Post by Master Alexander on Feb 1, 2010 1:47:59 GMT -5
King Laranok Cazenmarr stood alone in the Throne Room of the huge Cazenmarr Palace. His knights had recently brought back word that the fighting in the west which had spilled over into the territory of Cazenmarr had been quelled. Aside from a few petty squabbles, peace had returned to his beloved kingdom. Laranok was a good King, a fair and just ruler seeing to the needs of the people.
His scouts had, in recent years, brought news of more kingdoms in the world, lying outside the continent of Cazenmarr, on secluded islands. The King himself did not rule the whole continent, only the southern portion. The other parts had found different rulers, or were too wild to be tamed at the time, and so they were left on their own, and the Kingdom of Cazenmarr encompassed the southernmost portion.
The King had been alarmed of this news that there were other Kingdoms so close. Once the knights landed and revealed the small size, the King was significantly relaxed. Two factions lived on small island groupings at each end of the continent's crescent shaped southern coastline. The pair of factions on each island chain, he had been told, where at war. The islands on each side were not yet aware of one another's existence, not to his knowledge anyway.
Then there was the large island. Further south, almost mirroring the crescent of Cazenmarr's own coastline, the steep cliffs made sailing onto the island impossible. The only way on were bridges connected to the smaller islands, one on each side, both ancient and enchanted, so as never to crumble. When the King's knights had tried to cross, they found themselves unable, constrained by the most horrible gut-wrenching fear they had felt. These men were veterans of countless battles. The King no longer sought a way onto the island, for he had heard his message. This island is not yours to take.
Laranok shivered; the thought of his own attempted crossing, which he had put off simply as a fear of heights, came back to him. No, he would not order a return to that place. Besides, his attempt to journey there had taken him through the Citadel of Starlight, the cold and unyielding fortress belonging to the Guild of the Mists. Something about the Guild, or perhaps, more specifically, their leader, Selinor the Dark, frightened, or at least unsettled Laranok. The King was a warrior, and as warriors often happen to do, he distrusted magic users. He had lived for 50 years, and already his long dark hair was graying at the edges.
Selinor, some claimed, saw years pass as fast as days now, for, if you believed the legends, he had lived eleven thousand years. Then there was the magic, he could see your thoughts, he could kill you in a second, he could appear and disappear at will. Shuddering again, the King decided to walk the garden in an attempt to disuade his fears. Making his way down to the garden, the King breathed deeply, the fresh smell doing much to calm his fears. Only then did he recall what his reason was for being up so late this night.
Good day to you King Laranok," said Archmage Selinor the Dark, known among the common citizenry of Cazenmarr as the Dark One. Frowning, he added, "Perhaps it should be evening. Apologies for my delay, no doubt your Majesty needs his sleep." Selinor stretched slightly, something of a habit after teleporting. The Archmage was extremely tall, towering over the King, but very thin, giving the appearance and feel of one who had been a mage a very long time. His staff and black robes complimented this theory.
His scouts had, in recent years, brought news of more kingdoms in the world, lying outside the continent of Cazenmarr, on secluded islands. The King himself did not rule the whole continent, only the southern portion. The other parts had found different rulers, or were too wild to be tamed at the time, and so they were left on their own, and the Kingdom of Cazenmarr encompassed the southernmost portion.
The King had been alarmed of this news that there were other Kingdoms so close. Once the knights landed and revealed the small size, the King was significantly relaxed. Two factions lived on small island groupings at each end of the continent's crescent shaped southern coastline. The pair of factions on each island chain, he had been told, where at war. The islands on each side were not yet aware of one another's existence, not to his knowledge anyway.
Then there was the large island. Further south, almost mirroring the crescent of Cazenmarr's own coastline, the steep cliffs made sailing onto the island impossible. The only way on were bridges connected to the smaller islands, one on each side, both ancient and enchanted, so as never to crumble. When the King's knights had tried to cross, they found themselves unable, constrained by the most horrible gut-wrenching fear they had felt. These men were veterans of countless battles. The King no longer sought a way onto the island, for he had heard his message. This island is not yours to take.
Laranok shivered; the thought of his own attempted crossing, which he had put off simply as a fear of heights, came back to him. No, he would not order a return to that place. Besides, his attempt to journey there had taken him through the Citadel of Starlight, the cold and unyielding fortress belonging to the Guild of the Mists. Something about the Guild, or perhaps, more specifically, their leader, Selinor the Dark, frightened, or at least unsettled Laranok. The King was a warrior, and as warriors often happen to do, he distrusted magic users. He had lived for 50 years, and already his long dark hair was graying at the edges.
Selinor, some claimed, saw years pass as fast as days now, for, if you believed the legends, he had lived eleven thousand years. Then there was the magic, he could see your thoughts, he could kill you in a second, he could appear and disappear at will. Shuddering again, the King decided to walk the garden in an attempt to disuade his fears. Making his way down to the garden, the King breathed deeply, the fresh smell doing much to calm his fears. Only then did he recall what his reason was for being up so late this night.
Good day to you King Laranok," said Archmage Selinor the Dark, known among the common citizenry of Cazenmarr as the Dark One. Frowning, he added, "Perhaps it should be evening. Apologies for my delay, no doubt your Majesty needs his sleep." Selinor stretched slightly, something of a habit after teleporting. The Archmage was extremely tall, towering over the King, but very thin, giving the appearance and feel of one who had been a mage a very long time. His staff and black robes complimented this theory.
