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An abridged history of the world of Arlathan

By Scribe Jakeobs

Arlathan has seen many ages pass, shrouded in mystery thousands of years before recorded history was inaugurated. But earliest records retrieved by recent expeditions into the wild north tell of an ancient kingdom ruled by a powerful line of magisters. They were a kingdom that's power can still be seen today if one looked close enough, in primordial ruins and crumbling tomes that still hold a trace of their power. Whatever destroyed their civilization has only been vaguely alluded to in the scripts here in the royal libraries of Vilkhund. After much quarrelling and debate among fellow scholars and the court spellweavers, it is subjected that their lust for power became too great, even for their might.

The magisters of this elemental kingdom tried to perform a most powerful spell, and the results of their attempt resonate even now to the present. Texts that survived this calamity simply called it nightfall. We can only assume that the horrific creatures that plague the north did not exist until this accident and must have been created from whatever magical backlash befell them. But we do know that it is us who suffer for their hunger for supremacy, our dark inheritance

These creatures cannot be reasoned with and hold no semblance of kindness or compassion. I can attest to this. Returning from a most successful journey into the north, we were accosted by a small band of these beings and all I can attribute them to are the myth of demons and hell fiends. The likeness of them is unsuitable and I cannot bear to describe their countenance, even upon this parchment.

But I digress.

Moving forward, history becomes clearer as the ages pass and the first account of our own kingdom is written down, Caderranyth. In the annals of the library, the tomes speak of some of the survivors of the nightfall retreating deep into the wilderness, many leagues from their ancestral home. There they erected a small town that over the course of thousands of years, turned into the image of humanities might, the capital city of Vilkhund. As for the magisters of that fallen empire, their bloodline persevered and became the court spellweavers, although they now have only a margin of the power they once did, both in their blood and in the court.

But what is still the most debated subject, even over the ancient realm of humanities past, is the appearance of the Polsiva clans, or as the unenlightened masses call them, the forest people. They were first encountered in the far reaches of the kingdom, and were thought to be the fanciful tales of farmers bored with their lot in life. But after one was brought to the capital itself, courtesy of one of these 'bored' farmers, the truth was revealed....and shook the very foundations of our society, sparking a series of events that would lead to unimaginable loss of life.

The Polsiva had the appearance of beasts, yet it was obvious they possessed a bright if inferior intelligence. But it was unknown to the farmer that capturing that Polsiva would spark the beginnings of a century's long feud. The clans were enraged to have one of their own taken and displayed by the 'barbaric' humans and launched an attack on the township that had been responsible for the deed. When news of the raid reached the current king's ear, King Daren, he ordered a retaliation of the harshest kind despite the protests of the people. The armies were marshaled and led into the forests to quell this newly discovered race and their audacity.

We, the caderranthians, misjudged their intelligence and fierce power. Countless lives were lost in the bloodiest war ever waged in our kingdom's history, even to this day. The Polsiva knew their forest and we were still frightened by the tales of its mystical properties and fearsome residents. As the years drew on and an end of the war was not in sight, the spellweavers came up with a plan to shift the tide.

They created The Order.

The order was an entity separate from the kings army that was comprised of knights selected for their skill and valor. Adorned in the finest plate and weapons forged by master blacksmiths and imbued with powerful wards and runes from the strongest spellweavers, they became humanities fist, their first duty. It was they who shattered the Polsiva's grip on the forest. But it was still not enough, the clans fought on relentlessly despite the fearsome knights.

King Daren was incensed and could not see reason when the courts pleaded for him to end this pointless and terrible war. They knew that it was partially their fault and were happy to accept that and give reparations to the clans if that would end this war. But still the king refused. Eventually, the spellweavers knew that if the king remained in power the war would never end. So it was with heavy hearts they ordered the knights to remove the king from power. The Order was under the spellweavers jurisdiction and so had no qualms of removing the king, and thus the second duty of the knights was born, to watch over the kingdom's ruler and remove them if it was in the best interest of the people of whom they held a greater allegiance to.

Once the king had been removed and imprisoned, the newly elected king, Daren's son, Arden, withdrew the battered armies from the forests. And with the spellweavers help created a incantation to bypass the language barrier, a previously illegal article under the prior monarch.

Then many months of strained talks transpired, wherein the actions of the olden king were explained and the new king himself pledged his genuine regrets. It was long before it was accepted and the war was stopped. But sadly that was not the end of the conflict. It would happen many more times as years passed and tensions boiled over. It has been sixty years since the last conflict with the clans and perhaps this time things will change, for the current king of Caderranyth and descendent of Doran, has a plan that just may settled this matter once and for all.

But what we must not forget, are the monsters still dwelling in the ancient and wild regions of the far north. As the wars between humans and the clans raged, they grew in power. Now the tattered remnants of The Order, deteriorated from warfare, are doing all they can to stop the malevolent tide from festering its way into our heartlands. That is the main reason for the king to seek a more permeant peace from the Polsiva, we have neglected the north for too long and we now might pay the price.

That is the current state of affairs for our kingdom and I fear that the monsters of the northern realm will soon overwhelm us....our own nightfall.

But such thoughts weigh heavy on these old bones and are not suitable for this ledger of history. Perhaps in time I will have the courage to write something on those abominations. After all, knowledge is power, and we will need any weapon we can get if my fears are to be fully realized.

And I dearly wish that I am wrong....but deep in my heart; I know it only can be so.

The scribe gently placed his feathered quill on the table besides the freshly written words, exhaling tiredly. With old gnarled hands, he dusted a fine layer of sand over the ink and let it dry. As it did do, he collected his belongings and tools of his trade. Once he had placed his equipment in his satchel, the old man picked up the papers he had meticulously written and placed them in a protective sheaf.

Grabbing his walking stick, the elderly man rose up from his chair with the creak of withered bones and moved to head out of his personal study. From there he slowly made his way down from the tower and headed in to the main hallways of the castle. As he walked, he passed servants dressed in lowly clothes and members of the court festooned in the ceremonial dress of royalty.

He received polite waves from the nobles and nodded in return. As he neared the library he saw a familiar figure walking down the corridors that led to the outside. "Sir Letholdus!" The scribe called out in greeting.

The knight stopped and turned to the elder, bowing low with the musical sound of shifting armor ringing through the air. "Scribe Jakeobs, a pleasant surprise."

Jakeobs smiled, amused. Wherever the knight went, he always wore that hood or his full helm. In fact, the only people who have ever seen his face were the king and his servants at his private home. He was something of an enigma to courtly society. He seemed to favor the Polsivas over his fellow humans, and some ridiculous rumors suggest that he was one of them in disguise. Those were laughable and amused the old man to no end. "Likewise Sir knight, where are you off to on such a fine day?"

"I am due for my rotation in the north; I suspect I will not return for a few months." The knight replied as he stood in the mouth of the passageway.

Jakeobs frowned; many of the knights of the order had perished in the steely blizzards and wild forests of that region. Sir Letholdus was one of the longest running to have ever survived. He had been going up there since he was a squire under Sir Gabriel. "Then I wish you luck Sir Knight, may you come back safely."

The knight's bulky shoulderplates shifted with a clatter as he shrugged. "If that is to be." He bowed one last time and left through the doorway with the crinkling of plates and mail.

Jakeobs let the man go and returned to his journey to the library. He arrived at massive oaken doors to the vault of knowledge and with great difficulty pushed the barricades aside. Once he had entered, he walked through the many rows of shelves lined with all manner of topics and theories until he stopped in the historical section.

At the entrance to that part of the library he opened the large chest near the secondary doors and pulled out a protective case. Inside he stored his most recent work and stashed it at the front of the isle.

With his work done, the old man left the library and head back to his study. There was much to do and little enough time in which to do it. Jakeobs could feel the pull of history, something monumental was set to occur, and he wanted to be there when it happened.