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Prelude

As the great Klume, king of Shume sat upon his golden throne, an electrum flower set atop the throne was shooting down spindly bolts of magic forming a halo of faintly glowing magical light around the king's head. His court sat empty, dimly lit by the glow of the magical halo, as he sat listening to faint sounds of celebrations bleeding into his sacred chamber from other wings of the palace. It was a day for celebration, the celebration of his birth 60 long years ago, but the king did not feel like celebrating. He sat surrounded by ornaments and baubles that could not fill the void growing within the aged man.

For the old king had a long and prosperous rule. He had no military victories, instead through tedious diplomacy and complex trade agreements throughout his 45 years of rule he had created an unprecedented time of peace for the kingdom. He knew the bards would not sing tales of his trade agreements, not spout poems about the refurbishment of the kingdom's two century old sewers nor spin stories about the increase in tax revenue. So he sat in his empty throne room thinking about how in a hundred years time only the most studious scholars will remember him as a footnote in the long records of the kingdom of Shume.

The silence of the throne room was broken as the large doors, intricately carved with the image of a knight holding a banner with the same flower that sat atop the kings throne, creaked open allowing a single beam of light and a cacophony of celebratory sounds to stab through the hallow room striking the depressed king. Perhaps it was a member of the court checking to make sure the king hadn’t dropped dead, or an unwanted birthday gift from the local bishop, no doubt celebrating with the local ill-reputes.

“Identify yourself”, Klume muttered from atop his throne, “It’s ill mannered to disturb an old king while he rests.” he continued.

A shadowy figure silhouetted by the light of the palace stepped into the room and began walking towards the throne.

“I do not wish for any merry makers, bards or ill-reputes in my throne room!” the king grouched, but the silent figure just continued, silently walking towards the throne. The king was faintly able to make out the shape of a dark hooded robe hiding a horned helmet.

“If you’re an assassin you’re wasting your time, I’ll be dead within the decade!” the king grumbled with a single tear falling down his face. “I am Klume, King of Shume, with no great military victory and no legendary accomplishments, you will find no glory in killing me and my coffers can pay twice whatever you were given.” the king spouted angrily, tears running down his face.

As the robed figure approached the throne dimly lit by the king's glowing crown, it removed its hood, revealing what had first appeared to be a horned helmet was instead a pair of horns, sprouting from a sharply featured head. It appeared almost human but not quite, with a face that looked too sharp to actually exist, skin the same shade of bronze as the statues decorating the palace, long sickly patina green hair and an impossibly sharp smile that would make any con-man look honest.

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“Great, I have finally gone mad!” the king spouted, “The great King Klume, spending his last years in madness seeing demons walking about the palace.'' It was then the teary eyed king was interrupted by the horned figure.

“Klume, you have done what I thought was impossible for a human to accomplish.” the figure said softly, its calm voice reverberating through the throne room. “In your time leading this kingdom the people have not known war, famine, nor plague. It is a shame your legendary rule will soon come to an end.”

“Come to taunt an old dying king, demon?” the king spouted angrily through his tears.

“No” the creature replied softly, once again seeming to fill the void of the room. “I have simply brought you a gift.” It continued. “For you see, I have always admired your accomplishments from the shadows and wish to show my appreciation before your short life comes to an end.” the figure continued, holding up a small gift, bound in scaly leather with the king's name woven into it with golden strands. The king cautiously unwrapped and opened the box, seeing what seemed to be an obsidian tablet and a simple black stylus. The tablet was inscribed with the words, “The great Klume, King of Shume known for” before going blank. The king looked up “What kind of sick joke is this!” he shouted. “I truly have gone mad” he muttered once again on the verge of tears.

The figure hastily replied “This tablet contains powerful magic unknown to mortal sorcerers and scholars. Whatever you write upon it, will become the truth.” He replied in a reassuring voice now sounding cold and distant. “You can rewrite your history, become the king of legend you always deserved to be, but why stop there? You can use it to extend your limited human life, and continue your rule as long as you wish… Whatever you write will become reality” the figure said as it finally faded out of existence leaving the king once again in an empty throne room dimly lit by the crown atop his head with faint sounds of celebration echoing in.

“Well” the old king said to himself, picking up the stylus in his hand and pressing it against the obsidian tablet. The tablet, although made from a single piece of hard glass, seemed to be carved as easily as wet clay. “If I am going mad I might as well have some fun with it” he muttered. “The great Klume, King of Shume known for his unending life and unending rule, made the rivers run gold and night shine as bright as day.” he scribbled down giggling, “Whether this is madness or a trick by a brave wizard this might be the best birthday I’ve had in years,” he spouted gleefully and continued: “He rules his kingdom unquestioned from his royal palace where he ensured those living within the borders of his legendary kingdom are as satisfied with their lives as he is with his.” the mad king continued “Bards across the world sing tales of his glory and scholars will dream of the majesty of the Kingdom of Shume.” the deranged king wrote, giggling like a small child. The king was thinking of what to write on the last few lines of the tablet before glancing around the throne room and realizing it was being filled with a natural light from outside and the sounds of celebration seemed to be gone.

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“Have you ever heard of the kingdom of Shume?” the old wizard asked his apprentice, deeply focused on an intricately fashioned electrum flower.

“Yes, but I’m not sure from where… I’ve heard the legends, it’s the great gold kingdom or something right?” the apprentice replied, glancing nervously around the room, the old wizard’s office strewn with old maps and books of ancient lore.

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