“My King!” The courier burst through the door, fearful and breathless.
Raylen Dawnsworn suddenly stood from his seat at the head of the table. The Ambrosi king’s advisors followed suit. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”
“Urgent news! The Namintum... invaded! Strange people... headed this way!” The elf’s trembling fingers fumbled clumsily in his attempt to detach the message tube from his belt. He knelt before King Dawnsworn and offered it to him shakily.
Raylen made no hesitation in unrolling the letter and all eyes became fixated on him, advisors and servants alike eager for the contents of the letter to be revealed. “Human,” he mumbled, brow furrowed. Not a soul in the room knew what it meant or what it was. After considering the words hastily scrawled on the parchment, the king looked to his advisors, seemingly at a loss. “The Namintum have fallen.” Panicked whispers echoed through the chamber. What terrible force could possibly have overcome the most formidable of the elven tribes? “Assemble the Skyscreamers, scout the border,” he said solemnly. “They come for us now.”
As King Dawnsworn spoke the first order of war, human forces had already razed an Ambrosi city. None were spared the wrath of conquest, and all warnings, it seemed, arrived too late to save most. The humans poured over the land, leveling everyone and everything in their path until the fateful day of reckoning finally arrived, and they approached the great gates of Paradisus, the very last bastion of elven life on all of Belustera.
Refugees from towns near and far rushed into the towering city, while King Dawnsworn and his lords watched from the palace warspire as the humans blasted to pieces the great stone walls that once kept them safe. “Your Majesty, it is do or die,” one of his counsel urged. “We cannot wait any longer. We must utilize the artifact.” Knowing the demise of the Ferolis elves, corrupted by the power of their sacred staff, the king feared he may damn his people to a similar fate if he had to resort to its use. “Protect what remains of our people, My Liege. Do you not hear them crying out for you to save them?”
There must be another way, he tried to reason with himself. He turned away from the carnage below to face the crystalline staff which lay suspended in the center of the room, casting a peaceful, blue glow upon them all. No. There was no other way. Only Brothers’ Foresight could save them now. Raylen dared to touch his fingertips to the arcane barrier that had safely encased the staff for so many millennia, and an opening molded to his intruding fingers. The barrier disappeared with a blinding flash as he took the holy weapon into his grasp. He wasted no time teleporting to the square where his subjects awaited their seemingly imminent slaughter.
“Citizens!” His booming voice and the unmistakable presence of Brothers’ Foresight allayed their hysteria and commanded silence. “I call upon your aid to save our civilization in this, our darkest hour! The future of our people depends on the action you take here today! Onward! For the glory of Paradisus!” The people gave a hearty shout and followed after their tenacious king to face the strange human troops.
On Raylen’s orders, citizens and soldiers joined their arcane power together to form a wall across the line of human forces, effectively halting the enemy’s approach. They charged mindlessly in their misguided belief that the violet energy before them was harmless, but quickly learned they would not be able to press forward when it turned their warriors to ash. Boulders and flaming arrows also disintegrated at the slightest touch. It seemed the invasion had been stopped.
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For three straight days, the Ambrosi kept vigil. On the fourth day, the sea of human soldiers parted to allow a group of regal men riding ornately armored steeds to pass, until they were face-to-face with King Dawnsworn himself. “I am King Torelaine of Oakenhold,” the heavily-bearded man began, peering down his crooked nose at Raylen. In his conquest, he had picked up enough Elvish to make his demands known. “This wall of yours,” he gestured with some irritation, “has tested my patience long enough. Surrender your staff and I may spare you.”
Unfazed by the threat, stoic King Dawnsworn stood firm. “You will not have it.”
To the surprise of the Ambrosi, one of Torelaine’s lords revealed The Hand of Change, the conquered Namintum’s most sacred artifact, passing it to their king as he stepped down from his horse. The holy staff, crafted by the same divine hands as the one they sought, effortlessly pierced the arcane wall, separating it as if pushing through window dressings, just wide enough for him to pass through. In his other hand, Torelaine unsheathed his sword and held its tip out to Dawnsworn. “I will.” The elves began to falter. Raylen did not.
A blast of energy burst from Brothers’ Foresight, pushing Torelaine back through the wall with such force that he dropped The Hand of Change. The humans clambered over one another to reclaim it before the barrier could close, only to see themselves turned to ash. Torelaine screamed and cursed Dawnsworn, swearing he and his men would never leave until they had taken the elven artifacts, and wiped every last elf off the face of Belustera.
The unwavering conviction with which Torelaine made his proclamation shook Dawnsworn’s composure. He looked to the frightened faces of his people, each of them wordlessly pleading for him to end this terror. He had already used the artifact once. “One more time,” he quietly begged of the gods. “Let me grant them reprieve.” He held the staff to the heavens and it began to glow. The land trembled violently, darkness opening beneath the feet of the human frontline with a deafening crack and swallowing them as the land behind the barrier began to rise.
By the grace of the gods, Paradisus was lifted into the sky, leaving only an empty crater in its stead.
When finally they could allow the barrier to expire, the Life Mages of Paradisus collapsed from exhaustion. The elves were saved. King Dawnsworn sent his people to their homes to recuperate, while he and his advisors would begin talks of how to proceed with the kingdom’s affairs. An air of uneasiness sifted through the citizenry, as though something had been overlooked in the bedlam.
The very same week, Dark Mage assassins infiltrated the Palace of Twilight and murdered King Dawnsworn, his queen, and their heirs in the dead of night. The Revolution of Stars began and the streets ran red with the blood of Life Mages, retribution for the thousands of years of Dark Mage persecution imposed by the Dawnsworn dynasty. On the third night of terror, the surviving Life Mages were rounded up and brought to the palace square before the one responsible for the revolution: Vyndalor Starshade.
Brothers’ Foresight in hand, he stood aloft the crowds at the doors of the King’s Palace. “A new era is upon us! Now and forevermore, Paradisus shall be ruled by the children of the Beautiful Dark!” The Dark Mages roared their approval. “Never again shall we abide the chains of oppression heaved upon us by our inferiors; it is high time they came to know our suffering!” Once more, his followers cheered their savior, and he turned his attention to the trembling mass of Life Mages before him. “You will kneel, or you will die,” he warned them.
The first one to resist was brought to Vyndalor. He demonstrated a terrible power the world had forgotten, slowly, painfully draining the life essence from the screaming dissenter until his face became gaunt, his eyes empty, and his body motionless. A skeleton loosely draped with skin fell at his feet, and upon returning his gaze to the Life Mages, they knelt.