Prologue: The Crystal Wars

36th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Cold

The snow fell softly that night, dotting the darkened sky with thousands of frozen flurries. The mountains that covered much of Melcania’s landscape were cold and harsh, regardless of the season, their peaks always hidden beneath a covering of snow. Any rational person would have avoided the area altogether, sticking to the southern valley which was suitable for livestock and crops. These mountains, however, contained a wealth of various resources: gold and copper, but mainly iron.

It was for this reason that Billins was out here, in the heart of the mountain range, roughly 700 feet beneath the surface of their most recent mine with 2 dozen other frostbitten miners. None of them wanted to be here, freezing to death in some frozen hole in the ground, just so the fat merchants could get their hands on some iron, and the filthy nobles could line their pockets with a little gold. But it was good money, so most of the men kept the grumbling to a minimum.

Billins yawned, he was too tired to complain anyway. He grasped his pickaxe tighter in his hands, his gloves doing little to warm his stiff fingers. Billins lifted the heavy tool over his head and, pausing to yawn again, brought it down on a fresh patch of wall he was working on. The pick struck the unyielding surface solidly, chipping away a small chunk of rock about the size of a fist. He sighed, and continued the monotonous repetition of swinging and hitting, swinging and hitting.

Billins swore under his breath, his back breaking from the unceasing strain. He took a moment to rest, leaning against an adjacent support beam. He yawned again, looking tiredly at the wall that was just as solid as it had been over an hour ago. Billins grabbed his pickaxe and went back to the wall. He lifted the axe over his head, continuing the tedium of mining, when something peculiar caught his eye. Something was wrong with the stone.

Putting his pickaxe aside, he got down on his knees and looked closer at the wall. He brushed away a little dirt and there it was. The patch of wall, exposed from beneath the dirt, was glowing a brilliant blue.

“Hey, you guys should come see this!”, Billins called to a few nearby workers, who were more than happy to find an excuse to stop mining. They lumbered over, scratching their heads as they gawked at the glowing wall. No one knew at the time of what significance this would have for the future of the humble mountain nation of Melcania.

102nd year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Harvest

The city of Highkeep, capital city of the Melcanian Kingdom, rested at the base of the mountains, protected on all sides but one by their stony embrace. Not many nations had time to bother with such a small Kingdom, but in recent years the Melcanians had uncovered a new resource, and although none knew of what power it possessed, rumors of magic crystals that glowed blue as the sea caused stirrings in the neighboring realms.

The winds of Summer blew gently through the castle gardens of Highkeep, swaying the branches of willow and birch trees and causing the mountain flowers to dance. The air was dry but remained cold despite the season, a curse shared by all kingdoms that lied this far North. It was here that King Celarys could be found, musing amongst the beauty of the gardens, his mind laid heavy with thoughts of his kingdom, yet finding peace in the flowers. He was a young man of only 50 years of age, the hairs of his blackened beard not yet touched with grey, his pearl skin, unique to the people of the North, untarnished from age.

Celarys knelt near the stream that divided the space, unconcerned for his royal garments, and stared hard into his reflection in the water. He saw his father in the reflection, he often came to him for guidance, for the souls of the dead lived on in the reflections of the living.

“I know not what to do, father.” Spoke Celarys to the reflection, as intently as if he were speaking to ghosts of the past. “We have crystals mined from the Westward mountains, crystals which glow blue. The philosophers think these crystals might hold some sort of power, yet I know not.” He sighed, the reflection sighed back, sharing his frustration. “We are keeping all that we have gathered locked inside the treasury, but there are whispers among the southward nations, I fear time wanes for our kingdom, for our people, if we do not unlock the potential of the crystals, if we wait for the clash of swords, the hailing of arrows.” His eyes watered, and he instinctively covered his eyes with his hand, not wanting the reflection, which was his father, to see him cry.

“You were a good king, Father, better than I. I was but a boy when I took the throne. It was too soon, too soon for this kingdom to lose you. You would know what to do.” He knelt there for a long time in silence, his eyes closed, listening to the wind, for one could hear the dead in the wind, if one was patient, if one was worthy. The sun sank over the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with yellow and orange, all saturated in a crimson that burned like the gates of hell. The wind picked up, blowing through the garden, whispering in the young king’s ears. Take the crystals to the nation in the East… Cross the waters…

126th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Sun

Geargandi was a hard land, harsh and unforgiving to those who did not know it. Settled by philosophers and alchemists outcasted from other nations during the time of religious cleansing, it had only managed to thrive as a nation due to the sciences that had been shunned by those nations. Sciences which helped crops to grow, brought forth water from the ground, and allowed for life in a place where life was thought impossible. The Geargandians stood at the pinnacle of research and development, their entire nation devoted to progress as opposed to gods. It was here, in this land to the East of the Merchant waters, that the Melcanians sent crystals of blue to be studied, researched by alchemists far greater than any in the West.

It took time, but it was discovered that the crystals held an intense power, power many in the world would claim to be of the gods, but the cold, rational minds of the Geargandians regarded the crystals as batteries, containers that held something they called lightning. With this in mind, the crystals were henceforth known as Lightning Crystals.

The potential of the lightning crystals was virtually limitless, and through further research and experimentation the Geargandians believed they could unlock the mysteries of Divisia, that the very world itself could be bent and shaped. The Geargandians coveted the lightning crystals, but were wise enough to know that diplomacy was far more efficient than war… and of course, less messy. An agreement amongst the nations was made, the Melcanians would mine the crystals from their lands, and the Geargandians would continue their experiments, sharing their findings. And thus the alliance between Melcania and Geargandi was born.

200th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Heart

The first considerable empire that the world would know, would be that of the Evgnasians. A great land, one of power, one of wisdom, wealth, and endurance, an empire that had stood since the First Recording of Time, for it was the Evgnasians of the North that would be the first to write down our years. They were progressive, exemplars of cultural refinement, the heart of all trade to be had in the Northern Continent, and their great influence can still be felt in Divisia to this day, from the calendar that marks our days, to the titles given to lords and monarchs, to the fork that you eat your meals with, and though the coins be melted down and recaste with the markings of a new land, they are of the same metal still.

Before their fall, the Empire of Evgnas had stood in the Gods’ favor for the space of 1400 years, and they went with their strength, guided by their will. However, all things must end, and even the will of the Gods’ can shift, and so it was with the Evgnasians. The Empire of Evgnas lied in the heart of the Northern Continent, bordered to the north, south, and east by many smaller nations. Due to this placement, it was nearly impossible to conduct trade in the land without going through the lands of Evgnas, and they used this to their advantage. Heavy tariffs and unfair trade agreements had benefited the Evgnasians for centuries, causing them to grow fat whilst the lands around them struggled to make profit. This stranglehold of the Northern Continent, this disrespect to their kings and lands, caused much tension in the land, but for years none had dared to do more than grumble, for who could stand against the empire?

However, grumblings soon turned to hostilities, when, in the 200th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, the Northern lands united as one under the Melcanians, forming a great northern kingdom. With promises of equality for all, and for fair, unbiased trade with all nations, they Marched South to the lands of Evgnas, confident in new technologies of war gifted to them by way of the Geargandians...

230th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Song

The old walls of the ancient city fell, walls that had stood since the first recording of time crushed beneath the force of the Melcanians’ war machines. Machines wrapped in plates of iron, machines that ran off lightning and belched fire and steel. Arrows could not harm the iron chariots, and swords and horses were forfeit in the field against the storm of metal the beasts brought forth.

With one final push the indomitable wave of rolling iron spilled into the city, the great city of Anthos, the city that had stood for 2000 years. What little defending force remained gathered outside the Imperial palace, broken, wounded knights, standing firm, shields raised, swords in hand, determined to protect their emperor. They were slaughtered, bygone warriors of a bygone age, for now was the age of lightning, and nothing could stop those who wielded it.

With a thunderous symphony of cannon fire the palace imploded in on itself and fell into nothing, taking the emperor with it. Marbled halls graced with golden beauty and crystaled elegance, tapestries as old as Anthos itself, the throne of the king of kings, surrounded by walls of stained glass… gone. The Melcanians cheered, for victory was theirs, the war that had consumed nations was at an end. With the capture of Anthos, the ancient empire of Evgnas was scattered and erased, and the Melcanian Empire rose in its place.

…

306th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Sun

For a time after the Melcanians’ victory over the Evgnasians, there was peace in the land. For the space of 3 emperors, 76 years of prosperity, cultural development, and relative equality amongst the lands and people of the North. That is, until the third emperor, Emperor Timaeus, died under questionable circumstances, and his son, the loathsome Prince Avarus, claimed the Imperial throne amidst whispers and speculations.

Avarus was a man of exceeding beauty, with eyes like azure fire, fair, flawless pearled skin, hair as black as a raven’s wing, and as luscious and soft as southern silk. However, this glorious beauty, this physical perfection embodied by the man, was a mask, covering a wretched soul, a foul, ugly, beast of a man, prone to wrath, and consumed with pride and greed. He had stood by and watched for years as his father spurned the potential of the Empire, as the emperors before him had, on the foolish ideology of peace and equality for all. They had the strength and wealth to expand their borders, the war machines necessary to lay hold of the North, to unify the entire continent under one banner, the banner of the Melcanian Empire.

And that is why, days after his coronation, Emperor Avarus made an official declaration throughout all the Northern Continent, sending messages to every nation, kingdom, and land, a message which read simply, Join the Empire or die. When the letters were returned unanswered, Avarus declared war on the entire North… and thrust the Empire into the bloodiest chapter of its history, forever immortalizing Himself as the Emperor of a thousand conflicts.

In addition to his grand ambitions for expansion and conquest, Avarus also turned his sights inward, seeking to strengthen what he viewed to be a polluted and undermined empire, weakened by the ideologies and policies of emperors past, and by the acceptance of foreign filth and alien cultures. Melcania’s banners of blue and red were stripped from the walls and replaced with the colors of black, and gold. The Mountain Finch, a humble little bird, was removed as their symbol, and replaced with the great Stone Raven, the terror of the northern skies. Many noble families were thrown from court and executed for suspicions of disloyalty or grievance towards the emperor. A professional army was formed, the first grand army of Melcania, a permanent and well trained fighting force, for Avarus would no longer entrust the empire’s security and expansion to unwashed peasants who knew not the weight of a sword. Lastly, he began construction of a new capital in what he viewed as the heart of the North, the center of all lands in the continent. A colossal expanse of stone spanning for miles, a shining jewel which he would name after himself, and rightly so, for the man’s pride is as much a part of that city as the stone itself, seeping from the masonry like a testament to Emperor Avarus, the man who forged the True Melcania.

With his lands now washed of filth and sedition, Avarus marched his army east, determined to acquire the wealth of trade brought by the Golden Gulf. 40,000 men descended upon the nations of Fahrin, Gavves, and Holdi, and the armored wagons of Geargandian design fired death upon armies still relying on wooden siege engines and antiquated tactics that had no place in this war. They fell within weeks… After this terrifying show of power, many kings threw themselves upon ground, kissed the feet of Avarus, and willingly joined the empire. All that remained was the Southern Valleys, and the nation of Tor to the furthest reaches of the Northeast. There was nothing in Tor but ice and shit, and the valleys had connections of trade to the lower continents, and was greatly rich in lightning crystals… Avarus marched the army South, bringing with him the fury of the North…

…

404th year of the 3rd Recording of Time, Month of Giving

The war that Avarus had so envisioned, the conquest that he had desired, lasted nearly a hundred years. The South did not prove so easily defeated as the east, and with the development of their own lightning powered vehicles and weapons, brought the fighting to a near equal footing, slowing the Empire’s gross advancement considerably. Many thousands of men died in the defense of lands and in the conquest of lands and for simply standing in the wrong lands. Over the space of 5 emperors, would this war continue, a brutal conflict that became known as the Crystal War, for never before had lightning met against lightning, never before had the power of the crystals been truly released. would for a time it seemed that the South might hold… until the skies darkened…

New machines born from the godless minds of the Geargandian philosophers came to the battlefield, or rather… they flew over it… Ships… flying ships, sailing overhead, hopelessly out of reach, raining death from above. Large ships as big as galleons, floating sluggishly overhead with the help of air filled sacks, strong, powerful, armed with cannons and bombs to obliterate the ground. Small ships, made of wood with wings of cloth, flying fast, striking the enemy with explosives before vanishing just as fast.

The South had no answer for this new horror of war, and were slaughtered in the thousands, half a dozen nations falling in the space of 5 years. Melcania’s conquest was once again unchallenged, and it would have continued as such, if it had not been for the son of the 8th emperor, Emperor Aethelwold, who, in the waking horror of a war with no end, stabbed his father through his chest whilst he slept, becoming the 9th emperor, Emperor Justain. His first official act was an immediate ceasefire in the Southern Campaign, pulling his armies back to the North, and ending the war that had laid waste to so much, to the war that had changed the very face of the land, and redrawn every map that existed. The whole world rejoiced, not just in the Northern Continent, but in the Southern lands, the Eastern reaches beyond the waters, and the Midlands lying between them all. Peace had been restored, and all were glad, all were merry… and some yet still looked upon the horizon in worry... for how long can peace truly last?