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  Chapter 1 - A Kingdom Rising 

     For 3 decades, the Kingdom of Ophir had prospered like none other. From the gold-rich coasts of the Vilayet Sea that calmly kissed the sandy beaches of Lemuria and Botany Bay, to the bustling trade depot of Sepermeru, known for its thriving oasis, offering drink and rest in the western desecrated desert of Stygia. Looming over it all, Mount Voormithadreth stands tall, dominating over the northern peaks. Those northern most winds, swirling and churning within its core, eventually escaping and blowing down towards the South like hot breath, melting the snow and ice that delivered the crystal-clear waters to the lush lands below. For so long, the people of Ophir lived in harmony. Aside of course, from the occasional invasion of pirates and the unrelenting wild indigenous tribes of the Darfarian desert.         

      At its political core, seated in the great stone throne, King Moranthes II ruled with an Iron fist. For the most part, he was respected in his position, though it was painfully clear to him that the loyalty of his so-called people actually fell on the shoulders of his fair skinned child bride, Marala. Her coronation had come quickly, under the eye of his people. Her fate sealed after the death of her father had caused his own kingdom into a desperate political move of their own, to stave off Ophir’s great army, from taking over the then King-less lands across the Vilayet sea.        

      Queen Marala, though young and kept in the dark regarding the political affairs of the lands, was often sought out by the people when there was a great need. The numerous clans and tribes within the kingdom, far and wide, knew that through her, their needs would usually be met. She knew just how to sway Moranthes to get what she wanted. Her beauty and youthfulness had become like a tool that she learned to quickly master.        

      Unbeknownst to the King, Marala had a secret. A secret so powerful, she knew better than to reveal this knowledge to even her most trustworthy guard, her sworn protector and loyal adherent, simply known as Garus. Before her solemn trip across the Vilayet sea, her kin had revealed this secret to her in the hopes that in time, she could use this power against the King and return to her rightful lands. However, over the years, she came to love the people of Ophir, just as she loved her own people. The dark plan to overthrow Moranthes soon became a forgotten thought, stowed away deep in her mind.     
   

      While Marala was often called upon by many, she was never allowed to step outside the dark stone walls of the capital. The area was vast and touched the borders of many of Ophir’s Regions; Stygia, Shem, Turan, Darfar, and the peaceful lands of Aquilonia. She often daydreamed about traveling into these areas and even further to learn more of the people who resided in the wilds, but her desire for knowledge and adventure were shut down time and time again. This was one thing that Moranthes refused to budge on.  

CHAPTER 2 - A VIEW OF THE WORLD        

      While she did an exceptional job hiding it, perhaps driven by fear more so than anything else, there was a great desire building up in her ever so slightly, until one day the fear of the King wasn’t strong enough to keep her from Temptation. She learned that the King’s cousin, Count Rigello, was planning a council meeting with territory holders in the North. She came to him, in secret, and attempted to use her charm against him to agree to allow her to accompany him. She knew he would ultimately have to bring the idea to the king, but perhaps in his care, Moranthes would be willing to allow her to go. After all, having her there would probably make sure the delegations went smoothly, considering the people’s love for Marala.         
     

      After permission was granted to Rigello, per strict orders to keep Marala in his sight at all times, the long and treacherous journey to the northern regions began. The king had also granted permission to Garus to accompany them. Their caravan had been stocked with barrels of wine and dried meats, some for the long days ahead and some as gifts to the territory leaders. Marala helped in any way she could as they travelled. Rigello often caught sight of the girl smiling and singing to herself, her excitement and sheer joy from being allowed to come was quite evident. While he tried very hard to ignore it, he often found himself watching her, entranced by her beauty.         

      Nearly a week had passed before they finally crossed the last of the lush green pastures of Nordheim and the dreary swamps of Cimmeria. They were just past the border of Hyperborea, where time seemed to stand still in its frozen wastes, when Rigello halted the expedition to set up camp one last time before meeting with the territory leaders of Hyper and Vanir.       

      After the camp was prepped for the night, Rigello held a meeting with his accompanying men to discuss the upcoming morning’s delegations. When the meeting came to an end, most of the men drunkenly stumbled to their own sleeping posts. Rigello, followed suit but movement near the main campfire caught his eye. There, seemingly in her own world, was Marala, dancing to the beat of her own imaginary song. Her eyes closed and blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, flipping in the wind as she moved. Her dress, made from the finest silk of the Blue Widow Spider, occasionally creeped up her thigh as she danced. Rigello, gazed at her from afar, the fire of lust building in his eyes as he watched.         

     As she danced, Marala felt eyes on her. She turned around quickly catching Rigello staring at her. He smiled and her cheeks flushed a dark crimson. “Please” he waved his hand in the air a bit, “continue.” As he spoke, he walked over to the fur rugs placed randomly around the campfire. Marala laughed nervously. This wasn’t the first time, that she was aware she had caught the attention of the Count, but as much as she secretly enjoyed his attention, she did not wish to make her life harder with her King then it already was. Instead, Marala smoothed her dress out, her hands gliding over her thighs as she did so. She then stepped towards Rigello and lowered herself to the rug, joining him. He reached for a jug of wine that had been left sitting on the ground. “Drink?” he asked her. Marala picked up a carved wooden cup, and offered it towards him. As he poured, their eyes met briefly and she immediately darted them off to the side, embarrassed. They spent the rest of the night talking and laughing until the lights of dawn softly touched the horizon. Thus, was the beginning of the connection she had always sought in a man. One built on trust and soft affection, not the stern looks and unyielding control she was used to. 

CHAPTER 3 - DESPERATE MEASURES      

      After many weeks and successful meetings with those in authority, discussions began for the long trip home. The Queen was sorrowful knowing that her adventure and freedom would soon come to an end. Her relationship with Rigello had grown and they had become very close. He was always so interested in what she had to say and their conversations never ceased to impress her with his intelligence and humor. She soon started to see him as her confidant rather than her keeper. Soon, the trust in Rigello came to a point that she felt safe enough to express to him how much she wanted nothing more than to never return home. With tears in her eyes, she told him how she couldn’t possibly return, knowing what she has seen and felt outside those walls. Rigello, against his better judgment, entertained this thought with her. He motioned for her to sit, as tears began to stream down her face. “Marala, do you not think the King would have my head if I did not return his Queen to him?” he said, sternly. She stood and ran to him, burying her wet face into his chest. Rigello wrapped her up in his arms, her small frame, like a delicate flower in his brutish stance.         

     In her sobbing, a moment of weakness overcame her, and she exclaimed, “But, what if there was a way?”. Rigello stood back, softly placing his hands on her shoulders to look her in the eyes. “What do you mean?” he inquired. It was in that moment, that the thoughts and memories of her past came flooding back. She spent the rest of that evening confiding in him the story of her ancestors. Including the single piece of property, she was allowed to keep after her coronation; A circlet made from a wonderous metal forged from a falling star. She revealed, in great detail, it’s secret and the power within it. Rigello listened intently, as she went on to describe what the circlet was capable of but that her fear of its power and the love for the People of Ophir had condemned her to silence.            

      As the story of her past came to a close, Rigello had become silent. She ceased her talking and began to study his face. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed it before, but the look on his face had changed. No more was her gaze met with the loving and protective look she had grown to love. Instead, his eyes gleamed with a desire for power; A look, that up until now, she thought was reserved for Moranthes. It was in that moment immediate regret wore greatly on her heart. Marala spoke, her voice unsteady. “Rigello?’ she asked. Rigello cleared his throat and stood. “We really should be preparing for our return.” Marala looked defeated, as he stepped past her to retreat to his quarters, his footsteps fading into the night.              

      The next morning, Marala’s heart was heavy with despair. She couldn’t believe that within one night, she had revealed her innermost secrets and seemingly lost her chance at freedom. Her mind was reeling. “Would Rigello reveal her secret to the King?”, she thought. Perhaps he would spare her given the fact that she chose to never use the circlet’s power against him. She was lost and her soul was dying. Though her mind was troubled, she rose from her bed. Wrapping herself in a heavy fur she stepped outside the tent, soaking up the warmth of the rising sun. As she stood, gazing out towards the ice fields of Hyperborea, Rigello came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her body. She gasped, startled. “It’s a beautiful day.” He said, as he breathed in the crisp air, and placed a kiss softly on her cheek. Marala, caught off guard, turned around with a confused look on her face. “How can you call it beautiful? The sun may shine and the air gives life, but when I return, I will no longer have what is truly beautiful to me. Freedom.”  Rigello’s face was soft and full of concern. “And that is why it is a beautiful day. I will not take from you that which you have grown to love.”         
     

      The Queen’s heart lifted at his words. Perhaps she had misread the look she thought she had seen in his eyes the previous evening. “Do you mean it?” she asked, excitedly. Rigello, replied “I do not speak untruths, my Queen.” Marala’s face glowed with happiness… but it quickly faded. “What of Moranthes?” she questioned. “Do not worry yourself about concerns that do not matter. We will find a way. I must return to the Capital to placate the King, but we will find you refuge beforehand.” “But where will I go?” She asked with deep concern. “I will send word to nearby clans, and arrange a place for you.”. She nodded, not fully understanding how it would all work out. Rigello looked at her questionably. “You have doubts.” He stated, a look of concern on his face. She trusted Rigello, and didn’t want to give him any doubts. He would surely find a way to keep her safe, even if it meant she would have to say goodbye. She quickly replied, “This is quite overwhelming”. He hugged her, and his warmth calmed her nerves. “I don’t know where life will take you, but you will be free to start over.” His choice of words saddened her. She did not want to forsake her people. She knew that their life under the King’s rule was only bearable by the knowledge that Marala was by his side. She was a light in the dark for Ophir. It was in that moment that she made a silent vow to her people that she would find a way to rise up against Moranthes.           

      The rest of Marala and Rigello’s evening was spent in deep conversation, planning the days ahead, until Marala could no longer keep her eyes open. She laid her head down on the pile of furs they were lounging on, and fell asleep. Rigello, gazed at her lovingly and reached for a throw to keep her warm while she slept. As he did, he gently brushed the blonde hair from the young girl’s face before turning to leave. There were plans to be made.

CHAPTER 4 - THE FALL OF MARALLA 

     The next morning, Marala awoke suddenly to voices outside the tent. The light of day had only just begun its journey over the land. She rose to her feet, and quickly wrapped herself in furs before stepping outside. The voices were odd, hurried and hushed. She wasn’t close enough to make sense of them. She started to make her way towards the voices, when she heard Rigello speak. He sounded stern, with a tone about him that she had not heard before. As she got closer, the sound of the voices began to turn into actual words that she could make out. As she approached the side of the tent, that separated her from the men, the words she heard made her stop in her tracks. “After we are gone, make sure she does not leave this camp alive.” The sound of horses stampeding away followed.         
     

      Marala’s heart began to beat harder than she had ever felt before. She stood there, as if the ice of Hyperborea had taken hold of her and refused to let her go. A million thoughts began to invade her mind before she finally broke free from her state of shock and quickly ran back to her tent. She scrambled to her bed and threw back the furs. There, crumpled on the ground, was the silk lined cloth bag that had held her most treasured possession. Her ancestral circlet was gone. Marala began to weep. “What… have… I… done…?” she mumbled through her sobbing.         
     

      As she kneeled, her face buried in her hands, a cold wind rushed over her. Someone had entered her tent. She quickly reached to her side and grabbed her dagger, turning quickly on her knees with her arm outreached and the blade pointing forward, her hand unsteady. Standing before her was Garus, her trusted protector. “Marala, ask no questions. Your life is in danger. We must go.” He reached down and grabbed her arm firmly, pulling her to her feet. She sheathed her dagger, and attempted to gather up her belongings. Garus growled at her in anger. “There is no time for this. We have to leave… now!”.       
     

      She nodded and they started to move towards the opening of the tent. Suddenly, Garus put up his hand indicating for her to stop. Footsteps were quickly approaching the tent. Garus silently motioned for her to turn around as he stepped past her. Taking out a knife, he sliced through the thick hide making an opening for them to slip through the back. Taking her hand, they ran bolting between tents, the snow crunching below with every step. Garus was wearing boots, but Marala, having only awoken not long before was barefoot. The pain of the frozen snow, almost unbearable. As they ran, voices seemed to be heard in every direction. Voices that quickly turned to shouts. They were making distance though and soon the shouting began to fade.          
     

      After a short time, Marala collapsed on the frozen ground. She sobbed as she grabbed at her feet in pain. Garus reached into a bag he managed to keep hold of as they fled and pulled out some cloth. Squatting down to the ground, he began to wrap her feet in the cloth. He was so gentle with her, as if she would break. Marala stared at him as he tended to her. He had always been so good to her. When she was first brought to Ophir, he had taken her under his wing. He reminded her of her father. Tall, with dark hair. Stern but kind. He had secretly taught her to read, right under the nose of the King. “The King…” She muttered to herself, as he worked. Garus looked up at her. “What?”. Marala stumbled over her words. “Do you realize what you have done?” she asked. Garus burrowed his brow and replied in a gruff voice. “I’ve done my job.”. “You’ve condemned yourself to death!” she exclaimed, in a panicked voice. Garus ignored her, and finished wrapping her feet.         

     Without hesitancy, Garus stood and helped Marala up. He turned towards the west and pointed. “Do you see that tree line there?”. Marala nodded. “That is where you need to go. I must return to avoid my connection with your escape.” As Marala continued to stare in the direction he indicated to her, Garus quickly turned to make his way back towards the camp. Marala, with panic in her voice called out to him. “Wait!”, She pleaded. Garus sighed and turned back to her, a look of anger on his face. “What… where do I…”, she stammered. “Look at me, Marala.” Her panic had caused her breathing to be unsteady. The cold was creeping through her garments quickly and she had begun to shake uncontrollably. Garus’ face softened as he walked back to her. Reaching up to her face, he took her chin in his hand, his face close to hers. “If you do not seek shelter, you will die. If you are caught by Rigello’s men, you will die. Do you understand?”. She nodded. He continued, “Cimmeria is just beyond those trees. Seek refuge. The people of Ophir are your only hope.”        

     She watched him leave. As he moved, he picked up speed until his figure was lost against the blaring white of the snow-covered ground. Tears streamed down her face as she turned back towards the west. She began to run. The snow below her feet had already soaked the cloth Garus has wrapped her feet in and the pain of the cold had begun to creep into her skin once more. It wasn’t long however, until wisps of green grass and gray rock could be seen in the landscape before her. Within minutes, she had reached the trees and ran into the safety of the woods. 

CHAPTER 5 - UNSPOKEN HOPE       

      Garus returned back to the Count’s camp. The other men were yelling around the campfire. As he approached, one of the men yelled towards him. “You know she’ll be dead by nightfall anyways, right?”. Garus retorted, “I tried to follow her and I lost sight of the bitch!”. The men continued to yell amongst themselves, seemingly accepting his response and dismissing the idea that he had helped her. “Rigello, will have all our heads for this.” One man, proclaimed angrily.       

      Garus proceeded to join them around the fire, warming himself while he hoped and prayed that Marala had made it to safety. He felt guilty warming his hands over the flames of the campfire, knowing he had left Marala to fend for herself in the wilderness of Cimmeria. 

      He had spent the last 5 years of his life, devoted to the Queen. She was almost like a daughter to him. He had been in service to King Moranthes for so long that he had never pursued a life outside the Capital. He had no family; no children of his own. He thought about how life would be for Marala, over the coming days and weeks. “If she even survives the night”. He thought to himself, echoing the words spoken by the other Man.   

CHAPTER 6 - THE FALL OF MORANTHES      

      A week had passed and Rigello returned to the Capital city with a few of his men. Storming through the main tower’s gates, he walked quickly towards the King, who was speaking with Alistair Black, the Lord Commander of Ophir's Army. Moranthes reacted surprised but called out “Ah, he has returned! I’m assuming the delegations were successful? Come let us drink and you can tell me about everyth…” His voiced trailed off. “But where is my wife?” he asked abruptly. “Cousin… Please… “. He motioned for him to sit. Moranthese’ eyes narrowed. “Where... is... Marala?”. Rigello, responding in a calculating voice, replied “Your whore has run off, Sire”. The look that came across the King’s face at that point was of pure hatred and anger. If it weren’t for the shared blood between Rigello and Moranthes, his sword would have been drawn at Rigello’s neck in a matter of seconds. Alistair, seeing the King's reaction barked at the count, "How dare you disrespect your Queen!". But Rigello stood firmly in his place. He knew the direction he was going and he was confidant in the response he was going to get. “My King…” he continued, ignoring Alistair, “Upon arriving in Hyperborea, your so-called queen found herself in the bed of a Vanirian. The man has been dealt with by my own blade, but Marala ran after she learned the blood of her lover had been shed in your name.”    

     
     The rage building up in Moranthes was evident. It rose up in him as hot as the rivers of lava that flowed freely from Mount Voormithadreth. “And you tracked her down, yes? You wouldn’t dare step back into this capital without my property in tow.” Rigello, shook his head slowly. “My men searched for days and found no trace, save for some blood we found outside of camp. She wouldn’t have made it far, not in those unforgiving lands. If the cold didn’t get her, the wolves surely would.” Moranthes was not convinced. “I will find her myself. Alistair, prepare my men. We will set out at Dawn!” Rigello smiled to himself, his plan was unfolding perfectly, and that power-hungry gleam that Marala had caught briefly in his eyes, was growing steadily.     

    
     After Moranthes had set out for the North on his search for the Queen, Rigello was often found sitting in the great stone throne. The words of the King, repeating in his mind. “You are to keep order here, in my absence. I will not return unless I find Marala. Dead or Alive.” However, a great tension was rising in Ophir. Alistair informed Rigello the word had quickly got out to the people that their Queen had been accused of betraying the King. They refused to believe that Marala was capable of such things and Rigello’s Tyrant tendencies had drove the people to call for an uprising. They believed Marala had been grievously wronged. Knowing that the king in his mad state, had left Rigello in charge, civil war was making its way to the Capital’s gates from all directions.  

CHAPTER 7 - CORRUPTION RISING 

     As the days wore on, Rigello felt the loss of control on a dangerous level. Ravens had delivered messages from numerous loyalists in the surrounding territories that the King had been spotted on his hunt for the Queen. His group of men had already dwindled, as their trust in the King deteriorated. Soon, he would be alone. 

     Ophir’s regions had sent their armies to gather at the main gate, bordering Stygia. They would be there in a days’ time. Rigello knew the Capital had its own small army, led by Alistair, but usually when the threat of War was on Ophir, the Kingdom relied on its regions to supply forces. The Alistair had pressed Rigello for action, knowing the gates of the Capital would fall under such pressure with the numbers that were expected. Rigello sat in the King’s throne, holding Marala’s circlet in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges of the metal slowly, as if studying it. He was trying to understand it. It had occurred to him that with so much knowledge revealed to him by Marala on what the circlet was capable of, she hadn’t explained how it worked. Her words repeated in his mind: “With this circlet, I have the power to bring forth the great ancestral armies of days past.” Rigello’s next move would seal the fate of the Capital and its armies within.        

     Suddenly, as Rigello was recounting his and Marala’s conversation, Alistair burst through the doors and into the throne room. He had several men with him. “Rigello!” The Commander yelled, “The fires burn in the towers!”. Alistair speaking of the great watchtowers along the walls of the Capital. When the great braziers were lit, it was a sign that a threat was near. “Ready the men!” The Count hollered. He rose and headed towards the courtyard, as Alistair followed. From there, shouting could be heard in all directions as groups of armed men gathered outside the Citadel. As Rigello stood facing the small army that formed before him, he shouted:” Your King has abandoned you! His people have joined him in his madness and we must take control!” He clenched the circlet in his hand, sweat dripping from his forehead. As he slowly lifted the crown to his head, his hands began to shake. He envisioned the armies of his ancestors rising up to join his men, together, a force to be reckoned with.     

    
     As he placed the metal firmly atop of his head, it glowed red and hot as embers. Rigello’s rage and desire for power began to feed into it. The ground shook violently and the wind began to stir, moving between the stone buildings and stirring up the hot sand as it picked up speed. The men standing in formation fell to the ground as it shook. Rigello was also brought to his knees as he reached out to steady himself against a stone wall. Suddenly, great howls began to fill the air. Strange, loud vocalization of unearthly things. As Rigello steadied himself, he lifted his head towards the direction the sounds came from. He saw his men scattering and screaming. Alistair also watched the scene unfold in front of him, bewildered. As the ground continued to shake, mounds of dirt and stone started to erupt in the courtyard.

     Following this, what appeared next sent fear straight into the heart of Rigello and his men. Skeletal beings grasped and clawed their way out of the ground. Some appeared recognizable, possibly dogs, and some were humanoid. While others were nothing of this world; large and terrifying. Rigello and the men scrambled back as the monstrous beings emerged. The look on Rigello’s face was a mixture of fear and awe. “Is this what’s meant to happen?” He thought to himself.  In just a matter of seconds the fear and awe turned into straight terror. One of the larger beings, reared up on its back legs and leaped towards one of his men. Its claws swung as he began to scream. In a matter of seconds, the man’s screams were silenced, as his blood stained the hot sand. Alistair started yelling for the men to get back. To Rigello’s horror, all of the creatures started attacking and slaughtering his men right before his eyes. He screamed out reaching his hands towards them, as if he could will the creatures to stop. The Commander screamed towards the Count, "Rigello... What have you brought upon us?".

          
     In his panicked state, he reached up to remove the circlet but it has fused to his head. He began to claw at it, desperately trying to remove the crown. Then a voice boomed through the chaos. He was able to focus in the direction of the voice. A shriveled skinned giant loomed over the bloody mess before him. He spoke with a deep otherworldly voice. “I am Klael. I am the bringer of death and destruction to those who call upon the ancestors with an impure heart.” Rigello, crumpled to the ground. He tried to speak, to plead to the giant but the air had turned bone dry. His voice was hoarse. “I made a mistake!” he managed to call out. He tried to look up towards the giant but his vision had become impaired by the growing sandstorm. The ambience of the Capital had turned a dark gloomy red. The once glorious and sound stone buildings and towers began to seemingly decay before his eyes, as if time had suddenly sped up. Suddenly, a burst of flame shot across the courtyard and the sound of rattling bones became deafening. With slow, purposeful steps, larger than any of the creatures, he had seen yet, emerged a large lizard like skeletal beast.

     Alistair, standing around the bodies of his men, in his shocked state, started to hear more screaming in the distance. The creatures had moved beyond the courtyard and into residential areas of the Capital. The city filled with the screams of pleading men, women and children. The Commander martialed the remainder of his forces and began evacuating the city. While he wanted to flee to save his own life, He refused to allow himself to become like those he had followed up till now. He was last seen guiding a group of frightened people through the west gate into Turan territories.

          
     Rigello, seeing no escape from his fate, stumbled to his feet and ran towards the demon creature. He threw himself at its feet and cried out, “I was only trying to be the leader Ophir needs… “, he called out. “But If this is to be my fate, take me quickly!” his voice trailed off. The great giant, Klael, walked towards him and plucked him from the ground. He reached up with one of his withered hands and tore the circlet from his head. Blood dripped from his scalp as he screamed out. Klael lifted Rigello up to his face, the giant’s breath rancid and hot. His voice boomed once more, “You have much to learn, to be a King.” The words spoken after were unintelligible, an ancient language forgotten in time. A flash of light and a thunderous sound echoed off the walls of the capital. And with that, Rigello found himself naked in the desert. A far worse fate then death, it seemed. Words mysteriously echoed in his mind. “Only from humble beginnings is a King born”.  

 
CHAPTER 8 - FINALE        

      Time seemed to stand still for Ophir. The Capital city, what remained of it, became a desecrated land bound by magic. An undead city, without a name. The regions had retreated after the kiss of death had been placed on the Capital, leaving it to rot where it once stood. The land seemed to be divided between those who held out hope that the Queen would return and those that remained loyal to the King, believing that his madness was only temporary.              The people of Ophir lived in a constant state of unknowing. Would life ever be the same? Who will protect us now? It didn’t take long before the regions themselves began to turn on each other. A kingdom, shattered into pieces.   

To be continued...