PROLOGUE: The Dawn of a New Age.
The King of Albion stood on the crumbling ramparts and battlements, hailing to the people below. The Darkness had been driven from the world at last, and a time of peace would surely follow.
The crowds below cheered, screamed and cried together as one, rejoicing that their suffering was gone. With a final wave to his subjects, the King turned and walked back into the Castle. It was over.
He walked alone; Page, Sabine, Ben, Walter and Kalin were all most likely recuperating from the battle with the Crawler and it's mysterious legions now. Not that the King minded.
To his great delight, he found the Throne Room completely empty. He walked up the hall and sank into the giant chair, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.
"You did it, Brother." The King's eyes snapped open and fell on his older brother and former king.
"Logan… You gave me quite the fright." He said, blinking and sitting up more straight. "But yes, tis over at last."
Logan sank into the chair beside the throne, wiping the dust and grime of battle from his face. Even with his lack of heroic ability, he hadn't escaped the fighting all together. "You did what I could not." Logan said, almost regretfully. "I tried to save my people, but I became the very thing that I stood against. A monster."
The King sat forward and placed his hand on Logan's shoulder. "No, Logan. You did your best. Your methods were, verily, questionable. But your intentions were always pure."
"The road to Skorm's Realm is paved with good intentions." Logan said, but with the hint of a smile. "You saved your people. Our people. And you did so without becoming a plague on Albion, as I did. Mother would have been so proud."
Silence fell on the brother's, as they were lost now in memories. Memories of their Mother, the Hero Queen, flashbacks to their childhood, thoughts and reflections over the recent years. It would be a good deal of time, not until the wounded had been tended to and the dead lamented, that they would look to the future.
As the sun set behind the castle, the rejoicing crowds thinned out and dispersed. The merry-making would be put on hold for a few days at least, but for now the people would rest happily, knowing they were alive.
They were so overjoyed that they didn't pay heed to the rather strange looking man in their midst. Swathed in a heavy travelling cloak, covered in mummy-like bandages, with an ornate scythe strapped to his back, the man had almost appeared from nowhere right at the end of the battle and joined the thronging crowds outside the castle.
The man stood alone in the courtyard for quite sometime, staring up at the castle. His face, hidden behind the bandages, was unreadable. But his posture was easy enough to decipher: Relieved.
When the sun had fully set, almost as though he'd been waiting for the cue, he turned on his heel and walked off through the battered streets, his cloak swishing in the light breeze that blew in from the coast.
True night had fallen by the time that William Black (also known as Scythe) passed through the unguarded gates of Bowerstone and gazed towards the sea. The full moon hung in the sky above a tall, black rise out in the water; The Tattered Spire. The Last Archon narrowed his eyes at the Spire, annoyance rising within him. "Why didn't you help, Seeress?" he muttered in his raspy, gravelly voice. "You could have driven the scourge from Albion with ease. Yet…. Ah, maybe one day you'll learn…" The Last Archon, the King of the Old Kingdom shook his head regretfully, wrapping his cloak around him more tightly and moved away down the path towards Bower Lake.
His thoughts now drifted to the future, and what lay ahead for the world. With the Crawler and his nightmare legions gone, surely nothing would trouble Albion or her people. Theresa had control of the Spire, and nobody would ever take it from her.
What William didn't factor into his thoughts were the hearts and minds of men, and how easy they were to corrupt. Wealth, power, fame… Most men would slay their best friend to gain those. And as it would turn out, over the next two thousand years, many WILL kill for personal gain. If the Last Archon had known, mayhap he would not have left Albion at that point in time.
But he didn't know, so he returned to the Land beyond the seas. Albion prospered under the Hero of Brightwall and his descendants for many years in peace, but it wouldn't last forever. The age of technology came, and men fought with strange weapons that were dropped from the skies and burned the world.
The Balverines, Hollow-Men, Hobbes and other dangerous beasts were all but wiped out, and as their numbers dwindled they were forced into Zoos to be stared at and tormented by the "more advanced" yet horribly less intelligent people of the new world.
The only relic from the old days which remained was the Spire. Many had tried to enter it, or destroy it, but were repeatedly thwarted by "The Witch of the Tower". Theresa found their attempts at taking her precious Spire rather entertaining. As though they could ever remove her from her tower, the fools.
Slowly but surely, Albion began to tear itself apart under the weight of war. Brother fought Brother over almost anything they could think of, as though they simply needed an excuse to tear each other apart. The fighting continued and continued, until most of this "civilized" world lay smashed and broken, and finally, Theresa stepped in.
Using the power of the Spire, she laid waste to the machines of the world and stripped it bare. A new start, as it were. An end to the chaos and destruction.
When the people of Albion emerged into the world again, they found a peaceful and tranquil world. The buildings, roads and weapons of the age were gone, and they had no knowledge of them anymore. They knew nothing of the world before, and men who would have killed each other not too long ago now stood beside one another as friends, helping to rebuild and create.
The only signs of civilization left were crumbling ruins from a much older age, before the world fell into war and darkness.
But not all was light and happiness in this new world. Out of the darkness came the monsters and creatures of old. Balverines stalked the forests, Hobbes made homes in the dank caves and deep underground, the Undead crept from the shadows of crypts. Even Trolls, Banshees and the Giant Scorpions returned to the world.
It was a dangerous world indeed, but with the destruction and hatred of mankind gone from Albion, the people were better off. Many of the old crafts returned to them, and the people of Albion soon built sturdy homes and guarded them with keen blades and bows.
In this time of peace, no ruler was elected, and no man or woman sat on the throne. With plenty of food and land to spare, they felt it unnecessary to call forth a monarch to hold sway over the lands.
Only two aspects of the old world remained; A fear of the Witch of the Tower had lived on, as had a dislike of anyone deemed to be a Hero. Of course, the old arts of Strength, Skill and Will returned to a select few, but the broken halls of the old Guild remained empty. And none since the Hero Queen had been able to wield all three arts at once.
For now, Albion was safe.
But again, that peace would not last forever…