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ANDERS – GRAND MARKET, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

The chime rang as the door to the old bookstore opened. Inside was a decent-sized shop, but it was overcrowded with shelves upon shelves of books, cluttering every space. The books were mostly arranged on the shelves in some semblance of order, but loose volumes were piled everywhere, and there were even shelves running high up the walls of the multi-level building, way higher than anyone could hope to reach without a ladder.

A tall, handsome, and well-built man took off his expensive hat and cloak, hanging them carelessly on the rack near the door, his long, shoulder-length blond hair spilling over the top of his shirt. He moved into the dimly lit shop, where most of the natural light failed to penetrate windows blocked by bookshelves, and a random scattering of candles did little to illuminate the space.

Edging sideways between the shelves to make his way toward the counter in the middle of the shop, the man was careful not to knock over any of the haphazardly placed piles of books on the floor.

“Can I help you?” called out an elderly man from near the back of the shop.

“Yes, Mister Steinwicke, I believe you can,” replied the blond-haired noble confidently, his tone familiar.

Mister Steinwicke made his way forward to see who his visitor was. Upon getting closer, he removed his thick reading glasses to better see his visitor.

“Lord Hightower, is that you?” asked the old shop-owner.

“It is,” came the friendly reply. “I wasn't sure that you would remember me.”

“I still remember most of my students, my Lord. Don't teach much these days though. How are your father and your older brother?” Mister Steinwicke asked.

“Please, call me Anders. We are old friends,” instructed Anders. “Besides, I doubt I would have got through my classes if it were not for your help.”

The old man waved away the compliment.

“My father and brother are well,” continued Anders. “Both busy with the affairs of running our estate. Not that I need worry about that as a second-born, right?” Anders' tone revealed the resentment he still felt at being second-born in a society where most things passed to the first-born, especially among the nobility.

“I am sure the Gods have a path intended for you,” replied Mister Steinwicke, in what Anders was sure was meant to be reassuring.

“That's the same thing Father suggested, actually. He said I should join the church,” stated Anders. “But in Klydor, there are really only two main faiths anyone is interested in, right?”

“Both Faylen and Chandrilar are extremely worthy Gods to devote yourself to,” reassured Mister Steinwicke.

“Yes, that is probably true. But I am not sure either really calls to me. Faylen, the glorious Sun-God, protector of Driax and about 50 other titles I cannot even recall. I have personally always been a night owl rather than a morning person. I would sleep through half the daylight hours if given the chance,” replied Anders.

“And Chandrilar, the glorious founder of our nation. God of duty, loyalty, and obedience,” Anders continued. “Well, you should remember from trying to teach me. I think we both know obedience is not one of my strengths.”

“But a boy must do what his father says, right, Mister Steinwicke?” Anders finished.

Mister Steinwicke chuckled at the self-deprecating humour. “I suspect you are right on that last point. So what can I do for you? I doubt a busy young man like yourself came down here just to reminisce with an old man like me.”

“I want some help with history, actually. And I remembered you were the most knowledgeable person I ever met on the subject,” Anders replied.

“That is kind of you to say,” acknowledged Mister Steinwicke, who remained standing out of etiquette, but Anders could see he was struggling with it.

“Please take a seat if you need to. I suspect I will be here awhile,” Anders offered. Mister Steinwicke found himself a stool and sat gingerly upon it.

“I need a birthday present. And I was hoping you could show me something on Chandrilar, his life from the time of the Great Cataclysm, and how he led his people west to form our great nation.”

“Are you interested in what happened after his death, and how he became a God?” asked Mister Steinwicke.

“No. He had an empire of people who worshipped him upon his death. That worship turned him into a God. That part of the story is really just the reward for his amazing life, so let's focus on his life,” replied Anders.

'What I need to know hopefully comes from when he was alive,' Anders thought to himself.

“I believe I have just the thing,” exclaimed Mister Steinwicke, and he stumbled off to find it.

****

Anders took a seat at a small, dusty desk near the back of the shop. He repositioned multiple candles to ensure he had enough light and began to read the scroll Mister Steinwicke had brought him. From its age, it looked as though it had been written a long time ago. A really long time ago.

'The older the source, the more likely it is to be correct,' he thought.

The scroll featured a drawing of a man with a strong-looking face, clean-shaven, short hair, an impressive-looking crown, and a well-defined chin, which the scroll identified as Chandrilar. It appeared to be from when he was in his fifties. Anders absently ran his fingers across the image of the crown.

The rest of the scroll was text, written in Old Micronian, the language of the first great human empire, Micronia. That language had slowly evolved into what most people considered the common tongue today, so it was easy enough to understand, even if some of the words were in older forms than were in common usage in the present day.

****

When the Great Cataclysm ended, across Driax, the dead numbered in the hundreds of thousands, and almost no race had been spared. The world had been at war for nearly ten years, and humankind had come to the brink of extermination by the massed armies of the Great Dragon, Razilin’Tera.

Although the Champions of Laurabel had defeated Razilin’Tera and his cabal of giants and demons, none of them were left alive to assist with the massive task of rebuilding. Micronia, the first and greatest human empire, had been all but destroyed. However, it was not just the cities that required reconstruction. The minds of many survivors were also shattered from the epic scale of death and destruction they had just lived through.

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Into this breach stepped Chandrilar Klydor, the young squire of Xarron. Chandrilar had helped hold his master upright while he delivered his final speech, proclaiming victory in the final battle, and banishing the evil horde. The young squire looked into Xarron's eyes and promised he would look after those who had been saved. Soon after, Xarron, the hero of Laurabel, and the one who had delivered the killing blow to Razilin'Tera, succumbed to his grievous wounds, passing from the world.

But there would be no peace. Micronia was destroyed, and a huge power vacuum was left in its wake. The souls of men would seek power and titles, leading many to try and claim lordship over the peoples of Man. Chandrilar quickly realised that nothing could stop the violence that was to come. And he knew that many of his people could not stand any further fighting and bloodshed.

Therefore, Chandrilar decided to lead his people to the west, far to the west, and away from the evils and war that were overwhelming the land. The journey was arduous, but Chandrilar and his Knights led the faithful into the lands of the unknown. They fought off goblin and orc warbands, survived horrible storms, and scrounged enough supplies to keep their followers fed. Chandrilar would become the unquestioned leader of his people, guiding them through every crisis that befell them, and personally defeating the Orc King, Gorok Man-Killer. Most importantly, Chandrilar restored his people's sense of respect and pride within themselves, and in the new society that they were going to build.

Word of their massive caravan from the East was spreading, and so too was the legend of the man who led them. Chandrilar engaged with all those he encountered with respect and honour, endeavouring to negotiate for the needs of his people peacefully and fairly, but responding swiftly and decisively against those who threatened their welfare. But he was yet to find a land for his people. Everywhere they found was either unsuitable or would require a road of conquest that would likely destroy them to claim it.

It was then that Llarissa Ent’arryl, herald of the Llewyrr, rode into their camp, requesting an audience with Chandrilar. The elves of the Llewyrr forest had also left behind their brethren and their ancestral homeland only a few short years earlier. They too had seen their people torn apart by a brutal civil war. They too had seen the difficulty in finding a new home.

But more than that, the Grey Seers of the Llewyrr could see the future. They had foreseen that Driax was coming into the Age of Mankind. The expansion of these humans would be relentless. And while a spirit of expansion and conquest was common in the younger races, the nobler characteristics of honour and integrity were not. The Grey Seers had indeed seen the future, and if the Llewyrr were to survive, then they would require an ally amongst the humans, one who would be able to protect their new homelands and their way of life. The Grey Seers foretold that Chandrilar Klydor and his descendants would be the ones to do this and that as long as his descendants sat the Klydorian throne, both kingdoms would not fall.

And so Llarissa and her Rangers led the bedraggled and exhausted caravan to the rich and fertile plains that stretched from the northern border of their forest homeland all the way to the oceans that surrounded their green and verdant peninsula. And for the next few years, the elven patrols would play a key role in protecting the fledgling settlement from any goblinoid or other menace.

After more than a year of travelling, Chandrilar had found his people their new home. They had travelled thousands of miles, first west, then south. But now, stretched out before them, were hundreds of miles of the most fertile plains any of them had ever seen. Chandrilar knew immediately that this land was the one where he and his people would build their future.

For the remainder of his days, Chandrilar toiled tirelessly to build his people their new Kingdom. Guided by Llarissa and his new Llewyrr friends, Chandrilar set out a Code to unify his people and to ensure that the spirit of the new empire would always embody the ideals under which he wished them to live. This code of Chivalry required the nobility to protect and provide for the people, their role was one of responsibility, not privilege, and that all people treat all others with respect and honour, regardless of rank or title.

They would live in harmony with the land, learning from their elven neighbours to take only what they needed to survive. Never would they plunder the Earthmother for simple profit. And he instilled the Knights, those few who had guided and protected his people on their journey, as his champions. They quickly became the symbol of the new kingdom, which his people named Klydor, after their beloved leader.

It is said that upon his death, even the Grey Seers wept.

****

As Anders finished the scroll, he looked up to see Mister Steinwicke standing nearby. “Did that help, my Lord?” he inquired of Anders.

‘Not really. It was mostly a waste of time that didn’t mention any of the important artifacts Chandrilar had. No mention of Xarron’s sword, the Stone of Evronn, or the Crown of the First King,’ Anders thought to himself.

“The picture shows Chandrilar wearing the Crown of the First King, but the scroll does not mention it in the text. I was hoping to know more about the Crown,” Anders stated.

“Oh. I am sorry, my Lord. That scroll does not mention the Crown. But if you come with me, I might be able to show you something that does,” replied Mister Steinwicke apologetically.

When Anders moved to follow, the old man shuffled off to lead him to a particular section of the store. He gestured to a series of shelves that must have contained a hundred or more books. “These books are all likely to contain references to the Crown of the First King. It has been a very influential artifact in our nation’s history,” proclaimed Mister Steinwicke proudly.

‘You have got to be kidding me. I am not reading all those books! That could take months. Years even.’

‘Plan B then’.

“Have you read all those books?” Anders asked.

“I have. Multiple times, in fact. I love to read, particularly Klydorian history. And the store provides a lot of free time to read,” Mister Steinwicke smiled as he answered.

‘I did like you. Well… you pestered me to do my homework. Perhaps I mean I did not dislike you enough to want what happens next.’

‘But we all have our calling to answer.’

“Could you perhaps show me where you recommend I start? I want to know as much about the crown as possible,” guided Anders. He followed along closely behind the old man as he slowly picked his way to a particular point on the shelves.

Mister Steinwicke stopped, and carefully appraised a section of books above his eyeline and to the right. He steadied himself with a hand on the nearest shelf, and reached out his other hand to select a specific tome from the higher shelf.

Anders grabbed him and rammed a magical, skull-adorned dagger deeply into Mister Steinwicke’s back. The old man’s body went tense.

‘Would have been a shame for all that knowledge to die when you did. Think of this as me carrying on your good work.’

Anders uttered the command words for the soul-stealing spell contained in the dagger.

“In anima tua domine dominatur

(Over your soul I do claim dominion),

A te memoriam tuam capio

(From you I take your memories),

Tuam potestatem sumo pro mea

(Your power I take for my own).”

Anders felt a small rush of ecstasy as the powerful necromantic spell filled him with the memories and power of the old man. It was not the painful experience he had felt when absorbing creatures or people who were powerful channelers. Steinwicke was no channeler. There was no fight for control to see whose psyche would win out.

But it was still a strange, yet exhilarating, feeling as a lifetime of memories poured into his mind. As his mind absorbed the memories, he saw flashes of Steinwicke’s most euphoric moments, and his most traumatic moments. His first kiss, his first night of intimacy, the birth of three children, the death of a child, the betrayal of a business partner.

In less than a minute, it was all over. Steinwicke was dead. And the flood of memories was complete.

He tried to focus on what interested him, which was the history and lore of Klydor. He could clearly recall the legends of the Battle of Micronia, the journey of Chandrilar, the Black Knight, the Great Victory, and the signing of the Anwar Pact, all in far greater detail than he had ever known previously.

He tried to recall his newfound knowledge of the Crown of the First King, the Stone of Evronn, and the Sword of Xarron, all three of the powerful artifacts associated with Chandrilar and his line.

The memories were all there. The spell had worked. In fact, he knew things he had not anticipated.

‘Most interesting. Josak and Ronardo might be wrong after all. They seek the Stone and Sword, their only concern for the Crown being that it once held the Stone within its collection of embedded jewels. I now think they might be wrong. The Crown of the First King might be my path to defeat them both, and claim the ultimate glory for myself – Lord High Priest of Razilin’Tera.’

He laid the now-dead body of his old tutor on the ground, wiping the dagger on the old man’s shirt. He left the store, flipping the sign on the door to "closed," before shutting it and quickly moving away.