Prologue

Once, countless generations ago, mankind settled Orr from the distant Holy Land. Orr was tainted, full of monstrous creatures and malevolent beings that walked this earth. So our ancestors fought, a war to purge this untamed land of its wild evils. During this war however; the mighty bloodlines were weakened, the life tethers that powered our magics broken. The ways of our might faded as the generations passed, the knowledge from the holy land forgotten. And slowly, the foes of old began to encroach upon us.

Still, the blood of our forebears flowed in the mage kings and queens of the Free Kingdoms, and with it their power. King Celdan was the first to unite the human kingdoms and sanctify our lands from the enemies of Orr. The lands were cleansed, the foul Orrkin and sylven driven back to their forests. King Celdan would not stop there, however. Amassing the greatest army this world has ever seen he marched through the forests of Orr and laid waste to their homelands, making certain no Orrkin nor sylvan would walk these lands again.

Then King Celdan and his army came upon a glimpse of the Elder Tree, the center of Orrkin and sylvan civilization that towered over the looming forest and grew past the sky above. He pressed his army onwards to cleanse Orr of these races once and for all. Once there King Celdan and his army vanished, as did the next army and the next that marched towards what will be forever known as the Green Pass, a forest that no man has ever returned from.

So would the neighbouring kingdoms of Man forever besiege the forests guarding the Elder Tree, as we look upwards in envy at this open display of power. With the decline of the mages man has resorted to the baser use of their true weapon, their mind. Innovation of black powder and steel has kept the natives at bay, but the fractious kingdoms of the Empire feud and conspire against one another, threatening to break the order the ancient kings of old fought so hard to maintain.

The line of King Celdan did not end however. The Crown Steward Roth advises the current Crown Prince Hector at his seventeenth mortal span, just a year from his ascension. His father then King Alexander was slain by natives after what seemed would be a tenuous truce from millennia of war. Now the call to war has been reignited, and the kingdoms presently united against a common foe.

Excerpt of- The Codex, recorded by Oracle Freia Liune, 1302nd span

Chapter One- A King’s Death

Their armor shone in the faint light of the two suns above, steeped in white cloud. The air was dense and wet, droplets of condensation clinging to the dull grey metal they wore. The Crown Guard, stern soldiers; their faces obscured beneath their polished rounded helmets. What left that was visible in their open visorless helms were brows furrowed in grim shadow.

Step by step they marched past the statues of the fallen Kings of old, white marble statues from the Crae Isles transported with painful distance to be shaped here. The figures were set in heroic poses; of King Alistair holding his warhammer above his head, of the First King Celdan raising one imperious fist to the sky.

The statues were held to either side of the lofty bridge leading out from the castle walls. A Crown Guard stood still beside each sculpture. They stood twice the height of a tall man; giants of the people, for the people. That was what his father had recited to Hector. Now his father was one of them, a figure that looked nothing like him. One hand rested on his saber, the other reaching out for a handshake.

The honest King, the people had named him. Honest and just to his people, as was his justice. So the Crown Guard carried his sealed marble coffin shaped in his form, holding his saber clasped over both hands to his chest. The people, his people, were watching in silence, their right hand over their hearts, holding candles with the other. A sea of faint lights set close to extinguish. Mortal lives that burned bright and faded just as quickly. So his father had once said. Mortal, but no less equal.

The entire city, no, the entire Heartland was watching him as he trailed behind the Crown Guard that stood two heads over him, marching in synchronized severity. As Hector passed each Crown Guard they took their place marching behind him, a clunking column from each flank.

A dark flock of birds unknown to him flitted through the pale grey sky, a wild swarm twisting and turning with no clear path. The funeral procession moved to the side where his father’s statue stood and rested his coffin in front, just as each King before had their coffin placed.

His eyes flickered to the empty side opposite his father and wondered what his statue would look like, his features warped forever by the unrealistic grandeur royalty had to uphold.

Hector felt his throat constrict in a phantom's strangle, his mouth dry out as an age long drought. A hand rested on his shoulder, he looked to his right. A tall man of severe angled cheekbones and short cropped raven hair gave a reassuring nod. Roth, his father’s chosen Steward.

“Just remember what I told you,” Roth murmured so only he could hear.

Hector nodded and looked at the crowd, his people now. Each stared back at him. And they stared with fervor. A landscape of faces hailing from every corner of the three realms. Man, woman, boy, girl. Husbands and wives, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. They knew what was to come, and what they may lose. A precipice lay before him, and he would soon fall down its uncertain depths. The stark loudness of his voice overtook even him.

“My father, King Alexander, is dead. You all know this. But the circumstances of his death is what inflames us. Killed, at the hands of natives of Orr. My father believed in the value of every human life. He was a courageous man willing to sacrifice himself and died for what he believed in." Hector paused to let his words sink into their hearts. "But these natives have shown they cannot be reasoned with, they cannot be treated with, they cannot be shown the same capacity as the love for our common man!" People were nodding then, shouts of agreement scattered amongst the crowd, their eyes glinting with newfound intensity. "They must be brought to justice as my father would have wanted and purged from this land, once and for all! I declare war upon their kind, for ever more! We must cleanse this land! For the King!" Hector raised a fist following the First King Celdan, "For the Empire!”

With a gust of breath the crowd blew their candles out and boomed with his passion, raising their fists alongside his.

“Cleanse this land! For the King, for the Empire!” They chanted, growing louder and louder, causing the swarm of birds overhead to flee from their thunderous cries. Roth nodded with approval, and Hector turned to walk back to the Royal Palace.

“We are with you my Prince,” one noble said behind Hector, a swarthy man with a thick set beard who bent down to kneel. The rest of the nobles followed suit as Hector walked past, their heads bowed down.

The discordant cries of the Heartland followed Hector even as he entered the palace, Roth walking alongside him in his calm unfaltering stride.

"That was well done Hector." Roth only called him by his first name when he was pleased or displeased with him. Sometimes he could not tell the two apart.

"I've never waged war," Hector said. "I've never even set foot outside the Heartlands. What justice can I bring to avenge my father? He said there is only one thing that comes from war, and that is death."

"You are the Crown Prince, my liege. Your safety must be secured here, before you ascend," Roth reminded, his tone light and easy, as if they were caught in mundane discussion. "The people follow your cause. The nobles support you. There is nothing to lose here. Yes, there will be death, but it shall not be from our side, of that I can assure you. The natives will not relent in their attacks, so we must bring this war to them."

"Can it be done? Even King Celdan was unable to tame those lands."

They stood in the throne room, a long hall where Hector looked up from the steps to the throne, white marble inlaid with intricate gold patterns, so tall it would loom several feet over his head if he were sitting down.

Roth grinned, and Hector saw a glimmer of the same fervor as he had witnessed in the peoples' eyes.

"With all respect to your forefathers, they never finished what I mean to do. And that my liege, is to burn it all. Burn it all to the ground."

"Burn it all to the ground," Hector echoed in hesitance.