History of the Realm

Prologue

Septavius Aldanassari walked through the corridors of his ancestral castle, flanked by two guards who walked a step behind him. The Aldan ruler was feeling sentimental today, and the guards knew better than to risk even a trifling anger from their king. They walked in silence past bejeweled tapestries that told the whole history of the Aldanassari and their kingdom.

Past a regal depiction of Monavius Aldanassari, the founder of the Aldan realm, seated upon the Throne of Mountains, surrounded by tributaries from surrounding kingdoms, were several bas reliefs of the bloody slaughters between the Aldans and the Atticans. Already well-established and numerous when Monavius arrived upon the continent from lands and histories unknown, the Atticans did not take kindly to the ‘upstarts’ claiming their land and always wanting more. One battle was sufficient cause for the next, and so the wars continued almost ceaselessly to the current day.

The sun shone down through the arrow-slits in the walls, reflecting off of the guards’ armor and casting bluish-white light against the stones of the passage. The soft clinking of their armor was that of mithril, the strangely light and durable metal that the Aldans held sole control over. Whereas the Atticans took strength in massive numbers and overwhelming power, the Aldan regiments were small, disciplined like none other, and clad in mithril. Another key quality of mithril was its ability to absorb, hold, and release magical energies, as many an Attican mage had found to his dismay. The Throne of Mountains, the ceremonial center of Aldan rule, was hewn from mithril ore.

Septavius walked past a bare portion of the passage, an area that perplexed many passerby. Placed between tapestries of Hexavius’ death in battle and Septavius’ coronation, it seemed to speak of a missing part of the Aldans’ history. If they talked about it at all, they called it the Place Without Glory. Septavius walked past it in utter silence.

He had reached the end of the passageway. There was an oaken door, reinforced with mithril bands. Septavius heard weeping, and rushed inside.

~~~~

Septavius stood in his personal chambers, stone-faced while every other occupant wept. His wife lay upon their bed, her eyes open and staring upwards. Beside him stood Hipocretas, the most famous healer in all the realms, who held two swaddled babies in his arms.

“Hipocretas, how did she die?”

The healer passed the children off to a maid. “I know not, my king; your children were delivered without the slightest difficulty, but afterwards your wife became morose, and her very life force seemed to be draining from her. Every incantation, every tome, every amulet, every cure we gave her was to no avail.”

“Are my children well?”

“They are the healthiest boys I have ever delivered, sire.”

“Bring them to me.”

The maid came before her king. Both of the children looked unwaveringly at their father.

“Who is the eldest?” Septavius asked.

“The one on the left, sire.” The maid replied.

“He shall be Octavius Aldanassari when the Throne of Mountains is his. His name will be Cassius Polynices Aldanassari, and his brother will be called Corinth Eteocles Aldanassari.”

Septavius walked to where his wife lay. He closed her eyes gently. “Whoever did this to you will pay, my dear. That much I can promise.”