Epoc

It is the year 338 of the Age of Sovereigns, and eighth year of the reign of King Kaler Atieran. Three-hundred and thirty-eight years since Elan's march brought an end to the unwavering dominion of the gods... just outside the walls of Delaran, our fair city.

Delaran's theocratic monarchy fell, simply due to the loss of faith. Then-general Apodas Atieran told his troops to rebuild the city. The gods may fail, but the people yet lived, and they should not do so within ruined walls. In truth, he merely offered what direction he could. His line would become our new royalty, Theocracy replaced with Monarchy.

Its what the people needed.

But Kings cannot fight the supernatural, even Elan needed the sword Kes-Yiran. Slowly those individuals that could command arcane forces gathered into guilds, aiding the people and giving some assurances against the strange things that lay beyond. Where steel failed, wizardly magic prevailed. Selected members of the military worked closely with the wizards, combining magic and martial prowess into a harmonious whole that few could oppose. First in teams of fighters and wizards, then in single individuals; the Spellguard.

They were much needed, in the spiritual void of left by Elan's march, many had succumbed to the temptation of daemon pacts. a simple bargain gave the promise of power and security to a people that sorely desired it. and the cost of their folly took its toll on the city. The houses of wizards and spellguards fight tirelessly to destroy their number, but succeeded only in culling the herd. The daemons fill a hole in Durnsae's soul, they...are what the people need.

But the holy Temple of Morsone has not been idle, they pine for the power and prestige they held before Elan's march. Morsone had learnt his lesson, but man had not. They had coddled the young prince Kaler since his youth, encouraged him to think in terms of Morsone's Majesty, and the temple's endless promises. It is eight years now, since he ascended to the throne, and the Temple's coddling has finally paid off...All magic born of men or 'lesser gods' is prohibited. The definition of 'lesser gods' is vague at best, but seems to be synonymous with 'not Morsone'.

A dire and desperate proclamation, ostensibly to let there be no veil behind which the pactors can hide their daemonic 'gifts', but truly just guise for the temple's dreams of power. For the first time in centuries, we lorists are afraid. Our enchanted inscriptions and wards have kept us mostly safe from all the perils that came before, but there is no ward that can save us from suspicion, and while few know of our...unusual art, we can not pretend that tending out ancient libraries has not given us some insight into the arcane...we are not safe from suspicion, and the agents of the temple have lain quiet for far too long to let us off with the benefit of the doubt.

It is, after all, what the people need.

end

RET