The following is a complete history of the Realm, from the creation of the cosmos to the recent conclusion of the Third Goblin War of 685, which threatens to tear the legacy of the Wreath-King asunder.
Blue text indicates geographical entries found in the Kingsrealm Atlas, while green text indicates campaign annotations.
UPDATED: 09/11/2010
PROLOGUE – THE CREATION OF THE WORLD
Chapter One – The Speaking of the Word
Chapter Two – The Elohim Bind the Titans
Chapter Three – The Firmament Is Set
Chapter Four – The Heavenly Palace Is Made
Chapter Five – The Void Is Made
BOOK ONE – THE AULDIC EMPIRE
Chapter One – The Age of Turmoil
Chapter Two – The Age of Reason
Chapter Three – The Ascension of Nessus
Chapter Four – The Wrath of Heaven and the Fall of the Auldic Empire
BOOK TWO – THE DARK AGES
Chapter One – The Seven Great Cataclysms and the Time of Sorrows
Chapter Two – The Pagan Age
Chapter Three – The Coming of the Saints
BOOK THREE – THE COMING OF THE WREATH KING
Chapter One – In the Years Before His Coming
Chapter Two – Gladwain and the Council of Seven Banners
Chapter Three – Caedmon and the Quest for the Holy Lance
Chapter Four – The Coronation of Caedmon
Chapter Five – Reign of the First Wreath King
BOOK FOUR – THE AGE OF ILLUMINATION
Chapter One – Rise of La Divinatum (The Divinity)
Chapter Two – The Schism of the Sea Princes of Swordgate
Chapter Three – Lineage of the Wreath King
Chapter Four – The Third Goblin War and the Battle of Thunder Mountain
Chapter Five – The Modern World
PROLOGUE – THE CREATION OF THE WORLD
Chapter One – The Speaking of the Word
Illuminatus Rex – The King of Light – slept in the formless Aether that existed before all time began. But he was cold and alone, and his sleep was fitful. He desired light, and warmth, and peace. He roused from his troubled sleep and spoke a single Word.
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Chapter Two – The Elohim Bind the Titans
Shortly after The Word was spoken, the Cosmos was vast and nebulous, without proper form or structure. It teemed with beings known as Titans, elemental spirits of enormous power and chaotic temperament. These beings refused the power of The Word, which would bind them to a proper form, as He-Who-Spoke-It designed.
It is whispered in hushed tones that there are those who still worship the primal Elder Gods, elemental beings who are the ultimate agents of discord. These cults of chaos make many dark sacrifices in their name. According to the accounts of mariners, there is a land far to the south of the Empire of Iron and Ash, called Nob-Y’ggurath (NAHB IGG-uhr-wroth), which is said to be inhabited by clans of desert peoples, ruled by witch-kings, who dedicate themselves to the worship of the elemental Titans.
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Chapter Three – The Firmament Is Set
As the Elemental Realms were brought into alignment with the world, the Elohim used their power and mastery to create the Sun (from Elemental Fire and Air) and the Moon (from Elemental Earth and Water) and the Planets (from bits and pieces of each), and set them floating in the Aether to orbit the Earth. Again, each of the seven Elohim bound the aspects of the Firmament to themselves, and claimed lordship over each.
The races of Men (including elves, dwarves, and other non-human races) were created according to the instructions of The Word, sculpted from earth and water (clay), and fired in sacred kilns. Then the Elohim breathed His life into the graven images and they were set loose upon the earth.
See Primer Astrologia for more details.
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Chapter Four – The Heavenly Palace Is Made
When the Creation was complete, the Archangels raised a Golden Palace high above the Earth in the Realm of Heaven, and therein they retired to watch over the affairs of the Cosmos.
Between the Earthly and Heavenly Realms were placed other Spirit Realms, to which the souls of the creatures of light (Man and animals) returned when their physical bodies died. Their proximity to the Heavenly Palace rested much on the piousness of the soul while alive. Those who strive to live according to The Word found themselves after death in the presence of the Golden Palace, there to become one with the Heavenly Host. Those who live good and decent lives, and make no evil upon the earth, but who nevertheless do not live according to His will, as well as those innocent beings who were never made aware of His presence, dwell in the lower Spirit Realms, in eternal peace and harmony.
The lowest of these realms is called Arcadia (AHR-kay-dee-uh), a mystical place of ancient power. Portals to Arcadia exist in certain sacred spots of the Earthly Realm, allowing the living to pass through and visit with those who have long passed on. Many tales are told of mortal heroes being whisked away to Arcadia, there to perform perilous quests of worthiness and redemption.
This realm is said to be a mirror image of the mortal world, yet different in profound ways. Time passes strangely there, and the land is wild and untamed, flowing with powerful Wouivre (WOO-vray)–a weave of natural energies from the Spirit Realm that stitches the land together. The power of the Wouivre flows through these portals, and it is this power that Pagans worship.
The Priestesses of Avondale are said to be frequent visitors to Arcadia, and tales tell that King Caedmon I was actually raised as an infant in this misty realm.
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Chapter Five – The Void Is Made
When it was created, the Cosmos was a churning storm of elemental energies. Great swirling tides of positive and negative energies ebbed and flowed within the storm, maintaining a constant state of opposition and attraction, annihilation and creation.
When the Elemental Realms were finally bound and the Firmament set, the Cosmos remained awash in these opposite energies. However, the presence of the Golden Palace acted as a lodestone on the positive energies. As the Cosmos began to spin, these positive energies began to separate from the churn and flow upwards, where they were absorbed into Heaven. In turn, divine energy was radiated back down upon the Cosmos.
An unfortunate effect of the turning of the Cosmos was to cause the negative energies to be flung to the outer reaches, where they crashed like waves against the Elemental Realms. This darkened the Sun, and tainted the elemental energies washing into the Firmament. The Cosmos began to wobble dangerously.
The negative energy drained into the pit formed by Enoch’s spear. Then the Elohim set the Cosmos turning again. The unimaginable coalescence of negative energy in that dark pit at the bottom of the cosmos–called also Abyssa Voidum (AH-BISS-uh VOY-doom) or simply, The Void–became aware of itself.
The Void began to fashion evil fetishes for its own twisted amusement and its power grew, as did its anger and hatred of the beings of light who’d sentenced it to this terrible existence. The Void sent out its sinister simulacra to torment those dwelling in His Creation and drag their souls down into the blackness to be devoured. It found willing servants among men who were easily corrupted, living “lenses” through which it could look into the world and perform evil work.
As The Void stretched out its vile power to escape Enoch’s pit, its dark minions advanced relentlessly. Wave upon wave, the servants of The Void would emerge from the pit and freeze as stone. Layer upon layer slowly built up, each upon the other, until a physical realm of evil rose above the maw of The Void, a towering expanse made up of nine concentric terraces populated by teeming throngs of malevolent beings.
This spirit realm of the damned was named the Nine Hells (among other names best left unspoken). Those who violated His Word, or who performed acts of evil upon others, were condemned to the Hellish Realms upon death. There, the condemned souls are tormented for untold ages, sinking ever deeper into the Pit, until ultimately, they are devoured by The Void and snuffed forever from existence.
Atop the Nine Hells rest three shadowy realms known collectively as Malebôlge (MAL-eh-bolj)("The Pits of Malice"). Like Arcadia, Malebôlge touches the Earthly Realm in places, and through these dark portals flows the power of The Void, allowing its servants to pass freely.
Likewise, tales are told of living mortals who have crossed the black river called Effluvium (EFF-loo-vee-um) and found themselves at the Iron Gates to Malebôlge, therein to confront its guardians.
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BOOK ONE – THE AULDIC EMPIRE
Chapter One – The Age of Turmoil
The races of Man were now pretty much on their own, although clues and signs were set in place to initiate the worthy and insightful into the true order of things. Secret knowledge of the Creator and the existence of the Heavenly Host was hidden away to ensure that Man would one day discover his true role. It was thus left to mankind to achieve the Heavenly Palace in due time, when such wisdom was ready to be received.
It is unknown how much time passed between the creation of the world and the rise of what modern scholars call the Auldic Empire, but it is thought to be vast ages in which the world was primeval and ruled by mighty beasts and terrible dragons. Their time upon the earth was as a beach, where every grain of sand was a thousand years. Through that long dark epoch mankind struggled to survive, but over time he began to exert his dominance over his surroundings–slaying dangerous predators, cultivating the land, learning medicine and language, domesticating animals, building settlements, waging war, making peace, and creating civilization.
Then, long ago in an unrecorded era, the world was blessed with the rise of seven scholar-kings, each said to be a disciple of one of the Elohim. They raised up great works of artifice and technology, and their science made unto the world a paradise of wonder and learning.
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Chapter Two – The Age of Reason
An enlightened empire grew out of the scholar kingdoms, as the seven wise men who ruled them established cities, each dedicated to the patronage of one of the Elohim. These wise men then held reasoned council with each other and determined that they needed a means of unification to serve the majesty of their peaceful civilization.
They selected an infant of excellent stock. His father was Orion (oh-RY-uhn), a great hunter and the most respected of the lords of the land. His mother was Chastienne (chass-tee-EHN), a virtuous priestess.
Their child was named Elucidar (ell-LOO-sid-ahr), and a splendid palace was constructed for him. The child grew within the palace, and was trained in the ways of science, medicine, art, and magic by the seven wise men. Furthermore, his father taught him to be strong and brave, and cunning as well. His mother and her sister priestesses taught him to be compassionate and pious, and ever-respectful of the world and his place in it.
A grand city grew around the palace, and it was named Elucidar in the boy’s honor. When he became a man, the seven scholar-kings presented him to the world and proclaimed him their emperor. They then abdicated their own thrones and swore fealty to him. Why they did this is unknown, for it broke the divine rule of the Hierarchy of Sevens. Some believe it was out of a misguided belief that they (representing the seven Elohim) were to create a mortal representation of He-Who-Spoke-the-Word, a lord-of-lords upon the earth.
They perhaps believed that this notion was the Divine Plan, but they were mistaken, for while Emperor Elucidar was, indeed, a noble and righteous ruler, as were his sons and theirs, the power and prestige that the Emperor wielded was simply too much for mortal men to bear. As the long Elucidaran line began to wane over the centuries, other noble families began to vie for and ultimately won control of the throne.
Over thousands of years, a succession of dynasties came and went as the Empire shrank or expanded with the quality of the emperor of that age. Some were good, competent leaders; others were weak-willed or corrupt. Palace intrigue occasionally flared into open violence and assassination.
As the imperial nobility became lazier and more decadent and depraved, there was less emphasis on scholarship and learning. Progress and technology began to suffer, as the Empire became less reliant on innovation and improvement, and totally dependent on unskilled, often slave, labor and outdated methods of industry and agriculture. Debtor’s prisons were established, and the development of a thrall caste, largely of the poor and indigent quickly emerged.
The Empire had become a dim and hazy reflection of its former peace and glory, now steeped in court paranoia, suspicion, complacency, and betrayal.
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Chapter Three – The Ascension of Nessus
Nessus (NEH-suss) was an adviser in the Elucidaran Court. A fairly minor, but charismatic, member of the Emperor’s staff, he had once been a respected philosopher-priest. However, he left the life of religious contemplation for the intrigue and power of politics. Over the years, through treachery and manipulation, he gathered together those who would serve him, and ultimately murdered the Emperor, seizing the throne for himself.
In the year 328 CP (Conseil Priori "Prior to the Council of Seven Banners"), Nessus ascended to the throne, where he presided over the decline and fall of the Empire.
He proved to be a brutal and despicable leader, but his well-paid troops were loyal, and his secret police were everywhere. His retribution against those he even suspected of disloyalty was so harsh that few dared to even speak openly of their unhappiness with his rule.
Jealous of his subjects’ worship of the Heavenly Host, Nessus formed a cult devoted to worship of the Emperor instead. In a mad quest for immortality, he began to consort with necromancers and practitioners of the black arts. When the people resisted his cult, he responded violently, destroying the shrines and temples of his divine “rival,” He-Who-Spoke-the Word. Thousands of holy priests were put to the sword.
His final act of heresy came when he attempted, with the help of powerful dark forces, to summon Azazel–greatest of the Elohim and patron of the imperial capital of Elucidar. He lured Azazel to the Grand Temple (now dedicated to Nessus), where he sought to bind the magnificent being to his will. His effort nearly succeeded, but Azazel escaped, destroying the ancient temple in the process. Badly weakened, the leader of the Elohim withdrew from the mortal realm. But only for a short while.
Afterward, as thunderclouds gathered, Nessus realized his folly and the divine anger he had surely provoked. He began marshaling his forces for a war with Heaven.
His evil “servants” took a more active hand in matters, ordering sacrifices of terrible magnitude. Nessus’ armies rounded up his enemies and thralls first, executing them in garish orgies of violence and death. When his enemies were gone, he turned his attention to the decadent lords of his lands, and slaughtered them. Finally, he gathered up the terrified populace of the capital, sacrificing tens of thousands of innocent people at a time, wanton killing on a horrific scale.
Human bonfires lit the night sky for miles around the city of Elucidar, and the air was filled with a greasy, choking stench. Nessus’ demonic allies reveled in the carnage, and their strength grew to magnificent proportions. The Emperor, drunk with madness and rage, sat sprawled on his throne, surrounded by the blood and offal of countless sacrifices. He gathered around him the most loyal and powerful of his followers–those he had chosen not to purge–and awaited the coming storm.
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Chapter Four – The Wrath of Heaven and the Fall of the Auldic Empire
Twelve days passed, during which Nessus and his dark forces sacrificed many more thousands. At dawn on the thirteenth day, as the first rays of the morning sun touched the eastern-most shores of Elucidar, a great howl arose in the sky and the ground was struck by terrible tremors, quaking and rolling with unimaginable force. Mountains were flattened; lowlands were brought towering high into the sky, and then toppled upon themselves. The land was shattered and remade and then rushed again. Great fissures appeared, and the waters of the Eastern Sea flooded westward toward Elucidar.
With the city at its center, a great chasm appeared on the vast Plain of Elucidar, forming a “bowl” thousands of miles across. The plain sank suddenly, far below the level of the ocean beyond. The rushing waters from the Eastern Sea swept down the sides of the immense bowl, submerging the city and the lands surrounding it. The plain was now an ocean, and all were killed.
All, that is, save Nessus and his servants. Dark magicks protected them from the sudden deluge, but they found themselves now trapped beneath fathoms of water. From the Pit of the Void his demonic allies summoned a tentacled beast of great malice known as the Kraken. They commanded it to devour Nessus and his followers and carry them to the western shore of this new sea.
The beast is best described in vivid detail in the epic saga, The Dreaming Empire, by the 4th Century (PC) poet-warlord Alfred of Tennyson. He claimed to have been whisked away one night by a valkyrie, who flew him over Bifrost to gaze upon the land as it once was. The shield-maiden imparted the tale of the fall of Elucidar, and among the many separate stories is this account of the Kraken:
Even though it prowled in the deepest, darkest waters, the Kraken could see the Archangels flying high above in the sky. Wielding great shafts of light, they slashed through the water, searching for the beast and its evil cargo. When it arrived in shallower waters far from the vigilant Archangels, the Kraken shat out the Emperor and his minions and returned to the depths where it still dwells today. Nessus rose from the boiling surf, and there, waiting for him on the shore, were black horses and an army of dark, armored warriors.
Nessus’ army rode across the western-most plains of Elucidar, leaving the sunken capital far behind him. The black horses flew like locusts over the rolling land, turning the verdant fields into a burned and ruined swath beneath their evil hooves. Nessus had ordered all of the imperial cities to render sacrifices equal to those performed in Elucidar, and to the Emperor’s delight, they rode through ghastly fields of crucified victims as they approached the once-shining city of Glimmere, a wicked forest dedicated to his insanity.
They reached the city in a short time, and as they passed beneath its gates, littered with the newly dead, there arose in the east a great thunderhead. The roiling storm was accompanied by cascades of lightning and the clamorous blaring of a legion of trumpets. Riding atop the thunderhead were the Elohim, with Azazel at their fore. Their eyes blazed fire and the beating of their angelic wings cast off great tempests in their wake. The furious storm cloud descended on Glimmere and it was a beautiful and terrible sight. The poor folk who witnessed it cried out in joyous despair, for the wrath of Heaven was upon them.
As the Archangels descended upon Nessus’ temple at the heart of the city, their magnificence slew most of his followers outright and turned his priests to ash. But again, the Emperor’s dark minions summoned the power of The Void to save him from the Elohim’s wrath. With demons as his guide, Nessus descended deep into the earth beneath the temple, and by a dark and ancient passage he was spirited away from the city.
When the Heavenly Host realized Nessus had escaped again, they put a curse upon Glimmere and returned to their search. To prevent Nessus from further using his seats of power throughout the Empire, the Elohim cursed all the other major cities as well. The Archangels' wrath upon the Auldic Empire was such that the seven great cities were all destroyed. As excerpted from the epic poem, L’Empire Tragedie ("The Tragic Empire"):
When Nessus and his hordes surfaced far to the southeast of Glimmere, the Elohim spotted him and threw a mountain upon his army. Nessus survived even this, although his forces were much depleted. The impact of the mountain opened a great fissure back down deep into the earth, and he continued on underground from there, supposedly with the aid of an underground race of dark-skinned, elfin-like beings. Legend has it that the remnants of the shattered mountain are the spire of rock upon which Gauntlet Castle sits today.
Nessus fled to the lands of southern desert, seeking Cormaraen–the Library-Citadel of Archithenedes (ar-key-THEN-eh-deez). The renegade scholar had long resisted Nessus’ rule, and the library’s isolation deep in the desert had thus far saved it from the mad Emperor’s armies.
Nessus knew that the rebellious Archithenedes possessed esoteric knowledge of the Elohim, and that he held artifacts of great power in the citadel vaults that might enable him to turn the tide of this one-sided battle. When he reached the site, however, he found the Archangels had already destroyed the ancient shrine of wisdom. Where once there was a grand city of learning, a volcanic peak now rose from its shattered, scorched remains. Hundreds of similar volcanic outcroppings had risen from the desert, covering the region with molten rock and a fine, dusty ash. Over decades, the whole of the land was so covered, becoming known today as the Ash Desert.
Nessus continued south into the bleak wastes, but found his way blocked by another wall of volcanic peaks, industriously spewing out columns of poisonous smoke and showers of flaming rock that rained down on the desert floor. Snowy clouds of ash obscured his sight, but he pressed onward. Finally, he found a wide valley that penetrated the “belt of fire,” a steep slope descending into another rocky wasteland.
Nearing despair in the midst of his frenzied search for sanctuary from his pursuers, Nessus’ dark allies showed him a vision. His vision led to a sinkhole in the waste, a vast pit in the ground, ringed by row upon row of gnashing teeth. Tentacled arms with groping claws stretched forth from the maw, searching the scrabble for any signs of life it might devour. Lining the disgusting pit were row-upon-row of sharp teeth, wickedly curved and sword-sharp, flashing and slashing the air. Noxious vapors and gurgling rumbles emanated from the pit, and the whole area stank of rotten flesh and decay, mixed with sulfur.
This was a Hellmouth, a portal to Malebôlge, one of the few places on earth where Nessus might find sanctuary. Here, the Emperor was confronted by the Nine Fiends and the three Lords of Chaos–the Twelve Dark Princes of Hell, the lesser hierarchy of Il Diabolous (ihl dee-AH-bowl-uhs), among the most powerful of The Void’s servants.
They offered to save him, if he agreed to swear allegiance to them. In exchange for their protection, he would do their bidding on Earth. Cornered and with the forces of the Elohim in close pursuit, he made his fateful pact, and was devoured by the Hellmouth.
The Elohim descended upon the fiendish portal just as Nessus plunged in, his body rent apart by tentacled claws as he was swallowed up. The maw then disgorged a host of black creatures who met the Elohim in battle. After fierce fighting, in which holy steel met foul claw, the host of demons was driven back into the toothy pit. Enoch hefted a pillar of iron and plunged it into the the Hellmouth, sealing it up.
Today, Nessus’ legacy lives on in this desolate wasteland far to the south, where descendants of his few surviving followers dwell, led by a brutal warlord who calls himself Nessus, and whom his subjects call the Iron Emperor. He rules from a citadel built atop the iron plug of the Hellmouth. This ironic shadow of the Empire that once was consists of many disparate elements, and is in a constant state of turmoil, unrest, and war. It is held together, nevertheless, by the sheer will of the Iron Emperor, who exerts his powerful presence upon those who have sworn fealty to him.
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BOOK TWO – THE DARK AGES
Chapter One – The Seven Great Cataclysms and the Time of Sorrows
In their furious pursuit of Nessus, the wrath of the Archangels manifested itself as a series of disasters which befell the decadent Empire and destroyed it forever.
The following account is excerpted from the translated writings of the dwarf astrologer, Havad of Dünderberg c. 113 AC (Anno Conseil "In the Year of the Council of Seven Banners"):
Travel on the high seas became difficult and dangerous, as the ocean now teemed with terrible leviathans. Far from land, ship-borne travelers found themselves beset by freakish weather, vast sargassum fields, and destructive whirlpools that sucked them to the depths where they were drowned. Distant peoples became separated and communication with, and knowledge of, foreign lands all but disappeared.
The few survivors of the cataclysms were among the most pure and innocent of the peoples of the Earth–remote villages, hermits, and settlements unspoiled by the vanity of the Empire. Because of this, most survivors were not learned people and did not have the knowledge or ability to record what had happened.
Oral tales were handed down over the centuries, and were eventually written down or turned into songs and poems. In recent centuries, however, troves of information have been recovered from Auldic ruins, and knowledge of this ancient, forgotten age has greatly expanded.
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Chapter Two – The Pagan Age
While worship of the pagan spirits–the precursors of the Archangels–had existed for untold millennia, it was the emergence of widespread nature worship during the barbaric Dark Ages that led ultimately to the rise of Paganism (and its ancestor-worshiping analogue, Shamanism).
Paganism is an ancient system of belief that ruled over the affairs of men for centuries. It accepted the existence of the Heavenly Host, but did not recognize them as representatives of a supreme God. Rather, the Creator figure became one half of a divine pair; He-Who-Spoke-the-Word became conjoined with a sister/wife goddess known as, She-Who-Is-At-the Center-of-All-Things.
According to the Pagan tradition, their copulation resulted in the birth of the Cosmos. The actual identities of the divine “parents,” along with the names of the Elohim, and their servants the Seraphim and Cherubim, were lost to mankind during the Dark Ages. The Heavenly Host was now seen as powerful nature spirits, personifications of the natural world (such as the Sun and the Moon), who existed among a throng of similarly powerful beings.
The Pagans further believed that these spirits, in the distant past, had saved mankind from disharmony by destroying the wicked world. One day, these spirits would deliver a lord to them, a messianic figure known as the Wreath-King. Celebrations and preparations for his coming were held on the solstices and equinoxes.
Paganism was heavily influenced by sylvan practices and the knowledge gleaned by human barbarians over many centuries as they observed their surroundings and relearned the “ways of the world.” Their beliefs were based on the rhythms and patterns of nature, particularly the regular passing of the seasons, the movement of the Zodiac Wheel, and the phases of the Moon. For the barbarians, these principles guided the weather and the planting/harvest cycles, and strongly influenced the behavior of animals and men.
Various pantheons of nature spirits appeared and rose to power; many also vanished forever. Some pantheons (such as the traditions of the Edda (Dwarf/Njord/Jotun) and the Seelie and Unseelie Courts of the fey people) have survived to the present day.
Today, Paganism exists among the sylvan cultures of Sidhelankh (SHEE-lonk), although their characterizations of the Spirit Hierarchies is much more abstract than that of humans. Pagan practices are also prevalent among the human druid cults of Avondale, nature priests who consider themselves the guardians of the lower spirit realms. They also protect ancient sacred sites, some of which are said to be portals to the mystical realm of Arcadia.
Shamanism, a close kin to Pagan beliefs, flourishes in the lands of dwarves and North-men (including the jotuns and aesir), as well as among the nomads of Khossa and the witch-men of Ulgoland. Different forms of Paganism and Shamanism are also practiced in the distant lands of Jhangar and Gondwana, far to the south.
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Chapter Three – The Coming of the Saints
The decline of Paganism among the masses began during the last centuries of the Dark Ages. Certain men and women of pious character, those who by their words and deeds exemplified the ideals first set down by the Heavenly Host, were illuminated by the seven Archangels.
Upon their deaths, these chosen prophets of God became (or their forms were assumed by) powerful spirit beings. Their slow gathering strengthened the presence of the Host upon the Earth, and the minds of men began to again discover the nature of their true Creator.
The first of these blessed humans was Saint Erasmus the Prophet (ehr-AZ-muss), a blind, crippled beggar from a remote village in what is, today, the Duchy of Highbluff. One day, in the center of the village square, Erasmus had an epiphany.
The second Saint was Jeremias the Selfless (JEHR-uh-MY-uhs), who was born the very day Erasmus died, in the same village, a mere street away from the exact spot of the prophet’s death.
The third Saint was Just the Lawgiver, who lived two centuries before the First Council of Seven Banners. He was a keenly logical warrior and a devoutly pious man who set down ruminations on his personal code of ethics and how his sword was to be used to do God’s bidding.
The fourth Saint was Benedict the Generous, who lived contemporaneously with Just.
The fifth was St. Leonard the Lean (also known as Kindly St. Leonard). He lived approximately 60 years after Just and Benedict, and was a steadfast man who made a living as a farmer. His farm’s soil was so rich and his skills so great that he produced bountiful harvests of grain, vegetables, and livestock each year.
The sixth was St. Catherine the Merciful, who was possessed by a sense of purpose that compelled her to treat the sick and wounded in battlefields and diseased villages.
The seventh was St. Valorius the Brave (vuh-LOHR-ee-uss). His original name is lost to history because, it is said, he was orphaned as a child when his parents were slain by raiders. He grew up among the southern peoples, traveling in caravans and begging for food. He was a slight boy, thin and timid, and a frequent subject of beatings and abuse.
The eighth was St. Lucius the Mighty (LOO-shuss), a barrel-chested giant of a man hailing from Gaelt.
The ninth was St. Dictatus the Orator (dik-TAH-tuhs), later replaced by St. Penitus the Redeemed (PEHN-ih-tuss).
The tenth was St. Seamus of the Sea (SHAY-muhs), a sailor by trade who died about 40 years before Caedmon’s birth.
Always a voracious reader, Seamus devoured many religious and philosophical texts, and became a wise man and skilled orator, who regaled his crew-mates with stories of myth and legend. On one fateful trip, while far out to sea, a terrific storm lashed his ship and sank the vessel. Only Seamus survived, left adrift and clinging to a section of mast.
After seven delirious days beneath the whole of the Firmament he had an epiphany, in which he realized God’s full magnificence. Suddenly, a great fish emerged from the water and swallowed poor Seamus. Five days later, he was spat out on the western shore of the land. He spent the rest of his life traveling to the farthest corners of the world, spreading the word of God to the masses. For this, he was elevated to Sainthood upon his death at the ripe old age of 103.
He is the Patron Saint of Sailors and Fishermen and of merchants and diplomats as well, because he was a renowned traveler who opened many foreign lands to commerce through his diplomacy. Seamus is also the guardian of the city of Riversmouth.
The eleventh was St. Biblios the Learnéd (BIHB-lee-ohs), a scholar in the service of Lord Sable in the settlement that became Riversmouth. He compiled a grand library there in his master’s name, and the Library of Lord Sable still stands today as one of the finest in the world.
The twelfth Saint was Caedmon (KAD-muhn), the first Wreath-King. His story is told in full in Book Three.
The coming of the early Saints inspired the growth of an underground religious cult which flourished in some of the larger, more organized settlements. As the peasantry conquered their surroundings and protected themselves with fortifications and the trappings of civilization, they no longer felt at the complete mercy of the wild, and they began to seek a more modern dogma.
The various doctrines passed down by the Saints attracted and inspired many people, who became interested in the concept of a singular God holding dominion over all Creation. Those who preached the word of God found themselves able to do miraculous things. His blessings were laid upon the people, which attracted even more followers. They abandoned sacrifices and appeasement of vengeful nature spirits and began worshiping an all-powerful, stern yet kind, fatherly deity.
By the time of the coming of Gladwain and the Council of Seven Banners, the Divinity existed as a loose collection of philosophies and beliefs, intermingled with Pagan traditions and practices. This quasi-religion was fairly widespread, but there were sometimes drastic regional differences in worship. Whatever the region, however, the concept of benevolent authority handed down from a central leader was quite popular, paving the way for acceptance of a High King.
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Chapter One – In the Years Before His Coming YR 39 PC (1st Thawing) – Spring of that year marked the transition of the Zodiac Wheel from the influence of the Elemental Realm of Fire (which represents loss and chaos) into the influence of Elemental Air (representing change and progress). At midnight on this day, during the new moon, an infant named Gladwain (GLAD-wayn) is born to a powerful chieftain.
In this era, a generation before the First Council of Seven Banners, the human lands consisted of thirty some-odd small, independent kingdoms. Growing commerce and mutual cooperation between the kingdoms signified the rise of both merchant and noble classes, a shift from the dominance of the warlords of old. But the world was still a hostile and dangerous place. Banditry was common, vile beasts haunted dark places in the wilderness, and there was much conflict and war.
Over the next quarter-century, and without warning, the human lands came under assault from many different directions.
Black armies of orcs, goblins, and other foul creatures from the Ashen Desert moved into the southeast plains, devastating everything in their path. At the same time, black-sailed vessels prowled the southern seas, threatening trade routes and raiding coastal settlements. Likewise, enormous longboats appeared on the shores to the northwest, depositing brutal hordes of jotun and north-men. Finally, swift nomadic raiders from the grassy steps of Khossa (KAH-suh) began plundering the kingdoms of the northeastern clans.
These invasions were not coordinated, nor were the invaders allied with each other, but their overall effect was to strain the abilities of the individual kingdoms to fend them off. As the outer lands fell before the invaders, the smaller and weaker kingdoms were folded into the larger, more powerful ones, until only seven kingdoms remained. Fortunately, the seven remaining leaders were all talented and cunning, and they fought valiantly to protect their lands.
After several years of bloody war, one of the chieftains–Gladwain the Wise– determined that peace and strength lay in the unity of the clans against those that threatened them. He called for a council of kings to discuss setting aside their differences and uniting to battle their common enemies.
The other chieftains agreed, and the seven of them made the long and dangerous journey to the lodge of Feologild Rex (fee-AH-LOW-gilled WRECKS), King of the Middle Lands (now the Duchy of Riversmouth), on the western shores of Lac Glimmere.
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Chapter Two – Gladwain and the Council of Seven Banners
Gladwain was the chieftain of the north-central tribes of men who dwelt in the rolling plains between the Gryphon Aerie and the sacred forest of Avondale (AH-VON-dayl). Despite his youthful age of 25 years, he was held in high esteem by all as a courageous warrior, a loyal clansman, a wise leader, a skilled tactician, and a merciful judge.
Besides Feologild and Gladwain, the other kings in attendance were:
At the council, after much deliberation, it was agreed that the well-respected Gladwain would be crowned as High-King of All Men, to whom the other chieftains would swear fealty, and in whose hands they would place the power of singular rulership.
The representative from Thaecia likewise pledged the fealty of their leader in exchange for increased trade and the protection of his crown. The Dwarf King was won over by his respect for Gladwain, on and off the field of battle. He swore an alliance between Duerheim and the new kingdom, though he did not swear fealty.
The agreement, however, was threatened by the question of succession. The kings could not decide if it should be determined by birth lineage, or whether there would be a method of selection in which all the lords share in the rule of the land, each in his own turn, according to his abilities to rule.
There was much disagreement and debate over this subject when suddenly, in the midst of the shouting and fist-pounding, came a sharp rapping at the door of Feologild’s hall. The lodge doors opened to reveal a procession of robed figures who filed silently into the hall, gathering in the middle of the assembled lords.
They were Maidens of Avondale, led by their high priestess, Ygraine (EE-grayn). They expressed their support and allegiance to the new High-King. Ygraine presented Gladwain with a virgin priestess named Gwynhyfyr (GWYN-hye-fahr) to be his bride.
The Witch-Queen then addressed the kings, saying, “These times are grim, and in your wisdom, you have gathered to combine your resources. However, progress must not be hindered by old mistrusts and newly-found greed for power. A decision is made for thee, Men of the Land. We Priestesses of Avondale shall sire thee, Gladwain, a son, who will grow strong and proud. Thou wilt know him as Caedmon (CAD-muhn), and all shall know him as the Wreath King, come at last to deliver us from darkness.”
The gathered lords each replied, saying, “So be it,” for none wished to oppose the ancient power and authority of Avondale. Ygraine then urged the lords to hold fast, saying, “The days before thee become darker still; but persevere, for in the end, you shall know victory.”
Gladwain and Gwynhyfyr were wed in a pagan ceremony, and that night, their vows were consummated.
Just before their wedding, Ygraine pulled Gladwain aside and explained that she has had a vision of great peril to him and his bride. He must take care before he is crowned, because the vision clearly showed a moment of fate approaching. She warned him that a decision sparked by the innocent counsel of a stranger would result in either his ascension or his death. Her vision told her no more than this.
The next morning, as Gladwain awoke from his wedding night slumber, he spied a thick book bound with simple leather resting on a bedside table, where it had not been the previous night. Curious, he opened the book and found within it text written in a strange language and beautifully illuminated with painted pages, scenes from the world’s mythic past. But Gladwain could not comprehend the words.
Suddenly, the Archangel Lazurai appeared before him, with Gwynhyfyr still sleeping nearby. He said blessings upon the pair and then spoke in a voice like a whispered roar, saying, “Take this book and give it to the scholarly among your followers. They will decipher its meaning and bring to your kingdom a message of love and peace and holy justice. This knowledge will sustain your rule for as long as Man stays true to its Word, for the glory of God is upon thee.”
Remembering Ygraine’s warning, Gladwain became afraid and filled with doubt about the being’s message. But his heart told him the angelic visitor had been true and good. When his new bride awoke, he told his story to Gwynhyfyr, but swore her to secrecy. Gladwain had decided to hold the book aside for now, while he pondered the meaning of this startling encounter.
Later that morning, the priestesses performed a divination upon Gwynhyfyr, and the omens told them that the consummation of the marriage would produce a male heir. There was much rejoicing and celebration, as the assembled kings began to believe their delivery from dark times, as foretold long ago, was finally at hand.
Three days after his wedding, on the night of the summer solstice, Gladwain was to be crowned the Wreath King in a great ceremony. As a symbol of their unity, Gladwain presented each of the kings with a banner depicting the most prominent elements of their own liveries. This flag, he proclaimed, would be the official livery of the Wreath King. The lords are honored and impressed with the banner, and all recognize its validity. The future of his realm seemed assured.
However, on the day of his coronation, during the festivities preceding the midnight ritual of crowning and ascension to the throne, the commander of another lord’s army cajoled Gladwain to preside over an archery contest among the men. The commander suggested that Gladwain’s legendary skill with the bow made him a perfect judge.
In good spirit, and swept up in the brotherly camaraderie between soldiers, he enthusiastically agreed. The competitors lined up and Gladwain gave the order to loose their arrows. Tragically, an errant missile struck the soon-to-be king, piercing him through the eye and killing him.
The unfortunate archer was set upon and slain by Gladwain’s guards, who mistook him for an assassin. This sparked a short but bloody conflict between some of the men representing different clans. The Archer’s Ghost is said to wander the world to this day, forever trying to repent for his mistake.
Hostilities were eventually calmed and anger turned to sorrow as the people’s hopes were shattered by the realization that their one hope for peace was dead. Gladwain was solemnly interred in Feologild’s lodge, and the great hall was sealed up and turned into a tomb, a palatial barrow mound for the Father of Kings.
Seeing these events as an ill omen, the Banner Lords returned to their lands in great despair. They were shorn of a king and faced more long years of battle ahead. The priestesses returned to Avondale where Gwynhyfyr later gave birth to Gladwain’s son at midnight on the Vernal Equinox during a full lunar eclipse. As Ygraine proclaimed, the child is named Caedmon, which means “Blessed Man” (or “Man of Righteous Fate,” exactly) in the Auldic tongue.
Adding to the tragedy, Gwynhyfyr died during the especially difficult childbirth. Before she passed on, as she lay mortally weakened, she revealed the mysterious book to Ygraine, and told her of the Archangel’s visit and his command to Gladwain. After Gladwain was accidentally killed by the archer, Gwynhyfyr had carried his mysterious book away with her to Avondale.
Ygraine was furious and seized the book immediately. She recognized the script as Auldic, for she was one of the few alive who could still read it. When the book’s purpose became apparent to her, she set her followers to translating it according to exact instructions. She gave to each of the scribes only a small portion of the text, so that none could determine the totality of its message. Ygraine rightly understood that the existence of the holy book could mean the decline of Pagan ways and the rise of the Divinity over the affairs of men. Yet its power was such that she could do naught else but obey its will.
Caedmon, meanwhile, was raised within the enchanted wood under the tutelage of the priestesses, and he became well-learned in the ways of the world.
Thirteen winters later, Ygraine called upon the kings to convene a second Banner Council, to which they reluctantly agreed. There, the High-Priestess presented them with thirteen-year-old Caedmon, Gladwain’s heir and successor to the crown his father never wore. The kings were dubious, yet none wished to oppose Ygraine. They demanded proof of the boy’s worthiness, and the priestesses agreed to their terms.
The occasion of this second council was later determined by scholars as the official demarcation between the age that had come before, and the new age of the Wreath-King. Thenceforth, historical dates were notated by the initials PC (Prior to the Second Council) and AC (in the year (Anno) of, or After, the Council).
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Chapter Three – Caedmon and the Quest for the Holy Lance
As Caedmon embarked on his quest for worthiness, each of the kings lent a follower to the boy’s retinue. The group was also joined by a mysterious spell-caster named Chernar (CHUR-nahr), former apprentice to Meopham the Vanished (MAY-oh-famm) and ally of the Priestesses of Avondale. This young and impetuous figure was destined one day to become the most powerful wizard the world has ever known.
Guided by Chernar, the questors traveled into the Gryphon Mountains in early spring, there to search for a lost Auldic shrine said to house an ingot of blessed adamant. They found the shrine atop a high mountain peak and cleaved the ingot from the craw of its defeated guardian, a great cloud dragon.
The group then set off for Duerheim,the bitterly cold, mountainous realm of the dwarves, where they convinced the dour folk of the boy’s destiny. Caedmon was sorely tested by the dwarf lords, but he succeeded despite near-impossible odds. They were so impressed, that they ordered his ingot hammered into a mighty spearhead of exquisite craftsmanship.
They fired the weapon in the magical forges of Sevakarun (seh-vuh-KAH-roon), and hammered and honed it upon the High Anvil of Moradin (MOHR-uh-dinn). The smiths forged haft bands and an end-cap of brightest mithril to go with it, while rune-masters carved delicate symbols into the pieces, imbuing them with powerful spells. Dwarf King Glorin vowed to acknowledge Caedmon as High-King of All Men should he survive his quest and be coronated.
The group next traveled back across the frigid North Sea into the rolling fields northeast of Glimmere, battling vicious Khossak (KAH-sack) raiders as they moved southward. Eventually, they reached the fringes of the woodland realm of Sidhelankh.
There they located another Auldic temple wherein dwelt a clan of elfin priests dedicated to the Earth Gaia (GUY-uh), a powerful nature spirit. Again, the boy is tested and, again, he impressed those whose aid he sought. The elves carved for him a spear haft from a twig cut from Ywaerj Draesael (YUH-varzh DRAY-zehl)–the Great Tree of Sidhelankh. They also inscribed magical symbols upon the haft, empowering it with the protection of the natural earth.
Finally, the group journeyed to the once-glorious Auldic city of Glimmere, now a foreboding, haunted ruin. The questors battled hordes of terrifying and voracious undead fiends, making their way to a shrine in the heart of the city. This quiet shrine was the one place in that cursed city that was spared by the Elohim, saved for this very purpose which they foresaw long ago.
There, the Lance was immersed in a sacred basin filled with holy water. When the spear was so bathed, there was a shower of golden light, and the seven Elohim appeared accompanied by the eleven Saints. The Saints each blessed the weapon and then the boy-king, while the Elohim dutifully watched without speaking. With the enchantment completed, the weapon became the Lancea Deus (LAN-see-ah DAY-uss)–the Spear of God–the birthright of the Wreath King and the symbol of his rule.
The quest fellowship returned to Feologild’s lodge four-and-a-half years after they’d departed. With the Lance as proof of his Divine Right, the assembled lords declared themselves satisfied, and swore fealty to Caedmon.
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Chapter Four – The Coronation of Caedmon
Caedmon’s coronation occurred on the summer solstice in the year 5 AC. Ygraine placed a crown of gold and platinum, ringed by a wreath of golden holly, upon his head. He is thereafter called Caedmon the Goldhelm'd.
The coronation is held at Feologild’s new lodge, in the presence of the barrow of Gladwain and Gwynhyfyr. All of the other kings were in attendance, along with Ygraine and a coterie of maidens. Also present were the Dwarf King and his entourage, a group of High Elf lords and ladies from Sidhelankh, and the surviving comrades from Caedmon’s quest, chief among them the wizard, Chernar.
Caedmon’s fallen parents were honored with great tributes and ceremonies for their sacrifice that led to this day. The individual kings then each laid their swords at Caedmon’s feet and named him their High-King. He, in turn, named them his Dux Bellorum (DOOKS-bell-OHR-um) ("War Chiefs"), or simply “Dukes,” as they became called in common parlance.
One duke, in particular, had a profound influence on the new High-King’s realm. Ruenoir d’Argent (ROON-wahr DAHR-zhan) was the first king to swear his fealty, and his vow to Caedmon was not only heartfelt, but was also grand in its performance. Caedmon was so moved he named Ruenoir his personal chevalier, his knight-champion.
Ruenoir, using the code of chivalry handed down by his ancestor Ren, formed the first knight order called the Knights of the Gold Wreath. Theirs was the model by which all other knight orders patterned themselves.
After his coronation, in the presence of the other lords, Ygraine presented Caedmon with the secret tome given to his father by the Archangel Lazurai, and with it a translation of the book into the common language spoken by men of the day. Caedmon could read both, for wise Ygraine had taught him Auldic, the language of yore.
The book contained the original text of the Libram Sancti, the holy book of the Divinity, which contained the story of The Word and the Creation of the World, as well as the full ruminations of each Saint. This year is called the Year of Illumination by Realm scholars, for it was the year The Word of God was given to mankind.
Future coronation ceremonies became a combination of Pagan and Divine rituals, consisting of a parallel series of vows, declarations, and prayers both to God and to a variety of elder spirits. The symbols and regalia of the coronation were likewise made up of the old and the new. The compromises and agreements made between each faith through this ceremony ensured that the Wreath King has always been a figure that linked the Heavenly Realm with its Pagan past and maintained the Holy Crown’s ties to the land.
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Chapter Five – Reign of the First Wreath King
The peace was not perfect; there were frequent skirmishes between the dukes, or among their vassals. However, to most it was as though the sun had risen at last, sweeping aside the utter darkness of past centuries. Finally, it seemed, the Curse of the Elohim was lifted.
As Caedmon’s fledgling reign began to take shape, Chernar became his trusted court wizard and advised him for many years afterward. One day, however, a mysterious matter from his past arose, causing Chernar much grief and worry. His service to the Wreath King waned, and he was forced to take his leave to deal with the troubles. He disappeared into the depths of Avondale, and was never seen by Caedmon again.
King Caedmon’s reign was one of great peace and prosperity in which many of the traditions and tenets of the current Realm were established. Upon his death, he became the last Saint ordained by the Archangels, fulfilling the Hierarchy of Twelve and, in so doing, took his place as its titular head.
At his funeral, Caedmon’s body was wrapped in sacred cloth, placed aboard a longboat, and pushed into the misty twilight waters of Lac Glimmere, where water nymphs bore the vessel into the mystical, twilight realm of Arcadia. He is the Patron Saint of the Nobility and the embodiment of godliness and righteousness in Man.
To his descendants is given the Divine Right of Kingship, and to them is passed the authority to wear the Gold Wreath Crown and bear the Lancea Deus.
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BOOK FOUR – THE AGE OF ILLUMINATION
Chapter One – Rise of La Divinatum (The Divinity)
Armed with the power of the Libram Sancti and the Lancea Deus, King Caedmon personified the divine master on earth. As such, he ordered that great temples to God be erected in each of the seven major settlements of the new realm.
To each temple he appointed a cadre of high-priests–originally called just Bishops, then later Archbishops as the rank-and-file of the clergy grew. He commanded them to make many copies of the Libram Sancti, and then send forth their disciples to spread The Word of God to the masses.
To lead them, he named the great religious scholar, Biblios, as first Pontiff of the Church of La Divinatum, installing him in the great temple at Andinium (around which the city of Kingscastle ultimately arose). Smaller shrines and temples, called churches, were erected in many communities. Some of these churches were quite sophisticated and grand. The priesthood became organized and hierarchical, built around a model similar to that of a king and his extended court of nobles. Holy priests became common figures in courts and councils all across the land, and their blessings were in constant demand.
Whereas Ruenoir d’Argent–descendant of the legendary horse chieftain, Ren–became the first knight, he dutifully passed on the chivalric tradition, born of the original teachings of St. Just, to all of his sons and to the sons of his brothers. The tradition was fully embraced by the southern horsemen of Sheval, and over time became a popular career path for loyal warriors who felt a higher calling.
One of Ruenoir’s nephews who had received this legacy was a bright, strong, and pious cavalryman named Palladius (puh-LAY-dee-uhs). As he approached middle age, he gave up the military life and became a priest and scholar of St. Just. He was later attached to a military command as the unit’s chaplain.
During a fierce battle with desert raiders in far-off Borland, the young priest’s troop was overwhelmed and massacred. In the course of the battle, he donned what armor he could scrounge and hefted a stout weapon. Infused with the might of God, Palladius waded into battle and single-handedly turned the tide for his fellows. Thereafter, he dedicated his life to the formation of a troop of fighting priests, sworn to the code of conduct set forth by St. Just. They became the first Knights Templar–the Holy Order of Paladins.
The rise of the Divinity, occurring at the cusp of an extended period of peace and prosperity, crested like a wave and broke over the whole of the Realm. The dark veil was lifted and The Word of God washed away centuries of ignorance and superstition.
The Priestesses withdrew into the depths of Avondale, reluctantly accepting that their era of primacy was past. Paganism diminished considerably into a sort of self-exile, more out of a sense of respect to the cycles of the universe than of any humiliation or defeat. Elements of it exist openly today, particularly among the more remote reaches of the Realm such as Borland, but its influence over the daily lives of the common citizenry has waned considerably.
Today, the Priestesses remain powerful and influential, seen most dramatically during the coronation rituals, and in particular, the tradition that the queen be chosen from among the virgin Maidens of the Forest. However, the Priestesses stay mostly in the background, and their hand in Realm affairs is largely unseen.
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Chapter Two – The Schism of the Sea Princes of Swordgate
Swordgate was originally founded in ancient times by refugees from the Auldic city of Andelugia in the land of Thaecia, out in the Vast Western Sea. They were survivors of the Archangels curse who had escaped the sinking of their island homeland. The Andelugeans made their way to the northern reaches of the Southern Sea, finally landing on a volcanic island and making a new home among its thick coastal rain forests and rugged slopes. They named the island Thaecia, after their former, now-submerged homeland.
Farming land was scarce but the soil was rich and bountiful, and the colony prospered. It came to be ruled by a loose council of clan leaders who managed disasters and negotiated conflicts. They organized commerce between themselves, but otherwise stayed out of the others' business.
Faithful to their sea-faring traditions, the Thaecian clans resumed ship-building, and they were frequent visitors to the shores of the land that would become the realm of the Wreath King. Throughout the Dark Ages, they conducted prosperous trade with the barbarian chieftains all along the coast, ranging as far north as the lands of Njord and Khossa, to Ghondwana and Nob Y’ggurath in the south. These ancient traditions have served every generation of their descendants well, and they remain a mighty sea-folk.
An emissary from Thaecia was present at the First Council of Seven Banners. He brought desperate pleas to Gladwain and the assembled kings for help against the desert pirates of Al-Asjhad and the dark hordes of Golgoroth (the evil regions later to become known as Grohluk and the “Nine Curses”). Like the others, the emissary offered a pledge of fealty from the unanimous Thaecian clan leaders, and he laid the ceremonial scimitar of their proud council at the feet of the new High-King (to-be), allying the island nation with its brothers to the northeast.
Years later, the Thaecian clan council recognized Caedmon as Gladwain’s heir and as king. In accepting their fealty, Caedmon raised the Thaecian scimitar over his head and declared that the island-nation would be the Realm’s gateway to spread God’s good word to their southern neighbors (and current enemies). Thaecia became known as Swordgate thereafter (to the islanders’ consternation), and it is still known as “The Gateway to the Southern Seas.”
Two centuries passed and Swordgate continued to prosper. The rise of Sheval’s powerful navy and Riversmouth’s impressive merchant fleets began to create friction between those lords and Swordgate’s leaders. There was much grumbling among the clan council, now a group of powerful merchant lords collectively known as the Sea Princes of Swordgate.
Relations between the mainland and their sea-faring brothers grew increasingly strained, and territorial naval skirmishes flared up occasionally. In 200 AC, the King Caerolinus (kare-OH-lye-nuss) made a truly poor decision that would shatter the solidarity of the Realm and bring the lands to the brink of civil war.
At this time, the border lands to the southeast were considered one of the seven duchies, while Swordgate was regarded as an independent territory of the Realm. After the destructive Second Goblin War, and with the sudden and explosive growth of the evil forest known as Blackvale, which swallowed up vast hectares of land, the Wreath King stripped the border lands of its status and declared it a defensive buffer, a no-man’s land that would protect the southern and eastern lands of the Realm.
The population there dwindled to a small number, but those who remained became known as the “Bor’landers,” a tough and fiercely independent group who harbored deep resentment over being left to fend for themselves. They called Caerolinus’ actions cowardly and treasonous. The split became deeply entrenched in Borland culture, and even today the native residents hold the trappings of the royal court in low regard.
Even worse, in order to appease the former Duke of Borland who had now lost his territory, Caerolinus gave him stewardship over Swordgate, to the great dismay of the Sea Princes. The merchant lords complied with the king’s wishes however and ceded direct control of the island to this new lord.
Unhappy with this turn of events and angered by the inept leadership of their new lord, forces loyal to the Sea Princes began fomenting dissent and clamoring for secession from the Realm. Ultimately, twenty years after taking over rule of Swordgate, the steward was overthrown by the Sea Princes, who led a successful revolt against the Wreath-King.
Open hostilities lasted for the remaining six years of Caerolinus’ reign. However, despite the anger over political affairs, each side still felt a great deal of kinship for the other. Neither side seemed willing to attempt that final bloody push for victory, and the great civil war that seemed just around the corner never quite arrived. In the end, it was only Caerolinus’ stubborn pride that prevented a just resolution.
In reality, the lords of Sheval and Riversmouth had worked out secret deals with the Sea Princes to avoid any military actions not specifically called for by their king. This allowed as much trade as possible to continue, interrupted only occasionally by demands from the aging Caerolinus on the progress of the war. When this happened, a quick military action would be launched, typically resulting in brief and limited engagements in which minimal damage was sustained. In this way, the violence never escalated beyond a manageable level, and future relations between the two powers never boiled over into long-lasting hatred.
When Caerolinus died in 226, he was succeeded by his brother Henry, who proved an able and true king. His first act was to officially end the war by recognizing the rule of the Sea Princes over Swordgate. The Sea Princes accepted the peace, but foreswore any further responsibility to the Realm, declaring their independence as an allied nation. Henry wisely accepted their independence, negotiating a handsome tribute from them in lieu of their allegiance. Peace was established, and the alliance was restored.
Some have said the relationship was actually strengthened by the conflict, and there is no doubt both camps have prospered with the aid of the other. There is still a great deal of competition in the areas of commerce and naval supremacy, but true conflicts are rare, and outbreaks of military or privateer action are virtually unheard of between the two powers. Swordgate is instrumental in the defense of the southern shipping lanes from pirates and marauding Imperium ships.
In time, the Sea Princes elected one of their own to be a titular leader known as the Brand of Swordgate. Largely a ceremonial post, the clans swap off rulership by luck of the draw upon the death of each Brand. They are invested with little real power except in times of great emergency, and even then the independent nature of their military could seize control if the Brand ever attempted to reach beyond his authority.
Approximately a century ago, there was a revolt on the Swordgate penal colony known as Gao-Din (gow-DHIN), which means "Rotten Tooth" in the Jhangaran tongue. The prisoners captured the island and slew their Thaecian guards. They managed to repel all attempts to retake the island, and after losing large numbers of soldiers in futile marine assaults, the Brand simply ordered the criminals blockaded and contained, assuming they would eventually submit or die of starvation.
The inmates didn’t die, however. Instead, they established a secret network of supplies from the mainland, ferried through the naval perimeter by experienced smugglers in fast, blockade-running ships. Eventually, a criminal empire was formed by these desperate and talented criminals, and their shadowy reach now extends well into Swordgate and even into the lands of the Realm.
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Chapter Three – Lineage of the Wreath King
Caedmon I the Goldhelm’d (b. 13 PC/d. 69 AC)–The son of Gladwain the Wise and Gwynhyfyr, Maiden of Avondale. He was crowned the first Wreath-King on the Summer Solstice of 13 AC, and ruled successfully for nearly seventy years until his death. Thereafter, his descendants assumed the surname “Goldhelm.”
Glydwynh (b. 26 AC/d. 90 AC) ruled from 69 – 90 AC.
Caedmon II (b. 48 AC/d. 114 AC) ruled from 90 –114 AC, and presided over the First Goblin War.
Caedmon III (b. 92 AC/d. 180AC) ruled from 114 – 180 AC.
Caedmon IV (b. 140 AC/d. 200 AC) ruled from 180 – 200 AC.
Caerolinus the Stubborn (b. 180 AC/d. 226 AC) ruled from 200 – 226 AC, and presided over the Second Goblin War, the Scourging of Blackvale, and the Schism of Swordgate.
Henry the Venerable (b. 197 AC/d. 307 AC) ruled from 226 – 307 AC and made peace with Swordgate.
Henry the Younger (b. 290 AC/d. 356 AC) ruled from 307 – 356 AC.
Caedmon V (b. 326 AC/d. 403 AC) ruled from 356 – 403 AC.
Robert the Misfortunate (b. 398 AC/d. 442 AC) ruled from 403 – 442 AC. A competent leader whom history has cast with great fondness, Robert was also an unfortunate figure who never seemed able to rise above the tragedies surrounding him.
Rodger the Beloved (b. 555 AC/d. 640 AC) ruled from 575 – 640 AC. Rodger was a calm, charismatic leader who guided the Realm through a period of sustained peace and prosperity, so much so that he is lionized among its greatest leaders, in the same category with Caedmon and William.
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Chapter Four – The Third Goblin War and the Battle of Thunder Mountain
In the southern Realm, a lone mountain rises in the rolling lands between Borland and the horse plains of Sheval. Thunder Mountain stands high and proud, with grassy slopes at the base giving way to steep rocky escarpments that tower above the countryside. Its peak is covered with a cap of snow from fall to late spring. Legend has it that ancient storm gods used to dance around its summit, giving it its name.
The mountain has always been a curiosity for, nestled between two of its spurs, is a sheltered valley called The Portico. At the back of the valley is an enormous stone face, carved to resemble a set of massive gates. Dwarf writing, faint and obscured from centuries of exposure, can be seen everywhere, and smaller rune-carved marker stones litter the area.
In addition to the carved gates, a ruined watch tower clings to the side of the mountain approximately halfway up, at the point where grass and loam give way to sheer cliff. The way to the base of the tower is treacherous, and there appeared to be no method of entrance. For as long as the people of the region could remember, the tower had remained as enigmatic as The Portico.
It was not uncommon for dwarves passing through the area to make their way to The Portico and pay their respects. Their story generally went that the valley was the entrance to an ancient underground fortress called Dünderberg, “Thunder Mountain” in the dwarf tongue.
Evil forces were said to have fallen upon the fortress, forcing the dwarf god, Dumathoin, to seal the mountain forever. Most locals paid the legend little mind; the mountain had stood quietly for as long as anyone could remember, and no one had any reason to believe the legends mattered. They were to learn just how significant the mountain would become to the fate of the world.
In 685 AC, just prior to the outbreak of the Third Goblin War and the loss of both kings Roderick and Alexander, a group of adventurers found their way inside the mountain, Therein, they discovered vast wonders, extraordinary dangers, and the hidden past of Dünderberg.
According to historical records which the dwarves are now reconstructing, the ancient history of Thunder Mountain dates back to the end of the Auldic Empire and involves the wicked emperor, Nessus. The timeline uncovered so far begins here:
The adventurers also made their way into the mountain, but doing so triggered potentially cataclysmic events.
In faraway Duerheim, the Rune Council announced that they had received visions regarding Dünderberg. The level of excitement among the populace became palpable. Some of the rune priests declared that they must reclaim the fortress, but King Durne Stônfaust (DERN SHTONE-fowst) was uncertain, convinced that other political and religious considerations must be taken into account.
The defenders made a valiant effort, but their lines were close to breaking. Suddenly, out of the north came King Roderick and a force of his mounted knights and infantry, riding to intercept the Covenant forces. Roderick’s men crashed against the necromancers’ army of corpses and shattered it. The king’s holy lance vaporized many of his foes, stripping away the dark clouds of poisonous smoke which obscured the advancing army, exposing them to the light of the sun. But just at the moment of victory, the king and a cadre of his knights was swallowed up by a foul servant of The Void, and they were gone.
The loss of the Wreath King nearly broke the back of the Realm forces, and defeat seemed certain. Roderick’s brother, Alexander, assumed the kingly mantle, and he commanded his subjects to continue their fight despite the desperate odds and perilous circumstances.
It would be the actions of the small band of adventurers within the mountain, though, that would set the wheel of fate spinning and determine the future of the Realm. As things looked bleakest on the surface, they pressed onward with their quest.
Within the mountain, the heroes came into the main chamber and confronted D’agesh; during the course of their adventure, some of them had assumed runic powers which they now wielded against the vile nether-beast, battling him both in the Spirit Realm and on the mortal plane. At the moment of precise astrological alignment, as the heroes’ defenses were at the critical point of collapse, they managed to finally cast down the ogre-demon and imprison him again. The unholy curse on the mountain was lifted.
On the surface, the Realm forces braced themselves for the Emperor’s final onslaught, certain that today’s battle would be their last. The exiled Dwarf Prince Ulric had reinforced the Realm’s lines somewhat with his meager forces, but they were still vastly outnumbered.
Suddenly, the gates of The Portico opened, and an army of ghostly dwarves emerged, bolstered by Shalemur’s forces and the heroes of Thunder Mountain. They descended upon the enemy army and held them back. This bought enough time for fresh reinforcements to arrive and ultimately turned the tide of battle. The invasion was ultimately repulsed, but King Alexander was also lost in battle, leaving the future of the Realm in question.
Prior to King Roderick’s untimely death, he and Prince Ulric had signed treaties giving Dünderberg and the lands immediately surrounding it to the dwarven refugees as their new homeland, at least until they could reclaim Duerheim from the evil clutches of King Svartsturm. Ulric was named High-Lord-Under-the-Mountain.
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Chapter Five – The Modern World
686 AC – A Banner Council was convened in the month of Turnleaf, to be held at Banner Castle, home to the Knight Order of the Sacred Banner, the sworn guardians of the ancient Lodge of Feologild Rex, Lord of the Middle Lands.
In the absence of the Wreath King, the council was presided over by the knight-commander of the castle, Sir Yoffrey Reynold (YOFF-ree RAY-nuld), who served as Arbiter. In attendance were:
The Seven Dukes of the Realm: Aelbrecht Gwaenglaine (ELL-brekt GWEN-glayn) of Woodcrosse; Odgar Edmundson (ODD-gahr EHD-mundh-sun) of Landsend; Renard D'Argent (RAY-nahrd DAHR-zhan) of Sheval; Angus macFadden (AIN-guhs MACK-fay-duhn) of Highbluff; and Yeobert Lancaster (YO-bare LANK-uh-stir) of Riversmouth.
The Pontiff, His Excellency Pious XII (PY-uhs) and the assembled Archbishops from each of the major cities of the Realm, ancient Ygraine and the High Priestesses of Avondale, and the wizard Achernar and the Elders of Ashestaffe Keep served as witnesses to the event.
Queen Sarah Goldhelm, unable to attend due to poor health, was represented by her brother, Lord Thomas Windham, Steward of Borland, Earl of Stonewalle, and Hero of Thunder Mountain. He was attended and advised by Roderick’s widow, the former queen, Minerva Goldhelm.
Representatives from all knight orders, including the Royal Rangers and the Road Wardens, as well as ambassadors from Swordgate and Dünderberg (now acknowledged as the “official” voice of the dwarves) observed from the gallery.
After several days filled with passionate speeches about the Realm and her storied past, about the loss of the kings, and about questions of succession, the dukes are faced with accepting one of the following choices:
Lord Thomas Windham gave the closing speech, on Sarah’s behalf, and to everyone’s surprise, this political novice delivered a passionate speech of such stirring prose and sweeping emotion that all gave pause, even those who were adamantly against installing Sarah as regent.
As though relieved of the burden of a costly decision, the majority of the dukes agreed to remain loyal to the Goldhelm name, if not an actual king, until a new order could be established upon which all could agree. Thus, Sarah Goldhelm remains the titular queen, serving as a figurehead for the people to rally around, while the personal power and influence of the individual dukes grows steadily. This is the state of the Realm today.
The current year is 689 AC.
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Blue text indicates geographical entries found in the Kingsrealm Atlas, while green text indicates campaign annotations.
UPDATED: 09/11/2010
PROLOGUE – THE CREATION OF THE WORLD
Chapter One – The Speaking of the Word
Chapter Two – The Elohim Bind the Titans
Chapter Three – The Firmament Is Set
Chapter Four – The Heavenly Palace Is Made
Chapter Five – The Void Is Made
BOOK ONE – THE AULDIC EMPIRE
Chapter One – The Age of Turmoil
Chapter Two – The Age of Reason
Chapter Three – The Ascension of Nessus
Chapter Four – The Wrath of Heaven and the Fall of the Auldic Empire
BOOK TWO – THE DARK AGES
Chapter One – The Seven Great Cataclysms and the Time of Sorrows
Chapter Two – The Pagan Age
Chapter Three – The Coming of the Saints
BOOK THREE – THE COMING OF THE WREATH KING
Chapter One – In the Years Before His Coming
Chapter Two – Gladwain and the Council of Seven Banners
Chapter Three – Caedmon and the Quest for the Holy Lance
Chapter Four – The Coronation of Caedmon
Chapter Five – Reign of the First Wreath King
BOOK FOUR – THE AGE OF ILLUMINATION
Chapter One – Rise of La Divinatum (The Divinity)
Chapter Two – The Schism of the Sea Princes of Swordgate
Chapter Three – Lineage of the Wreath King
Chapter Four – The Third Goblin War and the Battle of Thunder Mountain
Chapter Five – The Modern World
PROLOGUE – THE CREATION OF THE WORLD
Chapter One – The Speaking of the Word
Illuminatus Rex – The King of Light – slept in the formless Aether that existed before all time began. But he was cold and alone, and his sleep was fitful. He desired light, and warmth, and peace. He roused from his troubled sleep and spoke a single Word.And The Word was of such power that Heaven sprang from his lips before the utterance of the first sound. And as The Word was voiced, the Cosmos suddenly came into being with a brilliant light and a roaring like a tenfold tempest. And as the last echoes of The Word passed His teeth, out sprang the Elohim, the servants of God, and they were compelled by The Word to do His bidding.
The Elohim (ELL-oh-eem) are the seven Archangels, although men did not call them by that title until the time of Caedmon I. They each represent one of the Seven Holy Virtues, and their common names are:
- Azazel (AH-zuh-zell) represents the Virtue of Honour
- Lazurai (lahz-UHR-eye) represents the Virtue of Fellowship
- Mithria (MYTH-ree-uh) represents the Virtue of Charity
- Enoch (EE-nok) represents the Virtue of Duty
- Iago (YAH-goh) represents the Virtue of Purity
- Heliotenethes (HELL-ee-oh-TEN-eh-theez) represents the Virtue of Piety
- Lunatathera (loo-NAH-tah-THAY-rah) represents the Virtue of Modesty
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Chapter Two – The Elohim Bind the Titans
Shortly after The Word was spoken, the Cosmos was vast and nebulous, without proper form or structure. It teemed with beings known as Titans, elemental spirits of enormous power and chaotic temperament. These beings refused the power of The Word, which would bind them to a proper form, as He-Who-Spoke-It designed.
- God is often depicted as a potter, setting his wheel (the Cosmos) a-spinning. The chaotic elements, the “raw clay,” began to coalesce and drift to the outside of the wheel as the Potter began working and removing bits of clay. He formed the “bowl” that is Earth (“Medi-Terra”) and filled it with “purified” elementals. This accounts for the existence of elemental energies (mana) and creatures (Spirits, Dragons, Old Ones, etc.) on the mortal plane, while the unbound and destructive TRUE Elementals (Titans) are held at bay beyond the edge of the Aether.
- The seven Elohim are deities, each of whom manifests itself differently to their audience. To humans of the Realm they appear as Archangels; to the elves, they appear as powerful avatars of nature; to the dwarves, they appear as the classic pantheon of shaper-makers, which begat the rich mythology of warrior-giant-killers revered by the berserker men of Njord.
- The twelve Seraphim are demigods who are tasked to interact with the mortal realm and help guide the affairs of men (and others). The individual aspects they manifest are typically drawn from heroic examples from the audience’s culture. The human Saints are the most recent aspects the Seraphim have adopted (evolving from their more ancient manifestations as the Pagan pantheon).
It is whispered in hushed tones that there are those who still worship the primal Elder Gods, elemental beings who are the ultimate agents of discord. These cults of chaos make many dark sacrifices in their name. According to the accounts of mariners, there is a land far to the south of the Empire of Iron and Ash, called Nob-Y’ggurath (NAHB IGG-uhr-wroth), which is said to be inhabited by clans of desert peoples, ruled by witch-kings, who dedicate themselves to the worship of the elemental Titans.
- The Elder Gods are spirit beings of enormous power, cast-offs from the creation of the world. They are malevolent creatures composed of raw “fused” elements, the strange elemental “mixtures” of the matter present at the beginning of the Cosmos. They manifest as chaotic assemblages of other-wordly flesh: slimes, muck creatures, gelatinous tentacled monstrosities, hideous combinations of earthly beasts, and worse.
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Chapter Three – The Firmament Is Set
As the Elemental Realms were brought into alignment with the world, the Elohim used their power and mastery to create the Sun (from Elemental Fire and Air) and the Moon (from Elemental Earth and Water) and the Planets (from bits and pieces of each), and set them floating in the Aether to orbit the Earth. Again, each of the seven Elohim bound the aspects of the Firmament to themselves, and claimed lordship over each.
- Azazel has dominion over the planet Elliptus (EE-lip-tuhs)
- Lazurai has dominion over the planet Mercurios (muhr-KYUR-EE-ohs)
- Mithriae has dominion over the comet Daemos (DAY-mohs)
- Enoch has dominion over the planet Callistus (kuh-LIST-uhs)
- Iago has dominion over the comet Luminos (LOO-MEE-nohs)
- Heliotenethes has dominion over the Sun, called Helios (HEE-LEE-ohs)
- Lunatathera has dominion over the Moon, called Luna (LOO-nah)
The races of Men (including elves, dwarves, and other non-human races) were created according to the instructions of The Word, sculpted from earth and water (clay), and fired in sacred kilns. Then the Elohim breathed His life into the graven images and they were set loose upon the earth.
See Primer Astrologia for more details.
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Chapter Four – The Heavenly Palace Is Made
When the Creation was complete, the Archangels raised a Golden Palace high above the Earth in the Realm of Heaven, and therein they retired to watch over the affairs of the Cosmos.
Between the Earthly and Heavenly Realms were placed other Spirit Realms, to which the souls of the creatures of light (Man and animals) returned when their physical bodies died. Their proximity to the Heavenly Palace rested much on the piousness of the soul while alive. Those who strive to live according to The Word found themselves after death in the presence of the Golden Palace, there to become one with the Heavenly Host. Those who live good and decent lives, and make no evil upon the earth, but who nevertheless do not live according to His will, as well as those innocent beings who were never made aware of His presence, dwell in the lower Spirit Realms, in eternal peace and harmony.
The lowest of these realms is called Arcadia (AHR-kay-dee-uh), a mystical place of ancient power. Portals to Arcadia exist in certain sacred spots of the Earthly Realm, allowing the living to pass through and visit with those who have long passed on. Many tales are told of mortal heroes being whisked away to Arcadia, there to perform perilous quests of worthiness and redemption.
This realm is said to be a mirror image of the mortal world, yet different in profound ways. Time passes strangely there, and the land is wild and untamed, flowing with powerful Wouivre (WOO-vray)–a weave of natural energies from the Spirit Realm that stitches the land together. The power of the Wouivre flows through these portals, and it is this power that Pagans worship.
The Priestesses of Avondale are said to be frequent visitors to Arcadia, and tales tell that King Caedmon I was actually raised as an infant in this misty realm.
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Chapter Five – The Void Is Made
When it was created, the Cosmos was a churning storm of elemental energies. Great swirling tides of positive and negative energies ebbed and flowed within the storm, maintaining a constant state of opposition and attraction, annihilation and creation.
When the Elemental Realms were finally bound and the Firmament set, the Cosmos remained awash in these opposite energies. However, the presence of the Golden Palace acted as a lodestone on the positive energies. As the Cosmos began to spin, these positive energies began to separate from the churn and flow upwards, where they were absorbed into Heaven. In turn, divine energy was radiated back down upon the Cosmos.
An unfortunate effect of the turning of the Cosmos was to cause the negative energies to be flung to the outer reaches, where they crashed like waves against the Elemental Realms. This darkened the Sun, and tainted the elemental energies washing into the Firmament. The Cosmos began to wobble dangerously.
- Many theologians have questioned how the all-knowing Divine King could make such a mistake, but the Book of Creation in La Divinatum only relates the tale, it does not discuss its ramifications.
The negative energy drained into the pit formed by Enoch’s spear. Then the Elohim set the Cosmos turning again. The unimaginable coalescence of negative energy in that dark pit at the bottom of the cosmos–called also Abyssa Voidum (AH-BISS-uh VOY-doom) or simply, The Void–became aware of itself.
The Void began to fashion evil fetishes for its own twisted amusement and its power grew, as did its anger and hatred of the beings of light who’d sentenced it to this terrible existence. The Void sent out its sinister simulacra to torment those dwelling in His Creation and drag their souls down into the blackness to be devoured. It found willing servants among men who were easily corrupted, living “lenses” through which it could look into the world and perform evil work.
As The Void stretched out its vile power to escape Enoch’s pit, its dark minions advanced relentlessly. Wave upon wave, the servants of The Void would emerge from the pit and freeze as stone. Layer upon layer slowly built up, each upon the other, until a physical realm of evil rose above the maw of The Void, a towering expanse made up of nine concentric terraces populated by teeming throngs of malevolent beings.
This spirit realm of the damned was named the Nine Hells (among other names best left unspoken). Those who violated His Word, or who performed acts of evil upon others, were condemned to the Hellish Realms upon death. There, the condemned souls are tormented for untold ages, sinking ever deeper into the Pit, until ultimately, they are devoured by The Void and snuffed forever from existence.
Atop the Nine Hells rest three shadowy realms known collectively as Malebôlge (MAL-eh-bolj)("The Pits of Malice"). Like Arcadia, Malebôlge touches the Earthly Realm in places, and through these dark portals flows the power of The Void, allowing its servants to pass freely.
Likewise, tales are told of living mortals who have crossed the black river called Effluvium (EFF-loo-vee-um) and found themselves at the Iron Gates to Malebôlge, therein to confront its guardians.
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BOOK ONE – THE AULDIC EMPIRE
Chapter One – The Age of Turmoil
The races of Man were now pretty much on their own, although clues and signs were set in place to initiate the worthy and insightful into the true order of things. Secret knowledge of the Creator and the existence of the Heavenly Host was hidden away to ensure that Man would one day discover his true role. It was thus left to mankind to achieve the Heavenly Palace in due time, when such wisdom was ready to be received.
It is unknown how much time passed between the creation of the world and the rise of what modern scholars call the Auldic Empire, but it is thought to be vast ages in which the world was primeval and ruled by mighty beasts and terrible dragons. Their time upon the earth was as a beach, where every grain of sand was a thousand years. Through that long dark epoch mankind struggled to survive, but over time he began to exert his dominance over his surroundings–slaying dangerous predators, cultivating the land, learning medicine and language, domesticating animals, building settlements, waging war, making peace, and creating civilization.
Then, long ago in an unrecorded era, the world was blessed with the rise of seven scholar-kings, each said to be a disciple of one of the Elohim. They raised up great works of artifice and technology, and their science made unto the world a paradise of wonder and learning.
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Chapter Two – The Age of Reason
An enlightened empire grew out of the scholar kingdoms, as the seven wise men who ruled them established cities, each dedicated to the patronage of one of the Elohim. These wise men then held reasoned council with each other and determined that they needed a means of unification to serve the majesty of their peaceful civilization.
They selected an infant of excellent stock. His father was Orion (oh-RY-uhn), a great hunter and the most respected of the lords of the land. His mother was Chastienne (chass-tee-EHN), a virtuous priestess.
Their child was named Elucidar (ell-LOO-sid-ahr), and a splendid palace was constructed for him. The child grew within the palace, and was trained in the ways of science, medicine, art, and magic by the seven wise men. Furthermore, his father taught him to be strong and brave, and cunning as well. His mother and her sister priestesses taught him to be compassionate and pious, and ever-respectful of the world and his place in it.
A grand city grew around the palace, and it was named Elucidar in the boy’s honor. When he became a man, the seven scholar-kings presented him to the world and proclaimed him their emperor. They then abdicated their own thrones and swore fealty to him. Why they did this is unknown, for it broke the divine rule of the Hierarchy of Sevens. Some believe it was out of a misguided belief that they (representing the seven Elohim) were to create a mortal representation of He-Who-Spoke-the-Word, a lord-of-lords upon the earth.
They perhaps believed that this notion was the Divine Plan, but they were mistaken, for while Emperor Elucidar was, indeed, a noble and righteous ruler, as were his sons and theirs, the power and prestige that the Emperor wielded was simply too much for mortal men to bear. As the long Elucidaran line began to wane over the centuries, other noble families began to vie for and ultimately won control of the throne.
Over thousands of years, a succession of dynasties came and went as the Empire shrank or expanded with the quality of the emperor of that age. Some were good, competent leaders; others were weak-willed or corrupt. Palace intrigue occasionally flared into open violence and assassination.
As the imperial nobility became lazier and more decadent and depraved, there was less emphasis on scholarship and learning. Progress and technology began to suffer, as the Empire became less reliant on innovation and improvement, and totally dependent on unskilled, often slave, labor and outdated methods of industry and agriculture. Debtor’s prisons were established, and the development of a thrall caste, largely of the poor and indigent quickly emerged.
The Empire had become a dim and hazy reflection of its former peace and glory, now steeped in court paranoia, suspicion, complacency, and betrayal.
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Chapter Three – The Ascension of Nessus
Nessus (NEH-suss) was an adviser in the Elucidaran Court. A fairly minor, but charismatic, member of the Emperor’s staff, he had once been a respected philosopher-priest. However, he left the life of religious contemplation for the intrigue and power of politics. Over the years, through treachery and manipulation, he gathered together those who would serve him, and ultimately murdered the Emperor, seizing the throne for himself.
In the year 328 CP (Conseil Priori "Prior to the Council of Seven Banners"), Nessus ascended to the throne, where he presided over the decline and fall of the Empire.
He proved to be a brutal and despicable leader, but his well-paid troops were loyal, and his secret police were everywhere. His retribution against those he even suspected of disloyalty was so harsh that few dared to even speak openly of their unhappiness with his rule.
Jealous of his subjects’ worship of the Heavenly Host, Nessus formed a cult devoted to worship of the Emperor instead. In a mad quest for immortality, he began to consort with necromancers and practitioners of the black arts. When the people resisted his cult, he responded violently, destroying the shrines and temples of his divine “rival,” He-Who-Spoke-the Word. Thousands of holy priests were put to the sword.
His final act of heresy came when he attempted, with the help of powerful dark forces, to summon Azazel–greatest of the Elohim and patron of the imperial capital of Elucidar. He lured Azazel to the Grand Temple (now dedicated to Nessus), where he sought to bind the magnificent being to his will. His effort nearly succeeded, but Azazel escaped, destroying the ancient temple in the process. Badly weakened, the leader of the Elohim withdrew from the mortal realm. But only for a short while.
Afterward, as thunderclouds gathered, Nessus realized his folly and the divine anger he had surely provoked. He began marshaling his forces for a war with Heaven.
His evil “servants” took a more active hand in matters, ordering sacrifices of terrible magnitude. Nessus’ armies rounded up his enemies and thralls first, executing them in garish orgies of violence and death. When his enemies were gone, he turned his attention to the decadent lords of his lands, and slaughtered them. Finally, he gathered up the terrified populace of the capital, sacrificing tens of thousands of innocent people at a time, wanton killing on a horrific scale.
Human bonfires lit the night sky for miles around the city of Elucidar, and the air was filled with a greasy, choking stench. Nessus’ demonic allies reveled in the carnage, and their strength grew to magnificent proportions. The Emperor, drunk with madness and rage, sat sprawled on his throne, surrounded by the blood and offal of countless sacrifices. He gathered around him the most loyal and powerful of his followers–those he had chosen not to purge–and awaited the coming storm.
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Chapter Four – The Wrath of Heaven and the Fall of the Auldic Empire
Twelve days passed, during which Nessus and his dark forces sacrificed many more thousands. At dawn on the thirteenth day, as the first rays of the morning sun touched the eastern-most shores of Elucidar, a great howl arose in the sky and the ground was struck by terrible tremors, quaking and rolling with unimaginable force. Mountains were flattened; lowlands were brought towering high into the sky, and then toppled upon themselves. The land was shattered and remade and then rushed again. Great fissures appeared, and the waters of the Eastern Sea flooded westward toward Elucidar.
With the city at its center, a great chasm appeared on the vast Plain of Elucidar, forming a “bowl” thousands of miles across. The plain sank suddenly, far below the level of the ocean beyond. The rushing waters from the Eastern Sea swept down the sides of the immense bowl, submerging the city and the lands surrounding it. The plain was now an ocean, and all were killed.
All, that is, save Nessus and his servants. Dark magicks protected them from the sudden deluge, but they found themselves now trapped beneath fathoms of water. From the Pit of the Void his demonic allies summoned a tentacled beast of great malice known as the Kraken. They commanded it to devour Nessus and his followers and carry them to the western shore of this new sea.
The beast is best described in vivid detail in the epic saga, The Dreaming Empire, by the 4th Century (PC) poet-warlord Alfred of Tennyson. He claimed to have been whisked away one night by a valkyrie, who flew him over Bifrost to gaze upon the land as it once was. The shield-maiden imparted the tale of the fall of Elucidar, and among the many separate stories is this account of the Kraken:
Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumbered and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.
Even though it prowled in the deepest, darkest waters, the Kraken could see the Archangels flying high above in the sky. Wielding great shafts of light, they slashed through the water, searching for the beast and its evil cargo. When it arrived in shallower waters far from the vigilant Archangels, the Kraken shat out the Emperor and his minions and returned to the depths where it still dwells today. Nessus rose from the boiling surf, and there, waiting for him on the shore, were black horses and an army of dark, armored warriors.
Nessus’ army rode across the western-most plains of Elucidar, leaving the sunken capital far behind him. The black horses flew like locusts over the rolling land, turning the verdant fields into a burned and ruined swath beneath their evil hooves. Nessus had ordered all of the imperial cities to render sacrifices equal to those performed in Elucidar, and to the Emperor’s delight, they rode through ghastly fields of crucified victims as they approached the once-shining city of Glimmere, a wicked forest dedicated to his insanity.
They reached the city in a short time, and as they passed beneath its gates, littered with the newly dead, there arose in the east a great thunderhead. The roiling storm was accompanied by cascades of lightning and the clamorous blaring of a legion of trumpets. Riding atop the thunderhead were the Elohim, with Azazel at their fore. Their eyes blazed fire and the beating of their angelic wings cast off great tempests in their wake. The furious storm cloud descended on Glimmere and it was a beautiful and terrible sight. The poor folk who witnessed it cried out in joyous despair, for the wrath of Heaven was upon them.
As the Archangels descended upon Nessus’ temple at the heart of the city, their magnificence slew most of his followers outright and turned his priests to ash. But again, the Emperor’s dark minions summoned the power of The Void to save him from the Elohim’s wrath. With demons as his guide, Nessus descended deep into the earth beneath the temple, and by a dark and ancient passage he was spirited away from the city.
When the Heavenly Host realized Nessus had escaped again, they put a curse upon Glimmere and returned to their search. To prevent Nessus from further using his seats of power throughout the Empire, the Elohim cursed all the other major cities as well. The Archangels' wrath upon the Auldic Empire was such that the seven great cities were all destroyed. As excerpted from the epic poem, L’Empire Tragedie ("The Tragic Empire"):
Noble Elucidar, lost beneath the sea (ell-LOO-sid-dahr)
Shining Glimmere, gone quiet as death (glih-MEER)
Sturdy Cwm Cannandr, swallowed by the mountains (KOOM-KAN-ehn-duhr)
Learnéd Cormaraen, blasted by fire (KOHR-mehr-ehn)
Fair Andelugia, Elucidar’s sister, sundered and cast into the ocean (ANN-dell-LOO-zyah)
Mystical Vishath-Shae, simply vanished (VISH-oth SHAY)
Hidden Tiaxaqitocltc, devoured by the jungle (TEE-ah-hua-KEE-tok-uhl-tik)
When Nessus and his hordes surfaced far to the southeast of Glimmere, the Elohim spotted him and threw a mountain upon his army. Nessus survived even this, although his forces were much depleted. The impact of the mountain opened a great fissure back down deep into the earth, and he continued on underground from there, supposedly with the aid of an underground race of dark-skinned, elfin-like beings. Legend has it that the remnants of the shattered mountain are the spire of rock upon which Gauntlet Castle sits today.
Nessus fled to the lands of southern desert, seeking Cormaraen–the Library-Citadel of Archithenedes (ar-key-THEN-eh-deez). The renegade scholar had long resisted Nessus’ rule, and the library’s isolation deep in the desert had thus far saved it from the mad Emperor’s armies.
Nessus knew that the rebellious Archithenedes possessed esoteric knowledge of the Elohim, and that he held artifacts of great power in the citadel vaults that might enable him to turn the tide of this one-sided battle. When he reached the site, however, he found the Archangels had already destroyed the ancient shrine of wisdom. Where once there was a grand city of learning, a volcanic peak now rose from its shattered, scorched remains. Hundreds of similar volcanic outcroppings had risen from the desert, covering the region with molten rock and a fine, dusty ash. Over decades, the whole of the land was so covered, becoming known today as the Ash Desert.
Nessus continued south into the bleak wastes, but found his way blocked by another wall of volcanic peaks, industriously spewing out columns of poisonous smoke and showers of flaming rock that rained down on the desert floor. Snowy clouds of ash obscured his sight, but he pressed onward. Finally, he found a wide valley that penetrated the “belt of fire,” a steep slope descending into another rocky wasteland.
Nearing despair in the midst of his frenzied search for sanctuary from his pursuers, Nessus’ dark allies showed him a vision. His vision led to a sinkhole in the waste, a vast pit in the ground, ringed by row upon row of gnashing teeth. Tentacled arms with groping claws stretched forth from the maw, searching the scrabble for any signs of life it might devour. Lining the disgusting pit were row-upon-row of sharp teeth, wickedly curved and sword-sharp, flashing and slashing the air. Noxious vapors and gurgling rumbles emanated from the pit, and the whole area stank of rotten flesh and decay, mixed with sulfur.
This was a Hellmouth, a portal to Malebôlge, one of the few places on earth where Nessus might find sanctuary. Here, the Emperor was confronted by the Nine Fiends and the three Lords of Chaos–the Twelve Dark Princes of Hell, the lesser hierarchy of Il Diabolous (ihl dee-AH-bowl-uhs), among the most powerful of The Void’s servants.
They offered to save him, if he agreed to swear allegiance to them. In exchange for their protection, he would do their bidding on Earth. Cornered and with the forces of the Elohim in close pursuit, he made his fateful pact, and was devoured by the Hellmouth.
The Elohim descended upon the fiendish portal just as Nessus plunged in, his body rent apart by tentacled claws as he was swallowed up. The maw then disgorged a host of black creatures who met the Elohim in battle. After fierce fighting, in which holy steel met foul claw, the host of demons was driven back into the toothy pit. Enoch hefted a pillar of iron and plunged it into the the Hellmouth, sealing it up.
- The Hellmouth is still there, constantly grinding away at the iron plug stuck in its maw. This continuous action creates great plumes of iron filaments, which are carried off by the winds to settle on the ground in deep drifts and dunes. These form the Iron Wastes, which surround the Hellmouth for hundreds of miles in all directions. Despite this eternal grinding, however, the plug is never worn away.
Today, Nessus’ legacy lives on in this desolate wasteland far to the south, where descendants of his few surviving followers dwell, led by a brutal warlord who calls himself Nessus, and whom his subjects call the Iron Emperor. He rules from a citadel built atop the iron plug of the Hellmouth. This ironic shadow of the Empire that once was consists of many disparate elements, and is in a constant state of turmoil, unrest, and war. It is held together, nevertheless, by the sheer will of the Iron Emperor, who exerts his powerful presence upon those who have sworn fealty to him.
- This shadow empire is often called The Empire of Iron and Ash, due to its two major features, the Ashen Desert and the Iron Wastes. The Emperor’s forces are usually referred to as Imperium.
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BOOK TWO – THE DARK AGES
Chapter One – The Seven Great Cataclysms and the Time of Sorrows
In their furious pursuit of Nessus, the wrath of the Archangels manifested itself as a series of disasters which befell the decadent Empire and destroyed it forever.
The following account is excerpted from the translated writings of the dwarf astrologer, Havad of Dünderberg c. 113 AC (Anno Conseil "In the Year of the Council of Seven Banners"):
So it was, in the final days of the Empire, that Seven Cataclysms were visited upon the world, divine and righteous punishment for the sins of the Emperor and his subjects.
The first was a Cataclysm of Fire as the earth was rent asunder, spilling its deadly hot blood o’er the land. Black smoke blotted out the sun, withered the fields and forests, and choked the very breath from the lungs of Man and Beast alike.
The second was a Cataclysm of Floods as the Heavenly vessels open’d their spigots, pouring forth upon the land a torrent of wind and water, such that the rivers and seas overflowed and drowned the screaming multitudes.
The third was a Cataclysm of Winter as the warm lands of the Elucidaran Throne became seized with cold and ice, and the land was enveloped in a white shroud of frozen death.
Eventually, the seas receded, and the fires were quenched, and the smoke was blown away, and the light of Helios again warmed the land; indeed, just when it seemed the worst was past, e’en though the Empire lay in absolute ruin, another wave of Cataclysms befell the world.
The fourth was a Cataclysm of Pestilence as hideous swarms of vermin-spawn–rats, locusts, serpents, and other foul creatures–swept across the blasted land, ravaging what little food could be found.
The fourth Cataclysm begat the fifth, as the vermin brought with them a Cataclysm of Plague–a host of dire and invisible vapours that felled e’en the heartiest of men. Bloated corpses littered the byways, and swollen rivers became a charnel stew of death and rot.
But again, these terrible times passed; and, again, those survivors who’d not been burnt, nor drowned, nor frozen, nor starved, nor infected, struggled mightily to live. Arable land was scarce, resources were few, and brutality held sway over the affairs of men, setting the stage for the last two Cataclysms which would halt the advance of civilization for untold ages.
A Cataclysm of War was the sixth, as isolated groups of survivors huddled together and came under the sway of particularly charismatic or ruthless leaders. These men became warlords, who unleashed armies ‘gainst each other in their personal quests for domination–a story as old as time, and one told well by these barbaric generals. Ceaseless battle and senseless slaughter amidst the utter destruction of the ancient world wrought the seventh and final Cataclysm – the most terrible of all!
A Cataclysm of Ignorance toppled Man from his place in the Temples of Wisdom. He slunk back to the dank, dark caves of blindness and superstition from which he’d long ago emerged, leaving behind the wise and sacred teachings of his ancestors.
Art was lost – Science was lost – Magick was lost – Reason was lost – Humanity was lost!
All that separated Man from Beast became as ash in the wind, scattered to the four corners of the world and forgotten. So profound was its loss that much of this lost knowledge remains unrevealed to this day–truly, it was the Darkest of Ages.
Travel on the high seas became difficult and dangerous, as the ocean now teemed with terrible leviathans. Far from land, ship-borne travelers found themselves beset by freakish weather, vast sargassum fields, and destructive whirlpools that sucked them to the depths where they were drowned. Distant peoples became separated and communication with, and knowledge of, foreign lands all but disappeared.
The few survivors of the cataclysms were among the most pure and innocent of the peoples of the Earth–remote villages, hermits, and settlements unspoiled by the vanity of the Empire. Because of this, most survivors were not learned people and did not have the knowledge or ability to record what had happened.
Oral tales were handed down over the centuries, and were eventually written down or turned into songs and poems. In recent centuries, however, troves of information have been recovered from Auldic ruins, and knowledge of this ancient, forgotten age has greatly expanded.
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Chapter Two – The Pagan Age
While worship of the pagan spirits–the precursors of the Archangels–had existed for untold millennia, it was the emergence of widespread nature worship during the barbaric Dark Ages that led ultimately to the rise of Paganism (and its ancestor-worshiping analogue, Shamanism).
Paganism is an ancient system of belief that ruled over the affairs of men for centuries. It accepted the existence of the Heavenly Host, but did not recognize them as representatives of a supreme God. Rather, the Creator figure became one half of a divine pair; He-Who-Spoke-the-Word became conjoined with a sister/wife goddess known as, She-Who-Is-At-the Center-of-All-Things.
According to the Pagan tradition, their copulation resulted in the birth of the Cosmos. The actual identities of the divine “parents,” along with the names of the Elohim, and their servants the Seraphim and Cherubim, were lost to mankind during the Dark Ages. The Heavenly Host was now seen as powerful nature spirits, personifications of the natural world (such as the Sun and the Moon), who existed among a throng of similarly powerful beings.
The Pagans further believed that these spirits, in the distant past, had saved mankind from disharmony by destroying the wicked world. One day, these spirits would deliver a lord to them, a messianic figure known as the Wreath-King. Celebrations and preparations for his coming were held on the solstices and equinoxes.
Paganism was heavily influenced by sylvan practices and the knowledge gleaned by human barbarians over many centuries as they observed their surroundings and relearned the “ways of the world.” Their beliefs were based on the rhythms and patterns of nature, particularly the regular passing of the seasons, the movement of the Zodiac Wheel, and the phases of the Moon. For the barbarians, these principles guided the weather and the planting/harvest cycles, and strongly influenced the behavior of animals and men.
Various pantheons of nature spirits appeared and rose to power; many also vanished forever. Some pantheons (such as the traditions of the Edda (Dwarf/Njord/Jotun) and the Seelie and Unseelie Courts of the fey people) have survived to the present day.
Today, Paganism exists among the sylvan cultures of Sidhelankh (SHEE-lonk), although their characterizations of the Spirit Hierarchies is much more abstract than that of humans. Pagan practices are also prevalent among the human druid cults of Avondale, nature priests who consider themselves the guardians of the lower spirit realms. They also protect ancient sacred sites, some of which are said to be portals to the mystical realm of Arcadia.
Shamanism, a close kin to Pagan beliefs, flourishes in the lands of dwarves and North-men (including the jotuns and aesir), as well as among the nomads of Khossa and the witch-men of Ulgoland. Different forms of Paganism and Shamanism are also practiced in the distant lands of Jhangar and Gondwana, far to the south.
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Chapter Three – The Coming of the Saints
The decline of Paganism among the masses began during the last centuries of the Dark Ages. Certain men and women of pious character, those who by their words and deeds exemplified the ideals first set down by the Heavenly Host, were illuminated by the seven Archangels.
Upon their deaths, these chosen prophets of God became (or their forms were assumed by) powerful spirit beings. Their slow gathering strengthened the presence of the Host upon the Earth, and the minds of men began to again discover the nature of their true Creator.
The first of these blessed humans was Saint Erasmus the Prophet (ehr-AZ-muss), a blind, crippled beggar from a remote village in what is, today, the Duchy of Highbluff. One day, in the center of the village square, Erasmus had an epiphany.
The Archangel Iago appeared before him, although no one else seemed to see the divine being. He spoke to Erasmus and told him many things, finally saying:
“When Man has purged sin from his heart, then shall a King come to rule thee and deliver thee from darkness. I command thee to inspire others; tell them to spread the word of the Sainted Ones; seek converts to thy cause; and dispatch them to also speak of the things we have shown thee.”
Before scores of incredulous witnesses, Erasmus the Beggar regained his sight and his strength, and the ability to walk. For the next seven weeks, he appeared in the market daily and began to pronounce the coming of the messengers of a being he called God the Creator.
He made a series of prophecies, foretelling the rise of each of the successive Saints. On the last day of the seventh week, Erasmus made a final prophecy in which he told of the coming of the Wreath-King, who would unite all men and bring a time of great unity and peace, and who would restore the sovereignty of God over the Earth. Then he lay down in the dust of the street and died.
Later, as many of his prophecies came true over the years, more import was given to them. Erasmus became recognized as a miraculous prophet, and his accounts of the coming of the Wreath-King were quite popular. Celebrations in preparation of the coming of his prophecy were held on the solstices and equinoxes each year.
Erasmus is the Patron Saint of Seers and Diviners, and of beggars and the indigent.
The second Saint was Jeremias the Selfless (JEHR-uh-MY-uhs), who was born the very day Erasmus died, in the same village, a mere street away from the exact spot of the prophet’s death.
Throughout his life, Jeremias found himself in situations where he was in a position to save the life of another, but at great personal cost or risk to his own life. Time and again, he threw himself into the moment without a thought. And time and again, he emerged unscathed, having also saved the potential victim from certain death or ruin.
Finally, during his travels, he found himself witness to the murder of an abusive chieftain by the scoundrel’s wife. In a panic when confronted by the chieftain’s men, she accused Jeremias of the murder. They seized Jeremias and put him before the executioner. He never spoke out in his defense against the woman’s claims, and was beheaded. A few days later, overcome with guilt, the wife confessed to the murder and then leapt to her death from a high tower.
Jeremias was elevated to Sainthood for his lifetime of selfless sacrifice. He is the Patron Saint of the Fallen, and it is Jeremias who greets the righteous souls of the newly-dead and escorts them through the gates of the Heavenly Palace.
The third Saint was Just the Lawgiver, who lived two centuries before the First Council of Seven Banners. He was a keenly logical warrior and a devoutly pious man who set down ruminations on his personal code of ethics and how his sword was to be used to do God’s bidding.
His writings also preach of the necessity of a powerful single leader in an orderly society, one who acts on God’s behalf. This leader would manage a rigid hierarchy of social strata. These writings eventually became the Book of Just in the Libram Sancti ("Holy Book") of La Divinatum ("The Divinity").
A dour and serious person, Just had few friends. One man whom he considered a brother was a southern chieftain named Ren of the clan, d’Argent Chevaux (pron. WREN DAR-zhon sheh-VOH) ("The Silver Manes"). Just trusted the honest and forthright Ren as he did no other man, and the two spent many long hours contemplating and debating the nature of Man’s duties and obligations.
Just’s controversial and outspoken views cost him his life, however, as a cabal of treacherous chieftains conspired to capture and execute him. The chieftains tricked Ren into recalling Just from the wilderness, under the ruse of an important meeting.
Just made all haste to Ren’s lodge, but as he camped alone within a few days’ ride, he was set upon by assassins. They seized him and tied him to a tree, where they took turns piercing his body with spears and cavorting madly, until the noble man finally bled to death.
His murder shattered Ren, who later uncovered the plot (and his unwitting role in it). Honor-bound, he waged war on the traitors during a long, bloody campaign. Ren’s clansmen were master horse riders, and the advantage of speed and power, and the fury of their righteous vengeance, made them victorious in each battle.
Just’s influence on Ren lasted throughout the chieftain’s life, as he established clan traditions from the lessons of their many debates and their experiences at war.
Just is the Patron Saint of Judges and the Constabulary, as well as of the wrongly condemned and the martyred. He is also the guardian of the city of Sheval, the seat of power from which the descendants of Ren d’Argent rule. Many centuries later, Just would become the Paladin archetype who inspired Ruenoir d’Argent to form his Code of Chivalry on behalf of the newly-crowned Wreath King, ushering in the age of knighthood. The Book of St. Just forms the core principles of the Chivalric Code.
The fourth Saint was Benedict the Generous, who lived contemporaneously with Just.
There was a famous meeting of the two men along the shores of Lac Glimmere, which is related in an extended dialogue in Benedict’s Book of Charities in the Libram Sancti. It was this fateful meeting that imparted in Just the notion of the vanity of personal wealth and inspired his famous vow of poverty. Benedict’s belief in the piousness of simple living is a notion that is followed by some (though not all) of his most faithful followers even today.
Throughout his life, Benedict always seemed to stumble into good opportunity. Many times over, he made and then gave away vast fortunes. Ultimately, however, he died alone and penniless in the wilderness. For his lifetime of absolute generosity, he was illuminated as a Saint.
Benedict is the Patron Saint of Charitable Men as well as of the poor and the needy, and also of the merchant classes who seek his good fortune in business matters.
The fifth was St. Leonard the Lean (also known as Kindly St. Leonard). He lived approximately 60 years after Just and Benedict, and was a steadfast man who made a living as a farmer. His farm’s soil was so rich and his skills so great that he produced bountiful harvests of grain, vegetables, and livestock each year.
Later in his life, however, the lands in which Leonard dwelt were cursed with bitter winters, followed by parched summers. The fields withered and were made dust. Even Leonard’s farm struggled, though he still managed to produce plenty for himself and his small family. Seeing the plight of his neighbors and kinsmen though, Leonard doled his stores out to those for miles around.
He and his family shared in the miseries of the others and after a time, Leonard shrank from a portly fellow to a thin wisp of a man. When the rains one day returned, and the fields bloomed, Leonard continued to provide for those without or with too little, and he never regained his former girth.
When he died, he was Sainted for his compassion in the face of adversity. He is the Patron Saint of the Peasant Classes (freemen, not the poor or indentured).
The sixth was St. Catherine the Merciful, who was possessed by a sense of purpose that compelled her to treat the sick and wounded in battlefields and diseased villages.
Catherine had once been a Maiden of the Forest, a Priestess of Avondale, who hailed from the lands to the east (that later became the Duchy of Woodcrosse). During her early years, she studied the healing arts, and as an emissary to Sidhelankh, she came to learn the near-mystical healing techniques of the elves.
In her fifteenth summer, a deadly pox swept through her homeland, and she went there in all haste to lend aid. As she tended to the dying masses of her kinfolk, her healing arts failed to ease their suffering, and she despaired. None of her methods worked, and she wailed to the heavens for guidance. Desperate and exhausted, she lapsed into a deep slumber, during which she had a vision.
The Archangel Mithria appeared to her. The being of light clasped Catherine’s hands in her own and beseeched her to continue caring for those who needed her aid, despite the difficulties she was enduring. The Archangel then opened Catherine’s eyes to the omnipresent existence of God.
Upon awakening, Catherine left the Order of Avondale and became a devout follower of God. She found that she could lay hands on those afflicted with the pox and cure them of the vile disease. She traveled from camp to camp and town to town in search of the plague-ridden. Her warm touch washed away the disease, and other afflictions besides. She personally saved many thousands in this manner.
Thereafter, she worked fearlessly in the most miserable and dangerous places imaginable, bringing aid and comfort to all in need. Countless souls breathed their last breath clutched in her tender embrace as she eased their passing into the Heavenly Realm.
She is the Matron Saint of the Wounded, Ill, and Infirm, and of Healers and Chirurgeons who treat them. She is also the guardian of the city of Woodcrosse.
The seventh was St. Valorius the Brave (vuh-LOHR-ee-uss). His original name is lost to history because, it is said, he was orphaned as a child when his parents were slain by raiders. He grew up among the southern peoples, traveling in caravans and begging for food. He was a slight boy, thin and timid, and a frequent subject of beatings and abuse.
In one particular incident, as an eleven year-old boy, he was caught stealing food from a group of mercenary warriors in the employ of a local lord. The fighting men gave the boy quite a thrashing, and he was conscripted into their ranks as punishment. He served first as a runner, then as a standard bearer.
He saw his first combat at the tender age of twelve, when his company was ambushed by a rival lord’s troops. The fighting was terrible, and the ground was soaked with blood. The boy cowered in the midst of the battle, clutching his master’s banner, his mortal terror overcoming both his ability to fight or flee.
Suddenly, he received an epiphany. In his later writings, he described it as a ray of warm, golden light which broke through the dark clouds of battle and shone upon him there on that muddy plain. The light filled his heart with joy, such that every fear of pain or death was washed from him. The boy stood and drew his dagger, and held his clan’s battle standard high. As though guided by another hand, he began to slay his enemies, and his fellows, seeing the banner and the fire in the boy’s eyes, felt their morale soar. The tide of battle was turned, and every man there knew it was because of the boy, and they named him Valorius, an Auldic name which meant ‘brave one’.
As a young man, his prowess on the battlefield and complete lack of fear made his name legendary. He would wade into combat against vastly superior numbers, under the worst conditions, and would emerge not only victorious, but unscathed. Over the years, he became a famous warlord, and hundreds, perhaps thousands of men fell by his hand. Across dozens of campaigns and scores of battles, he never faltered once.
In his fifties, he was wont to travel alone and anonymously, braving the wilderness as courageously as he fought in battle. He came to dwell for a time among a group of monks, early disciples of Benedictus, who lived in a simple monastery in the southeastern plains (in what is now Borland).
One night, the monastery was attacked by a group of vile goblins, who sought to kill the monks and plunder their food stores and wine cellar. The monks had secret tunnels by which they could escape, but no way to hold off the goblins long enough to get away. Valorius stood in the doorway of the monastery, blocking the goblins’ way, to give the monks the time they needed.
After killing nine of the goblin attackers, they withdrew several paces and began shooting at him with their bows. One after another of the barbed stingers penetrated his body, yet he stood fast and never cried out. Forty such cruel shafts were put in him before he finally fell. The goblins stole what they could and burned the monastery down, but the monks all escaped. For his brave sacrifice, Valorius was elevated to Sainthood. The monastery was later repaired and reoccupied, and the goblins never found the secret vaults below. The spot where Valorius stood is now a shrine within the main structure, venerated by the monks and priests of the village.
He is the Patron Saint of the Military Classes and all who perform soldierly duty.
The eighth was St. Lucius the Mighty (LOO-shuss), a barrel-chested giant of a man hailing from Gaelt.
Some said he had aesir blood in him, partly because his mother was a fair Njordic maiden, captured in a raid by his father, a Gaeltic chief. The woman was said to be half-again the size of his father’s clansmen, thus the suspicion of her true blood. After her husband was slain, the stoic maiden fled with her infant into the moors, where she hid and raised her child, teaching him the ways of combat according to her traditions. At a mere seven years old, he swore to her that he would one day avenge his father’s murder.
Three years later, he strode into the hall of his sire’s killer, a fierce brigand, and announced that he was there to kill him. The assembled warriors roared with laughter and the leader ordered his men to take the boy’s head. The ten-year-old Lucius slew six of them before finally making his blood-soaked way to the brigand leader’s chair. He cleaved the skull of his father’s killer before the astonished gathering of bandits. He killed seven more while making his escape.
Now on the run from the brigand’s men, Lucius and his mother fled south across the mountains to the Middle Lands, where they came to live in a small fishing village on the shore of Lac Glimmere. There, Lucius began the simple, rewarding life of a fisherman.
By his teens, he was taller and broader than most of the men, and he could heft huge netfuls of fish into the boat, loads that would normally take an entire crew to handle. He could cut down a tree with just a few hews of an axe, and he famously smashed down a stone wall with his fists to get at a man who’d insulted his mother. He could wrestle ten men at a time, and he once felled a bull with a single blow of his bare fist.
When his mother died of pox, he left the fishing village and continued south to seek his fortune. He came into contact with a wandering disciple of St. Catherine the Merciful and traveled with him for a time. This disciple taught him to read, and introduced Lucius to the Word of God. In the waters of the eastern river he was converted, and he vowed to use his great strength in service to God’s will. A year after his conversion, his mentor died suddenly, so Lucius carried on the wise man’s mission. He traveled the land, righting wrongs, and teaching the Word of God to those who would listen.
Lucius’ heroic deeds are legendary, but his righteous anger and wrath was always tempered by the mercy and compassion he learned from his mentor. His downfall came when he was seduced by a beautiful woman whose motives were less than pure. She was the vengeful daughter of one of the many villains he’d dispatched over the years. She betrayed Lucius and gave him poisoned wine which caused him to fall into a deep slumber.
When he awoke, he found himself in chains, a prisoner of those who sought revenge against him. They pricked him with poisoned knives, keeping him weak and sluggish while they embarked on a regime of torture and deprivation. They tried to force him to renounce God and beg for his life, and they used terrible methods of cruel punishment on him.
For seven years he was held in a dark donjon, and each day he was subjected to some form of torture. He resisted, and despite being beaten and broken, bound and burned, Lucius the Mighty never relented. Then one day his captors discovered he had vanished; his cell door was broken from its hinges, and his manacles were sundered. No one knows what happened to him or where he went, and he was never seen nor heard from again. For his lifetime of lifetime of devotion to God and his super-human resistance to unimaginable suffering, he was elevated to Sainthood.
He is the Patron Saint of Warriors and “men-of-action,” and is the guardian of the city of Highbluff.
The ninth was St. Dictatus the Orator (dik-TAH-tuhs), later replaced by St. Penitus the Redeemed (PEHN-ih-tuss).
Dictatus was a gifted storyteller, who meticulously cataloged the world’s legends and myths. His spoken renditions of these tales and fables of antiquity are legendary, and it is his accounts that have mostly survived the Dark Ages. If not for him, much of the history and legend of the past that IS known might have been lost forever.
He traveled the courts and halls of various nobles and lords, regaling the gatherings with his tales. As the knowledge of God grew among the common peoples, so too did the demand for tales of the early Saints. Over time, Dictatus became a devout follower of God, and devoted his speeches solely to religious topics.
At every speech, he would discover audience members so inspired by his words that they converted on the spot, abandoning their Pagan beliefs in a thirst for more knowledge about God and the Creation. He became, in essence, the first real priest of the Divinity, and it was his model of proselytizing that every generation of later priests would follow.
Such is his influence and power that he achieved beatification while still alive; that is, he became a living Saint. This increased the awe and glory in which he was held, and his power and influence spread even more. One can only guess why God would allow such power to be concentrated within a single mortal, subject to human weaknesses and desires. Some religious scholars believe it was done as an example of hubris, to teach holy men who would come afterward an important lesson about the costs of seeking personal glory and renown.
In any case, as the legend goes, he sat in his garden counting the gold alms which filled his coffers. He was visited by the hellfiend, Shaitan, the Lord of Lies, who tempted him with even more power and glory, and oceans of gold. In his vanity and arrogance, St. Dictatus accepted, believing he could resist the demon’s thrall. Over time, he became corrupt and cold, and began ordering purges of his clergy orders. Ultimately, he ordered a brutal campaign of inquisition against Pagans and the demi-human races that, until now, had dwelt in friendship with the clans of men.
Fortunately, the clergy rebelled against this new turn and a group of them, led by Dictatus’ son Penitus, set upon him and slew him with daggers before his evil reign could take hold. This act is known as the Night of Righteous Knives, and is considered a necessary act of violence to undo a greater evil, one which changed the course of history and saved the Divinity from itself.
Upon his death, Dictatus became Moloch the Fallen, Lord of Betrayal, and he took his place as one of the diabolic Nine Fiends of Hell.
Penitus was also a gifted orator, scholar, and faithful disciple, and he assumed the mantle his father once wore as chief priest of the newly emerging religion. His efforts to overthrow his father were seen as tragic, but heroic. Any sins that were committed by his father were forgiven by his son’s actions.
Upon Penitus’ death, he was elevated to Sainthood to replace Dictatus. He is the Patron Saint of Priests and Holy Men and the guardian of the city of Landsend.
The tenth was St. Seamus of the Sea (SHAY-muhs), a sailor by trade who died about 40 years before Caedmon’s birth.
Always a voracious reader, Seamus devoured many religious and philosophical texts, and became a wise man and skilled orator, who regaled his crew-mates with stories of myth and legend. On one fateful trip, while far out to sea, a terrific storm lashed his ship and sank the vessel. Only Seamus survived, left adrift and clinging to a section of mast.
After seven delirious days beneath the whole of the Firmament he had an epiphany, in which he realized God’s full magnificence. Suddenly, a great fish emerged from the water and swallowed poor Seamus. Five days later, he was spat out on the western shore of the land. He spent the rest of his life traveling to the farthest corners of the world, spreading the word of God to the masses. For this, he was elevated to Sainthood upon his death at the ripe old age of 103.
He is the Patron Saint of Sailors and Fishermen and of merchants and diplomats as well, because he was a renowned traveler who opened many foreign lands to commerce through his diplomacy. Seamus is also the guardian of the city of Riversmouth.
The eleventh was St. Biblios the Learnéd (BIHB-lee-ohs), a scholar in the service of Lord Sable in the settlement that became Riversmouth. He compiled a grand library there in his master’s name, and the Library of Lord Sable still stands today as one of the finest in the world.
Biblios was also a devout disciple of God, and his treatises on the nature of the Heavenly Host and their dominion over all things were inspiring and well-read among scholarly and religious circles. He was visited by the Archangel Lazurai and told that he would receive a series of visions. The Angel told him that it was his holy duty to record these visions.
Over the next seven years, Biblios was visited nightly by apparitions of the 10 (at that time) Saints, who showed him wondrous things. He dutifully wrote the visions down, along with the words they told to him. It was these writings that formed the actual book which Lazurai would deliver to Gladwain on his wedding night twelve years later.
At the age of 75, he was named the first Pontiff of the Church of La Divinatum by Caedmon I. He was installed in a grand cathedral in Andinium, the city that would later become Kingscastle. When he died, he was elevated to Sainthood, and his celebrated religious writings were added to the greater tract that became the Libram Sancti of La Divinatum.
He is the Patron Saint of Scholars, Teachers, and Scribes.
The twelfth Saint was Caedmon (KAD-muhn), the first Wreath-King. His story is told in full in Book Three.
The coming of the early Saints inspired the growth of an underground religious cult which flourished in some of the larger, more organized settlements. As the peasantry conquered their surroundings and protected themselves with fortifications and the trappings of civilization, they no longer felt at the complete mercy of the wild, and they began to seek a more modern dogma.
The various doctrines passed down by the Saints attracted and inspired many people, who became interested in the concept of a singular God holding dominion over all Creation. Those who preached the word of God found themselves able to do miraculous things. His blessings were laid upon the people, which attracted even more followers. They abandoned sacrifices and appeasement of vengeful nature spirits and began worshiping an all-powerful, stern yet kind, fatherly deity.
By the time of the coming of Gladwain and the Council of Seven Banners, the Divinity existed as a loose collection of philosophies and beliefs, intermingled with Pagan traditions and practices. This quasi-religion was fairly widespread, but there were sometimes drastic regional differences in worship. Whatever the region, however, the concept of benevolent authority handed down from a central leader was quite popular, paving the way for acceptance of a High King.
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Chapter One – In the Years Before His Coming YR 39 PC (1st Thawing) – Spring of that year marked the transition of the Zodiac Wheel from the influence of the Elemental Realm of Fire (which represents loss and chaos) into the influence of Elemental Air (representing change and progress). At midnight on this day, during the new moon, an infant named Gladwain (GLAD-wayn) is born to a powerful chieftain.
In this era, a generation before the First Council of Seven Banners, the human lands consisted of thirty some-odd small, independent kingdoms. Growing commerce and mutual cooperation between the kingdoms signified the rise of both merchant and noble classes, a shift from the dominance of the warlords of old. But the world was still a hostile and dangerous place. Banditry was common, vile beasts haunted dark places in the wilderness, and there was much conflict and war.
Over the next quarter-century, and without warning, the human lands came under assault from many different directions.
Black armies of orcs, goblins, and other foul creatures from the Ashen Desert moved into the southeast plains, devastating everything in their path. At the same time, black-sailed vessels prowled the southern seas, threatening trade routes and raiding coastal settlements. Likewise, enormous longboats appeared on the shores to the northwest, depositing brutal hordes of jotun and north-men. Finally, swift nomadic raiders from the grassy steps of Khossa (KAH-suh) began plundering the kingdoms of the northeastern clans.
These invasions were not coordinated, nor were the invaders allied with each other, but their overall effect was to strain the abilities of the individual kingdoms to fend them off. As the outer lands fell before the invaders, the smaller and weaker kingdoms were folded into the larger, more powerful ones, until only seven kingdoms remained. Fortunately, the seven remaining leaders were all talented and cunning, and they fought valiantly to protect their lands.
After several years of bloody war, one of the chieftains–Gladwain the Wise– determined that peace and strength lay in the unity of the clans against those that threatened them. He called for a council of kings to discuss setting aside their differences and uniting to battle their common enemies.
The other chieftains agreed, and the seven of them made the long and dangerous journey to the lodge of Feologild Rex (fee-AH-LOW-gilled WRECKS), King of the Middle Lands (now the Duchy of Riversmouth), on the western shores of Lac Glimmere.
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Chapter Two – Gladwain and the Council of Seven Banners
Gladwain was the chieftain of the north-central tribes of men who dwelt in the rolling plains between the Gryphon Aerie and the sacred forest of Avondale (AH-VON-dayl). Despite his youthful age of 25 years, he was held in high esteem by all as a courageous warrior, a loyal clansman, a wise leader, a skilled tactician, and a merciful judge.
Besides Feologild and Gladwain, the other kings in attendance were:
- Ruenoir d’Argent (ROO-IN-wahr DAHR-jahn)–the Prince of Horses, and later known as the Silver Duke of Sheval–who was Gladwain’s closest friend and would later become his champion.
- Aelfric A’dalaead (ELF-rik ah-DUH-lay-add), a half-elf from the fringes of Sidhelankh.
- Baldwin the Bold (BALL-dwin), chief of the mountain people (now Highbluff).
- Berthold the Maimed (BURR-told) of the southern lands (now Borland), whose forces were doggedly repelling the desert hordes, but were beginning to falter and desperately needed assistance.
- Theobald Oakenhull (TAY-oh-bald OWE-ken-hull) of the island of Fsd-Frgth (foo-sid FUR-guth), the fortress of the North Sea (now Landsend).
- Marcus Gallus (mark-uss GAL-uss), an ambassador from the sea-faring nation of Thaecia (THAY-shee-uh)–one day to become Swordgate–whose lucrative trade was threatened by constant war.
- Glorin Stonfaust (G’LORE-ihn SHTON-fowst)–King of the Dwarves and trusted ally of King Oakenhull–who was eager to wage war on the recently aggressive jotuns. He came to the council in support of his friend, and to seek alliances of his own.
At the council, after much deliberation, it was agreed that the well-respected Gladwain would be crowned as High-King of All Men, to whom the other chieftains would swear fealty, and in whose hands they would place the power of singular rulership.
The representative from Thaecia likewise pledged the fealty of their leader in exchange for increased trade and the protection of his crown. The Dwarf King was won over by his respect for Gladwain, on and off the field of battle. He swore an alliance between Duerheim and the new kingdom, though he did not swear fealty.
The agreement, however, was threatened by the question of succession. The kings could not decide if it should be determined by birth lineage, or whether there would be a method of selection in which all the lords share in the rule of the land, each in his own turn, according to his abilities to rule.
There was much disagreement and debate over this subject when suddenly, in the midst of the shouting and fist-pounding, came a sharp rapping at the door of Feologild’s hall. The lodge doors opened to reveal a procession of robed figures who filed silently into the hall, gathering in the middle of the assembled lords.
They were Maidens of Avondale, led by their high priestess, Ygraine (EE-grayn). They expressed their support and allegiance to the new High-King. Ygraine presented Gladwain with a virgin priestess named Gwynhyfyr (GWYN-hye-fahr) to be his bride.
The Witch-Queen then addressed the kings, saying, “These times are grim, and in your wisdom, you have gathered to combine your resources. However, progress must not be hindered by old mistrusts and newly-found greed for power. A decision is made for thee, Men of the Land. We Priestesses of Avondale shall sire thee, Gladwain, a son, who will grow strong and proud. Thou wilt know him as Caedmon (CAD-muhn), and all shall know him as the Wreath King, come at last to deliver us from darkness.”
The gathered lords each replied, saying, “So be it,” for none wished to oppose the ancient power and authority of Avondale. Ygraine then urged the lords to hold fast, saying, “The days before thee become darker still; but persevere, for in the end, you shall know victory.”
Gladwain and Gwynhyfyr were wed in a pagan ceremony, and that night, their vows were consummated.
- Each generation of Wreath King is considered by the Maidens of Avondale to be the earthly personification of Orion (the father of Elucidar, and the personification of He-Who-Spoke-the-Word)
- Since this time, all queens of the Realm have been Maidens of Avondale, who take on the corresponding role of Chastienne (the mother of Elucidar, and the personification of She-Who-Is-At-the-Center-of-All-Things).
- In childhood, the king and queen’s oldest male child takes on the symbolic role of Elucidar (the Chosen One), until the time of his own marriage. Then, he assumes the role of Orion from his father, and the sole duty of the new royal couple becomes that of providing a male heir to continue the cycle. The wedding ceremony tells this story in its performance.
Just before their wedding, Ygraine pulled Gladwain aside and explained that she has had a vision of great peril to him and his bride. He must take care before he is crowned, because the vision clearly showed a moment of fate approaching. She warned him that a decision sparked by the innocent counsel of a stranger would result in either his ascension or his death. Her vision told her no more than this.
The next morning, as Gladwain awoke from his wedding night slumber, he spied a thick book bound with simple leather resting on a bedside table, where it had not been the previous night. Curious, he opened the book and found within it text written in a strange language and beautifully illuminated with painted pages, scenes from the world’s mythic past. But Gladwain could not comprehend the words.
Suddenly, the Archangel Lazurai appeared before him, with Gwynhyfyr still sleeping nearby. He said blessings upon the pair and then spoke in a voice like a whispered roar, saying, “Take this book and give it to the scholarly among your followers. They will decipher its meaning and bring to your kingdom a message of love and peace and holy justice. This knowledge will sustain your rule for as long as Man stays true to its Word, for the glory of God is upon thee.”
Remembering Ygraine’s warning, Gladwain became afraid and filled with doubt about the being’s message. But his heart told him the angelic visitor had been true and good. When his new bride awoke, he told his story to Gwynhyfyr, but swore her to secrecy. Gladwain had decided to hold the book aside for now, while he pondered the meaning of this startling encounter.
Later that morning, the priestesses performed a divination upon Gwynhyfyr, and the omens told them that the consummation of the marriage would produce a male heir. There was much rejoicing and celebration, as the assembled kings began to believe their delivery from dark times, as foretold long ago, was finally at hand.
Three days after his wedding, on the night of the summer solstice, Gladwain was to be crowned the Wreath King in a great ceremony. As a symbol of their unity, Gladwain presented each of the kings with a banner depicting the most prominent elements of their own liveries. This flag, he proclaimed, would be the official livery of the Wreath King. The lords are honored and impressed with the banner, and all recognize its validity. The future of his realm seemed assured.
However, on the day of his coronation, during the festivities preceding the midnight ritual of crowning and ascension to the throne, the commander of another lord’s army cajoled Gladwain to preside over an archery contest among the men. The commander suggested that Gladwain’s legendary skill with the bow made him a perfect judge.
In good spirit, and swept up in the brotherly camaraderie between soldiers, he enthusiastically agreed. The competitors lined up and Gladwain gave the order to loose their arrows. Tragically, an errant missile struck the soon-to-be king, piercing him through the eye and killing him.
The unfortunate archer was set upon and slain by Gladwain’s guards, who mistook him for an assassin. This sparked a short but bloody conflict between some of the men representing different clans. The Archer’s Ghost is said to wander the world to this day, forever trying to repent for his mistake.
Hostilities were eventually calmed and anger turned to sorrow as the people’s hopes were shattered by the realization that their one hope for peace was dead. Gladwain was solemnly interred in Feologild’s lodge, and the great hall was sealed up and turned into a tomb, a palatial barrow mound for the Father of Kings.
- Over the centuries, a fortress was built around the barrow, and a band of warriors known as the Knights of the Sacred Banner was organized to protect the holy site. They adopted the banner of the First Council that Gladwain designed as their livery, and it is this never-used banner that still flutters atop the citadel today.
Seeing these events as an ill omen, the Banner Lords returned to their lands in great despair. They were shorn of a king and faced more long years of battle ahead. The priestesses returned to Avondale where Gwynhyfyr later gave birth to Gladwain’s son at midnight on the Vernal Equinox during a full lunar eclipse. As Ygraine proclaimed, the child is named Caedmon, which means “Blessed Man” (or “Man of Righteous Fate,” exactly) in the Auldic tongue.
Adding to the tragedy, Gwynhyfyr died during the especially difficult childbirth. Before she passed on, as she lay mortally weakened, she revealed the mysterious book to Ygraine, and told her of the Archangel’s visit and his command to Gladwain. After Gladwain was accidentally killed by the archer, Gwynhyfyr had carried his mysterious book away with her to Avondale.
- Gwynhyfyr’s name is forever revered by those pure of heart and noble of purpose, and a small knight order eventually formed, dedicated to her veneration.
Ygraine was furious and seized the book immediately. She recognized the script as Auldic, for she was one of the few alive who could still read it. When the book’s purpose became apparent to her, she set her followers to translating it according to exact instructions. She gave to each of the scribes only a small portion of the text, so that none could determine the totality of its message. Ygraine rightly understood that the existence of the holy book could mean the decline of Pagan ways and the rise of the Divinity over the affairs of men. Yet its power was such that she could do naught else but obey its will.
Caedmon, meanwhile, was raised within the enchanted wood under the tutelage of the priestesses, and he became well-learned in the ways of the world.
Thirteen winters later, Ygraine called upon the kings to convene a second Banner Council, to which they reluctantly agreed. There, the High-Priestess presented them with thirteen-year-old Caedmon, Gladwain’s heir and successor to the crown his father never wore. The kings were dubious, yet none wished to oppose Ygraine. They demanded proof of the boy’s worthiness, and the priestesses agreed to their terms.
The occasion of this second council was later determined by scholars as the official demarcation between the age that had come before, and the new age of the Wreath-King. Thenceforth, historical dates were notated by the initials PC (Prior to the Second Council) and AC (in the year (Anno) of, or After, the Council).
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Chapter Three – Caedmon and the Quest for the Holy Lance
As Caedmon embarked on his quest for worthiness, each of the kings lent a follower to the boy’s retinue. The group was also joined by a mysterious spell-caster named Chernar (CHUR-nahr), former apprentice to Meopham the Vanished (MAY-oh-famm) and ally of the Priestesses of Avondale. This young and impetuous figure was destined one day to become the most powerful wizard the world has ever known.
Guided by Chernar, the questors traveled into the Gryphon Mountains in early spring, there to search for a lost Auldic shrine said to house an ingot of blessed adamant. They found the shrine atop a high mountain peak and cleaved the ingot from the craw of its defeated guardian, a great cloud dragon.
- Being servants of the original Titans, Dragons are closely associated with the Elemental Planes; in this case, the cloud dragon guarding the ingot served Elemental Air. Besides providing an elemental component to the Holy Lance, Elemental Air also influences this story as follows:
Gladwain was born at the EXACT moment when the Zodiac Wheel’s 1,000 year arc (in sidereal motion) across the night sky made the transition from the House of Elemental Fire into that of Elemental Air.
At the time of the cloud dragon’s defeat, the Zodiac was fully in the House of Elemental Air, so the stars were aligned to this moment.
Also, the battle of the shrine occurred on the 15th of Wintersend, the first month of spring–and the season represented by Elemental Air–which is ruled by the Zodiac sign of Draconus (the Dragon). On that day, Draconus was at its apogee in the night sky, at the height of its yearly influence, AND there was a full moon…all portentous astrological signs and connections. (See Primer Astrologia)
The group then set off for Duerheim,the bitterly cold, mountainous realm of the dwarves, where they convinced the dour folk of the boy’s destiny. Caedmon was sorely tested by the dwarf lords, but he succeeded despite near-impossible odds. They were so impressed, that they ordered his ingot hammered into a mighty spearhead of exquisite craftsmanship.
They fired the weapon in the magical forges of Sevakarun (seh-vuh-KAH-roon), and hammered and honed it upon the High Anvil of Moradin (MOHR-uh-dinn). The smiths forged haft bands and an end-cap of brightest mithril to go with it, while rune-masters carved delicate symbols into the pieces, imbuing them with powerful spells. Dwarf King Glorin vowed to acknowledge Caedmon as High-King of All Men should he survive his quest and be coronated.
- The firing of the weapon in the sacred forge represents Elemental Fire in the crafting of the Lance.
The group next traveled back across the frigid North Sea into the rolling fields northeast of Glimmere, battling vicious Khossak (KAH-sack) raiders as they moved southward. Eventually, they reached the fringes of the woodland realm of Sidhelankh.
There they located another Auldic temple wherein dwelt a clan of elfin priests dedicated to the Earth Gaia (GUY-uh), a powerful nature spirit. Again, the boy is tested and, again, he impressed those whose aid he sought. The elves carved for him a spear haft from a twig cut from Ywaerj Draesael (YUH-varzh DRAY-zehl)–the Great Tree of Sidhelankh. They also inscribed magical symbols upon the haft, empowering it with the protection of the natural earth.
- The haft and elfin sigils represent Elemental Earth.
Finally, the group journeyed to the once-glorious Auldic city of Glimmere, now a foreboding, haunted ruin. The questors battled hordes of terrifying and voracious undead fiends, making their way to a shrine in the heart of the city. This quiet shrine was the one place in that cursed city that was spared by the Elohim, saved for this very purpose which they foresaw long ago.
There, the Lance was immersed in a sacred basin filled with holy water. When the spear was so bathed, there was a shower of golden light, and the seven Elohim appeared accompanied by the eleven Saints. The Saints each blessed the weapon and then the boy-king, while the Elohim dutifully watched without speaking. With the enchantment completed, the weapon became the Lancea Deus (LAN-see-ah DAY-uss)–the Spear of God–the birthright of the Wreath King and the symbol of his rule.
- The immersion in holy water represents Elemental Water. The spear itself is a focus for both Elemental and Divine magic.
- For the civilization of Men, the Lance represented the transition from the Pagan Age to the Age of the Divinity–of both eras, yet wholly of neither. It is an item of extraordinarily complex contradictions and balances of power, so much so that many of its inheritors have had difficulty wielding it. One of Caedmon’s descendants actually lost the Lance during a mysterious battle, only to have it recovered by his son many years later.
- The Lance is a short-hafted spear, with a bladed tip the length of a standard short sword. If the butt of the weapon is rapped on the ground, it either lengthens to a long spear or full jousting lance, or it shrinks to a short-bladed hand weapon, as its wielder wishes.
- It has tremendous presence in battle, causing great fear in lesser opponents. Entire armies have quailed and broken at its sight.
- The Lance is known to often act on its own, unleashing one of its many powers unbidden, or causing its wielder to unsheathe it and attack if their courage wavers or they are indecisive in a crucial situation.
- Its blade is said to be able to shear stone and metal, and can cut down trees in a single stroke. It is also infamous for destroying the armor, shields, and parrying weapons of its wielder’s enemies, who are often then cleaved or decapitated with the same stroke.
The quest fellowship returned to Feologild’s lodge four-and-a-half years after they’d departed. With the Lance as proof of his Divine Right, the assembled lords declared themselves satisfied, and swore fealty to Caedmon.
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Chapter Four – The Coronation of Caedmon
Caedmon’s coronation occurred on the summer solstice in the year 5 AC. Ygraine placed a crown of gold and platinum, ringed by a wreath of golden holly, upon his head. He is thereafter called Caedmon the Goldhelm'd.
The coronation is held at Feologild’s new lodge, in the presence of the barrow of Gladwain and Gwynhyfyr. All of the other kings were in attendance, along with Ygraine and a coterie of maidens. Also present were the Dwarf King and his entourage, a group of High Elf lords and ladies from Sidhelankh, and the surviving comrades from Caedmon’s quest, chief among them the wizard, Chernar.
Caedmon’s fallen parents were honored with great tributes and ceremonies for their sacrifice that led to this day. The individual kings then each laid their swords at Caedmon’s feet and named him their High-King. He, in turn, named them his Dux Bellorum (DOOKS-bell-OHR-um) ("War Chiefs"), or simply “Dukes,” as they became called in common parlance.
One duke, in particular, had a profound influence on the new High-King’s realm. Ruenoir d’Argent (ROON-wahr DAHR-zhan) was the first king to swear his fealty, and his vow to Caedmon was not only heartfelt, but was also grand in its performance. Caedmon was so moved he named Ruenoir his personal chevalier, his knight-champion.
Ruenoir, using the code of chivalry handed down by his ancestor Ren, formed the first knight order called the Knights of the Gold Wreath. Theirs was the model by which all other knight orders patterned themselves.
After his coronation, in the presence of the other lords, Ygraine presented Caedmon with the secret tome given to his father by the Archangel Lazurai, and with it a translation of the book into the common language spoken by men of the day. Caedmon could read both, for wise Ygraine had taught him Auldic, the language of yore.
The book contained the original text of the Libram Sancti, the holy book of the Divinity, which contained the story of The Word and the Creation of the World, as well as the full ruminations of each Saint. This year is called the Year of Illumination by Realm scholars, for it was the year The Word of God was given to mankind.
Future coronation ceremonies became a combination of Pagan and Divine rituals, consisting of a parallel series of vows, declarations, and prayers both to God and to a variety of elder spirits. The symbols and regalia of the coronation were likewise made up of the old and the new. The compromises and agreements made between each faith through this ceremony ensured that the Wreath King has always been a figure that linked the Heavenly Realm with its Pagan past and maintained the Holy Crown’s ties to the land.
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Chapter Five – Reign of the First Wreath King
The peace was not perfect; there were frequent skirmishes between the dukes, or among their vassals. However, to most it was as though the sun had risen at last, sweeping aside the utter darkness of past centuries. Finally, it seemed, the Curse of the Elohim was lifted.
As Caedmon’s fledgling reign began to take shape, Chernar became his trusted court wizard and advised him for many years afterward. One day, however, a mysterious matter from his past arose, causing Chernar much grief and worry. His service to the Wreath King waned, and he was forced to take his leave to deal with the troubles. He disappeared into the depths of Avondale, and was never seen by Caedmon again.
King Caedmon’s reign was one of great peace and prosperity in which many of the traditions and tenets of the current Realm were established. Upon his death, he became the last Saint ordained by the Archangels, fulfilling the Hierarchy of Twelve and, in so doing, took his place as its titular head.
At his funeral, Caedmon’s body was wrapped in sacred cloth, placed aboard a longboat, and pushed into the misty twilight waters of Lac Glimmere, where water nymphs bore the vessel into the mystical, twilight realm of Arcadia. He is the Patron Saint of the Nobility and the embodiment of godliness and righteousness in Man.
To his descendants is given the Divine Right of Kingship, and to them is passed the authority to wear the Gold Wreath Crown and bear the Lancea Deus.
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BOOK FOUR – THE AGE OF ILLUMINATION
Chapter One – Rise of La Divinatum (The Divinity)
Armed with the power of the Libram Sancti and the Lancea Deus, King Caedmon personified the divine master on earth. As such, he ordered that great temples to God be erected in each of the seven major settlements of the new realm.
To each temple he appointed a cadre of high-priests–originally called just Bishops, then later Archbishops as the rank-and-file of the clergy grew. He commanded them to make many copies of the Libram Sancti, and then send forth their disciples to spread The Word of God to the masses.
To lead them, he named the great religious scholar, Biblios, as first Pontiff of the Church of La Divinatum, installing him in the great temple at Andinium (around which the city of Kingscastle ultimately arose). Smaller shrines and temples, called churches, were erected in many communities. Some of these churches were quite sophisticated and grand. The priesthood became organized and hierarchical, built around a model similar to that of a king and his extended court of nobles. Holy priests became common figures in courts and councils all across the land, and their blessings were in constant demand.
Whereas Ruenoir d’Argent–descendant of the legendary horse chieftain, Ren–became the first knight, he dutifully passed on the chivalric tradition, born of the original teachings of St. Just, to all of his sons and to the sons of his brothers. The tradition was fully embraced by the southern horsemen of Sheval, and over time became a popular career path for loyal warriors who felt a higher calling.
One of Ruenoir’s nephews who had received this legacy was a bright, strong, and pious cavalryman named Palladius (puh-LAY-dee-uhs). As he approached middle age, he gave up the military life and became a priest and scholar of St. Just. He was later attached to a military command as the unit’s chaplain.
During a fierce battle with desert raiders in far-off Borland, the young priest’s troop was overwhelmed and massacred. In the course of the battle, he donned what armor he could scrounge and hefted a stout weapon. Infused with the might of God, Palladius waded into battle and single-handedly turned the tide for his fellows. Thereafter, he dedicated his life to the formation of a troop of fighting priests, sworn to the code of conduct set forth by St. Just. They became the first Knights Templar–the Holy Order of Paladins.
The rise of the Divinity, occurring at the cusp of an extended period of peace and prosperity, crested like a wave and broke over the whole of the Realm. The dark veil was lifted and The Word of God washed away centuries of ignorance and superstition.
The Priestesses withdrew into the depths of Avondale, reluctantly accepting that their era of primacy was past. Paganism diminished considerably into a sort of self-exile, more out of a sense of respect to the cycles of the universe than of any humiliation or defeat. Elements of it exist openly today, particularly among the more remote reaches of the Realm such as Borland, but its influence over the daily lives of the common citizenry has waned considerably.
Today, the Priestesses remain powerful and influential, seen most dramatically during the coronation rituals, and in particular, the tradition that the queen be chosen from among the virgin Maidens of the Forest. However, the Priestesses stay mostly in the background, and their hand in Realm affairs is largely unseen.
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Chapter Two – The Schism of the Sea Princes of Swordgate
Swordgate was originally founded in ancient times by refugees from the Auldic city of Andelugia in the land of Thaecia, out in the Vast Western Sea. They were survivors of the Archangels curse who had escaped the sinking of their island homeland. The Andelugeans made their way to the northern reaches of the Southern Sea, finally landing on a volcanic island and making a new home among its thick coastal rain forests and rugged slopes. They named the island Thaecia, after their former, now-submerged homeland.
Farming land was scarce but the soil was rich and bountiful, and the colony prospered. It came to be ruled by a loose council of clan leaders who managed disasters and negotiated conflicts. They organized commerce between themselves, but otherwise stayed out of the others' business.
Faithful to their sea-faring traditions, the Thaecian clans resumed ship-building, and they were frequent visitors to the shores of the land that would become the realm of the Wreath King. Throughout the Dark Ages, they conducted prosperous trade with the barbarian chieftains all along the coast, ranging as far north as the lands of Njord and Khossa, to Ghondwana and Nob Y’ggurath in the south. These ancient traditions have served every generation of their descendants well, and they remain a mighty sea-folk.
An emissary from Thaecia was present at the First Council of Seven Banners. He brought desperate pleas to Gladwain and the assembled kings for help against the desert pirates of Al-Asjhad and the dark hordes of Golgoroth (the evil regions later to become known as Grohluk and the “Nine Curses”). Like the others, the emissary offered a pledge of fealty from the unanimous Thaecian clan leaders, and he laid the ceremonial scimitar of their proud council at the feet of the new High-King (to-be), allying the island nation with its brothers to the northeast.
Years later, the Thaecian clan council recognized Caedmon as Gladwain’s heir and as king. In accepting their fealty, Caedmon raised the Thaecian scimitar over his head and declared that the island-nation would be the Realm’s gateway to spread God’s good word to their southern neighbors (and current enemies). Thaecia became known as Swordgate thereafter (to the islanders’ consternation), and it is still known as “The Gateway to the Southern Seas.”
Two centuries passed and Swordgate continued to prosper. The rise of Sheval’s powerful navy and Riversmouth’s impressive merchant fleets began to create friction between those lords and Swordgate’s leaders. There was much grumbling among the clan council, now a group of powerful merchant lords collectively known as the Sea Princes of Swordgate.
Relations between the mainland and their sea-faring brothers grew increasingly strained, and territorial naval skirmishes flared up occasionally. In 200 AC, the King Caerolinus (kare-OH-lye-nuss) made a truly poor decision that would shatter the solidarity of the Realm and bring the lands to the brink of civil war.
At this time, the border lands to the southeast were considered one of the seven duchies, while Swordgate was regarded as an independent territory of the Realm. After the destructive Second Goblin War, and with the sudden and explosive growth of the evil forest known as Blackvale, which swallowed up vast hectares of land, the Wreath King stripped the border lands of its status and declared it a defensive buffer, a no-man’s land that would protect the southern and eastern lands of the Realm.
The population there dwindled to a small number, but those who remained became known as the “Bor’landers,” a tough and fiercely independent group who harbored deep resentment over being left to fend for themselves. They called Caerolinus’ actions cowardly and treasonous. The split became deeply entrenched in Borland culture, and even today the native residents hold the trappings of the royal court in low regard.
Even worse, in order to appease the former Duke of Borland who had now lost his territory, Caerolinus gave him stewardship over Swordgate, to the great dismay of the Sea Princes. The merchant lords complied with the king’s wishes however and ceded direct control of the island to this new lord.
Unhappy with this turn of events and angered by the inept leadership of their new lord, forces loyal to the Sea Princes began fomenting dissent and clamoring for secession from the Realm. Ultimately, twenty years after taking over rule of Swordgate, the steward was overthrown by the Sea Princes, who led a successful revolt against the Wreath-King.
Open hostilities lasted for the remaining six years of Caerolinus’ reign. However, despite the anger over political affairs, each side still felt a great deal of kinship for the other. Neither side seemed willing to attempt that final bloody push for victory, and the great civil war that seemed just around the corner never quite arrived. In the end, it was only Caerolinus’ stubborn pride that prevented a just resolution.
In reality, the lords of Sheval and Riversmouth had worked out secret deals with the Sea Princes to avoid any military actions not specifically called for by their king. This allowed as much trade as possible to continue, interrupted only occasionally by demands from the aging Caerolinus on the progress of the war. When this happened, a quick military action would be launched, typically resulting in brief and limited engagements in which minimal damage was sustained. In this way, the violence never escalated beyond a manageable level, and future relations between the two powers never boiled over into long-lasting hatred.
When Caerolinus died in 226, he was succeeded by his brother Henry, who proved an able and true king. His first act was to officially end the war by recognizing the rule of the Sea Princes over Swordgate. The Sea Princes accepted the peace, but foreswore any further responsibility to the Realm, declaring their independence as an allied nation. Henry wisely accepted their independence, negotiating a handsome tribute from them in lieu of their allegiance. Peace was established, and the alliance was restored.
Some have said the relationship was actually strengthened by the conflict, and there is no doubt both camps have prospered with the aid of the other. There is still a great deal of competition in the areas of commerce and naval supremacy, but true conflicts are rare, and outbreaks of military or privateer action are virtually unheard of between the two powers. Swordgate is instrumental in the defense of the southern shipping lanes from pirates and marauding Imperium ships.
In time, the Sea Princes elected one of their own to be a titular leader known as the Brand of Swordgate. Largely a ceremonial post, the clans swap off rulership by luck of the draw upon the death of each Brand. They are invested with little real power except in times of great emergency, and even then the independent nature of their military could seize control if the Brand ever attempted to reach beyond his authority.
Approximately a century ago, there was a revolt on the Swordgate penal colony known as Gao-Din (gow-DHIN), which means "Rotten Tooth" in the Jhangaran tongue. The prisoners captured the island and slew their Thaecian guards. They managed to repel all attempts to retake the island, and after losing large numbers of soldiers in futile marine assaults, the Brand simply ordered the criminals blockaded and contained, assuming they would eventually submit or die of starvation.
The inmates didn’t die, however. Instead, they established a secret network of supplies from the mainland, ferried through the naval perimeter by experienced smugglers in fast, blockade-running ships. Eventually, a criminal empire was formed by these desperate and talented criminals, and their shadowy reach now extends well into Swordgate and even into the lands of the Realm.
- Gao-Din rogues are known for their wily resources and skills in organization and execution of plans. They bear secret tattoos that indicate their affiliations and rank within the organization. They rarely act themselves, usually finding low-ranking associates or even unknowing patsies in their schemes. Gao-Din rogues are trained to resist interrogation, and are infamous for their willingness to die rather than face capture.
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Chapter Three – Lineage of the Wreath King
Caedmon I the Goldhelm’d (b. 13 PC/d. 69 AC)–The son of Gladwain the Wise and Gwynhyfyr, Maiden of Avondale. He was crowned the first Wreath-King on the Summer Solstice of 13 AC, and ruled successfully for nearly seventy years until his death. Thereafter, his descendants assumed the surname “Goldhelm.”
Glydwynh (b. 26 AC/d. 90 AC) ruled from 69 – 90 AC.
Caedmon II (b. 48 AC/d. 114 AC) ruled from 90 –114 AC, and presided over the First Goblin War.
Caedmon III (b. 92 AC/d. 180AC) ruled from 114 – 180 AC.
Caedmon IV (b. 140 AC/d. 200 AC) ruled from 180 – 200 AC.
Caerolinus the Stubborn (b. 180 AC/d. 226 AC) ruled from 200 – 226 AC, and presided over the Second Goblin War, the Scourging of Blackvale, and the Schism of Swordgate.
Henry the Venerable (b. 197 AC/d. 307 AC) ruled from 226 – 307 AC and made peace with Swordgate.
Henry the Younger (b. 290 AC/d. 356 AC) ruled from 307 – 356 AC.
Caedmon V (b. 326 AC/d. 403 AC) ruled from 356 – 403 AC.
Robert the Misfortunate (b. 398 AC/d. 442 AC) ruled from 403 – 442 AC. A competent leader whom history has cast with great fondness, Robert was also an unfortunate figure who never seemed able to rise above the tragedies surrounding him.
His reign was marked by the utter misfortunes that befell those close to him. His young brother was thrown from a horse and killed, and two sisters burned to death in a horrible chapel fire. Three times he married Maidens of the Forest, all of whom died of different causes, both accidental and natural. His seven children, from different wives, likewise died of illness or accident very young, the oldest of them reaching the mere age of twelve.William the Boy King (b. 442 AC/d. 533 AC) ruled from 455 – 533 AC. Centuries after his disappearance, the wizard Chernar returned suddenly. He now called himself Achernar, and he whisked young King William away on a quest to recover the Lance.
He was an immensely sad man, who seemed to lose interest in life and happiness. Concerned about the rites of succession, a fourth wife was arranged, and she was blessed with the most powerful wards the Priestesses of Avondale could muster. The Pontiff likewise gathered an Ecclesiastical Convention of Bishops who prayed upon the bride for seven days. As before, the young queen soon gave birth to a seemingly healthy boy; but three months before the child’s birth, another tragedy befell Robert.
While traveling to the south of Gauntlet Castle on a secret mission in the foothills of the Mountains of Woe, his retinue was ambushed by a clan of goblins who descended on them from nearby caves. They were slain to the man, King Robert himself falling to a poisoned arrow.
The goblin raiders were deep-dwellers and had no idea who they had killed, or what the Lancea Deus was. However, they knew it to be an item of great power that harmed them if they touched it. Their shamans cursed the weapon and cast it into a deep chasm where it was swept into the bowels of the earth. Robert’s body was recovered, and he was buried alongside his three wives, but the Lance was lost.
A regent council served from 442 – 455 AC until Robert’s infant son came of age.
The king and his retinue returned a year later, having retrieved the Lance, but William had changed. Before the journey, he was a vibrant, often-rash young man, full of optimism and heart. His personal charm, even at such a young age, had won him many admirers. Upon his return, however, he’d become quiet and introspective, careful with his words and distant, unhappy, and often cold. He frequently walked alone in the gardens of Kingscastle, deep in thought.Caedmon VI (b. 498/d. 575 AC) ruled from 533 – 575 AC.
Many blamed Achernar for this sad transformation, but William would have none of it, angrily reproaching anyone who made such suggestions. Achernar accepted the accusations with a grim quiet. William never spoke of the quest, bearing the sole weight of his experience like a millstone around his neck until his death at an extreme age.
Rodger the Beloved (b. 555 AC/d. 640 AC) ruled from 575 – 640 AC. Rodger was a calm, charismatic leader who guided the Realm through a period of sustained peace and prosperity, so much so that he is lionized among its greatest leaders, in the same category with Caedmon and William.
His accidental drowning death at age 85 in Lac Glimmere was a painful moment in the history of the Realm, and the tragedy has been immortalized in a variety of songs and dramas.Roderick the Fallen (b. 616 AC/d. 686 AC) ruled from 640 – 686 AC. He was a well-respected king who continued to rule over the legacy of prosperity established by his father. It was Rodger’s tutelage that made Roderick such an effective leader, and much of the public’s good will toward him was due to the respect and love that his father’s name carried among the peasants and nobles alike.
The people were happy under Roderick; the machine of government ran smoothly and the majority felt their institutions were just and beneficial. Complacency settled in, however, blinding the citizenry to the first stirrings of discontent among its aristocratic classes, and the coming dark clouds of war.Alexander the Ten-Day King (b. 642 AC/d. 686 AC) ruled from 28th of Longnights to 7th of Wintersend – 686 AC.
Roderick sired an heir with his queen, Minerva, and they named him Rodger II, after the king’s beloved father. The child lived until the age of four, when he was stricken with a mysterious ailment that resisted all attempts at curing. The king and queen, to the dismay of the royal chirurgeons, could only watch as their beautiful prince was consumed by the disease. Despite many successive attempts, the royal couple remained childless thereafter.
Roderick presided over the Third Goblin War, but was struck down in battle by a dark force of The Void, summoned to the battlefield by necromancers of the Covenant of Nine. This evil shade, a giant wraith of hellish fury, swallowed Roderick, engulfing the king and seven of his finest knights in a single fell swoop. Such was the power of the Lancea Deus that, from within the black void of its belly, the dread creature was sundered by the light of God and destroyed. But Roderick and his retinue, along with the Lance and the Gold Wreath Crown, were lost.
Alexander was Roderick’s much-younger brother. He had always been a roguish, impudent young man who seemed to flaunt the conventions of the noble class at every turn. Tales of his youthful carousing and bawdy behavior in the city’s tenderloin districts caused much embarrassment for the monarchy, but he was also known for his generosity to the poor and his willingness to defend the working classes from harsh labor conditions or unfair practices. This brought him much popularity among the masses, which saw him as “down-to-earth” and “one of them.”Now, the only true heirs to the Goldhelm legacy are gone, with no successor and no guidelines for succession under this circumstance. Sarah Windham-Goldhelm is the queen, but her legitimacy is in question and her hold on power is tenuous. The Realm is now on the verge of utter collapse as competing powers struggle to advance their positions in the chaos and confusion that followed the apparent end of the Wreath-King’s lineage.
His popularity was not at the expense of his brother’s however, and his status as the People’s Prince never threatened Roderick’s sovereignty. In fact, Alexander always seemed uncomfortable with the trappings and duties of office, and relished his independence from all the fuss and bother. His notorious reputation faded into youthful legend as he grew into a still-rakish but wiser middle age, further endearing him with the people.
His greatest controversy occurred when, at the age of 38 he renounced his bachelor’s ways and took a young noblewoman from Southern Kingscastle, the daughter of the Baron of Goldfield, as his bride. Alexander and his betrothed, Sarah Windham, were hastily married in the middle of the night in the small hamlet of Stonewalle. The ceremony was witnessed only by the confused chapel priest and sleepy members of the Windham family.
The surprise marriage caused great consternation in many circles because of the possibility that Alexander might be called upon to provide a royal heir, even though Roderick had sired a male heir just the year before. Since his new bride, Sarah Windham-Goldhelm, was not a Maiden of the Forest, the tradition of Orion and Chastienne was potentially broken, and any heir they might produce would not be “pure.”
In true fashion, Alexander dismissed their concerns and refused all demands for an annulment. There were rumors of excommunication from the Holy Church if he persisted, but an upsurge of popular support among the commoners quelled any such threats. The aristocracy was forced to accept Sarah as the Duchess of South Kingscastle, and she remained his bride and potential queen.
When King Roderick’s young son then died, those with such fears quietly held their breath. The worry over this matter was not unfounded, and proved to be prophetic. During the final days of the Third Goblin War, upon Roderick’s death, Alexander was coronated on the battlefield in an impromptu ceremony. Since he was serving as the liege-lord of the southern armies, there was no time to make the coronation official, nor was it the correct time of year for the rituals (which traditionally took place at Midsummer’s Eve).
Neither was the Pontiff in Kingscastle able to anoint the new king as prescribed in the coronation traditions. It was understood that the proper conventions would be observed appropriately, but in this time of emergency, Alexander’s rule was simply accepted by all concerned parties.
Unfortunately, a mere ten days after assuming the throne, Alexander was also struck down in battle while pursuing the retreating goblin and Imperium forces. Covenant necromancers had laid a powerful magical trap for their pursuers. As the new king and his army chased the evil forces, they came upon a great charnel field littered with tens of thousands of mutilated corpses of men and goblin alike. As they passed quickly through the carnage, great heaps of the sacrificed corpses suddenly rose up and formed monstrous flesh piles that hungrily devoured helpless soldiers and knights by the score.
As the separate piles merged and formed greater masses, their power was magnified, until finally, one enormous abomination fell upon Alexander and his men like a great wave, and swallowed them up. As the shattered Realm forces abandoned their pursuit and fled, the flesh piles that remained moved off to the south, entering the Valley of Fog or dashing into Blackvale where they disappeared into that dark, deadly forest.
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Chapter Four – The Third Goblin War and the Battle of Thunder Mountain
In the southern Realm, a lone mountain rises in the rolling lands between Borland and the horse plains of Sheval. Thunder Mountain stands high and proud, with grassy slopes at the base giving way to steep rocky escarpments that tower above the countryside. Its peak is covered with a cap of snow from fall to late spring. Legend has it that ancient storm gods used to dance around its summit, giving it its name.
The mountain has always been a curiosity for, nestled between two of its spurs, is a sheltered valley called The Portico. At the back of the valley is an enormous stone face, carved to resemble a set of massive gates. Dwarf writing, faint and obscured from centuries of exposure, can be seen everywhere, and smaller rune-carved marker stones litter the area.
In addition to the carved gates, a ruined watch tower clings to the side of the mountain approximately halfway up, at the point where grass and loam give way to sheer cliff. The way to the base of the tower is treacherous, and there appeared to be no method of entrance. For as long as the people of the region could remember, the tower had remained as enigmatic as The Portico.
It was not uncommon for dwarves passing through the area to make their way to The Portico and pay their respects. Their story generally went that the valley was the entrance to an ancient underground fortress called Dünderberg, “Thunder Mountain” in the dwarf tongue.
Evil forces were said to have fallen upon the fortress, forcing the dwarf god, Dumathoin, to seal the mountain forever. Most locals paid the legend little mind; the mountain had stood quietly for as long as anyone could remember, and no one had any reason to believe the legends mattered. They were to learn just how significant the mountain would become to the fate of the world.
In 685 AC, just prior to the outbreak of the Third Goblin War and the loss of both kings Roderick and Alexander, a group of adventurers found their way inside the mountain, Therein, they discovered vast wonders, extraordinary dangers, and the hidden past of Dünderberg.
According to historical records which the dwarves are now reconstructing, the ancient history of Thunder Mountain dates back to the end of the Auldic Empire and involves the wicked emperor, Nessus. The timeline uncovered so far begins here:
YR 320 PC – Relations between Emperor Nessus and the hidden kingdoms of the Duervolk amounted to a strained but mutually-beneficial alliance; the dwarves traded ores and finished goods for imperial gold, lumber, and food.YR 685 AC – Thirty years later, as the plans of D’agesh’s minions came to fruition, a group of adventurers–one of whom was the son of a local baron–arrived in the area and began investigating some of the strange goings-on. Their investigation led them to destroy two of the three minions, who were terrorizing the mining settlement. The third, a vile creature named Bonepot, was captured and bound, and taken to the city of Kingscastle to be abjured.
However, the dwarves grew distrustful of Nessus and the growing decadence of his empire. The Dwarf King began raising prices on their goods and reducing the amounts of weapons and armor they allowed to be sold, which caused much resentment in the Elucidaran Court.
To remedy this intolerable situation, Nessus conspired with agents of the Goblin King, whose dark shamans summoned a trio of extremely powerful nether-beasts. This evil triumvirate of demon lords represented fully one-quarter of the Lesser Hierarchy of 12 in the goblin mythos of that era. With their aid, Emperor Nessus took revenge on the dwarves for their insult to his rule.
YR 315 PC – From sprawling war-camps located on imperial soil, goblin armies attacked various dwarf strongholds. The three demons took the forms of gigantic, fearsome ogres, and they physically commanded the goblin armies.
The Dwarf-King appealed to Nessus for assistance in fighting the goblin hordes, little realizing they were acting under the Emperor’s direction. The Dwarf-King’s increasingly-desperate pleas went unanswered.
YR 314 PC – Despite massive losses, the dwarves managed ultimately to repel the goblins; two of the demons were defeated, but only with the intervention of the dwarf god, Dumathoin. The third and most powerful of the demon brothers–a loathsome beast named D’agesh (Auldic name, "Diabolicus Fuma Orkus Rex")–is cast down and imprisoned by Dumathoin beneath a distant mountain. This event occurred exactly 1,000 years before the vernal (spring) equinox of 686 AC, the climax of the Third Goblin War.
YR 313 PC – Dumathoin created a stronghold within this mountain prison, calling it Dünderberg (DOON-duhr-buhrg) ("Thunder Mountain"). He commanded his followers to go there and guard the site. In the decades soon after, as the Auldic Empire crumbled under the Seven Cataclysms and the Dark Ages gripped the land, the dwarves sealed themselves away from the surface world.
Unknown Dates – Sometime during the Dark Ages (the exact dates can not be determined), the demon-lord, D’agesh, mustered his dark power, causing foul essences to seep from his body and pollute the lower chambers of his prison.
Over the centuries, his poison spread slowly throughout the mountain, the noxious fumes turning the dwarves living within the mountain into a dull and listless people. After many generations, they began to forget many of their important rituals, including their roles as the priest-guardians of D’agesh’s “shackles.”
YR 75 PC – High Rune-Lord Dumashammar Tharinson (DOO-muss-HAM-uhr THOR-ihn-suhn) arrives at Dünderberg from distant Sevakarun (SEH-vuh-kah-ROON) the first such meeting between the dwarf tribes in many centuries. Shocked to see the state of decline of his brethren, Dumashammar quickly discovers the presence of the fumes, and realizes they are the source of the problem. The Dwarf Lord of Thunder Mountain, however, refuses to do anything.
YR 74 PC – The priesthood of Dünderberg is inspired by Dumashammar’s heroic charisma, and with their aid, he leads a revolt against the king. Once overthrown, Dumashammar is made the new High-Lord of Dünderberg. His first act is to collapse the tunnels leading to the strange chambers beneath the mountain and to seal them off with runes and wards. The curse lifts quickly from the minds of his new followers, and they, too, become inspired by Dumashammar.
YR 65 PC – Dumashammar opens wide the gates of Dünderberg, and makes alliances with the local human chieftains. Trade and commerce begins anew, and the mountain thrives.
YR 1 AC – In his twilight years, Dumashammar steps down from the throne shortly after the Second Council of Banners. His son, Helmhörn Orkenhammar (HELM-horn ORK-uhn-HAM-ahr) assumed the throne as the new High-Lord.
YR 75 AC – D’agesh’s wards are accidentally disturbed by dwarf miners, and his power again starts to permeate the mountain. This time, however, major wards were inadvertently tampered with, and the problem quickly became far more serious. This was the beginning of the second fall of Dünderberg.
YR 125 AC – For 50 years, D’agesh sent his power through the earth, calling out to goblin-kind and commanding their aid. Dark forces gathered deep beneath the mountain, where even the dwarves did not go. They surprised the complacent Duervolk in their halls, falling upon them in waves and murdering them without mercy. Few escaped their brutality, including Helmhörn Orkenhammar, who was laid low after slaying many of his enemies.
Dumathoin was again forced to intervene, and after a mighty battle with the ogre-demon, he cast the beast down and sealed the mountain from above and below, so that no one could enter, and no foul thing could escape.
This was all a prelude to the First Goblin War. Just as D’agesh and his minions attacked Thunder Mountain from within, the forces of the Iron Emperor–who some believe to be Nessus’ evil shade–swept into the southern lands of the Realm, through the pass in the Mountains of Woe.
Realm forces turned back the invasion, but at a terrible cost. The border lands were largely destroyed, and many able-bodied men were slain. The few dwarven survivors who had escaped the fall of Thunder Mountain began the long journey back to their ancestral homeland, north to the ice-bound peaks of Duerheim.
So the mountain remained, sealed up for five centuries.
YR 656 AC – Many years later, a mining community of men sprang up in the hills that lie in the shadow of the mountain. In one of these mines, the miners breached a buried dwarf shrine called Ar-Ungalid (AHR-oon-GAH-lihd) a remote satellite of the larger underground complex of Dünderberg.
Several of D’agesh’s demonic minions had escaped the sealing of the mountain, and they “hibernated” within the buried shrine, awaiting release. The miner’s breach spewed poisonous gas into the tunnels, and many men were killed. The community sealed the mine off, but the damage was done. D’agesh’s minions had awakened from their slumber, and the spark of his evil malice within them directed their actions. They began seeking ways to enter the mountain and free their master.
The adventurers also made their way into the mountain, but doing so triggered potentially cataclysmic events.
In faraway Duerheim, the Rune Council announced that they had received visions regarding Dünderberg. The level of excitement among the populace became palpable. Some of the rune priests declared that they must reclaim the fortress, but King Durne Stônfaust (DERN SHTONE-fowst) was uncertain, convinced that other political and religious considerations must be taken into account.
Some of the rune cults were unimpressed with the king’s decision to negotiate the matter with King Roderick, fearing a window of opportunity might be lost. Elements of the cults of Abathorr and Clangeddin organized a “friendly” invasion force and set off for Dünderberg.Meanwhile, the adventurers discovered that the way inside the mountain was through the mysterious Watchtower on the eastern slope. Disguised by magic spells, they made their way past the dwarf troops inside the tower and secretly entered the mountain halls. A long quest began, in which the group explored the interior and overcame the forces within. Over the course of the following months, they secured the lower mountain, including the fabled halls of Volkenmorad (VOLK-uhn-MORE-add) ("the People of Moradin").
They were aided by a small rune cult devoted to Dumathoin. This particular rune cult was charged with keeping the history of the Duervolk, and for recovering lost dwarf artifacts. The Dwarf King’s adopted human son, Derek, was the group’s most prominent member, and his presence lent the mission much credibility for what was essentially an act of disobedience.
The leaders of the mission were unaware that the situation in the Southern Seas had become quite tense in recent months, with pitched battles between Realm ships and Imperium vessels becoming more common. The Realm’s reaction to a raiding party in their waters was not as forgiving as the dwarves had anticipated. This led to several unfortunate “incidents,” which hardened the Realm’s position and embittered the dwarven force.
In the end, King Roderick blinked, not wishing to create a broader problem with Duerheim. King Stonfaust promised that these radicals intended no harm against the Realm and they would be dealt with appropriately. Roderick agreed to let them land safely, where his troops would surround and capture them before they could get to the mountain. However, things were not to go that simply.
Upon landing, the dwarven forces made a forced march into some nearby hills, before the Realm forces could get in place to intercept them. Once in the hills, they simply vanished, disappearing underground into a long-hidden network of caves.
They reemerged many days later and many more leagues to the north, popping up in the hills around Thunder Mountain. There, they did battle with Realm forces in an effort to secure The Portico and the Watchtower, which they managed to do, albeit at a terrific loss of life. However, they found that they could not penetrate the mountain, as they had expected to be able to do.
Whether he fell ill due to grief and shame, or was poisoned as some claim, the Dwarf King succumbed to a strange malady and died suddenly. His eldest son, the wicked Prince Svartsturm (ZVART-shturm) seized the throne and began a campaign of purging and imprisonment, brutalizing his father’s allies and installing his own men in important positions. He blessed the foray to Thunder Mountain, claiming the fortress as dwarf territory, and he threatened war on the Realm if any more dwarven blood was spilled.
Svartsturm threw his youngest brother, Prince Ulric, into prison. Ulric promptly escaped and fled to Realm territory, where he conferred with King Roderick about the next steps.
Upon lighting the sacred fires within Volkenmorad’s main shrine, the sealed gates within the Watchtower opened suddenly. The dwarven forces poured into the mountain, making their way to Volkenmorad, where they helped defeat the foul goblin forces there. The High Rune Priest of Abathorr in charge of the expedition, Shalemur Sullenmun (SHALL-eh-myoor SULL-ehn-moon), understood that the group of heroes was somehow fated to unlock the secrets of the mountain. But he was incensed that non-dwarves were “trespassing” within these hallowed halls. He imposed harsh restrictions on the adventurers and created a much more difficult situation for them.Around this time, in the autumn of 685, an invasion force made up of goblin armies, Imperium troops, and undead hordes poured into the southern Realm. They attacked by multiple routes–through the Valley of Fog in the Mountains of Woe, through the twisted forest of Blackvale, and from ship-borne landings in the Southern Sea and the Sea of Elucidar.
D’agesh was again calling his brethren to bring him final victory–an end to his imprisonment and the final destruction of Dünderberg and his wretched dwarf captors.The battles in the south raged throughout the fall and winter of 685, and would surely continue into spring. The situation was critical, as enemy forces threatened to overwhelm the unprepared Realm defenses. Reinforcements were still days and weeks away, and the invasion force was already deep into Borland. The enemy was within sight of their objectives.
The Iron Emperor had also been preparing this invasion for many years, and he watched the signs and omens for the right opportunity to free Nessus’ former servant from the mountain. One thousand years had passed since D’agesh’s imprisonment, and the time to act was now at hand.
The Emperor’s forces swept into Borland, and laid siege to Gauntlet Castle and the main bridge from the border lands into the southern Realm. As Imperium troops blockaded the citadel, the goblin armies headed for Dünderberg, while the Covenant necromancers and their undead army headed to the haunted ruins of Glimmere. The Emperor was determined to capture these three “jewels” in the initial weeks of his campaign, and they would provide him with the forward bases he needed for the next steps of his conquest.
As if in collusion with the Iron Emperor, the naval forces of Dwarf King Svartsturm began to harass Realm shipping in the North Sea, to the point of blockading the city of Landsend and bombarding Dungarin’s Bridge with artillery. He vowed to continue this campaign unless the Wreath King agreed to pay a tribute for use of the bridge, which his ancestors had built long ago, and to recognize the sovereignty of the dwarf enclave at Dünderberg. This action drew critical Realm forces away from the southern invasion.
The defenders made a valiant effort, but their lines were close to breaking. Suddenly, out of the north came King Roderick and a force of his mounted knights and infantry, riding to intercept the Covenant forces. Roderick’s men crashed against the necromancers’ army of corpses and shattered it. The king’s holy lance vaporized many of his foes, stripping away the dark clouds of poisonous smoke which obscured the advancing army, exposing them to the light of the sun. But just at the moment of victory, the king and a cadre of his knights was swallowed up by a foul servant of The Void, and they were gone.
The loss of the Wreath King nearly broke the back of the Realm forces, and defeat seemed certain. Roderick’s brother, Alexander, assumed the kingly mantle, and he commanded his subjects to continue their fight despite the desperate odds and perilous circumstances.
It would be the actions of the small band of adventurers within the mountain, though, that would set the wheel of fate spinning and determine the future of the Realm. As things looked bleakest on the surface, they pressed onward with their quest.
Ascending into the upper halls, they reached the sealed chambers just below the summit of the mountain, the ancient sanctum of a powerful dwarf astrologer named Havad. There, they defeated an ancient wyrm that had been summoned by D’agesh in ages past to kill Havad.YR 686 AC – The vernal equinox came, signaling the first day of spring and the new year. The astrological bodies described by Havad came into alignment again at precisely this moment.
The questors found many of Havad’s ancient writings, which spoke of certain astrological alignments that foretold the original downfall of D’agesh. The scrolls predicted a moment of critical importance that would recur every 1,000 years, as the same astrological bodies again came into alignment. The next such alignment, they discovered, was to occur during the current vernal equinox, which was now mere weeks away.
From Havad’s “tower,” they raced downward, descending deep below the earth and coming finally to the Great Shrine where they managed to light the sacred flames within. Doing so purged Dagesh’s influence from the upper halls, confining his malicious power to the lower mines. This heartened the dwarven insurgents, and their leader Shalemur finally accepted that the adventurers really WERE doing the bidding of the dwarf gods. He lifted his restrictions and offered what aid he could.
This set up the final battle between the heroes and the evil ogre-demon as they made their way through the mines and into the chambers that made up D’agesh’s prison.
Within the mountain, the heroes came into the main chamber and confronted D’agesh; during the course of their adventure, some of them had assumed runic powers which they now wielded against the vile nether-beast, battling him both in the Spirit Realm and on the mortal plane. At the moment of precise astrological alignment, as the heroes’ defenses were at the critical point of collapse, they managed to finally cast down the ogre-demon and imprison him again. The unholy curse on the mountain was lifted.
On the surface, the Realm forces braced themselves for the Emperor’s final onslaught, certain that today’s battle would be their last. The exiled Dwarf Prince Ulric had reinforced the Realm’s lines somewhat with his meager forces, but they were still vastly outnumbered.
Suddenly, the gates of The Portico opened, and an army of ghostly dwarves emerged, bolstered by Shalemur’s forces and the heroes of Thunder Mountain. They descended upon the enemy army and held them back. This bought enough time for fresh reinforcements to arrive and ultimately turned the tide of battle. The invasion was ultimately repulsed, but King Alexander was also lost in battle, leaving the future of the Realm in question.
Prior to King Roderick’s untimely death, he and Prince Ulric had signed treaties giving Dünderberg and the lands immediately surrounding it to the dwarven refugees as their new homeland, at least until they could reclaim Duerheim from the evil clutches of King Svartsturm. Ulric was named High-Lord-Under-the-Mountain.
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Chapter Five – The Modern World
686 AC – A Banner Council was convened in the month of Turnleaf, to be held at Banner Castle, home to the Knight Order of the Sacred Banner, the sworn guardians of the ancient Lodge of Feologild Rex, Lord of the Middle Lands.
In the absence of the Wreath King, the council was presided over by the knight-commander of the castle, Sir Yoffrey Reynold (YOFF-ree RAY-nuld), who served as Arbiter. In attendance were:
The Seven Dukes of the Realm: Aelbrecht Gwaenglaine (ELL-brekt GWEN-glayn) of Woodcrosse; Odgar Edmundson (ODD-gahr EHD-mundh-sun) of Landsend; Renard D'Argent (RAY-nahrd DAHR-zhan) of Sheval; Angus macFadden (AIN-guhs MACK-fay-duhn) of Highbluff; and Yeobert Lancaster (YO-bare LANK-uh-stir) of Riversmouth.
The Pontiff, His Excellency Pious XII (PY-uhs) and the assembled Archbishops from each of the major cities of the Realm, ancient Ygraine and the High Priestesses of Avondale, and the wizard Achernar and the Elders of Ashestaffe Keep served as witnesses to the event.
Queen Sarah Goldhelm, unable to attend due to poor health, was represented by her brother, Lord Thomas Windham, Steward of Borland, Earl of Stonewalle, and Hero of Thunder Mountain. He was attended and advised by Roderick’s widow, the former queen, Minerva Goldhelm.
Representatives from all knight orders, including the Royal Rangers and the Road Wardens, as well as ambassadors from Swordgate and Dünderberg (now acknowledged as the “official” voice of the dwarves) observed from the gallery.
After several days filled with passionate speeches about the Realm and her storied past, about the loss of the kings, and about questions of succession, the dukes are faced with accepting one of the following choices:
They could declare the Realm’s pact broken, with central authority removed and the duchies becoming independent kingdoms again;Toward the end of the council, the majority of dukes leaned toward either independence or selection of a new king; however, the assembled lords grimly understood that either choice could lead to a breakdown of civility and order among them.
They could select a new Wreath-King from among them (in accordance with all rights and traditions); or
They could allow Sarah to remain as queen, serving as a regent until a proper form of succession can be formulated later, after careful study and debate.
Lord Thomas Windham gave the closing speech, on Sarah’s behalf, and to everyone’s surprise, this political novice delivered a passionate speech of such stirring prose and sweeping emotion that all gave pause, even those who were adamantly against installing Sarah as regent.
As though relieved of the burden of a costly decision, the majority of the dukes agreed to remain loyal to the Goldhelm name, if not an actual king, until a new order could be established upon which all could agree. Thus, Sarah Goldhelm remains the titular queen, serving as a figurehead for the people to rally around, while the personal power and influence of the individual dukes grows steadily. This is the state of the Realm today.
The current year is 689 AC.
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