The following post is the start of the Kingsword Story. An epic plot spanning many destinies, this is no mere fiction. The path of this is decided by the players, by those who weave their own bloody path to achieve their aims . Do you want to join a faction? Do you want to see the entire story as it stands? Do you feel like joining the politics and the roleplay? Register on www.kingswordonline.com and prepare to be drawn into a world more rich than you could have possibly imagined...
...and lo, I saw before me a great city consumed in flame...
BONG... BONG... BONG... BONG... The bells of the city tolled mournfully, lamenting the death of the High King. Cyrus Avallon, known far and wide as the Craftsman King, had ruled well and wisely for thirty years, as far as most folk were concerned. Under his governance, trade had flourished, the common people had found voice in the courts, and the lands of Camlyn had known peace and unity. The Church had been blessed with an attentive and conscientious patron, dedicated to furthering the arts and enlightening the masses. Universities and colleges blossomed under such a benefactor, advancing the sciences and discovering new technologies regularly. Noble and commoner alike knew all manner of comfort, luxury, and respite as the lands thrived under Cyrus' careful supervision.
Still, all great men and women suffer their shortcomings, and the great king was no different. Cyrus' devotion to building his legacy often distracted from more domestic matters, and no heir was ever born. Adopted children, fostered wards of state, and god sworn beneficiaries both Cyrus and the queen, Priscilla, had aplenty. Yet, none had ever been officially recognized as the heir apparent. Cyrus took great pride in the strength of his accomplishments, and that pride would prove Camlyn's undoing.
The great king had been ailing for months, and many had attempted to curry his favor. Councilors sought private audience only to be rebuffed by the Royal Surgeon. Noble petitioners requested personal audiences only to be turned away by the Chancellor. As the king's health continued to deteriorate, more and more sought his attention, hoping to be named the successor to the throne.
In the few weeks before his death, King Cyrus began calling individual members of the Lord's Council to his private chambers, speaking with them at length. Reports shared by those summoned spoke of the king reclining in his bed, the queen sitting close beside and various family members in attendance. The Craftsman King, once robust and the picture of great health, sat hunched in his bed, much reduced by age and sickness. His legs were covered, concealing lesions caused by the leeching of the doctors. His arms, once renowned for their great strength, moved shakily and slowly, as though no longer willing to obey their master. Only his eyes gave hint to the man that forged a kingdom, fairly shining with determination and force of will. And, sheathed in its beautiful scabbard and close to his right hand lay the Kingsword, Cyrus' greatest work and the legendary claim to Camlyn's throne. The details of each meeting differed, as did the names of some of the other attendants; but the sword and its location were ever and always the same.
Each meeting ended with the summoned council members' exit from the royal chambers, bearing a final personal gift on behalf of the king. When asked to reveal what was given, most were only too happy to share. Drinking horns, goblets, chalices, rings, belts, brooches, and more were revealed, as these crafts most appealed to the king's personal hobbies. A few received pieces of armor, each crafted by the hand of the king, beautiful to behold and valued beyond measure for their extravagance. Rarer still were those to whom the king had gifted some of his crafted weapons; daggers, knives, maces, axes, and swords. No council member left without a gift, just as no member left without a story to tell.
Soon, the royal city of Avallon was awash with rumors and outlandish stories of the meetings in the Craftsman King's chambers. Duke Appleway had been named successor to the throne, banished from the realm, reduced to a lowly hedge knight, and been betrothed to seven of Cyrus' adopted daughters all in the space of an hour. Baron Chartres had been promoted to Royal Treasurer, stripped of rank and lands, imprisoned for treason, beheaded by the midnight court, resurrected by the Lord Reverend and converted to the Faith through the first week, only for it to be revealed there was no Baron Chartres. Story after story snaked its way through the many homes and businesses of the capital city, neither confirmed nor denied by the royal family. Uncertainty and confusion grew as the king's health waned.
The fateful morning of Cyrus Avallon's death dawned much like any other. Early in the morning, Cyrus' will to live could no longer resist the specter of death, and his spirit passed from this realm. Per the request of his queen, the Lords Council announced to the populace the bells would toll in mourning, one day for each year of the Craftsman Kings reign; thirty years of peace and prosperity, thirty days of mourning and grief.
The Lords Council continued to meet, as the lands still required governance. Outside, the common folk mourned and cried out their condolences to the royal family. Nobles commissioned works of art and literature in memory of their sovereign. Within the halls of the Council, plots and ploys were hatched and exploited. After the first week of mourning, several tragedies had struck both the kingdom and its council. The Royal Treasurer had been accused of embezzlement by the Chamberlain, arrested, found guilty by the Council, and executed for his crimes. Lesser advisors and those with little clout in the courts found themselves removed from power for a variety of reasons: failing health, criminal insinuations, increased bandit activity in their home provinces, and more. The Chamberlain and many others had fallen victim to a strange malady that struck suddenly and violently throughout the city. None so afflicted survived, including the queen and the whole of the royal family, and yet more chaos descended on the once peaceful kingdom of Camlyn.
The thirty days of mourning declared by the Lords Council lasted not more than twenty. Riots broke out among the common folk, as disease and looting overwhelmed the streets. Bandits and thieves swarmed the outlying roads, assaulting commoner and noble alike. The Lords Council, once more than thirty members strong, dwindled to just four: Lord Marshal Ulysses Tennyson, General of the King's armies and Duke of the Eastern Marchlands; High Lord Niccolo Florenti, Guild Master and Duke of the Southern Marchlands; Lord Chancellor Jean-Luc Gregoire, Speaker of the Assembly and Duke of the Western Marchlands; and Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin, High Priest of the Church and Duke of the Northern Marchlands.
Just as the prophecy declared, Avallon, the capital city of Camlyn and its crown jewel, was consumed in the flames of chaos and uncertainty following the death of its creator and architect, Cyrus Avallon, the Craftsman King. As it was foretold, so it came to pass...
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