Lore

Author’s note: The prologue event described on the following page takes place five hundred years before the start of our story. If you would prefer a more gradual introduction to the arcane framework in our story, I encourage you to skip the prologue and begin with the map and chapter one. Enjoy.

-D

    The four mages stood shoulder to shoulder in a tight circle in the most unlikely of places.  A rickety ladder had brought them 30 feet to the bottom of a dry well in the village of Sensey.   Between them, a waist-high cairn of rocks supported a rough, nondescript grey stone, perhaps the size of a duck’s egg.  A Bright had been jammed into an opening in the well’s wall, and the brilliant light cast their shadow puppet outlines against the masonry.

    The oldest mage spoke nervously, “Are you sure about this, Ny?”

    “No. I could only copy the runes from a distance using Sight.  I can’t be sure of anything. I think I changed the runes to target only arcane sentience, and I guessed on the tethering range.  If this works, the undead should fall, and Mauvai’s necromancers should lose their arcane abilities for hundreds of miles.”

    “And us, right?  We’ll lose our casting abilities, too.”

    Nystielle nodded, “Yes, I think so. That’s a small sacrifice if we can take out the Horde. I’m tired of running, and the Kingdom may stand a chance if this,” she gestured at the small stone, “can counter their damned undead.”  She raised her gaze to shout at the Royal Guard, looking down the well at them.  His arm hung in a bloody sling, “Bick, how long do we have?”

    Bick scanned for the nearest smoke.  His voice echoed strangely in the well, “I’d say the front line is thirty minutes away.”

    Nystielle looked each mage in the eye, “Are we all in accord?  We either do this now or retreat again.”

    The three nodded with the young, husky mage, grimly smiling, “I’m just a Scooper.  Let me know where you want it.”

    Ny traced a symbol in the air like a V and pointed with a needle at one tiny rune among the hundreds inscribed on the stone’s surface. It was barely larger than a dust mote. “This is the Kindling rune.  I’ll need everything you have on it.  The Ward Stone should self-sustain if we can ignite it.”  She took a deep breath and put her fist between them, “For the Kingdom!”

    The others placed their fists on hers and shouted, “For the Kingdom!” 

    The symbol dimly glowed as the mages focused their arcane power on the rune.  Veins bulged on their necks and foreheads as raw mana poured into the tiny symbol.  The V rune slowly incandesced from dull red to yellow to violet, stopping short of white.  Minutes passed as they struggled, grunting as if each held the edge of a millstone.  The muffled sound of fighting erupted above them.  Bick could be heard shouting desperate orders. The Scoop mage moaned in frustration and, disregarding his own safety, channeled without control.

    The Kindling rune flared white, and Nystielle shouted, “Ha, it’s done!”

    Like a spark turning to flame, other runes suddenly ignited across the stone’s surface.  Runes of Seek and Tether knitted with the Rune of Undoing.  Like an egg expelling an invisible swarm of angry hornets, the runic script burst forth from the stone.  The expanding cloud of ancient letters tested all they touched.  

     As Nystielle lifted her head to congratulate her colleagues, her knees gave way, and bile rose in her stomach.  “I’m …ill.”  The other mages were too overcome to answer, their convulsions confined by the well’s cramped quarters.

    The Ward’s spell continued outward at a blinding speed, passing harmlessly through the Bright, finding no purchase on the light’s non-living magic.  Likewise, Captain Bick, a mundane human, stood untouched as the Ward’s magic ignored him.  For the hundreds of undead that filled the village’s courtyard surrounding Bick, the Ward shredded their arcane animation, and they dropped like puppets suddenly without strings.

    Five miles distant, the wagon of enemy necromancers that held those strings felt thousands of threads of control go slack.  Before they could give voice, the Ward’s wave swept over them, and the Ostlig mages died as the Runes of Undoing turned their body’s magical core into poison.

    The expanding Ward indiscriminately culled all things touched with arcane life: plants and animals, prince and pauper, ally and enemy; all fell who had supernatural essence woven into the fiber of their being.  For 370 miles from the well’s epicenter, the Ward’s script passed judgment until its runes of Tethering stopped the expansion.  Anchored by the Ward Stone, the vast circle then held fast, an invisible sentinel, savior, and destroyer.

--------------------------------