- Joined
- Feb 3, 2006
- Messages
- 326
Written by 'Tiranasta' of 'ShadowNasta Productions'.
Prologue
In the northeastern section of the lands known as the province of Hearthengale lay a city known as Akranast. Although not a large city, the numerous species unique to the forests of Hearthengale combined with Akranast's closeness to the borders of the Nolrich Grasslands led to it being, to the glee of some and the great distaste of others, a popular waypoint for pilgrims and travellers looking to see what they could of the world.
This all changed with the coming of The Great War. When the seemingly invulnerable fortress called Oorel's Hand fell to the fallen angel Rha Oorel and his cursed servants the Rhadra, the world of Oreliathor was plunged in to the fires of war, under which it has been burning for ninety-two years to date. The coming of the war ended the period of travel that had preceded it, and it quickly became apparent just how much Akranast had depended on the revenue generated by foreigners. Every day saw the city fall deeper in to the pit of poverty and fear that could not have been imagined a century earlier.
This story begins on the seventeenth day of the tenth month of the year 1716. Contact has been lost with the Lord Nabranoth of the Nolrich Grasslands, and a shadow of fear hangs over Akranast, and indeed all of Hearthengale...
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Akranast lay silent, the streets dark. The sun had not yet broken the peak of the far off hills to bless the dreary city with its soft, warm glow. The streets lay deserted, with the constant exception of those who would call them their home, and others who by night conducted shady deals in a constant struggle to keep their place in the failing society.
A shadow and the sound of footsteps disturbed the dead silence, and seconds later, a man stepped in to the street. Had it been day, observers would have seen a thin man, yet one tall and imposing. Short black hair decorated his head, along with a thin moustache which could be seen upon an angular face permanently set in to a sharp, accusing look. All residents knew this man - Tarsel Motran Brea, the master of the Brea family. His family was one that had existed in Hearthengale for generations, with a long history of great magical talent. Tarsel himself was an astoundingly gifted spellcaster, having achieved mastery at the tender age of twenty-three. People both respected his skill and resented his status as the master of one of the few families not touched by the all-consuming poverty.
Tarsel walked down the dark street at a brisk pace. He paid little heed to his surroundings, his mind set on his destination, for what pickpocket would dare come near him? He could feel the relentless pursuit of eyes following him down the narrow road, but the shadows remained still. For several minutes he walked the streets of Akranast without incident, and finally he came to his destination - a large yet run down building that had been standing in the center of Akranast since its founding, nine hundred years previously. Above the entrance could be spied faded words, "Akranast Town Hall". Without a backwards glance, Tarsel walked through the door and in to the well lit interior.
He found himself at the center of a long passageway that he knew circled the entire structure. There were no torches; the passage was kept lit by magic, a powerful spell set in place by the first master of the Brea family, Motran Cyrus Brea, over seven hundred years previously. The guards on either side of the entrance, their bodies clad in steel armor bearing a painted sword dwarfed by a much larger book, the crest of Hearthengale, paid him no heed - he was expected. He set off at a steady pace down the hall, took a door to his right which led him up a set of stairs, and finally took a left door in to a large, brilliantly lit room. Paintings of former members of the Naratu family, who had ruled Akranast since its founding, dotted the walls, and a huge chandelior lit the room - a magical solution had been refused for decorative purposes.
A large, round table took up most of the room, and already over a dozen people were seated, waiting. Seated to the left of the door was a strong looking man that Tarsel did not recognise. Directly across from the door, at the back of the room, sat Lord Tyrus Naratu, the aged yet ever fit ruler of Akranast. His face was moulded in to a strange hybrid of arrogance and wisdom, his hair whitened and his face wrinkled with age. To his right sat his son, Lord Kondo Naratu, a brash but clever man who all knew would soon take the position of ruler from his father. His pale, round face, topped with a slightly messy ring of brown hair, remained impassive as Tarsel entered and took his seat, directly across from Lord Tyrus, who looked up.
"You're early, Tarsel." He spoke in a harsh yet wise voice, one in which the signs of age were barely audible. "I do hope my courier did not steal too much of your time of rest from you."
Tarsel scowled. "More than I would like, Lord Tyrus. You know that I am not as young as I once was? How am I to tutor Idan properly if I am woken by couriers at three o'clock in the morning?"
Lord Naratu was unphased by Tarsel's irritability; he was more than accustomed to it. "Ahhhh yes, Idan. Which does bring to my mind a small issue. I hope you are aware that your name will only protect your son for so long. The law is quite clear - if a family name is drawn, their youngest male adult goes to war."
"Tyrus, he's a child, not an adult."
"The child shall be legally an adult in under six months, and the next round of recruitment is in seven. You must face the facts, Tarsel, your son will be going to war. How goes his training?"
Tarsel scowled. "He has profound talent, but he does not devote enough effort to his studies. Teaching him is a nightmare that does not end."
Lord Naratu chuckled to himself. "It was your choice, Tarsel, and no one elses, to pull him from that, what did you call it, that idiotically run sty of an excuse for a school of magic, I believe were your words. Am I to understand that you regret that choice?"
"No, Tyrus, but I do wish he could understand the importance of his training."
Akranast's ruler scowled. "It's Lord Tyrus, or Lord Naratu, not just 'Tyrus', Tarsel." Tarsel waved his hand dismissively, inciting a further scowl from Lord Naratu.
Over one hour passed without further conversation. Finally, Lord Naratu looked up to one of the guards standing by the door. "Any word?" The guard left without replying. One minute later, he returned. "No word from Master Marus, Lord Naratu."
Lord Naratu sighed. "While I do hope nothing has happened to him, we simply cannot delay any longer. We will commence this meeting without him."
Everyone seated around the table turned to him, Tarsel muttered, "And about time." Lord Naratu stood and began speaking. "Just after midnight, this man arrived at this hall," announced Lord Naratu, gesturing to the man that Tarsel had not recognised. "He bore troubling news from the Nolrich Grasslands. I will now allow him to share this news with you."
The strong looking man stood, and those nearest to him noticed that his right hand was missing two fingers. Taking one swift glance around the room, he began speaking. "My name is Hildo Moranis, and I am a messenger from the palace of the Nolrich Grasslands. I was dispatched by Lord Nabranoth personally over two months ago. At the time that I left the palace, it was besieged by the Rhadra. The guard were holding the walls, but our defences were breaking. I am sure the palace fell soon after I left, and Lord Nabranoth is probably dead. I..."
Captain Torus, the captain of the guard in Akranast, interrupted. "How did you escape?"
"I used a secret passage through the sewers underneath the palace. They..."
"Why did Lord Nabranoth not also escape through this passage?" demanded Torus.
Hildo grimaced. "I... asked him to. He refused. 'I was born in this castle. It is my home!' was what he said when I made that recommendation. I do not believe that he would have later changed his mind."
Captain Torus held his gaze for a few seconds before dropping it with a sigh. "I knew him personally. He was a great man."
At this, Lord Naratu interrupted slightly irritably. "As did I, Captain Torus, but Tarsel is not the only one here who was pulled reluctantly from their slumber for this, and I'm older than he is. Can you please allow the good messenger to continue speaking without interruptions?"
"Apologies, Lord Naratu."
Hildo glanced at Torus before continuing. "Er... well then, as I was saying, the palace must surely have fallen soon after I left. I took a long time in coming here, as the Rhadra have control over the almost entirety of the grasslands, and I found myself dodging them every league of the journey. I was to come to Adahl, but I decided to come here first, as this will likely be one of the first lines of defence if they choose to invade Hearthengale, which Lord Nabranoth was certain that they would." Everyone nodded - Adahl was the capital city of Hearthengale, but it was a further eighty three leagues west from Akranast. "Lord Nabranoth advised that you ensure that you are ready for battle, which includes ensuring that all able bodied citizens are ready to fight. With the time it took me to get here, they could be nearing Cyrus as we speak." Cyrus was the outpost on the border of Hearthengale and the Nolrich Grasslands.
A silence followed Hildo's words. Finally, Lord Naratu gestured for one of the guards to come forwards. When the guard stood directly by his chair, Lord Naratu gestured to the crest that endorned the guard's armor. "Do you know what this means, messenger? The sword dwarfed by the book symbolizes the power of wisdom over violence. We live by such an ideal. We are not a warlike province. How do you expect us to defeat such a threat with such short notice?"
The messenger grimaced before replying, "My expectations are irrelevant to your situation, my lord." Lord Naratu nodded. "And nonetheless your news leaves us in a terrible situation, although not one so bad as had you not come. Captain Torus, ensure the guard are ready at all times, and arm the able bodied citizens. Master Coran, you are to ensure that those civilians who cannot fight are prepared to evacute to Adahl at a moments notice. Messenger, head straight to Adahl to alert King Hearthengale. Master Citren, you are in charge of sending messengers to all the other cities in Hearthengale. Everyone, dismissed, and fulfill your duties with what haste you can."
Tarsel didn't move as the small crowd filed out of the room. As they left, the voices of Captain Torus and Hildo drifted back to them. "You look pretty strong. Why are you a messenger and not a soldier?"
Hildo's response was dry. "I'm a coward. The Rhadra invaded ten years ago, and..." his voice trailed off. Tarsel faced Lord Naratu. "What of the Brea family, lord? We have lived here for generations, and I am sure I speak for all the family when I say that we do not wish to leave."
Lord Naratu nodded. "None of us are pleased with the current situation, Tarsel. Ensure that your family is ready to leave. Your first priority, however, should remain the training of your son. With this turn of events, his aptitude is of greater importance than ever. I am counting on this potential you claim he possesses, Tarsel. Do not let me down."
Tarsel smiled wrily. "Of course not, Lord Naratu. Good day."
With that, Tarsel stood and walked briskly from the room.
Shadowz123
Co-Founder of ShadowNasta Productions
Prologue
In the northeastern section of the lands known as the province of Hearthengale lay a city known as Akranast. Although not a large city, the numerous species unique to the forests of Hearthengale combined with Akranast's closeness to the borders of the Nolrich Grasslands led to it being, to the glee of some and the great distaste of others, a popular waypoint for pilgrims and travellers looking to see what they could of the world.
This all changed with the coming of The Great War. When the seemingly invulnerable fortress called Oorel's Hand fell to the fallen angel Rha Oorel and his cursed servants the Rhadra, the world of Oreliathor was plunged in to the fires of war, under which it has been burning for ninety-two years to date. The coming of the war ended the period of travel that had preceded it, and it quickly became apparent just how much Akranast had depended on the revenue generated by foreigners. Every day saw the city fall deeper in to the pit of poverty and fear that could not have been imagined a century earlier.
This story begins on the seventeenth day of the tenth month of the year 1716. Contact has been lost with the Lord Nabranoth of the Nolrich Grasslands, and a shadow of fear hangs over Akranast, and indeed all of Hearthengale...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Akranast lay silent, the streets dark. The sun had not yet broken the peak of the far off hills to bless the dreary city with its soft, warm glow. The streets lay deserted, with the constant exception of those who would call them their home, and others who by night conducted shady deals in a constant struggle to keep their place in the failing society.
A shadow and the sound of footsteps disturbed the dead silence, and seconds later, a man stepped in to the street. Had it been day, observers would have seen a thin man, yet one tall and imposing. Short black hair decorated his head, along with a thin moustache which could be seen upon an angular face permanently set in to a sharp, accusing look. All residents knew this man - Tarsel Motran Brea, the master of the Brea family. His family was one that had existed in Hearthengale for generations, with a long history of great magical talent. Tarsel himself was an astoundingly gifted spellcaster, having achieved mastery at the tender age of twenty-three. People both respected his skill and resented his status as the master of one of the few families not touched by the all-consuming poverty.
Tarsel walked down the dark street at a brisk pace. He paid little heed to his surroundings, his mind set on his destination, for what pickpocket would dare come near him? He could feel the relentless pursuit of eyes following him down the narrow road, but the shadows remained still. For several minutes he walked the streets of Akranast without incident, and finally he came to his destination - a large yet run down building that had been standing in the center of Akranast since its founding, nine hundred years previously. Above the entrance could be spied faded words, "Akranast Town Hall". Without a backwards glance, Tarsel walked through the door and in to the well lit interior.
He found himself at the center of a long passageway that he knew circled the entire structure. There were no torches; the passage was kept lit by magic, a powerful spell set in place by the first master of the Brea family, Motran Cyrus Brea, over seven hundred years previously. The guards on either side of the entrance, their bodies clad in steel armor bearing a painted sword dwarfed by a much larger book, the crest of Hearthengale, paid him no heed - he was expected. He set off at a steady pace down the hall, took a door to his right which led him up a set of stairs, and finally took a left door in to a large, brilliantly lit room. Paintings of former members of the Naratu family, who had ruled Akranast since its founding, dotted the walls, and a huge chandelior lit the room - a magical solution had been refused for decorative purposes.
A large, round table took up most of the room, and already over a dozen people were seated, waiting. Seated to the left of the door was a strong looking man that Tarsel did not recognise. Directly across from the door, at the back of the room, sat Lord Tyrus Naratu, the aged yet ever fit ruler of Akranast. His face was moulded in to a strange hybrid of arrogance and wisdom, his hair whitened and his face wrinkled with age. To his right sat his son, Lord Kondo Naratu, a brash but clever man who all knew would soon take the position of ruler from his father. His pale, round face, topped with a slightly messy ring of brown hair, remained impassive as Tarsel entered and took his seat, directly across from Lord Tyrus, who looked up.
"You're early, Tarsel." He spoke in a harsh yet wise voice, one in which the signs of age were barely audible. "I do hope my courier did not steal too much of your time of rest from you."
Tarsel scowled. "More than I would like, Lord Tyrus. You know that I am not as young as I once was? How am I to tutor Idan properly if I am woken by couriers at three o'clock in the morning?"
Lord Naratu was unphased by Tarsel's irritability; he was more than accustomed to it. "Ahhhh yes, Idan. Which does bring to my mind a small issue. I hope you are aware that your name will only protect your son for so long. The law is quite clear - if a family name is drawn, their youngest male adult goes to war."
"Tyrus, he's a child, not an adult."
"The child shall be legally an adult in under six months, and the next round of recruitment is in seven. You must face the facts, Tarsel, your son will be going to war. How goes his training?"
Tarsel scowled. "He has profound talent, but he does not devote enough effort to his studies. Teaching him is a nightmare that does not end."
Lord Naratu chuckled to himself. "It was your choice, Tarsel, and no one elses, to pull him from that, what did you call it, that idiotically run sty of an excuse for a school of magic, I believe were your words. Am I to understand that you regret that choice?"
"No, Tyrus, but I do wish he could understand the importance of his training."
Akranast's ruler scowled. "It's Lord Tyrus, or Lord Naratu, not just 'Tyrus', Tarsel." Tarsel waved his hand dismissively, inciting a further scowl from Lord Naratu.
Over one hour passed without further conversation. Finally, Lord Naratu looked up to one of the guards standing by the door. "Any word?" The guard left without replying. One minute later, he returned. "No word from Master Marus, Lord Naratu."
Lord Naratu sighed. "While I do hope nothing has happened to him, we simply cannot delay any longer. We will commence this meeting without him."
Everyone seated around the table turned to him, Tarsel muttered, "And about time." Lord Naratu stood and began speaking. "Just after midnight, this man arrived at this hall," announced Lord Naratu, gesturing to the man that Tarsel had not recognised. "He bore troubling news from the Nolrich Grasslands. I will now allow him to share this news with you."
The strong looking man stood, and those nearest to him noticed that his right hand was missing two fingers. Taking one swift glance around the room, he began speaking. "My name is Hildo Moranis, and I am a messenger from the palace of the Nolrich Grasslands. I was dispatched by Lord Nabranoth personally over two months ago. At the time that I left the palace, it was besieged by the Rhadra. The guard were holding the walls, but our defences were breaking. I am sure the palace fell soon after I left, and Lord Nabranoth is probably dead. I..."
Captain Torus, the captain of the guard in Akranast, interrupted. "How did you escape?"
"I used a secret passage through the sewers underneath the palace. They..."
"Why did Lord Nabranoth not also escape through this passage?" demanded Torus.
Hildo grimaced. "I... asked him to. He refused. 'I was born in this castle. It is my home!' was what he said when I made that recommendation. I do not believe that he would have later changed his mind."
Captain Torus held his gaze for a few seconds before dropping it with a sigh. "I knew him personally. He was a great man."
At this, Lord Naratu interrupted slightly irritably. "As did I, Captain Torus, but Tarsel is not the only one here who was pulled reluctantly from their slumber for this, and I'm older than he is. Can you please allow the good messenger to continue speaking without interruptions?"
"Apologies, Lord Naratu."
Hildo glanced at Torus before continuing. "Er... well then, as I was saying, the palace must surely have fallen soon after I left. I took a long time in coming here, as the Rhadra have control over the almost entirety of the grasslands, and I found myself dodging them every league of the journey. I was to come to Adahl, but I decided to come here first, as this will likely be one of the first lines of defence if they choose to invade Hearthengale, which Lord Nabranoth was certain that they would." Everyone nodded - Adahl was the capital city of Hearthengale, but it was a further eighty three leagues west from Akranast. "Lord Nabranoth advised that you ensure that you are ready for battle, which includes ensuring that all able bodied citizens are ready to fight. With the time it took me to get here, they could be nearing Cyrus as we speak." Cyrus was the outpost on the border of Hearthengale and the Nolrich Grasslands.
A silence followed Hildo's words. Finally, Lord Naratu gestured for one of the guards to come forwards. When the guard stood directly by his chair, Lord Naratu gestured to the crest that endorned the guard's armor. "Do you know what this means, messenger? The sword dwarfed by the book symbolizes the power of wisdom over violence. We live by such an ideal. We are not a warlike province. How do you expect us to defeat such a threat with such short notice?"
The messenger grimaced before replying, "My expectations are irrelevant to your situation, my lord." Lord Naratu nodded. "And nonetheless your news leaves us in a terrible situation, although not one so bad as had you not come. Captain Torus, ensure the guard are ready at all times, and arm the able bodied citizens. Master Coran, you are to ensure that those civilians who cannot fight are prepared to evacute to Adahl at a moments notice. Messenger, head straight to Adahl to alert King Hearthengale. Master Citren, you are in charge of sending messengers to all the other cities in Hearthengale. Everyone, dismissed, and fulfill your duties with what haste you can."
Tarsel didn't move as the small crowd filed out of the room. As they left, the voices of Captain Torus and Hildo drifted back to them. "You look pretty strong. Why are you a messenger and not a soldier?"
Hildo's response was dry. "I'm a coward. The Rhadra invaded ten years ago, and..." his voice trailed off. Tarsel faced Lord Naratu. "What of the Brea family, lord? We have lived here for generations, and I am sure I speak for all the family when I say that we do not wish to leave."
Lord Naratu nodded. "None of us are pleased with the current situation, Tarsel. Ensure that your family is ready to leave. Your first priority, however, should remain the training of your son. With this turn of events, his aptitude is of greater importance than ever. I am counting on this potential you claim he possesses, Tarsel. Do not let me down."
Tarsel smiled wrily. "Of course not, Lord Naratu. Good day."
With that, Tarsel stood and walked briskly from the room.
Shadowz123
Co-Founder of ShadowNasta Productions
