Though these lands have many names, each kingdom and tribe differing in how they call their homes, the spirit of song never wanders through the taverns and woods as a stranger. For while the humans call these lands Zaron, united under the banner of the Kingdom of Kupa Keep, and the drow elves refer to them as Larnion, guided by the leadership of the Elven Kingdom's monarchy, song is never lost. From the ballads of the common peoples, their easy tunes declaring the sweet simplicities of village life, to the odes of the battlefields, their awesome hymns depicting the rises and falls of great heroes, music has fostered the histories, nurtured and nourished them, allowed them to thrive and persist. The lyrics of these songs document what court historians can scarcely write quickly enough, with kingdoms clashing with such constancy, the campaigns bleeding together, the ink of the past not yet dry on the page by the time a new crusade overwrites victories prior. The messiness of history, its pace and politics, is shed when put to rhythm, when musicians pluck the gut strings of their lutes, bow hairs from manes across their chords, breathe melodies into their woodwinds. The bars, the pubs, the camps, the brothels; everywhere they sing, choral chants influenced by drunken merriment and working ennui weaving together a rich harmonic tapestry, of the complexities and intricacies of their teeming and thriving universe. Song immortalises history, but as it circulates, history becomes legend, becomes myth.
Perhaps this tale is just that, the fabrication of oral mistake, the gild of truth chipping away in the tradition, until only a shabby relic remains, lacklustre and cracked, room for many questions. The saga of the Stick of Truth may only be a story told to the children of the lands, enthralling them with talk of bloodshed and battle, of power and corruption, of lust and love, of duplicity and betrayal; mothers and fathers can only hope their young ones recognise the follies of those last to hold the artefact, wield the Stick before it disappeared. They can pray that, in their idolisation and fascination, they will recognise the flaws of their heroes, understand how the influence infected each one, until they all met brutal consequence. For the last history of these lands, the final song of ass and fire, is the Epic of the Four, the four whose quests for victory and might culminated in Zaron's darkest days, Larnion's grimmest chapter, the civilisations' near end.
Of the four there was a wizard, one who reigned over the humans as their king. His knowledge of magic could only be matched by his thirst for control, his desire to see the Elven Kingdom engulfed in flames, and their king writhing bloodied and defeated beneath his feet. He directed his soldiers with his enchanted staff, but more often than not sat leisurely back on his throne, all while good men died in the name of his cause. He ruled through fear and, with the Stick in his possession, none could question his ways, for those who did met banishment, from space and from time.
Of the four there was a high elf, one who held the crown of the sylvan glades. His blood gave him the throne, but his tact and his acumen kept it in his hands, and his rallying presence in the camps as well as the battlefields kept him loved by his people. He wanted the world to be rid of the unjust and criminal, all which was supported under the wizard king's creed, and saw the Stick as an instrument that could free the world from such sufferings. His idealism and his ambition captivated him, but most were so blinded by the gold in his words that none could see flaw.
Of the four there was a princess, one who dwelt amongst brutes not courtiers. Her beauty and her compassion inspired the humans hardened by war, a single smile or show of her breast enough to keep morale from plummeting. She cultivated her mind along with her body, mastering the arts of subterfuge and statecraft, exceeding all human soldiers in archery and agility, utilising her immortal abilities, and becoming a prized member of the human force. Her dreams were not bound to a kingdom, however, coveting the Stick as a method to embrace her claimants.
Of the four there was a warrior, one who commanded the armies of the forest. His prowess with the sword combined with his everlasting loyalty to his king granted him the chief position of the elven fighters, strategizing as well as enacting. He guided his men to many victories, rounds of ale raised afterwards to praise him, and saved them from unneeded casualties, lives of rangers spared courtesy to his manoeuvring. He greatly loved the kingdom he served, the land he protected, the king he revered, though such love when corroded can turn to desperation, all because of the Stick.
These four chose their destinies, thrusting to the beguiling beckons of the Stick, crossing their fates and entangling the lands. These four lost themselves to the possibilities, of being able to manipulate the very universe, until the greatest kingdoms crumbled and all joy they sought from oaky potential disintegrated, became ash in their mouths, and choked them all to death. These four marked themselves in history, but at the cost of infamy, of tragedy, of tears and of blood. These four destroyed the world, after they destroyed themselves, destroyed each other.
This tale takes place when the kingdoms still thrived, when the Stick wandered freely between ancient enemies, human and elf locked in endless battle, vying for its power. This is how Zaron and Larnion turned to tattered fabrics of their former glories, ending the era of classical warfare, ushering in one of violent chaos. This is how these lands became lawless, their boundaries blurred and erased, and the Stick lost. This is the Epic of Four, and it begins in the Long Ago, the Before Time, in these lands far, far away…
A/N: So I've been planning this story for a while, and I've got a lot planned. Since this just the prologue, expect chapters to be (a lot) longer. I hope that you enjoy this story, and enjoy keeping up with it. Fair warning, there will be violence and graphic non-consensual fantasies. Warnings will be given when they arise. Thanks for reading!