Owyn’s peasant family had little time left for sermons after sowing, harvesting, repairing defenses, and fending off Void attacks. Their traditions were those of rustic folk — the kind that differ from town to town, though they preserve love and gratitude toward the Light. Later, he was indifferent toward Order doctrine — a common attitude for soldiers who often came face-to-face with people near as monstrous as the twisted minions of the Void. Owyn’s life changed on a battlefield fighting against rebels who had revolted following the dethronement of Queen Renna.

Owyn had been wounded unto death. His belly opened and entrails spilled by a bearded ax. He went to his knees, desperately trying and failing to stuff his innards back where they belonged. An Order healer could do naught for him but read a prayer for the safe passage of his soul to the world of Light. When the cleric had gone, Owyn prayed too, promising the God of Light that he would live to serve its glory, fighting the only battle that mattered, protecting all people against the onslaught of the Void. And as life poured out of him, Light poured in.

A column of perfect radiance descended upon him from above like a rod of rigid lightning. Excruciating heat coursed through him, but when it passed, he was healed. Since then, peasants, soldiers, and even preachers see Owyn as a saint. But while it is true that he now possesses miraculous resilience, he has never felt particularly blessed. A promise is a promise, though, so now Owyn only fights on the frontlines against the Void, neither encouraging nor discouraging the rumors about him. He’s realized that protecting people from the Void also means protecting them from the hopelessness it spreads.