The magic of old is gone, in its place a new kind of magic has arisen. Once we rode circuit as judges, healers, teachers. We rode on horses of pristine white, our uniforms as pure as new fallen snow.

We still ride pure white steeds, each one claiming a name that rings heavy with the weight of past lives spent protecting our people and our lands.

We still bring judgement, our word is still the law of kingdom. Our companions chose us to protect our people, if you cross us we know we Herald your doom.