Prologue
Over twenty years ago the Kingdom of Kalimyr was forever changed. A rogue army of mercenaries came over the land like a storm. Their leader was Regalis, the Red Dragon. Styling himself a King he forged a steel nation from the iron of what was Arunskyr own. While his territory stretched far and wide, it only reached as far as his sword. Ruling for a season, his reign from his capitol of Alizell lasted only Months. The Forgotten King as he has come to be known now, just a mere footnote of history. No one knows where Regalis came from, or who he was, until now.
Excerpt from: The Return of the Red Dragon
by
Seth Dresban.
Publish date 1580 PC
The Forgotten King
Year of the Nightsong
(1552 PC)
Many men over the course of their lives reflect for a moment. Thinking back over the events of the past, to wonder at what has brought them to that particular moment.
Such was one of these times for the King. He was the newly coroneted ruler of a yet unnamed land. Regalis I, and his capitol city of Alizell, both waited the next day. Months fighting in the saddle ruling by the sword claiming what was his by rights. Those were not the recipes for a full nights rest.
Three weeks past Midsummer Eve, the warm night had caused Alizells ruler to stir. Not that Regalis slept much these days by any means. Since arriving 2 months ago, he could not manage to grasp more than two or three hours of sleep at a time. Pressing matters of state always seemed to roust him from his needed rest. A campaign should be over once the King is crowned, he often thought.
For all of his brilliant military tactics over the last few months, Regalis's kingdom only extended as far as his sword. His forces saw only one defeat, at the hands of the miniature Kalimyrean soldier Kalimnar McTirnen. A genius field man only just over five feet in height. With the mercenaries hired, and his funds getting lower. Regalis was resigned to allowing his men the spoils of war, as they moved to their objective. The rub of that was that he no longer had a line of supply. And the last seven days did not provide much opportunity to reacquire one. However, there would be time enough for that and more very soon.
It was summer and he had kept his hair short, his beard as well. Both had been shocked with Red, changing from the deep auburn that it once had been. It seemed as if it had been graying for decades now. Garbed in loose breeches and shirt, even when resting, the King had always kept himself ready for any eventuality. Sleeping in his clothes and armor when needed was growing weary. It had become an all too familiar custom.
His Bastardsword, was a symbol of service, a lifetime ago lay next to the bed if need should arise. The leather of the scabbard tooled with the howling face of a Dragon, and dyed a deep crimson. The scabbard was not the swords original, but it suited the King even more so. The blade was a contrast, the pommel ended in a Jeweled Sapphire the cross guard on each side curving both upwards, and downwards in claws. From tip to base, Magical Runes had been etched into the metal, that trailed most of the length of the blade, and three blood groves set down its side. The Runes held the key to the swords power. The slightest cut would tear open a deep wound. The wounds inflicted would require extra healing, by a priest or potion. The base of the blade had the Silver dragon sigil of Kalimyr, etched upon the very steel. The Sapphire Sword was a blade of honor.
At the nightstand was his crown, more of a circlet in actuality. The amethyst circlet, symbol of Regency of Kalimyr fifteen centuries old. A gift from his mother, after her death. During her life he never knew she was keeping it for him. The Circlet was never worn during the campaign only in the last few days. It would be his crown. Less gaudy and rigid that what was typically chosen by a King. Rumors were that it was taken from a Symdallia tomb. If the common folk thought for a moment that in the history of Symdallia, they had few Kings if any.
