Prologue: Year 1286
Nestled among rolling hills and the dense Juniper forest of Noromoore, a resilient stone castle proudly withstood the tests of time. The small kingdom reveled in recent triumphs, vanquishing their southern rivals and expanding their dominion into the lush valley with richer, more fertile soils. The promise of abundant farmlands held the potential to transform life for Noromoore's inhabitants. Amidst this jubilation, a newborn prince emerged, a destined heir set to secure the kingdom's future.
Eager anticipation permeated the air, infusing the castle with vibrant energy. Laughter and conversation echoed through the halls as King Nero Lapierre and his soldiers returned home. The servants and cooks moved with synchronized precision, akin to a well-oiled machine, preparing for the grand feast that awaited.
The King, a tall and handsome figure, donned garments that now hung a bit looser on his frame after nearly six months at war. What was once a few extra pounds of padding had transformed into a more muscular and defined physique. However, his wife, Queen Isabella Lapierre, insisted he was thin and "sickly," urging him to nourish himself. Towering over the other noblemen with bright blue eyes still ablaze with the thrill of victory, the King engaged in lively conversation.
"I tell you, the damn Harthwarmer almost had me! For a moment, I thought I'd meet my end before laying eyes on my son! Ha! But I proved faster and stronger, dodging the blow of his axe," he chuckled while recounting the tale. "The axe blade got lodged into a Juniper! The fool turned to me, holding nothing more than an axe handle," the King continued, laughing heartily, joined by the nobles. "I almost felt sorry for the filthy Harthwarmer, but I knew it was either him or me, and it certainly wasn't going to be me!"
The term "Hearthwarmers" served as a derogatory label commonly applied to the Roverian people. Renowned for their deceptive skills and thievery, Roverians also adhered to a distinct religion, often classified as witchcraft by some. Roverian women were known to peddle potions and amulets, believed to wield both good and bad fortune. Others claimed the ability to predict the future using items like bones or bird feathers. In stark contrast to the more refined and noble society of Noromoore, the two cultures and their people stood as polar opposites. They were fire and water, two elements perceived as incompatible by both sides. These neighboring kingdoms had been engaged in a generations-long conflict, locked in an enduring war.
Since the onset of the wars, this marked the largest recorded victory for either side. Many Roverian soldiers lay fallen, leaving the elders and babies untouched. However, the women and young girls faced a different fate—taken to serve as servants, wives, and slaves for the soldiers and noblemen of Noromoore. Bound with ropes or confined in cages near the stables, they awaited distribution as if mere trinkets of war, their humanity brutally stripped away. The ugliest aspects of war were being celebrated, yet the aftermath ushered in twenty-three years of peace for Noromoore.
