have wronged us. In return, I ask only that you abandon your fear of death — or death awaits you!"

At the head of the caravan, a commotion broke out. One of the guards seemed to have glimpsed something in the looming darkness, and it terrified him to the core. He let out a chilling scream and, drawing his sword, charged at one of his fellow guards. Blood spilled, and panic erupted. Some of the slave traders set off to hunt for the "beast lurking in the forest", only to end up murdering each other in the darkness. Those who stayed with the caravan cowered in fear, watching an ominous black shadow flitting about in the sky. The driver suddenly gasped, clutched at his heart, and inexplicably died on the spot. Some of the slaves allowed the fear to enter their hearts and minds, where it drained them of their strength and life, leaving them dead on the wagon floor. The rest sat in silence, speechlessly observing the proceedings. Their feathered friend continued:

"My name is Phobos. Remember it, and cast aside your fears!"

Phobos then opened the cage with a single flick of his hand, and invited the captives to breathe the fresh air of freedom. All that remained of the band of slave traders was a handful of people crawling about and moaning helplessly in the dark. Their fear-struck hearts were beating frantically like butterflies trapped in a jar, and the thick, dark substance of their life force was pouring out of them, flowing towards the bird-man. Now free, the surviving slaves opened the rest of the cages, finished off their tormentors, and no longer had fear of anything.

The mysterious Phobos eventually left the Ashlur people to go to the aid of others in distress, but the memory of him is passed down from generation to generation. The Ashlur no longer knew fear, and from that day forth, never allowed themselves to be subjugated by anyone ever again.

If you wish to find out who Phobos is, and how he ended up in the slave cage, you can visit the Guardians and ask him yourself. But if there is even the slightest shred of fear in your soul, do not even think about approaching him.