Volume 2: Prologue

There are many things to discuss so I will put them in bullet points.

1. Chapters will now be released in blocs. Either in 1/2 arcs or full arcs depending on how you answer the poll above. If you want to know the progress of the release, check the FAQ page. The link is at the bottom of the page.

a. This was done for a few reasons. First, Vol 1 was a rushed mess, in my opinion, at the end. It needed better editing.

b. A lot of you like to binge read.

c. RL is hectic right now and I doubt I could give you a concrete schedule to when chapters would be out.

2. We have a ProofReader. Give a round of applause to Nolo. He did not work on this chapter as he is busy editing volume 1.

3. When he is finished editing volume 1, I will put it in kindle format for you guys.

4. A donation button has been added. If you guys would like to donate, I would be most grateful; it would definitely give me more time to write.

5. Pandora Akyri is making a cover page for the series. He is putting in a lot of effort to make it for us. In a few weeks, you'll see a better, more apt cover than the one I have now.

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That's all. Please vote on the chapter poll above. It would be helpful. Thanks

June 05, 32 R.E

As time passes, so too do memories. Emotion, the construct in how memories are understood, is a fleeting state of mind. Actions that result from this surge of emotion, therefore, are always ill-fated and doomed to fail. Or, that is at least what most scholars would say.

Lord Gaya, on the other hand, was of a different mindset. He sat with his advisors in an anti-chamber that spoke of the resplendence of the palace but highlighted the impoverished-nature of the region through the advisors’ pallid garb, which contrasted to the Demi-God’s robes of ornate perfection.

A lite tapping rent the air as Gaya drummed a single finger on the table in frustration.

“You’re telling me to ignore…this…this…insult?”

“My Lord,” Besat, one of his advisors….of something said. There were over fifty men seated at the table and all of them had some function or other. It was hard to keep track of one single, unimportant advisor.

“Word has already spread throughout the province that Muhal failed my Lord,” the advisor said as he adverted his eyes from Lord Gaya respectfully.

“We have not received confirmation that he failed yet,” another of his advisors, Nacom, a Dreloth, said.

“My Lord,” Besat said, ignoring Nacom, “It has been over three years since Muhal left. It was known that Muhal was to bring back the heads of the Greater Race and within the last year, rumors began to emerge that he failed. Now, many consider it as fact.”

Gaya noticed, even as Besat tried to hide it, the implicit understanding that it was he, Gaya, whom announced word of Muhal’s mission to retrieve the Ventros Greater Race.

“Does it truly matter that the citizens know that Muhal failed?” Gaya said, changing the direction of the conversation. Unlike Nacom, he had no doubts that Muhal failed. If he succeeded, he would have returned long ago. There was nothing that could have held him up this long.

“My Lord, if I may.” Jalak, a Zalot advisor at the end of the table interjected.

Gaya nodded his head indifferently.

“My Lord,” Jalak said gravely. “If you wish to punish the Ventros, send a larger army by all means…”

“No you bloody can’t!” Thenral shouted Jalak down. Gaya actually knew Thenral’s position, Marshall of Abria. Frankly, it would be ridiculous for him not to know his Marshall well as nearly a quarter of his time was spent dealing with the many skirmishes that erupted across the borders of the Demi-God regions.

He also knew the point Thenral would make. The army was holding the border fine at the moment but a sudden reduction of soldiers, far larger than the five-hundred he sent with Muhal, could affect Abria’s border security drastically.

Gaya sighed. Holding Court was tedious in the best circumstances. But when there was a problem without a solution, his advisors bickered like schoolchildren.

Nacom had continued to speak even as Gaya drowned him out as he pondered his own thoughts.

“…people have affixed it in their minds that the Ventros Greater Race broke your law and remained unpunished. There are rumblings that some of the other races consider risking your wrath as they plan to depart the region. My humble suggestion is to make the people forget that the Ventros ever left.”

“And how,” Gaya growled. “Do you plan to make that occur?”

He had chosen his advisors for their practicality. When he was granted this region by his elders, Abria was no more than flat grassland and a few forest clusters. The one asset Abria had, when he arrived, was the many Greater and Epic races who lived within the territory at the time. As one does with an asset, he attempted to secure it at all costs. Therefore, he ordained his one law. If one enters Abria, they are not allowed to leave again.

Over the centuries, there were a few who broke this rule but they were individuals only-insignificant in the bigger picture; however, a whole race escaping together. That was unquestionably a disaster.

Seven thousand mortal’s worth of assets. Further, they were a Greater Race. Those of the Greater and Epic Races were more likely to have a higher production rate, military capacity, and intelligence quotient than those of the lesser mortal races.

The citizens, they believed he kept his one law because he loved his ‘toys’. Their proof was the Circle. A popular pastime among his soldiers, it was where criminals of the Greater and Epic races were sent when they broke his one law or the normal laws egregiously.

But, the purpose of the Circle was not to entertain. Its purpose was to show what would happen to Greater and Epic races that disobeyed the laws of Abria. And it worked, for the most part. At least, until this disaster occurred.

Now, according to Nacom, some of the races were attempting to leave right out from under his nose.

“There are a few options,” Nacom said considering. “But the best way, in my humble opinion, is to start a war with another Demi-God.”

Gaya sat back in his chair, surprised. It had been a long time since the Demi-Gods within the region went to war with one another. There was a tacit understanding that any military conflict would be small in scale as to not draw the ire of the Gods who looked down from the Regas Realm.

It could work. He would have to send out some feelers to his clan and get their opinion. A few of them served at the behest of the God-Kings in the Regas Realm; perhaps, with their persuasion, Gaya could conduct his small, insignificant war in the Mortal Realm without any interference from above.

In that way, he could retain control of his people and perhaps gain some territory as well.

~

Salas Teras did not like his new role. Bookish and quiet in nature, he was not meant to rule.

For many years while in the Sanctuary, he owned a small coffee shop where some of the younger Ventros came to relax and remove the stress of living in Abria. During the decade he ran the store, he came to know many of the younger Ventros intimately.

He always spoke to them as equals as he, himself, was still young back then. When the Council made the decision to leave the Sanctuary, he reluctantly packed up his shop and was one of the first groups to travel to their new home.

In the newly built city, Kankur, Salas set up another small coffee shop, which was once again, visited by many of the younger Ventros. Not that there were many older Ventros left after the massacre at the Battle of Abria.

Salas tried to continue on with his life in the same way he always had. Run his store, relax with his books, and think upon the world; however, times were changing and swift winds carried all on their currents.

The Council began to make decisions that became increasingly unpopular with the youth of Kankur. Without the elderly to offset the brashness of youth, the belief in many long-held traditions including the Council fell by the wayside.

When the foolish decision, thankfully ignored by the army, to meet the Abrian army outside the gates was made, many of the youths gathered in his shop to vent angrily about the wool-headed Council.

The final straw, though, was a few weeks later when the Kankur was lit alight by the marauding Abrian army. After the Kankur army, led by Captain Rajac, pushed back the Abrian army and eventually defeated it, many of the youths stormed to the streets, intent on protesting the lack of security within the city; however, when they reached the Council building they found it a smoldering ruin.

New Council members had to be chosen and as so few elderly remained, all four chosen were youths who commonly visited Salas’ shop. Soon after they were chosen, they decreed the Council was annulled and a selecting committee would be formed to find a Duke suitable to rule Kankur alone.

Many weeks passed as the four youths, Kain Manos, Ceris Talworn, Lakos Talworn, and Esec Ishan, perused over candidates discarding each and every one.

Salas was always there, talking with his old customers in a genial, friendly manner as he imparted the glimmerings of wisdom he had obtained from his vast quantity of books. Many of these flecks of wisdom concerned the aptitude of the governors, the qualities a governor should strive to emulate, and the finer points of economic theory that a governor would need to understand to rule effectively.

Salas, unconcerned of what others thought of him, spoke frankly and with a glimmer of intelligence that sparked an idea within the four members of the selecting committee.

After only a few hours of deliberation, Salas was chosen as the first Duke of Kankur. Reluctantly, he accepted his post. He knew many of the theories of governance from his books and felt that if he had been chosen, there must have been a reason.

Though, as he sat on his throne and attempted to listen to the boarish Delegate from the Merchant’s Guild give his report on the monthly grain counts, he felt no like a Duke at all. He was just an actor playing his part. He just hoped he would grow into it.

~

Gomperi Zalahad flicked his sword out to his side. Droplets of blood flew from the tip, splattering the countless corpses littered on the forest floor. The remnants of his army stood at his back, heaving from the long day’s exertion.

This scene was all too common in the Western Territories. The four Dukes raged against one another in a very similar way to the Demi-Gods to the north of the Akiean Kingdom; however, unlike the Demi-Gods, they were not restrained by the watchful eyes of the Gods.

War tore through the Western Territories season after season with no end in sight. Gomperi had been through many-a-war but he had never lost sight of his goal. He was Duke of Lethari; Lethari, a city that sat upon the coast of the Alaklath Sea, only held a small portion of the Western Territories. But, its territory was vastly rich in minerals and arable land.

The other Dukes, jealous of his resources, often made war against his small city; however, Lethari had one asset the others could only match, not overcome. His army of ten-thousand had a core of three-hundred experts; Gomperi, himself, was an expert over level three-hundred.

Though, long ago, he had learned to discount the level of his opponent and even himself. The path one took was, by far, the more important. The Duke of Canthos, Dashish Kahail, was over level 300, as well. But, Dashish chose to bind his soul to his heart. Gomperi was easily 100 times the swordsman Dashish was. But, Dashish would most likely outlive all the other Dukes.

Gomperi had been stuck at the level 400 bottleneck for 438 years. Only 72 years remained in his life before his soul could no longer keep his flesh and consciousness alive.

Still, Gomperi strived to complete his goal. Long ago, long even before he passed the level 100 threshold, Gomperi came to the conclusion that the only way his city would be safe was through the unification of the Western Territories.

As much as the other Dukes warred upon him, Gomperi warred upon them, perhaps even more. For, he knew that the other Dukes, whoever they were, would not stop invading his territory until it was their own.

The violence would never stop until one man controlled all four duchies. That fifth one on Creva Mountain he would have to see about. Some of his people, the poor, the wretched, and the maligned began to seek shelter there; he did not stop them. In fact, he aided them slightly by providing them with travel goods.

Of course, Gomperi put a few of his men in their midst. He needed to learn the intentions of this new Duchy. Would they make war upon the other Dukes as had been the practice for so long? Or would they remain in seclusion on top their lonely mountain?

Few traveled to Cera Mountain. It was an unforgiving climb and only in the higher reaches did the land become arable enough to farm. Many deaths would accompany those attempting to make the journey. But, for some, it was better than the alternative.

Wiping his sword on his cloak, Gomperi turned back to his men. Shouts and the steady crunch of boots could be heard from beyond the treeline. There would, no doubt, be more killing today.

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