There are many conflicting ideas surrounding ‘what came before’ during the first age of Ayl’gard and that is all they can be. Ideas. For no one, no man or farling alive can claim to know for there are none who walked the realms at the Dawn of All that live today. These tales, legends of an era that have been passed down through generations, conflict wildly from culture to culture but one thing they all have in common, the one aspect of this era that appears in all the old tales, is the notion of the God Wars.
The mithylfar of Sollistar, who claim the sun god Mithron as their patron, say that the gods were once not so different from ourselves in all but might and majesty. One Archon in particular even believes himself to be a direct descendant of the gods but fortunately for him, his boasts are quickly dismissed. I’m sure there are few alchemists with the means and the coin who would eagerly attempt to secure such an ingredient as god blood for themselves. They say that they walked amongst us as members of a race that simply defied logic and true understanding. Whatever the truth of it, there was no doubting that they were the unquestionable power in Ayl’gard at one point in history but they were not infallible however with some harbouring dark thoughts and even darker intentions toward those deemed to be lesser than themselves. And why not, the younger races were burgeoning, spreading uncontrollably and more quickly than anyone could have anticipated. It is said that it was this fear of the unknown, of what they may become if left to roam unchecked, that hardened the hearts of they who were considered guardians of the realms and their inhabitants. Simply told, the gods waged war upon each other to determine what would become of the emerging races – the inventive dvergar in the north, the curious humans in the east, the beast tribes of the south and the noble ayl’far to the west. Continue reading “The God Wars”
We’ve been travelling for about an hour or so now through the mists of Blind Man’s Road after passing by the orchards and farmlands bordering the city and I have been kicked in the shin, had my hair vigorously matted and been laughed at for nearly jumping out of my skin because I mistook a fox running through the brush for a wolf. I have missed my dear sister immensely and she’s as mischievous as ever. We haven’t seen each other for months and already it is as if we have spent the last several weeks travelling together.
Isabelle and I have been joined on this journey by two others. The first is Giles, a heartland native who owns the carriage and horses we are using to travel through Ayrlaston. He’s a bit of a grump if I’m being honest. One who smells vaguely of tavern ale and who keeps muttering about marauders and grimlurks under his breath before growling that he’ll not be going into the forest of Dyan to get to Stonehold despite the fact that I have told him we won’t be heading north for some time. If I’d had my own way I probably would have acquired the services of someone who might make this trek more agreeable. If the notes of my predecessors have taught me anything it’s that good company can make all the difference. However, Belle assures me that he could navigate these roads in his sleep if he wanted and so I will trust my sister’s judgement on this matter. Continue reading “The Journal of Felix Emberheart Part 2”
The country of Lochland has never really known true peace since the first settlers landed on its shores centuries ago, long before it acquired its present name. Tales of sadness and sorrow are no strangers to the people of the winter lands. The great Houses that rule the Court of Winter are quite content to feud with one another until the influence or possible intrusion of an outside force deems it necessary to renew ancient treaties calling to arms the combined might of the Court under the banner of the King. If you were to ask any person from another realm in Ayl’gard their opinion of these northerners you might hear words such as ‘stubborn’, ‘foolish’ or ‘hot blooded’. In contrast to this, another fitting description of the frost folk that can be attributed to them is loyal.
The Baine family were undoubtedly loyal to the House of Graveson and had been for as long as memory served. They manned a small holding of farmland along the road into Wintermere, the home of the Winter Court and its King. They professed no love for the other Houses of the city and sang few songs in the name of their monarch but before each evening meal, they would raise a mug in honour of their liege. Over the storied course of Lochland’s long history, many sons and daughters of the Baine family have given their lives to fight and serve on behalf of their Lord. Such was their staunch and unwavering fealty. And so it was to be again when the bloody hordes of the Dothylfar began their Harvest in the east, the call to arms was sent forth through the realm. This call was led by the House of Graveson who would personally lead the charge against the encroaching band of warmongers. Knowing that this family have served them well in the past, a personal letter addressed to them was sent by courier to summon them into service once again. A knock at the door came late in the night upon its arrival and without hesitation, Duncan Baine grasped his late father’s sword, said goodbye to his family and left to fight without even waiting for the light of the morning sun to guide his journey. Continue reading “The Price of Fealty”