Tapestry of Power

Twenty-seven years passed after those words were spoken. The Realm of Earth was torn by war. Thousands of years ago, the Realm of Earth had been ruled by the great dragon Norenroth, but he had been cast down, and his place had been taken by the three most powerful wielders of magic in the Realm of Earth. Powers they were called, and, for thousands of years, generation after generation of Powers rose up to rule over Lairannare, as the Realm of Earth was commonly called. Some were good, but most were evil. The Powers who ruled now cared nothing for wisdom, virtue, and justice and instead sought to force the whole of Lairannare into subjection.

War ran rampant throughout the land, but, even in the midst of darkness, the kingdom of Nor was filled with joy, for the feast of Pallath-gaon was upon them. Pallath-gaon was the greatest of all the feasts celebrated in Nor. It was the last celebration before the end of the winter. This year it was met with even greater merrymaking then upon years previous, for the people of Nor knew that it would be one of the last occasions of joy for a long time; with the spring there would come war.

Of all the cities of Nor the high-walled city of Zaren was most filled with celebration, and of all the many places of celebration in Zaren the palace of the king was most joyful. It was aglow with a thousand sparkling candles, and it was alive with the sound of hundreds of different voices lifted up in song and cheerful conversation.

The banquet hall was filled with merry-making. The long wooden tables which lined it were laden with all the fruit, meat, and drink that a Norian could possibly desire, and many a burly soldier could be found standing there, helping himself to plate after plate of food. The air was filled with the most delicious of smells--meats, breads, and the smoke of the candles; one would have been hard pressed to find a person whose mouth did not water at it.

The space not filled with the tables was taken up by couples dancing. It mattered not one’s station; the kitchen maids and servant girls danced with knights and lords, and a page or a stable boy, if he were particularly polite, might win a dance with a lady. Even King Ibrahim and Queen Malcah could be seen gliding across the floor.

Everyone within the palace spent the night in merrymaking--all save one. Orion was his name, and, though he stood in the grand banquet hall where the greatest of the celebrating took place, he stood apart and looked thoughtfully, and even rather mournfully, upon those gathered there. Though now a common soldier, he still bore a remnant air of the savage, wandering warrior he once had been. He was of but average height, though it was clear that he was exceedingly strong; the sleeves of his plain, green tunic were short and left bare his muscular arms. There was a certain hardness to him--not the hardness of cruelty but the hardness common to many men who had lived the rough-and-ready life of a roving warrior.