Long ago, in this kingdom we call Zaron, there were two wise kings who ruled together, side by side. The first was a noble High Elf, thousands of years old with green eyes that sparkled with wisdom. The second was a Grand Wizard, who excelled in battle strategy and could win a battle without losing a single soldier. United, the two strong personalities were able to balance each other out, and peace echoed throughout the lands.

Together, the kings knew their lives would not go on forever. They would have to pick a successor to their thrones, someone just as brave and wise and selfless as themselves. The child they chose trained hard to impress them- more than anything did he crave the power that was promised to him. To be king meant you were smart, brave, and well loved by all in the kingdom. But it was not just these qualities or the things that came with them that made the kings as strong as they were.

Locked away tightly in a highly guarded room lay an ancient artifact, only know as The Stick of Truth. It's true name was rumored too powerful to be uttered by mortal tongues. Anyone who held the Stick had the power to alter reality as they knew it- time and space could bend to his any want.

The two kings had mastered the Stick, and knew of the self-control required to wield it. Without balance, either of them could succumb to its power, and their kingdom would crumble. They knew they could not crown the child until he proved he could handle what was at stake.

The child, however, never showed himself to be anything but greedy. He worked hard, but his end goal was not to protect the kingdom. They realized he was unsuited to rule, and in turn, possess the artifact. When the kings refused to crown him, the child was full of rage. Late in the night, both he and the Stick vanished.

He called himself The Dark Lord, and with the Stick in his hand, he proclaimed himself the ruler of a third of the kingdom. Chaos erupted, and the two kings were unsure what to do. The balance they possessed crumbled as they fought, and soon enough, the kingdom was divided into three factions, each ruled by one of the formerly united rulers. After a while, it was rumored that The Dark Lord had lost the Stick, but nobody knew where it had gone. Without the artifact, how would the kingdom survive?

Rules were established to try and restore peace. The factions must stay loyal to their rulers. Boarders may not be crossed. Despite these rules, The Dark Lord worked in the shadows. He recruited hundreds of young children from both the other factions to work in his army. He hoped to one day retrieve the Stick that he had lost, as whoever possesses the Stick controls the universe.

"Feldspar. Come to me."

In the center of a darkened room, a child sat upon a black throne. One leg was thrown haphazardly over the armrest, the other dangling towards the floor as he slouched, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. The sound of silence was broken by boots on the metallic floor, the heels clicking until they reached a stop before the king. He stooped to his knees, looking up.

"My lord."

The child shifted, sitting up in his chair and offering a hand to the boy on his knees. Feldspar, as he had been dubbed, was not much younger than he was. They were both humans, and if he wasn't a king, they would live in the Grand Wizard's faction. After all, that's where Feldspar had come from when he was recruited to his kingdom.

Feldspar took the king's hand, gently kissing the top as he looked up with focused blue eyes. They narrowed when the king raised an eyebrow, seeming to be thinking.

"You are loyal to me, correct?" he implored, cocking his head.

"Yes, my lord."

"And you would do anything for me?"

"Yes."

The king gingerly pulled his hand away, resting a fingertip against his lips. "You swear?"

"Of course, my lord." Feldspar stood when the king waved for him to rise. "I serve this kingdom, and in turn, my king."

"I've trained you well," the child said simply, waving his hand as he slouched back into his chair. "Tell me, Feldspar…why am I here, and not in a grander palace? Why do I only look over a third of the land? What's stopping me from taking everything I deserve?"

"You lost the Stick, sir," he said calmly.

"I did not LOOSE THE STICK," he suddenly shouted, pounding a fist against the armrest of the chair. Feldspar jumped, taking a step back. He knew better than to interfere with a tantrum. "I did not LOOSE IT! It was stolen from me! I was robbed!" The king leapt to his feet, shoving away the chair. It tipped and clattered to the floor, letting a booming echo bounce around the room. When all fell silent, and he was done yelling, he stepped forward towards the younger boy, eyes full of anger. "I want my Stick back. It belongs to me. You're going to go get it for me."

"Yes, my lord. Anything you wish." Feldspar couldn't believe it. He didn't even know where the Stick was; let alone how he was going to retrieve it. "And um…if I may ask…" The king's eyes shifted, giving a firm glare. "H-How am I going to do this, exactly?"

"Feldspar, Feldspar, Feldspar…" The king let out a giggle, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "You are my royal thief. You're just going to steal back what's mine."

"From…From the barbarians, sir?" Feldspar widened his eyes. They had ransacked the Lord's castle but days before, taking many items and destroying whatever they didn't want. They obviously had what the king requested. Feldspar couldn't believe it. No, entering barbarian territory was suicide. Everyone knew the stories. You never mess with a barbarian. They're too strong, too quick, too smart. You will never survive. They ransack villages and even though they belong to the human faction, the king never makes any move to control them.

"Of course. Those no good beasts have stolen from me for the last time. They've taken too much from my kingdom and they will be stopped. You're going to find the Stick, and you're going to bring it back to me. Then I'll punish them all!" The king stomped his foot excitedly, throwing his arms up in the air. "When I'm reunited with my power, I'll be unstoppable, I'll rule all of Zaron, and I'll have everything I want. And you, Feldspar…" The king placed a hand upon his cheek, smirking. "You'll be my right hand man, and I'll give you anything you desire. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," he replied, grinning. "I will retrieve what you want."

"Good." The king gestured to the grand window of his throne room, overlooking the woods. "You will go out there and find the barbarians. Do you remember what I showed you just before they attacked?"

Feldspar began to think, and then nodded. "You showed me…a necklace."

"Yes. That necklace has the power to guide the wearer to what they most desire. It was also taken from me. Perhaps, if we cannot find the Stick, it can lead us to it." The king turned back to Feldspar. "You will find those Barbarians, even if it means crossing borders. Do not return unless you have one of three things- my Stick, that necklace or," he laughed, biting his lip to control himself, "the barbarian king's head. If you dare come back without them…" he chuckled, dragging a finger across his neck with a wild grin. "Understand?"

Feldspar gulped, nodding. "Yes, my lord."

"I'm glad you understand. Now, away you go." The king waved his hand as he picked up his chair, setting it up nicely again and sitting down again.

"Yes, my lord." And with that, Felspar turned, heading out the door.

The boarders of the kingdoms were dangerous to cross. Entering another territory was already a crime, and those on the other side were far from welcoming of outsiders. You were sure to be killed no matter how you looked at it if you crossed one of the expansive walls.

Fantastic.

Feldspar knew that crossing was inevitable. The barbarians were typically a nomadic group who moved from place to place, but mainly set up their camps within the human kingdom, as they preferred to stay somewhere they felt protected. Although they technically fell under the rule of the Grand Wizard, the barbarian's had their own king who led their group from place to place as they raided and took what they needed. For years, nobody had known who their current king was. It changed often, as old kings died or were challenged for their position.

Feldspar knew little about their society, but he knew that the king was always the strongest. He ruled killing him out of the question. If he wanted to survive, he wouldn't dare confront him.

After a two day's journey north, he arrived at the wall that separated the Dark Lord's kingdom from the humans. It was built well, mostly to keep other kingdoms out rather than it's people in. Nobody in their right mind would leave the safety of the kingdom anyhow.

Feldspar would have to be an exception to this. After all, for a thief, rules are made to be broken.

Using nothing but the strength he had on his lanky form, Feldspar began to scale the wall, clinging to the gaps in the bricks, finding rough footholds and shelves to rest on. It was about 20 feet up to the top, then another 20 feet down, although Feldspar was sure that he could cut that short with a jump when he was close to the bottom. Agility was one thing a thief could take pride in, which he did. When he reached the top, he sat and rested, scouting out where to go from his high vantage point.

The human kingdom was rather beautiful. At the highest point was the castle that had once been home to both kings before Zaron was divided. Below it was a magnificent city, and even lower than that, a vast farmland full of villages. Surrounding it was a forest of trees, which became denser the closer it came to the wall. Feldspar knew it well, as his old home was just a bit north from where he was at. He didn't want to think about that though. He had more important things to do.

He guessed that the barbarians would likely hide in the out-skirting trees, away from civilization as not to be bothered, but also close enough to raid the nearby villages if they wanted to. By that guess, he would need to head a bit to the east. His tracking skills weren't as good as he wanted them to be, but it might just be enough to get by. He began to descend.

At the bottom of the wall now, he began to head in the direction he had guessed. The trees were thick here, without much light, and he was careful to watch where he stepped in case there were traps. Barbarians were notorious for protecting their temporary camps with traps for food, or perhaps threats, who may wander past.

The further he went, the more unsettled he began to feel. Maybe it was just the darkness of the forest, or maybe it was his nerves, but it felt like something was watching him. There was no movement around him though, so it couldn't be, right? There were the faint markings of tracks in the road before him, almost looking like someone had tried to cover them. Clever, but not clever enough. He stooped down, staring at them, trying to make sense of who they might belong to.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, an arrow whizzed past, barely grazing his cheek. Without a second of hesitation, Feldspar's eyes shot upward to the trees. Dammit! He should have known! Another arrow fired from somewhere within the branches, again barely missing him as he scrambled to his feet. Panic seized his body, forcing him to run haphazardly along the path rather than hide. He could hear the sounds of yelling in another tongue, and although he couldn't understand it, he knew what it was.

Barbaric. They were here, he had stumbled right into their guards.

He continued his mad dash, chest heaving, and heart pounding in fear. The whizzing of arrows came from all sides, barely missing him as he dodged and leapt and rolled. He was getting closer to the camp, he knew it, all he had to do was outrun the soldiers.

More yelling came from his right side. He changed his direction a bit too quickly, tripping on his boots and rolling, getting caught in his cape. "Dammit!" he gasped, quickly rolling again and ripping out of his self-made trap before hurrying to his feet again. The precious lead he had gained was lost, and they were closing in, even if he couldn't see them. He could see the camp now, just in the distance. He was nearly there, he-

He let out a scream as something suddenly grabbed at him, lifting him up. Nonononononono! A rope trap! The simplest thing in the book and he had walked right into it. He screamed and kicked and tried to escape, but his panic prevented any rational thoughts. Oh no, he was dead. He was dead.

They began to immerge from the trees, climbing down and approaching him.

"Please, please kill me quickly," he cried. "Spare me, just get it over with, I-"

Whack. He was out like a light.