Thalion sat smoking his pipe in front of a dilapidated Manor house that was the the main building, and in fact the only large building, apart from the mill in the whole of New Ismirala village. Looming in the distance was a Ismirala castle, a castle that now belonged to another faction. After the great AFK plague there had been a brief revival of the noble Noldork heritage that was deeply rooted in the lands of Calradia, the son's of Mithrim along with other hearty northerners rose up and created the Northern Dominion. Yet the world was wracked by more tragedy and then the great Admin-Ban Plague started which cut down much of Calradia in its new found glory.
Thalion, once Viceroy of Mithirm and later a leader in the Northern Dominion had retreated from the world. For years now he had lived in this falling down manor just to keep an eye on the good folk of Mithrim that still lived in the North, even if they had forgotten now from whence they came.
Now, a letter had come from an old comrade thought dead.
"Thalion my old friend, we have fought both with and against each other in many wars throughout the years. However, no war or time period is as important as this. With the world as we know it on the line. I would selfishly ask you to put on your armor, sharpen your sword, and call your bannerman as we take the field for what may be our last strat. Let us not go down as the ones that let it die, let us go out as the ones that brought strat back to life.
The peasents and the lords of the realm are starting to stir. We are seeing People that have not been seen in eons start to grind and move, to what ends we dont know. And with the HCE fractured and weakend with the death of the emperor there is no time to waste as we gather our forces and our resolve as we set forth to start a new age.
- Mr Blue"
Thalion set the letter down and took a long puff on his pipe. At least the war had not cut off trade with the south completely and he was still able to get decent pipe weed. He frowned, though the letter was written in warm tones something still disheartened him. True, the old Northern Dominion was dead, and it's memory swept away by a new people... yet those new people were also practitioners of Chazdsim... which is kinda like Marxism only with Great-helms. They were ancient foes of Mithrim indeed. Yet, what if they could grant back the ancestral castle of Ismirala? What if the Wardens of Mithrim could be revived to its former glory... what if... if.... if...
Thalion was suddenly reminded of really good poem named "If" by Rudgar Kipling. Didn't he see Michael Caine reading that once on youtube? Suddenly, curious, Thalion dug out his scrying mirrior and opened up a new browser tab....
TO BE CONTINUED
