A Stranger Speaks
I am but one person in this great world we call home, but lend me your ear for a while dear stranger for I have a story to tell, there are certain things I believe you should learn...* * * * *
Thallin was of Lanharr, as Baller was of Bodicia and Morklad of Th'era, three voices called out at the reclamation for the right of a first born sons legacy.. King of the lands of Arraen, protector of the Harrt. Each of noble birth, each, as the astounded crowd would soon find out, first born son of the self same father. The old kings stories had rung out along the corridors of his great castle at many a dark evenings feast, merry mead let tales of his conquests tumble happily from his lips. Tales of exploration and discovery, of great battles and fair maidens. Many had heard of his far reaching adventures, many more the rumours and legends, bloated by pomp and exageration, most likely so few knew the true extent to which they ran. In life he brought prosperity and good living to all within his kingdom, opening trade routes with the outreaching settlements, forging alliances with the mercenary barbarian clans that roamed the lands, bringing them all closer together in their fight for survival. In death he would bring them closer still, or at least that was the plan......* * * * *
Now, for the purpose of understanding, you must see, that although the peoples of each great province of Arraen knew well of one anothers existence, the great northern desert and swamp to the south, that seperates each from the other, are so near impossible to navigate few have tried. The king, as I'm sure you may have guessed by now, was one of the fortunate few to accomplish this. More than that though, he had opened a path, known only to him and a trusted few, that joined each domain. Not a clear path by any means, he had no control over the wild animals and foul creatures that inhabited the place, but then how could he account for the months at a time that he spent away from his kingdom if it weren't for the adventuring party he took with him to 'cover vast distances' and 'defeat the unknown dangers' that existed between here and there. Morkladgorn to the north, surveyor of the great desert from its perch high in the mountains, houses the two most different yet closely intertwined races of Arrean. Beneath ground the Dwaarven, squat and strong from a lifetime of mining and digging, pull rare metals and precious stones from their comfortable blankets of stone. Above it, the Craz'aarn pour incesently over their fearsome tomes of knowledge, collecting the unique and rare species of flora and forna that sprout in small outcrops across the mountainsides, processing and combining them into magical elixirs. Some say the Craz'aarn are the actual equal opposite of their brethren below them, the result of a cruel and powerful wizards curse eons past. In the southeastern forests dwell the Elven folk, the wood elves, the silent ones. They are fleet of foot, a dab hand with their well crafted long bows and stand well in the eyes of the natural gods. I fear that is all I can tell you of them though, the swamp is Arraens biggest killer, claims the lives of too many a good man if you ask me, still, if they won't head the warnings....* * * * *
As expected the passing of the old king and the appearance of three claiments to his throne caused confusion, panic reigned for a short while, each province buffered their defenses and prepared to protect themselves against the attacks of another. Of course, no province dared send an army across the expanses of the desert or swamp for fear of losing vast quantities of their numbers before reaching their destination. In time and with a little help from the elders of the kings home province the three realms each found one of the fabled Orbs of Clarity, these great artifacts allowed them to communicate over the vast distances between them and tackle the problem of what was to be done next. For the passing of two seasons high council representatives argued and squabbled over who they thought should be the over-ruling power across the lands of Arraen. Alas, each provinces declaration of their suitability for the status of capital region was hotly contested by the other two in favour of their own particularly fine attributes. Eventually and with great reluctance the old kings advisors had to agree that each domain should govern its own business, effectively crowning three kings in Arraen. As much as they wanted their own fair land to be the centre stage for what they expected to come next, they couldn't allow power to slip completely from their grasp. So it was, each region would adopt its rulers name combined with that of the thing they would judge one another against - 'Gorn', an old, old word meaning 'wealth'. Should a time come to pass when the measured wealth of one province equal that of the other two combined, it would be decreed capital of the continent and its ruler - Regent of all Arraen....* * * * *
Year upon year has passed since that time, the orbs lie quiet and forgotten, each gorn has its own trails to confront. Of Ballersgorn still little is known, the few adventurers making it safely home across the swamps bring news of a sparsely populated, tranquil land teeming with wildlife and exotic plants. There is talk of unrest in the mountains of Morkladgorn, but then there is always talk of unrest in Morkladgorn, the kings son is unruly, there are dark clouds drawing over that place mark my words. Thallin continues to follow in his fathers footsteps, offering protection to the outlying settlements, bringing his people together in their task to become the wealthiest region and claim the prize.... .
