Prologue
The fate of mortal creatures is plagued by death and chaos as darkness ever lingers. It looms in the hearts of those pretending to follow the light. This corruption within every soul is the cornerstone of the great age-old rivalry of good against evil. It is what fuels the engines of war and drives nations to the brink of destruction as young and old are called to service.
Immortals and mortals are both destined to battle for supremacy with a stalemate all but certain. That is, until a new hero steps from the shadows. Perhaps not out of necessity, want or need, but out of eternal love most powerful. It is the one true source of the ever-unexplained phenomena that is magic.
This story follows ancient times, long since forgotten. Each age was granted a name following celestial or earthly occurrences that predated its coming. These signs could be the birth of earth’s mightiest creatures or simply the spilling of blood or the falling of a star.
The age in which this story unfolds is called Vuur or, as it is translated from the language of the Elders, the time of fire. The first century of our tale, which takes place on one of the continents of Nua, was so named by the immortal Elder Sius Mordorus and is inscribed in the Hall of Time.
The name was derived when two stars fell to the earth. The resulting fire destroyed the entire village of Murof. All who survived were scarred by death and the reek of burning flesh. The heat from the flames was so intense that not even water quenched its thirst. The only salvation for the village was a powerful wandering warlock who knew an ancient form of Elvish – Elves could control the elements.
He was said to have been seen near Murof’s northern border, regularly wandering through the dark forest known for its evil history.
After the nameless warlock subdued the fires, the village militia was sent to inspect the deep crater. Within they were astounded to find that the old, Naradithian gods were standing guard with great armies at their back. These gods had not been seen for tens of thousands of years. The only remnants that remained were a few prophets and priests who proclaimed that someday a master prophecy would bring them back into the light.
“Long has your kind forgotten our existence. The events of today will serve as a reminder of our power. Fear you should not, nor despair. For in these heavenly stars great hope rests. In these celestial rocks lies a raw power with a great destiny,” uttered Gol, the god of wisdom.
The most important question on the villagers’ lips was why these ancient gods had suddenly chosen to intervene in the affairs of mortals. It was believed that they had abandoned Nua to its fate, giving over their reign to a council of lesser gods, the Athid.
The Naradith made use of the best weapon and armour smiths from the Elvin race of Samsu, who had a fortress concealed on a paradise island protected by powerful magic, and of course Centaurs. The Naradith tasked the Samsu Elves to forge two swords with the metal extracted from both stars. Matching sets of indestructible armour were also forged. These items later referred to as the Banners of Flame, were enchanted by Naradithian magic.
When the Samsu finished, the Naradith god of war, Lemlaros, commanded that an order of mortal men be created. They were charged with the protection of the banners until their rightful, destined owners would claim them. The order came to be known as the Masunians.
As the centuries unfolded, they became a magical race of human witches and warlocks. Their power was unequalled in all Nua. The order created a ritual joining when worthy candidates had their bodies infused with magical runes.
Lemlaros himself trained the Masunians in the arcane arts of the Naradith. A select, elite group were trained separately in the use of dark magic, which had not been used since the First Great War because it was not without consequence. The creation of dark magic dates to the age of Nag translated as night.
During the age of night, a Naradith god chose to abandon his kinsmen, seeking power to rule the world. The memories and heroic deeds of the First Great War have since been lost. The Elders believed that the essence of life was created by the chaos caused by this god, Mael.
Mael was a revered commander and the first Naradith god of war. With time he developed a deep lust for battle, sated only by blood and pain. He craved it with all his being, so much so that it transformed him into a vessel of darkness. He lurked in the shadows and whispered to all manner of creature, corrupting their souls. Darkness, when lingering in the heart of a god, becomes more powerful than any known force. It threatens to destroy all that is good and beautiful and not even the mightiest can stand to oppose it.
When Mael had the first taste of this newfound power he knew that his kinsmen would want to destroy him. He believed that to defeat them he had to travel to the depths of the earth to seek out the Dreadlords. He wanted to empower and release them and in return coerce them into joining forces, bolstering his numbers. This led to one of the greatest enemy forces ever seen on Nua. It had demons and the living dead.
The armies of the underworld were, however, an unpredictable force. With great strength and uncompromising cruelty, Mael waged war first on the heavenly realms. Every pressing victory added to his ever-growing ego. Mael came to believe that he was invincible and without equal.
For nearly three centuries all believed he was. That was until it was discovered that he bore a deep love for one of his fellow Naradithian gods. He appeared to have fallen in love with the goddess of life and beauty, Adonia.
What made the union unnatural to some was how the Naradith believed that the joining of their bloodlines was the key to immortality. They were, after all, descendants from the creator, Phós, and therefore brothers and sisters.
The ending to Mael’s tale, although somewhat skewed over the centuries, is found in another account by the scholar Andreas in the Book of Flames - a story that will be told another time. For now, we go back to after Lemlaros had issued the creation of the Masunians.
Darkness siphoned into the hearts of men as corruption spread throughout the realms of the Ciatalon continent. The spread of evil and chaos prompted the Masunians to adopt a reclusive approach to safeguard the Banners of Flame. They built a fortress temple around the falling stars’ crater. It was concealed by magical spells similar in nature to those hiding the Samsu Elven homeland, but not quite as powerful.
For all their strength and the gift of foresight, the Masunians failed to see the resurgence of Mael’s influence that had found its way into the heart of a young boy. The order had taken him into their ranks and vowed to be his adoptive family, providing him with direction and purpose. The boy was stripped of his birth name and given a new name, Draegan.
He became an influential member of the Masunian order. He developed a great affinity for knowledge, albeit from darker times. He devoted countless hours to the study of ancient spells and the tales of nameless battles between good and evil as described in dusty, fragile old scrolls.
The Masunian leaders saw that Draegan’s lust for knowledge was slowly becoming an obsession. After a confrontation with his elders and mentor, Draegan was banned from the order. This angered him, drove him to madness and reaffirmed his childhood belief – trust no one. He grew cold and bitter as the world slowly rejected him in fear of what he was becoming.
In his exile, Draegan heard rumours of an ancient place of great power said to be of Naradithian design, housing a great relic. He had stolen rare scrolls hidden away in the Masunian library confirming this. These scrolls showed the way to the location of the Black Mountains where the place of power was said to have been built. The information led him to a vast desert country far over the great waters of Malta.
No one dared venture near the Black Mountains because they feared the wailing screams of the valley. The scrolls Draegan had found spoke of a secret entrance in the highest peak. Within the mountains, he found the remnants of an ancient tomb. The deeper he ventured, the darker it became and more sinister it felt. Even the air seemed to suck the breath right out of him. Eerie screams were whispered past corners, wails breezing through the walls. He encountered creatures that he thought to be the guardians of which the scrolls had spoken. These “things” were known as Icti, demonic spirits cast from the depths of the underworld for their unrelenting violent nature.
Draegan, with his adept training in magic, was able to defeat much of the Icti as he made his way deeper into the tomb. He stumbled across a massive cavern with a stone table in the middle of the seemingly hollowed-out cavern. On the table, Draegan saw two rings encased inside a glass sphere.
The stone table had been enchanted by rare magic and try as he might, Draegan was unable to break the glass or the table with any spell he knew. He, however, mustered his strength for one last surge to cast a dark spell of destruction…
“Never before have I seen so much bent and broken power inside a man,” a husky voice came from the shadows. Draegan cast a defensive spell without thinking. “No magic or weapon can touch or stop me for I am neither flesh nor spirit,” hissed the voice.
“What are you?” Draegan demanded as he regained his composure. “Answer me,” he bellowed as the room fell silent. “You do not want to anger me. I could but conjure a thought and you would be wiped from existence!”
An advantage that Draegan had was that as a trained Masunian he was able to identify all types of power, magic and being that wields it. However, in this thing, he could not sense anything except an aura of agelessness. It was as if a vast soul had long been trapped within this earthly tomb cursed never leave.
“Your feeble tricks will not help you here wizard. This place protects me as much as I do it.” From the darkest shadows, a figure emerged. At first, Draegan thought it to be female, but as the figure neared it became that of a male clad in flowing black robes.
“What are you talking about?” Draegan was cornered, his only route of escape back past the creature. “How is it that you came to know of this place,” asked the being.
Draegan unsheathed his sword and cast a barrier around himself. The sword melted in Draegan’s hand and with an insolent wave of the creature’s hands, the barrier dissipated. “I am more powerful than anything you have faced in this world. No metal is strong enough to pierce my skin. No shield, whether created or cast, is powerful enough to stop me. Though, I do admire your tenacious spirit.”
The man sat on the stone table and looked Draegan over once more. “I sense in you a darkness that has not walked this earth since ancient times. You should be careful, for such power left unchecked will draw attention to you beyond your wildest dreams. You call me a demon when the darkness in your soul will likely consume the known world and all within it.” Draegan suddenly felt a disturbance in the air around him as if a spell was being cast.
“I can see into your future warlock. A great destiny is weighted upon your shoulders. It will not be ignored for much longer. You are the one to set into motion a series of events that will shape the future of all. You are the one the heavens and earth will come to fear and hate.”
With a simple pat on the table, the glass shattered releasing the rings that had been encased within. “This is what you seek yes? Tell me, boy, do you know how these things came into existence and what they unleash?” Draegan took several steps closer. With every step, he took he could feel the power grow within him as if those rings were calling to him. Yes, they were calling to him now, whispering his name.
Without thinking Draegan started explaining what he knew about the objects in front of him. “They are the rings of Mael and his lover Adonia. They were forged by the legendary Dwarven smith, Fâwl, in the now ruined Skyforge at the peak of the Silver Mountain. Imbued with dark magic, Mael’s ring gave him the power to summon several Dreadlords and battalions of the undead to the battlefield. In turn, Adonia’s ring gave her the power to transform herself into a powerfully unique creature that had not roamed the earth for thousands of years. She became an uncontrollable beast that sought to bring about the destruction of all living things. If it had not been for the love,” as the word rolled off Draegan’s tongue he cringed, “of the Naradith god Has for a mortal woman, the world would have ended many centuries ago.”
“Only a few know of that past.” The raspy-voiced man stood from the stone table and made his way to the centre of the room where he knelt to his knees and looked to the dark cavern roof.
Draegan firmly took hold of the rings, but as he clenched them tighter and tighter beginning to dream of the vengeance he would exact on the Masunian order for their rejection, the man impeded his thoughts with a wave of his hand sending him flying across the room, thudding against the furthest wall.
“I am the guardian of those rings. Charged with their protection, they cannot be given to any living soul, for their power is too great and terrible. Within those small bands of metal lies destructive magic too powerful to imagine.” The words silently rolled from the tongue of the man as he rose to his feet and towered above Draegan who had regained his footing, rock in hand, shield once again cast. “What is your name?” The man looked at Draegan speaking as a smirk streaked across his lips.
“You would not find my name in any written literature. It was erased from memory long ago. The last I heard my true name was in the last days of the First Great War so many millennia ago. My existence had, you see, been wiped from all knowledge as punishment for defying the Naradith, my former masters. I have lived for countless centuries protecting those damned rings. I have yearned to be set free from this prison.”
Draegan got to his feet and with confidence oozing he extended his right hand. “I do not believe we have been introduced. My name is Draegan, son of Solal. I aim to rule this world, but I need a general for my armies. Would you be up for the challenge, master…?”
The man looked deep within the glowing green-grey eyes of Draegan, thinking to himself how confident this mortal man was and yet did not seem to know that someday his hubris would be his undoing. Yet an opportunity such as this to escape an eternal prison could not be passed. He too sought vengeance on those who had banished him. He wanted to destroy those he once called masters. This man was to declare war on the gods themselves and neither kingdom nor army would be able to stop him. “My name was once Creel.”
Creel looked at Draegan and something flickered at the back of his mind. He remembered something from before the Great War. He remembered the way Mael had been, his generosity his compassion to his subjects was the stuff of legend. What had driven him to power and the temptations that corrupted his soul now lingered in Creel’s mind and somehow, he saw the same fatal end for this warlock. Thinking to himself he reluctantly stretched out his hand toward Draegan and offered him a firm shake of the hand. Creel firmly grasped his hand and looked him dead in the eyes.
“I am willing to let you leave this mountain with those dreadful rings, but not without a price. I hand you the knowledge of this mountain, but not without a word of advice. I give you my loyal services but not without a warning. Should you not adhere to my advice your doom will surely follow. Do you understand?”
Draegan took a few steps closer and took a firm hold of Creel’s hand. “I swear to you,” he said as he gently slid the silver rings over both his index fingers. “I promise to hand you your vengeance over the Naradith. I swear on this day that by all I hold dear we will both have revenge!”
It was from this moment onward that Creel only saw destruction and death in Draegan’s future. How Ciatalon would suffer at his hands, but Creel knew of the ancient prophecy. It was cast in stone so long ago that not even he could remember the exact wording. The only thing he knew for sure was that the rings on Draegan’s fingers now meant that it had finally been set into motion. Soon an influx of opportunities would set apart the strong from the weak and hand power to the foolish while the wise were left in the bitter cold.
The prophecy was called the Phoenix Chronicles and read: “From the remnants of an ancient evil shall spawn great darkness. Allied with forgotten horrors, the Lords of Dread will walk the earth yet again, only to be challenged by the son of the daughter that broke the shadow. A new spark will set flame to the Eternal Fire, giving hope once more to mortal fate. Conjured from a dying love, the Phoenix will soar again.”
