Prologue:
Before he was accidentally inhumed in a vat of boiling wax, the renowned author Francis Bevel wrote of the famous prophet Brannos Carrg in a novel that time has forgotten. One surviving fragment of the book reads as follows-if one can see through the burn marks and smears of some small bit of a previous owner’s dinner.
And it was on the fourth day after the olde king had fallen on the battlefield to the south of the isle of Scorn that the prophet stood before his people and speakethed.
“Low and behold how the mighty have fallen. But I have seen through the verdant depths of the Universe to the truths hidden from the minds of simple men. The Fates have spoken to me and the knowledge of the ages now rests within my mortal coil!”
And the people were most impressed by this claim as it was far more interesting to listen to the wise man speak than muck the sheds. And they thought to themselves that if the many sages of the land hadn’t confirmed that this man was indeed wise they would think he was off his rocks-so to speak.
“They have shown me how in the beginning of time the sun did shine upon the earth and gave birth to the first of man. Then how the first man traveled the earth until he met with the firsts of all the other races and together they did craft the great city of Lunarius. Which resides in the moon to watch over us and protect us in the depths of night. They have shown me the fate of all mankind and all those other races who walk the earth alongside us-“
And it was at this point that in the back of the crowd some youth that has gone unmentioned throughout the ages did shout to the grand sage.
“Get on with the interesting bits!”
And there was much muttered agreement on how the assembly had better things to do, despite the lack of any motivation to go about doing them at this particular moment in time. And the prophet did fume and pull at his beard before he proclaimed in muted frustration.
“Alright then, fine. Nothing much happens for a while anyways.”
And the people did generally agree that this was for the best, so the sage pondered what to cut and what to keep. Before the people he eventually cleared his throat to begin again.”
“I’m sure you all know of the demise of our just and goodly king. But, I tell you to fear not for I have seen in the deceptive mists of the future the path that will lead us to salvation!”
And the people looked at each other and thought that this was indeed the good bits. The knowledge of the ages was nice, but being told what to do was something else.
“In the depths of the deepest cavern where the dwarfish kings did once reside I saw a shining sword forged in the twilight of the world. The finest craftsmen, spellcrafters and smiths did work for two hundred days-taking the nights off to be with their families-to create this magnificent weapon. Long has it lingered in the depths, its legend unheard.”
And the people did raise their eyebrows and were impressed as magic swords were an accepted staple of storytelling. If you didn’t have a magic sword you really weren’t trying hard enough. They fit into everything.
“I saw a brave and just warrior bearing the sword like a blazing beacon to drive the darkness from this land. I saw the earth crack open, hell pouring forth to be smited by the magic of the blade. I saw the dark king fall before the hero and light return to all the land.”
And thus the people had hope that the land would be saved and everything would be okay in the end without any of them having to lift a finger. The prophet was cheered as the greatest seer throughout the land. They say he never did lack for drinks and food until the end of his days when the king’s men came to congratulate him for his prophecy. Although the man who told it died, the prophecy lived on to be passed down through generation upon generation.
And it was thus that two hundred years later the monks of the order of light did take an infant boy from his cradle and seclude him in a monastery far from his home so that he could be the hero from the prophecy.
And many men came to train him in the arts of battle. The boy learned the use of every weapon under the light of the sun and excelled above even his teachers. The monks themselves trained him in the use of the deadest of martial arts until none of them could lay a hand upon him. And tutors from far and wide taught him the knowledge of the universe, the way letters flow across a page, how to invoke the enchantments that would protect him and how to write cursive which he never found particularly useful.
And the boy traveled out of his sanctuary to vanquish the surrounding evil until on his twenty fifth birthday the monks decided he was finally ready to brave the tests of the deepest darkest cavern in all the land and retrieve the legendary sword.
And the dwarves who had once filled the cavern had moved off somewhere leaving behind only an array of fearsome trials to test the resolves of any would be champions. The young champion was led to the front of the doors where he was told to find the inner most sanctum where the spirits of the blade’s protectors would grant him the power to save the world.
And the boy did-
It is at this point that a large blob of cloudberry jam completely obscures the text from even the keenest of eyes. The story that is told on those pages is lost to the ages, but if it wasn’t. If the stain was scraped away without damaging the ancient paper and a few more pages turned up underneath a barrel somewhere, then perhaps this is the story they would tell.