Chapter One Part I

I fear we elves will be unable to remain neutral when chaos returns, despite the old ones saying another like Peter will come forth. The darkness will return more powerful then before. I fear the light will be swallowed if we remain neutral this time, and thus we must act and not remain hidden away in our lovely gardens and lush forests.

Akiola Riverbridge, High Bard of Tsi-wa
From Discussions of the World
2723 AC
The storm outside the stout stone building blew heavy with rain. There would be no planting and tending of crops today, instead repairs on clothes and tools would ensue. Older children would help, but for the moment all the village’s children were inside, waiting to learn their letters and numbers. They ran about the wooden floor for the moment, shaking off the morning energies so they would sit and listen to the flashy dressed blond young man who sat to one side, strumming a lute.
He watched the children with a wistfulness shining bright in his pale blue eyes. So many times he witnessed such scenes, cherishing each one.
Thunder crashed outside, scaring some of the younger children, lightning illuminating the school room for a brief moment. The young man stood, his feathered hat bouncing. He gently hugged the closest child then whistled sharply to capture the attention of his charges.
The children turned to face the young man with excitement in their eyes. These were farm children and they hungered for knowledge of the world beyond their stormy farming village. The bard waved them to his side, bidding them to be still.
“We should begin our lessons, children, or your parents will run me out of your fine village and I will not be privy to the fine meals your mothers make.”
Laughs echoed through the wooden room as the children quickly found a seat on the hard floor before the young minstrel. The bard smiled and strummed once upon his lute, but paused as the door to his small school room blew open, allowing in a small gust of wind and splattering of rain.
The man who crossed the threshold was huge, dressed as warrior, his blue black hair covered in a sodden black hooded cloak. A two handed sword was strapped to his back, no other weapon visible. He stood in the doorway for what seemed an eternity, then slowly closed the wooden portal, his eyes never straying from the bard. The children were silent as they watched the warrior, for he was not of the village and warriors were often nothing more then brigands in the outskirts of Tridon.
The bard flashed the warrior a lopsided smile, then eased himself onto the wooden stool in front of all his young charges, strumming lightly as he did.
The warrior crossed to the back of the room slowly, his heavy boots resounding off the carefully laid wooden floor. The children watched nervously as the silent man took his sword from his back and placed it beside him upon the bench as he slowly sat. The warrior’s gaze bore into the bard.
Yes, the warrior was fierce and needed to be dealt with, but he would not show fear before his charges.
The bard strummed his lute loudly once, bringing the children’s attention back to him, though slowly at first. “I was thinking of good King Peter, our first High King, and his reign as your lesson today.”
The bard waved his hand before him, magic sparkling in the air as he brought forth a ghostly image of a man with curly, short hair, a trimmed beard and an honest face. The man bore a small, simple crown and a beautiful gold hilted sword at his side. He took several battle stances, then stood at attention before the children of the village. The little ones made happy noises and the bard could only smile as he moved the feather of his hat out of his face. He loved to show off his magical talent, especially for the amusement of the young.
“But my friend has reminded me of other things which should be spoken of.” The bard waved away the image and brought forth a staff with a miniature dragon perched atop it, the children whispering in awe at the sight of the great artifact.
The warrior in the back shook his head, his eyes filled with a brief flash of grief. Still he said nothing, water dripping from his clothes to puddle at his feet.
“The Staff of Veo, the Kingmaker, the Gift of the Gods. It is known as all these things. But this is a special artifact which can unite kingdoms, save the people of this world from a God so foul even the Gods of the Dark fight against him. Twice has this been used. Once by the Chosen, three thousand years ago against the Black Wizard, Shaniko.”
Boos echoed through out the building. No one held any love for the evil Wizard who sought to rule the world and make his God, Kahalla as the ruler of all Martapa.
“The second was not so long ago. Not long before you were all born.” The bard swept away the image of the staff, breaking it into many pieces which sailed in different directions. The children groaned at losing their story image, but the bard’s voice held their attention. “Like the first time the Gods brought together heroes to find and use the staff for the betterment of the world, those who responded to the call, both willingly and reluctantly, were a strange assortment, but the Gods could ask for no better.”
“Like the Chosen before them they would succeed or fail on their faults and favors. They would die or live on the bonds they made amongst themselves. The Gods watched in fascination to see if another war of the immortals would spring forth, for they could not upset the Balance by directly intervening unless called by the Gift and for a just cause.”
The bard smiled mischievously at the children, though he caught the eye of the warrior in the back, as well. The man’s eyes were hard upon him, but the bard felt no fear. He’d seen the same look many times before, but the story, once started, had to be told.
“At least some of the Gods adhered strictly to such doctrine. For some, both dark and light, found the Balance too strict for their liking and meant to bend it as much as possible without being noticed by the Mother of All, Catiana. It was a tight rope they walked, but some had perfected it over many millennia.”
“Especially the God of Magic. And thus our tale begins…”