Rowen Velric's Story

The sun rises on the fourth day of the three hundred, seventeenth year of the Age of Peace and bathes the world of Vaalria with its morning light. As the world's lone, truly immortal conqueror rises, the creatures of the day begin to stir within their homes and take their first steps out into the light of the new day, as the creatures of the night find shelter from their one, true enemy. Across the world, the people of Vaalria prepare for another day in a world of “peace”.

In Atramentia, the street lamps are just being put out by the magic sensors that operate each and every one of the public lights in every major city. The people of its capital rise and prepare to work in the grand markets and public works of the great, mechanized city. The members of the council already setting into their chamber, paper work already flooding in from every corner of the republic, and the council members already cursing their choice in career.

In Alionya, the inquisitors have been awake since before dawn, already out on the training field and performing their morning routines. The people wake to see the holy warriors in their shining armor practicing their drills in the fields just outside the Palace gates. The Wolf King stirs in his chambers, woken yet again by the incessant yelling of the Inquisitors and their Knight Commander as be barks orders at the devout sods. For the fiftieth time in the last season, he prepares to yell at the thick-skulled commander to find a better place to scream at the poor men.

In Calris, the people remain indoors, not daring to stir, even as the Sun rises into the sky. The curfew remains in effect, and all those bold enough to step outside before its end would only be met by the sight of the patrolling platoons of soldiers, and the gleam of the morning light on the pike that would promptly find a home inside of them. Not a soul, not even the sun, knows what goes on inside of the great fortress that houses the Emperor and his kin during these mornings...

In grand Maliusya, the sun's first light is blocked from the land's view by the great mountains that protect the kingdom's eastern border, but the shadows are overcome soon. Like the rest of the world, the magical citizens of Maliusya rise and quickly begin their days.. Either with the preparing of their morning meals, the rise to begin their day's work, or the stepping out to once again begin their routine practice of the mystical arts. The citizens of the royal city wake early, like their King, and begin their bustling about before the sun can even reach the tip of Mount Selithia. The King has been awake for many hours already, seeing to every issue, demand, and minor inconvenience that the citizens of his land report. He enthusiastically goes about his work, eager to prove himself to his predecessor.

No one really knows what happens on the flying isle of Artisama as the sun rises into the sky. The people of the isle still remain much the mystery to the people of Vaalria, having only begun relations with the mainland again during the War of Vaalria, after having stayed an enigmatic and secluded entity for little over ten thousand years.

Upon the Isle of Acker, the first of the Isles of Ilyamorra, the people greet the the morning light in ways that can only be described as “different” by any citizen of the now peaceful nations of Vaalria.

As the sun rises, the warriors that patrol the islands borders, walking atop the unstable, crudely built, wooden wall built by tired and care-worn adventurers and colonials, let out a great sigh of relief as they are finally able to climb down. The magical torches along the wall sputter out as the guards walk away, their bodies still shaking from the cold and the fear as new, well-rested warriors take their places, smirking their way up the wall at the plight of the poor rookies they'd conned into taking the night watch.

The farmers rise from their beds and greet the morning light issuing forth from their windows with a smile and a thankful heart, as their prayers for another day amongst the living have been answered. The fear of not surviving the night prior disappears as they ready for their days, preparing to tend their fields while making another, silent prayer to their gods for just another day without a monster attack, or perhaps for the return of a loved one that had gone to challenge the other isles of Ilyamorra.

The more experienced adventurers are already awake by the time that the sun shows its face, and are already in the training field near the smithy, practicing with their various tools of the trade; sparring against each other, or mangling a poor, defenseless straw dummy. The less experienced adventurers wait outside the smithy's doors, waiting for the blacksmith to come out and show the poor sods how to defend themselves; the man having been strong-armed into training the wet-behind-the-ears welps that had come to the islands without so much as a clue as to how to fight the monsters that occupied Ilyamorra.

The owner of the general store, the young Rowen Velric, still sleeps, his windows magically tinted so that the sun may not ruin his rest. His life amongst the nobility of Maliusya obviously still guides his actions and his habits continue to annoy his colleagues amongst the other shops and businesses that make up their small village. Still, a few amateur adventurers sit outside his doors, waiting for the young man to rise and take notice of them. Many of them need supplies or enchantments.. Few others wait so that they may watch the man ply his trade and perhaps learn a thing or two.

As the other citizens of the small town of Ebonblut might just be getting about to their morning tasks (the general store owner, and perhaps the blacksmith being the only known exceptions), the owner of the Inn has already been awake for hours. In the Crow's Song Inn, the massive, sturdy building seated upon a lone hill set on the edge of the village, nearest the harbor, the owner has been busy dealing with his usual, morning business.

“Come now, get up...” The voice of the Inn Keeper could be heard saying from inside of the Inn. “It's time for you to sober up.. I can't have a pile of drunkards tripping up everyone...” The sounds of shuffling, like bodies being forced upwards and being dragged could then be heard, accompanied by the sounds of rather large men groaning and gurgling, their minds still a pile of stew after the night before.. The doors to the Inn would suddenly swing open, the metal framed, wooden doors slamming against the sturdy walls of the building's entry way as the Inn Keeper walked outside, barren of all clothing save his sleeping trousers, accompanied by the in-comprehensive bodies of his nightly patrons. With three men hanging off of the Inn Keeper's back, their bodies being held aloft by a single hand wrapped around the collars of their tunics, and a body dragging behind him on the ground, held by his other hand, he greets the morning with a rather warm smile. “Well, this is a rather fine day to sober up, isn't it?” He'd ask the drunkards in a rather good-hearted way before casually tossing them over his shoulder, off the side of the large, wooden porch that lined the top of the hill like a crown, and watched them fall into a strategically placed pond below. With sadistic glee, the Inn Keeper would watch as the men would writhe and scream as the cold water woke them rather suddenly and brought upon the pains of a hedonistic night before they were really due. The Inn Keeper would then turn, dropping the man he'd been dragging along into the pond with his compatriots as he did, and walked back into the Crow's Song, stretching all the while.

The Inn Keeper, the infamous but respected Sage, walked back to his own, private room that was housed in the fore-section of the Inn, making up roughly a fifth of the large building's construction. He sat atop the large, soft bed that he came home to each night and rubbed at his eyes for a few moments as they tried to adjust to the growing brightness that the sun brought each morning. Today would be yet another busy day; the townspeople and perhaps even the farmers would come by for their morning meals, the poor rookies from the night watch would come back for some ale and a bit of rest, and his short staff would complain rather abundantly about their daily tasks. To add fuel to that fire, Sage would also have to make a trip to the Smithy to collect the new tankards and dining ware that his old friend was supposed to craft for him, and would naturally be met with yet another excuse about how it couldn't be done that day.

Sage heaved a great sigh as he ran his pale hand through his long, pitch black hair, moving it away from his crimson eyes. As was his daily custom, Sage asked the world why he'd gone to such trouble to come and stay on the isles, why he stayed and watched as others came and perished on the cursed isles as he simply supported them as nothing more than an Inn Keeper. “I'm sure he will remind me again today, if I ask...” Sage would say as the thought of confiding in his friend arose in his mind as he pushed himself from his bed, ready to clothe himself and begin his day.