Danta’ar was very excited telling us about their recent discoveries. Technokrestians speak too much!

“Here is what we know so far… There is this mineral… Starun… It used to be a source of magic according to the tales we had heard. The odds of those tales being real were below 4% but since the first readings of a kind of energy we had no record of we figured it could only be Starun. And if Starun is real, then magic is real and the chance of the legends being true is now about 82%. So that huge weird machine our elders always told us not to mess with might after all have some use. But I must warn you we have tried and tried to make it work. We know every piece of gear in there and there is nothing missing or malfunctioning but it simply won’t start.”

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As our caravan crossed the plains that divide Mithaurian and Technokrest, more than once were we able to spot unknown raiders in the distance. Some of Albano’s assassins split from the group in order to ambush them through the flanks. It wasn’t long until we lost track of them. They never flared as they had promised once the enemy was defeated. The smaller party that remained started moving as fast as they could in order to reach Technokrest’s gates and find shelter. There was no construct already at sight when we perceived two clouds of dust speeding towards us from both sides. Our mounts at full speed couldn’t take us farther from them and the enemy party seemed to outnumber our small party by far.

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As the torch cast light onto the walls of a secondary chamber my first glimpse was that of a portrait. Painted by a very gifted artist indeed. The perfect figure of that legendary lion I first met in my dreams. Carlo, The Golden Blaze. The frame seemed to be centuries, maybe millennia old. And yet the paint was as clear as it had just been applied.

“They never age, these portraits.” Said Albano.

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We were rushed through the corridors and made our way into the undergrounds of the castle in total silence. The buried portion of the castle is actually much bigger than what is at sight from the land. It felt like king after king there was great concern to dig deeper and build higher. All those similar stairs and passages were surely placed there to confuse anyone bold enough try and enter the maze.

“Many secrets have been passed from king to king along these dungeons. Only the king and his high guard can reach the last corners of this labyrinth safe from all lethal traps that surround the right paths. Our greatest treasure, though, is one we do not fully understand. And yet the dagger you carry in your garments led me to believe this puzzle is about to be solved.” said Albano.

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As my eyes slowly open and sight is re-established, I find myself in a gigantic room, covered by blankets made of the finest wool. The decoration is meticulous and every small component in the environment is beautifully adorned. Despite the cloth and all the torches, it still feels a little bit cold. Not far from the bed where I lay there is a window, and the sunset right in front of it reveals a majestic shade. A very large figure indeed, probably the biggest lion I’ve ever laid eyes upon. He is facing the sun and his red cloak along with shoulder pads and armor would make any enemy think twice before striking at him, even considering that the years have not been kind to him. His fur and the little mane he has left are completely white. Albano! The king!

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I leave Spellenrune for the first time. When my absence is finally felt I will be far away. All I carry is a map, a pouch of emeralds and supplies for a 4-day walk along with a dagger that is said to have belonged to Malthus himself. There is an encryption on it, still undeciphered. Ancient rune language. The knowledge of the meaning of these symbols was washed away centuries ago. That is the only inheritage I have. As I come closer to the border I start small talk with a group of farmers and hear King Albano is concerned beyond belief about the recent events. He fears Mithaurian will be the last standing country in Myridian, but stilll destined to fall. He is looking for answers from his high council but they are as desperate as he is.

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My incursion into  suburbs was quite rewarding. Not only did I learn it is not nearly half as dangerous a place as it was supposed to be, but I also discovered that many facts regarding the war have been kept from us.

Apparently the devastation has not been caused by Myrids alone. Myrids have only recurred to war because they felt threatened by waves of attacks coming from unknown sources. Declaring war on other territories was an act of self preservation, since no civilization would claim to have commanded such strikes.

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Today I start looking for others like myself. It is only sure that some of them have awaken. Descendants of the Verge. My mind is now constantly invaded by feelings of anguish, confusion and fear. At the same time distant voices mumble words I still can’t hear with clarity, but I sense an urge for gathering. They try to approach me while I try to understand them. Though, once I start focusing on the message, it seems to vanish because focus now makes my inner energy circulate faster. My hands burn as if they were made of pure electricity. My thoughts disperse and my brain becomes a blank canvas ready to bring form to these new powers I barely begin to understand.

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Another night filled with revelations. The misty sights become brighter. I can now see him clearly. The Golden Blaze. But he is not alone. Others gather around him. All I see are shades. Different in size and shape but all alike in bravery. Diversely skilled, some master short range weapons while others could shoot an arrow through a token from a mile away. Shields, Suits of Armor, Magical Spells, nearly supernatural powers. Tactically accurate but still passionate in combat! An army never seen before. A small bunch of those heroes could easily defeat all of Mithaurian’s Militia.

If any of the Legends spoken about by peasants could ever be true, that is what they must look like! But where to find and how to summon them remains a mystery… Magic is gone. All my life I have tried to cast a spell. Any spell. Thousands of those are thoroughly described in our scrolls, and no matter how perfectly I perform them, nothing happens. Something is missing. And this increase of awareness I’ve felt over the past few days tells me we are getting closer to whatever that is. If only I could get stronger, maybe wiser… or… if I could find some like me, should there be any… we could cooperate and join forces to find the answers…

Before we go any further I feel it is time to introduce myself. I am Nettor, descendant of Maltus, whatever that means. I belong to the Verge bloodline, and the name of Maltus seems to be rather revered amongst them. Those of my kind are nowadays rare and utterly disregarded by society as a whole. It is quite hard for a technologically developed society to absorb what the Verge have to offer.

We are seen as the mystical ones. The ones who believe in Magic, scrolls, herbs, potions, charms and the like. The Verge were the first settlers of Spellenrune, the most important of all kingdoms in a distant past. Apparently our ancestors were the “scientists” of their time and helped the world develop through magic. That was up to a certain point we don’t have many records of… We suppose some kind of cataclysm happened back then and since that, Magic somewhat disappeared.

We can only assume the strongest Verge were vanquished while trying to fight it. People call this event “The End”. A mark that has only lived through tradition in peoples’ legends.

Thankfully, our planet Myridian was able to fully recover due to the technological advances achieved by Technokrest. They are now the core of our entire world. And a potential place for answers to be found.