The Chalciren

Make sure to check out the narration video! Without further ado:

There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley. Long ago, a people fought valiantly to drive them from the land. They called themselves the forerunners, and they would not give up what little peace they found. Swords gripped firm and shields held high, they fought doggedly to whatever ends, and from the ashes of dragon fire, they stood victorious. The defeated dragons admired the forerunners bravery despite their dispute. This was not the first of the forerunner's hardships.

Ten years earlier, the forerunners were forced to flee their homes because they refused to bend their knee to the warlords of Antipacia. Facing annihilation, fleeing to fight another day seemed reasonable to the forerunners. They travelled great distances as exiles, searching for a land where they could find peace from their trials. Their journeys spanned north, south, east, and west, but not one soul welcomed them into their lands. It seemed as though they were cursed by the divine, yet that was not reason enough for them to give up.

After seven harsh winters, the forerunners expedition took them to a valley named the Chalciren, A land ripe with fruit, wild game, and timbers, but this was not all. Nearby lands rumored that the Chalciren was ruled by dragons.

The forerunners thought little of rumors, but this would prove no end to their struggles. As the wings blotted out the sun and the dragon fire filled the sky, the forerunners drew the swords of their fathers and yelled their battle cry once more.

The dragons saw them as conquerors; thus, peace was not an option. Three years of bloody war ensued between man and dragon. The forerunners would not give up the hope they had found until their bodies were rent of their souls. Their bravery was indisputable, and the dragons suffered it.

The dragons grew sick of the bloodshed, and offered the forerunners an oak branch, a symbol of peace. The Dragons would not cross into the Chalciren for 200 years, and the forerunners would not enter the surrounding lands for 200 years.

With peace made, the forerunners appointed a king to rule the land. In fact, 12 kings ruled the Chalciren honorably for the span of the 200-year peace. The great timbers were cleared, beautiful ores were mined, many cities were founded, and the people flourished. The reign of the twelve kings was long, prosperous, and peaceful, but was not eternal.

Aelwulf the twelfth king grew ill near the end of the 200-year peace. His days of serving his people drew near to an end. His three noble sons were sorrowful but were in dispute who would rule the Chalciren upon their father’s passing. Their love for each other slowly waned. They refused to bend the knee to each other, neither would they reason.

Aelwulf was heart-broken at his sons’ dissent. They were wroth with him because he could not name any of them as his successor. The Twelfth king laid in his deathbed, drenched in tears, none of his sons by his side. They believed finding followers before the impending civil war was of greater importance.

On The Morrow of a Thousand Tears, Aelwulf the twelfth king of the Chalciren died. A leaderless people in a land surrounded by dragons were lost. The peace with the dragons was over, the king was dead, and from the ashes of a peaceful land, rose civil war.

Brother against brother, father against son, countrymen against countrymen. They forged their tools into spears, their tables into shields, their linen into banners, their hearts into iron. Those who preached unity died by the sword. Those who fled to the surrounding lands died by dragon fire. Desperation and malice ruled the land.

War seemed everlasting and merciless, each side trapped between the decision of defending their beloved valley or fleeing into the mountains, ruled by the dragons. But that did not matter. From all sides, the dragons came in terror, ravaging the lands. The three sons of the king refused to help one another. If the dragons would destroy the other sons and one could hold them at bay, then it was needed help in a bitter civil war.

But it did not bring needed help but brought unnecessary bloodshed. The great timbers burned like the stars and the cities were engulfed in great flames. Those who watched, burned. Those who ran, fell upon the sword.

Other lands saw the smoke that filled the sky. It was an omen from the dragons, that those who sought refuge in the Chalciren were hopelessly lost.

Many saw inevitable death, but not all watched from their towers and strongholds. Warriors from all lands seeking redemption, glory, and honor rallied under what they called the banner of the Red Raven. It’s commander promised glory and triumph, a people saved from the jaws of dragons, and a land restored to former peace. He was a hero bathed in honor and glory, whose name would echo throughout eternity.

Thraxus.