-1Materia Oblivios

PROLOGUE: THE FALL OF NAERIS

In an age long past, evil flooded over the land. Creatures of the dark wave of evil ran wild, unchecked throughout the land, ever pushing mankind to the brink of annihilation. In its despair, mankind appealed to the heavens, to the deities of the Second Age of Glamdel, and from a blinding light came hope. Five beautiful stones, intricately carven, descended from the heavens: the Blessed Jewels of Glamdel, which had the power to destroy evil for good. The hero Vox and his warriors used these five treasures to combat evil. They defeated the Demon King and sealed his putrid soul inside of the Blessed Jewels. With darkness imprisoned, peace would return to Glamdel. An age of peace would pass. Four thousand years has it been since the epic battle between Vox and the Demon King. But peace could not last. For some four millennia, a quiet peace has reigned in the absence of the past darkness. The Blessed Jewels have been passed from one generation to the next over the previous ages. Nations have been built around the Jewels' power and their legacy. There is the kingdom of Naeris, which is ruled by Flavian, the peerless Warrior King. Then there is the kingdom of Flerial, ruled by Salbei, the venerated Sage King. And the kingdom of Jazda is ruled by Rejnaat, Queen of the Crystal Sand. The eastern theocracy of Rolsten was ruled by Manzel, the Divine Emperor. And finally, there is the Vox Empire, ruled by Grillo, the stalwart Silent Emperor. These five countries have been joined by the slowly emerging republic of Caricio. In the prolonged peace of Glamdel, the ancient fights documented in the archaic script of Vox's day have faded into legend, and the ancient dark arts once widely practiced have all but evaporated from memory, save for several shamans in Vox's court. It is now the year 1039, in Glamdel's Fourth Age. In one instant, the whole of Glamdel has been threatened by an unforeseen atrocity. The Vox Empire, the largest of the five Blessed Jewel nations, has invaded the kingdom of Naeris, under orders by Emperor Grillo. Naeris, caught off guard, is unable to amass a great enough resistance. Adding to King Flavian's worries, his son Sinris has gone missing. Vox's forces move with a swift destructive power, seizing territory after territory. The battle has been taken to the gates of Naeris Castle itself. Naeris will fall; it is inevitable now. But King Flavian and Sinren must make their escape.

Vox was coming! A soldier runs from his post at the front of the Castle Naeris, running to see King Flavian. "Your Majesty," he says, looking perplexed and urgent, "I bear bad news. The castle gate… It's been breached, sire. Emperor Grillo's forces are within our walls."

Flavian's countenance had been set firm, he is sure he has seen the end of his reign, and he responds, slowly, "I… understand." He never turns from the window he is staring out to look at his Sergeant, the sunlight shining off his silver hair and reflecting off of his royal blue armor, but he keeps conversing none the less.

"Sir, the garrison has fallen. We've lost contact with Prince Sinris and can expect

no aid from his men. Your Majesty," He frowns, confused, "What are we to do?"

Flavian sighs, "What else can we do? Order your men to lay down their arms."

He looks at him, accepting that his King had just surrendered to Vox and Emperor Grillo. "Yes… Your Majesty." He gives his King a weak smile. "I wouldn't go any other way."

"Sergeant, please hurry." Flavian had not yet moved, but his face was contorting with worry, and his brow furrowed beyond its usual limit.

Princess Sinren runs up to the King, her long, light bluish hair trailing behind her, blowing in the wind from King Flavian's window. Her bright blue eyes are full of concern as she looks at him. "Father…"

"Sinren. Are you wearing the bracelet I gave you?" His tone was signaling a slight edge of worry, and solidity. He wasn't going to leave the Castle unless the Vox forces make him for the sake of diplomacy.

She looks at him, unsure of her father's meaning. "Yes, I have it right here."

"Good. Saul," he says without turning.

His General of the Naeris Knights approaches him, astride his steed. He is a young man of twenty-three years, yet he is already at the top of King Flavian's Knights. He has dark reddish-brown hair and a very official demeanor. He is every bit a warrior by looks, standing at six feet and four inches, and a handsome man by most conventional standards, with his soft brown eyes and his perfectly polished blue armor that marked his status, as it was a similar hue to His Majesty King Flavian's. He is a quiet, reflective individual, and has a soft voice, with which he responds to his King, "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Take Sinren and head for Flerial. King Salbei is an honorable man. I trust he will keep you safe."

"Understood. And what of Your Majesty?"

"Me?" he chuckles softly. "I shall remain here." He turns away from the window for the first time and looks gravely at his daughter and his General, with an air of reassurance and confidence under the serious exterior of the King's lined face. In all of his thirty-nine years of reign, since days before his seventeenth birthday, he had never faced so sticky a problem. His twin children are nearing their eighteenth birthdays, and he is so very proud of them. He knows he is at the end of his rope, for no diplomacy can save him. The culmination of his life's work begins to run through his mind. A single tear wells up in his eye, but he lets it go, for no amount of grief he is feeling at his own demise and that of his kingdom can prevent him from keeping a level head and ensuring his daughter's continued life. Though there is a jarring thought comes to him that frightens him. Can he have caused this attack and, succinctly, his own demise? Is it his fault? No matter, he would never show fear to Vox, Grillo, or any man he encountered. His lineage of Pontifex Fighters and Lords will not end here, even if the reign of King Flavian did. He speaks again, in a clear voice, "We have long held Vox among our dearest allies, yet now, they attack? I must know why. Am I somehow responsible for this?" He is voicing his deepest unsettling fear. "Have I erred in my leadership? Naeris is mine to guide… How could I have failed her so?"

Sinren's eyes widen. She knows her father's fate. "No! Father, you can't stay!

You mustn't! If you remain behind, so shall I!" Her eyes are moistened, for she doesn't think it possible that her father, King Flavian of Naeris' Pontifex lineage, could really be beaten now, of all times.

Flavian looks at Saul, who senses the emanating power that had made King Flavian Pontifex a powerful ruler and a real fighter. "Go now, Saul! Ride! Take her to safety!"

Saul rides over and grabs Princess Sinren, swinging her up onto his horse.

"Father!"

"Forgive me, Your Highness."

Flavian nods at a young cavalier, fresh from recruit training, named Uaine. He looks at his King for a moment for the last time ever and then races after General Saul and Princess Sinren, just as the Vox fighters surround the throne room.

Hearing the footsteps of Vox's men, the King looks upward, sighing. "So this is my end… Sinris, Sinren… You must survive."

Thirty fighters enter the throne room, all carrying assortments of swords and spears, even the occasional axe. Once all have entered, surrounding the King, three figures advance from the crowd. Two of them, King Flavian recognizes at once. The man with the impressive armor and massive black horse was Vox's General Xiomar, the man who had taught Flavian's son Sinris how to fight. He bows to the King, having deep respect for him ever since he had been introduced to him nineteen years prior.

"Your Highness."

"Xiomar." Flavian looks at Vox's General, seeing the anguish in his eyes, for Xiomar has never been a man to betray his allies, but he is and always has been loyal to a fault and faithfully serves his lord, Emperor Grillo, who, as fate would have it, is the second man King Flavian recognized. He has a look on him that was typical of His Majesty. Indifference. And the third man is another of Vox's Generals, Gonfroi de Cioches. He is an arrogant man, though a skilled fighter. In his hand is a massive sword, two-handed by make, but strong and balanced is his arm that he can wield it with one and wield his shield in the other. And on his back is an axe of silver quality, keenest of all those in the room. He grins at King Flavian, looking not unlike a goblin would after catching himself a particularly large vermin to eat, though without the green hue to his skin. Emperor Grillo takes a step further.

"Ah. King Flavian. We meet again."

"We do indeed, Grillo… Now tell me. Why this madness? Why would you invade our kingdom? Have we not long been faithful allies since the days Vox and Naeris fought together?"

Grillo holds up his hand. "Oh, hush, Flavian. I can't abide by prattlers." He snaps his fingers and Gonfroi steps up to Flavian, who remains still, continuing to stare straight into Grillo's eyes until he is bashed in the back by the blunt end of Gonfroi's axe, which he puts back on its strap with ease, smirking at the King, who is on his knees gasping for breath. His regal armor, some of the finest in all of the kingdom, is now severely dented. He is really and quite truly in danger now. Diplomacy is proving to be futile. He stands again, though not fully straight.

King Flavian winces as he straightens out his back. "Grillo, you can destroy me, but you will not destroy my children. They will seek vengeance! But you still have a chance to live well and prosperously with Naeris, nay, the whole of Glamdel, if you just stop this attack. You've no reason to do this. We've long been allies. I know the rest will forgive you, for I will if you cease here and now." He is almost pleading in a very dignified way that masked any worry or discomfort he is feeling.

"No. Haha!" He laughs coldly, with a laugh that was not very befitting of the man King Flavian once knew as Emperor Grillo of the Vox Empire. "I will not surrender. You are done, friend." The final word is spoken with such contempt, that Flavian's face now shows cold fury.

"You fool! You realize you now have all of Glamdel against you?"

"Hmpf. You prattle far too much." He nodds at Gonfroi and two of his knights, who roughly put Flavian against a wooden wall.

He looks at Grillo, "So this is it?"

"Indeed."

He lets out a sound of agony as the two knights take their spears and shove them into his shoulders, pinning him to the wall. Grillo half-smiles as he turns to his top archer, called Swifteye. "Not to kill. Let him feel it, though."

The arrow shot, straight and true, straight into the right side of Flavian's chest and he gasps in pain as blood runs down from the wound. He coughs, blood spurting forth from his mouth. Clearly his lung is punctured.

"Grillo…" Flavian hangs there, supported by the spears. His breathing is steadily getting faster and he growls again, "Grillo… Ah… You…" He winces, unable to speak, so he settles by glaring at him with fury beyond belief. His once calm blue eyes seem to burn now with the hatred of Hell itself.

Grillo snaps his fingers and another arrow is loosed, straight into King Flavian's chest, three inches to the left of his throat.

"Agh… Gri… Grillo… Why?" He looks at General Xiomar, pitifully staring at him in disbelief, "Xiomar… my old… friend… what has he… Ah… done to you…?" And he slumps again.

"Flavian, you fool. You are finished." Grillo is smirking, and he walks forward to where Flavian is slumped on the wall. "Face me… Face death, fear it, Flavian." There is a hint of jubilation, of cold satisfaction, in his voice, the cold contempt that he has fostered makes him enjoy to see the man before him suffering.

Flavian does not move, steadfast as ever, merely coughing and consequently spitting blood onto the marble floor.

"No? Very well." He takes his own sword and shoves it hard into King Flavian's stomach. The resounding cracks evidently make it obvious that the Emperor has also broken several of the King's ribs.

He yells in pain, blood flowing from his wounds. With his last ounce of strength, he lifts his arms and grabs the hand holding Grillo's sword where it is. "Ah… Tch… Grillo… you will fear my son. You've just signed yourself… ah… to death," he snarls with a look of grim satisfaction. And he pulls Grillo closer to him, and whispers in his ear, "My old… Friend, was it? Well, friend… you know that… your only fate now… is Materia Oblivios. And then you're as dead as I." Then, the Emperor's eyes wide in shock that Flavian knew his plan, Flavian grabs the spear in his right shoulder, yanking it out of its residence. He throws it down, freeing his arm to grab the hilt of Grillo's sword and therefore thrust it further into the wall, to the point where it is not going to even budge as Grillo struggles against his enemy's grip.

Grillo picks up the spear and shoves it through Flavian's throat, and Flavian lets out one last gurgled chuckle and even manages a wink at the Emperor as his eyes mist over and he leaves the barrier of physical existence. "Hahaa… Sinris… Sinren…"

Emperor Grillo is positively trembling with fear at the might of this man in his death throes. He has met Sinris on countless occasions, and he knows that he and his father are both very similar men. Sinris is his father's son to the finest detail; loyal, strong, fearless, and confident. In a desperate attempt to show his power over his former ally, he raises the spear high above his head and brings it down upon King Flavian's skull, with such a force that the ash shaft of the spear cracks in two and the spear that is still in his left arm tears through his upper left shoulder, disfiguring the corpse. It lands face up, Flavian's bright blue eyes staring lifelessly up at his adversary. Staggering, Grillo leaves the throne room, never once removing his eyes from Flavian's. "Alright. All of you. Out. Naeris has fallen. Gonfroi. Watch… watch over Castle Naeris." He is quaking with fear, hoping to the heavenly deities that Sinris will not be so stubborn and just die when he is staring into Hell's gates.

And so ends the reign of King Flavian Pontifex of Naeris, the peerless Warrior King, and a fighter to the end.

Meanwhile, outside, Saul and Sinren have escaped Castle Naeris through the destroyed gatehouse, with the whole of the Castle's garrisoned soldiers lying about, slaughtered, their carcasses staring outward. Uaine catches up with them.

"General Saul!"

"Uaine, ride ahead and bring word of our coming to Flerial. A single rider has better odds of passing unseen by Vox's men. Convey to the throne all that has happened here and petition for reinforcements. King Flavian is still alive in the Castle… mayhap it is not too late."

"U-Understood!"

Saul lets Sinren off of the horse and turns to her.

"Princess Sinren, we must-" He hears a shriek from above. "Get behind me!"

A man descends from the sky riding a wyvern, a dragon-like creature that is commonly ridden by those skilled enough to tame them. His has a silver mark like a sickle on his head and muscular red wings. Clearly, this is no ordinary Wyvern Knight. He is one of Vox's fabled Wyvern Lords. The two men who descend behind him are both on regular black wyverns.

The man wields a beautifully carven lance, and points it at Saul. "You there with

the girl. Tell me, would that perhaps be the wayward princess of Naeris? Well, this must be my lucky day." He has a snide drawl to his voice, and he is edging closer and closer to Saul. "You're a dead man. The wench goes with me."

Saul stares straight back into his eyes. "Never!"

The man advances on him. "So be it."

They clash in a duel. "I am Auberlon, the Moonstone, Vox's finest General! And you… you are just a corpse who does not yet know he is dead."

Saul charges forward, sword in hand, striking at the wyvern rider, who skillfully dodges and charges straight into his chest with his lance.

"Ah… NO!" Saul grabs Sinren by her shoulder and hoists her onto the horse and they gallop northward.

Auberlon stares after him, with a look on his face combining shock, a grin, and a smirk. "Such terrible wounds and still he holds to his duty? How entertaining." His cronies guffaw, looking at each other and looking extremely pleased with themselves. Auberlon looked at them and sighed, Such idiots, he thinks. "Fly away, little man." His snide drawl speaking again, "Fly away, try to outrun death. More time to savor the hunt… and the kill." His wyvern screams at the final word and the three wyverns take to the sky, lightning-like in speed, back towards the Vox Capital.

About a three minutes' gallop north of Castle Naeris, Saul lets Sinren down off of the horse, in a small valley surrounded on both sides by steep cliffs.

"Princess Sinren! This way! I can see no more of Vox's men. If we've made it this far, surely we've earned a moment's rest. Please, forgive my grabbing you so… brusquely

earlier."

"Don't be foolish, Saul. If it weren't for you, I would never have made it out of the castle. You are the reason I am still alive. You have my gratitude. And whoever that man was… Auberlon… or Moonstone… whatever have you, he was clearly after me… It's my fault that you received such a grave wound. Allow me to treat it, I-"
"Your Highness, I cannot allow an injury as insignificant as this to be an obstacle." He realizes that he is blatantly lying, he hasn't been in this kind of pain in ages. Best that she's not worried, he thinks. "We have more important matters to attend to without having to mend scratched soldiers." He grimaces as he said this, the wound in his chest burning with the contact with cold air. "We must press on to Flerial. We must fulfill His Majesty's-your father's- wishes." By now he is wincing with nearly every syllable he speaks.

"…I wonder how my father fares alone in Castle Naeris. Do you think he is safe? And what of my brother on the Vox front? We've heard nothing from him for days." She sounds very worried, and Saul isn't going to be able to calm her down if she gets hysterical, so he immediately tries soothing her with encouragement and praise of her kin.

"King Flavian and Prince Sinris are both valiant and brave men. I doubt even the might of Vox can keep either of them in check. More important to me, though, Your Highness, is that you look to your own safety. How sad the two of them would be if something were to happen to you." He gives her a rare smile and helps her up onto his horse. "Come along then. We must reach Flerial to ensure the day of your happy reunion."

"Yes, of course." She smiles back, one of the most beautiful smiles in the kingdom of Naeris. Princess Sinren is truly loved by her people for her beauty and righteousness she displays. "Until I am reunited with my father and brother, I must not despair. Come, Saul. Let us go."

He tugs the reins softly, making his horse begin to move at a slow trot northward. "Once we cross that bridge," he points ahead, "we will be in Flerial near the castle at Border Mulan. Let us proceed, Princess Sinren. Your Highness," he now looks a tad worried, "I won't lie to you, this will not be an easy ride. Please, take this rapier," he unsheathes an ornate Lieutenant's rapier, bearing the crest of the Pontifex House of Naeris. "If something should happen to me, you must continue to Flerial, alone if need be."

Sinren takes the sword, and looks at Saul, who has a grim look on his face and he turns around, dismounting from the horse. He walks over to the bend in the valley path. He turns around and mouths to her with a slight grin, "Ambush! Of course, right?"

"Oy! Yooou therrrre! Naerrris doogs!" yells a dirty savage-like man with a rather ridiculous accent, "Wherrrre da ye tink yeh're goong!"

Saul looks at Princess Sinren and shakes his head. "Vox's men… Stand back, Princess Sinren."

"I'm all right, Saul. My brother has taught me something of swordplay. I will stand with you and fight."

Saul nods at her and picks up a large rock. He walks out into the open, about thirty yards away from him. "So sorry, lad… but, um, we'll be going that way," he gestures behind him, pointing away from Castle Renais, "And I am terribly afraid that means we will not be coming with you today. So sorry." And he spins around, hurling the rock at the man who spoke, and it hits him square in his left eye, making a mist of blood right in front of his face. Then he crumples to the ground. "Dead," he murmurs, looking at the man he just killed, disgusted. "Sinren, get down, cover me!" He runs to his horse and jumps astride it.

"Attack!"

An man with an axe charges on Sinren and she jumps cleanly out of the way, stabbing him in the stomach on the way around him, and he, too, fell dead. A second grazes her with his axe, nicking the armor on her shoulder, but then she strikes the man across his neck, down to his waist. Saul gave her a half-smile and watched her fighting. "Good, Princess Sinren, Sinris has taught you well. Rah!" He strikes an advancing enemy hard in the neck. "All that's left now, Sinren, is the leader. Looks like he's next."

The leader, a rather ugly man by the name of Glayven, turned to face him. "What was that? Do you really think you can take me, wretched lordling? Come! It's time you high-and-mighty knights learned to respect a true warrior! You will be the first to die!" he yelled, running at Saul. "GLAYVEN!" he yelled.

"Hm… a war cry… how primitive and so very beastly. Honestly, I feel like I'm fighting an oaf from the Highlands. Ah. Very well." He hollers now to the man, "Ah. Big tough guy! I will fight you! Just please don't get my hands dirty!"

"You son of a-!"

"Tut, tut. Keep a civil tongue you filth." Saul rounds his stallion and it kicks the man, catching underneath his ribs, shattering five or six of them, and then, quick as lightning, he proves to Sinren, who had never seen him fight, why he was the General of the Knights of Naeris, and why her father so valued him. As Glayven was still flying through the air, he whips his lance out and throws it hard enough that he was dead before he hit the ground. "Saulll!" He says quietly, but still mockingly, rolling his eyes and laughing to himself. He turns to Sinren, "Princess, are you injured?"

She wipes the blood off of her shoulder and refastens her shoulder plate. "What? Oh, no… I'm fine, Saul."

"But you look so pale…"

"I'm fine… This is war isn't it?" She stares down at the slaughtered men, emotion welling up in her, "This isn't at all like the games I would play with my brother or Lyon. I never thought- I didn't know it would be this… savage. Are words useless? Is strength the only thing that matters anymore? It's so sad…" Tears are glittering in her eyes, "Why would the Vox Empire do this? To what ends would they start a war?"

Saul looks at her, touched by her righteousness, but still hardened by much combat on his own account, "Princess…"

She looks at him, wiping her eyes, and showing no sign that she had been depressed at all. "Don't worry, Saul. I won't give in to despair. I will not be broken, nor will I stop until I see my fair Naeris restored. I won't stop until I am once again reunited with my father and my brother." She now chuckles softly, "And I never have seen you make a joke, General."

He looks at her roguishly with a wink, and says, "Princess, I have tried not to be so superfluous as to joke in combat, but there had to be some challenge. In this way, insults were more complicated than the actual fighting." She nearly bursts out laughing at the General's antics and he helps her onto his horse. As they begin their slow journey north, Saul hums an old sad tune that a General from the Highlands had taught him in his early days of recruitment, to honor those fallen at Castle Naeris:

He is gone from this land,

No longer may we see the man,

From whose body the soul unravels,

And valiantly in silence does travel,

To that place where the fearless tread,

Aye, the honored valley of the dead,

He died that we may live free,

So spare a tear as sun meets sea.

And then he is silent, looking up at the setting sun, not knowing what he can do for His Majesty King Flavian out here, but to protect his daughter.
"Princess. We can make camp for the night."