The Jovian Empire, a once glorious realm, encompassed the entirety of the world. Or at least, the civilized world. The empire was an edifice to a cultural renascence, a monument to military industrialization. It’s faith spread to the far reaches, and none could oppose the might of its legions. There are legends for each of the one hundred legions that spread the golden hawk from one corner of the world to the other.

That is how we remember it. How we romanticize it.

To many in the world, the Jovian’s were everything but truth to a world gone mad. They were usurpers, conquerors, murderers, and a thousand words of similar connotation. One thing is certain however, they ruled.

Their eventual collapse, the end of a thousand year civilization, started slow. Corruption works more thoroughly and digs deeper than even the most dangerous plague. It worms its way into every institution, regardless of fundamentals. The rot kills alls, corrupts all, and devours the leftovers.

The Jovian’s succumbed to the plague of corruption, and was then put to rest once the Khanate rose to prominence. And now for that corruption, the reign of barbarian kings has come for us all.

- From the teachings of Syncerastus Aurelio of the great library of Rothetbia

Before Junipor was born, the Isles of Heightsland were invaded by humans. The kingdom to the south despised their Pharine neighbors. They called them savages, thralls, or the very worst of insults…Demi’s.

Ten thousand warriors landed upon their southern shores, only to raid and seize Inner Knot Village. Then they advanced north, through the mountains. It was there that they were slowed to a crawl, challenged by the steep cliffs and impassable bluffs. Ghosts of long dead ancients haunted their steps, and other things not spoken out loud slaughtered the stragglers. When they finally met the Aiverix war clans, open battle ensued. It was a fight for the sagas, a battle above the clouds.

The mountains had broken the back of the Thytosusia legion, making them easy prey for the Aiverix horde.

War changes a culture, even one with a fixation on glory. Before the war, Junipor had been told the villages of the isles were very much independent. They were about as autonomous and free spirited as they could be, almost to the point where they could be considered a separate nation. Families from Inner Knot were known to be of a particularly rascal brood, and cared little for the Triumvirate of Fanfow.

At the opposite end of the island, Honeybend was little more than a hamlet, and it cherished only trade among Hitecross itself. Those Pharines were once suspicious of all outsiders, and extremely shy. Even when they traveled to the greater port of Hitecross, they coveted the brushes and reeds along the side of the road, ready to rush to safety at a moments notice.

Hitecross was the closes to a capital the island ever had, and it was little more than an isolated backwater port. Its Pharines were only somewhat conscious to the greater world outside their shores. These three villages didn’t encompass the entirety of Pharine life on the island, but they did claim the majority. Hunter clans prowled the woods, isolated farms protected their own, and there were hundreds of hermits that greedily clung on to the secrets of the mountains.

After the war, everything changed.

Hitecross was no longer a forgotten backwater, but a centralized port for control, and all Pharines felt like they had become bonded, or enslaved, to it. While this control was largely imaginary, it was enough to create an air of tension. Particularly to the southern most village, the town of Inner Knot.

The Pharines of Inner Knot village had become even more doggedly independent, and resilient to outsiders. They considered all to be outsiders, even their own kind on the island. For this reason, Junipor was surprised to meet one in person.

Stefan had appeared at the forge early in the morning, like a mystic in some ancient fairy tell. A thick layer of fog had wrapped the town of Hitecross through the night, it brought with it an endless curtain of acidic rain and the reek of death. Everyone was on edge, they could smell danger in the wind. The black clouds of the storm seemed to part for him as he entered the village. The light of his eyes seemed to be strong enough to propel them away, at least for a time. And now he was there in Junipor’s forge, bearing gifts of news and coin.

He was tall and stout with the body of a wrestler. He had thick arms, and a pair of sharpened ears. His coat was fizzy and black, the fur on his tail was already starting to turn grey, and his shoulder were broad. Each of his footsteps was nimble, Junipor could barely hear them when he paced around the shop. Junipor couldn’t help but think to herself how much he resembled a cat as he walked.

“You wouldn’t by any chance have more Drakestone?” Stefan asked her with a sharp voice and a simple smile. He took a passive glance at the necklace around her neck with interest.

Junipor reached up to touch the tooth shaped gem resting against her breast, “You know about Drakestone, I’m surprised.”

“You shouldn’t be, its one of the most precious elements in the world. Highly sought after for its…esoteric properties. Along with its rarity. I’ve only ever seen it worn by nobles, or the occasional Aiverix chief.” His smile was handsome, although it was hard for her to look him in the eye. There was an inner brightness that seemed to pierce her very soul.

“Well I’m sorry to tell you but I’ve never seen any more Drakestone on the island. This was an heirloom from my father.” Junipor noticed his dissatisfaction, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Stefan gave a gentle nod, “I could use some help with sharpening my blade.”

Junipor ignored his wink, “I hope your talking about a sword.”

“Of course, sorry I just couldn’t help but admire your…strength.”

That made her chin perk up. Junipor practically squeaked in pleasant surprise. Without thinking, she flexed her right bicep as she reached to scratch the back of her neck. “I’m so happy you think so!” Her tail was wagging.“By the way, Is it true there’s a dragon in town?”

How does he know about that? Junipor could feel a bead of sweat strolling down her brow. Ever since the foul storm, Aimar took it upon himself to find the source of the tainted water. The bathhouse was overflowing with intoxicants, turning it into a crimson sludge that resembled blood. The rain had somehow done the same to all the local wells and any cupful of liquid it could touch. Terror was edging towards the surface, as every villager prayed to the goddess for hope and salvation.

Junipor herself offered a prayer to the goddess that morning in the temple, and offered additional ones with each impact of the hammer in the forge. There were plenty of customers; some asking for repairs, others for newly forged weapons. Already half of the shop’s weaponry was sold, the forge master had to rush to his dwelling where he kept a private reserve to refill the shelves.

“Yes in fact, but I’m not sure where he is at the moment.” Junipor looked at the cracked blade the newcomer had laid on the counter. It was ancient, the runes engraved into the iron were almost unreadable. The hilt was solid silver with a vibrant red gem built into the tip. The stone seemed polished, while the rest of the sword was in dire need of repair.

“Is that…” Junipor spoke softly, “Drakestone?”

Stefan shrugged, “I need to handle another errand. I’ll be back this evening.” He silently walked towards the door, leaving behind the weapon. As he pressed his hand against the rotting wood door, he turned around to address her a final time. “Any chance you could have it taken care of before nightfall?”

It would be tight, but Junipor knew she had the skill to mend the blade and reset the hilt within a few hours. A more thorough reforging of the iron would take several days however. “I can make it serviceable by tonight, but I think this requires a little more love and care.”

“We all do,” The newcomer sighed, “But sadly we have only till nightfall.”

Junipor had no idea what he was referring to, but the tone of his voice echoed through the room.