PROLOGUE

It was a beautiful day in the city of Urton. The sun shone bright and billowy clouds drifted across the sapphire sky as the citizens of Urton went about their business with an optimism that had been absent in their hearts for too long. They had suffered long and hard during the horror of the Demon Wars, only to bear the brutal oppression of Bain the Dragon King immediately afterwards. Such ordeals were almost enough to crush anyone’s spirit…almost. But the Demon Wars were long over, and the Dragon King had been toppled from his despotic rule, liberating Urton and the rest of the cities of the Pix from his iron fist. Slowly but surely, the dire memories of the past were fading and Urton’s population felt confident that the gods were finally smiling down on them from their lofty heights, calmly assuring them that the worst was behind them at long last.

Urton was a city-state located in the westernmost part of the Pix. No one dared to dwell any closer to the accursed Blackwoods or to the shores of Death Lake. Urton, unlike most cities in the Pix, had built no surrounding wall for protection. Indeed, why bother when invasion and conquest was consistently deterred by the city’s proximity to a forest packed with ghosts, ghouls, banshees, and other unnatural horrors? Unfortunately, Urton’s luxury of perpetual peace and autonomy had been broken when the demons of the Thirteen Generations had emerged from the bowels of the earth and had overran the peaceful city. Such abominations had no reason to fear the Blackwoods, being in many ways far more terrifying than the undead things that lurked in that accursed forest. Neither did the proximity of the Blackwoods deter Bain and his Red Army from overrunning Urton with demoralizing ease. Yet, in spite of those horrible catastrophes, Urton managed to survive. And much pride was taken in that.

It was a busy day in Urton’s marketplace. Before Bain’s fall, Urton had teetered continuously upon the brink of starvation; subsisting on what little food they could grow upon their own infertile lands. But with the end of the tyrant’s rule, trade with other cities had begun. Urton’s merchants set out and returned with carts loaded with flour, cheese, cloth, and many other goods that the outpost city’s populace had long been denied. The square bustled with the buying and selling of goods as the people of Urton enjoyed the prosperity of peace and freedom. With all the horrors of the past behind them, they felt a bright promise for a better future, brimming with a hope that nothing could quench.

As if the city’s morale couldn’t be higher, a minstrel entered the square bearing a lute and the promise of musical yarns. The minstrel strode into the marketplace with a spring in his step and a lilt in his voice, happily greeting those he passed. The citizens of Urton were delighted to see him and for good reason, for they dwelt too close for comfort to the accursed Blackwoods and rarely received outsiders into their city, especially minstrels. Indeed, such folk preferred to practice their craft far away from the dark powers that lurked near Urton’s fringes.

Happy as they were to see the bard, the populace found him to be somewhat peculiar. For even though his manner was bright and cheerful, the clothes he donned clearly were not. He was dressed in brown leather and his face was hidden within a flowing gray cowl that was several times too large for his thin, lanky frame. It was unusual garb for a traveling bard, lacking the bright assortment of colors common among those who traded in song and story. In fact, his garments were quite drab and dowdy, like the clothing a hunter or woodsman would wear. And why did he keep his face hidden within the shadows of a cowl as if he had something to hide? Was it facial disfigurement, perhaps? Or maybe he was covering scars and burns he had suffered under torture during the Demon Wars. Speculation abounded for such oddities were mystifying indeed - mystifying enough to distract people from noting the most perplexing thing about the minstrel - Though any traveler would head for Urton from the east or the north, this minstrel arrived from the west, where the Blackwoods lay.

But regardless of the noted peculiarities, Urton warmly welcomed the minstrel for he was the first in memory their secluded city. So his drab clothing and hidden features were gladly excused as an enthralled audience gathered around, eagerly awaiting the entertainment he had in store. Standing upon a makeshift platform made of two wooden crates, the bard strummed his lute as he sang an opening song.

I am a minstrel from afar

Who’s come to sing in this bazaar

Of great heroes and greater deeds

To which evil forces concede.

The minstrel then asked for requests, which erupted from the crowd, vying for ballads dedicated to great heroes and their valiant deeds. Out of them all, the minstrel honored a call to sing of a heroine who had recently acquired much fame throughout the Pix - one of stout heart and strong will who had defeated a tyrant that had long held the Pix in thrall. And so the bard strummed his lute and sang.

From yonder world there came a child

Of amber hair and temper mild

Who wandered lost and without kin

Until a sage witch took her in.

Of common sort Sharon did seem

And never did the old witch dream

That no kind of spell, Black or Fae

Could any harm on this girl lay.

For her did the witch think it best

To join with others on a quest

To seek an item that would see

Tyranny fall and people free.

Through the Blackwoods Sharon did tread

Though ghosts and banshees she did dread.

With courage strong and valor great

She faced the griffin and her fate.

A gauntlet won and wounds endured

With little hope of being cured

Did evil rear its ugly head

By Devon’s Legions of the Dead.

Sharon escaped from Devon’s wrath

On an enchanted Faerie path

Then in the mountains she did train

To vanquish the dark rule of Bain.

At last the tyrant Sharon faced.

Much bloodlust did the despot taste

But when ruin befell his sword

Did a dragon consume the lord.

A champion Sharon became

With veneration on her name

We had no chance or hope to win

If not for this brave heroine.

After a flamboyant bow, the crowd praised the minstrel’s ballad with cheers and applause. Coins were thrown into a bucket placed beside his makeshift stand as the bard accepted the audience’s acclaim.

“But what of the witch?” someone piped from the crowd.

The minstrel started. “Pardon? Which witch are you referring to?” Some in the audience chortled at the minstrel’s pun. Others groaned.

“You mentioned a witch in your ballad to Sharon of the Other World,” said another. “She was an Olden, was she not? One who is wise in the wiccan arts and dresses in green?”

The audience murmured in assent. “Aye, stories of the green garbed wiccan woman has reached even this secluded city,” said another. “Might you have a song of her?”

Beneath the dark recesses of the minstrel’s cowl, a faint glimmer of a smile appeared. “Pleased I am to sing a ballad to the old witch,” said the bard. “An incarnation of the magical sphere of wicca, she has lived more centuries than most of you have years. As green as the forest and swift as the wind, truly there has never been any other like Olden Jade.”

Then the minstrel raised his lute and sang of the old witch.

There was a woman, very old

But she was no less brave and bold

Than any Younglin or Maitrin

Or any other one who’s been.

Her wisdom no one met by half

Was slow to anger, quick to laugh

And at her side the broom she made

The wiccan woman Olden Jade.

She dressed in green and wore a sash

And stood against tyranny’s lash.

With her resolve and spirit she

Set out to make the whole Pix free.

So with the aid of one young girl

Her plan to crush Bain did unfurl

And with her hair she broke the spell

That doomed all men to living hell.

With a keen mind she planned a quest

And on it sent the very best

Through the Blackwoods to the Plateau

Of the Griffin where few dared go.

For on the Plateau was the key

To the old witch’s victory

An ancient gauntlet, old as Earth

To which the elfin smiths gave birth.

She brought the vessel of Bain’s fall

To the foot of his castle wall.

She sent the vessel on its way

Then left to battle in the fray.

Due to the gauntlet, good prevailed

Where other untold forces failed

So may the legend never fade

Of the sage woman Olden Jade.

Once again, the minstrel was rewarded with another fervent ovation as more coins were tossed into the bucket. Encouraged by their applause, and their coins, the minstrel sang many more songs of heroes of valor and their grand adventures for the enraptured crowd. With his lovely melodies, he held his audience in awe as images of noble kings, valiant knights, and their courageous deeds swept through their imaginations. He sang more of the quest to obtain the Griffins’ Gauntlet, the instrument of Bain’s fall, and the mighty heroes who prevailed in the Battle of Bain City. In time, the bard brought his show to a close. The audience was disappointed that the minstrel was ready to move on, but not without a parting song.

Many a ballad I did sing

And entertainment I did bring

And with much regret I must go

And travel where the wind doth blow

And so Urton bade the minstrel farewell. Many people watched as the bard left the square, thankful to him for bringing song to a city that saw so little of such in its isolation.

And none cared that the minstrel never once revealed his name.

Next Chapter: New Chapter