This is a story set in the ancient past of the game Brigadine. As such, there are things that may be familiar, and things that are less so. Other than some different names in a few cases, the countries are largely the same. However, it is an age of heros, Heros greater than those who walked the land in the time of Zemeckis. With this story, I hope to flesh in some background for this game, and also hopefully write an entertaining story.
Brigadine, Forsena and the like are all property
It was a brisk spring morning, one where the last icy shards of the winter hung in the mountain air at the Oracle of Leonia. Torenar stepped out of his cottage and glanced down at the sleeping town of Whislund, at the foot of the mountain. He stretched and prepared to enter into a new day. He was the Abbot of the Monastery of the Oracle, and it was time for him to go into the chapel and prepare to celebrate the Service of the Dawn. However, as he looked back over the monastery compound, he saw that his plans for the day would change. The highest building in the compound was the Chamber of the Oracle, and he saw that there was thick black smoke rising from a special chimney. He knew what that meant, that the Oracle felt led to go to the mystic vents and receive a message.
He turned to his assistant, who was coming up to greet him for the morning, and told him to take care of the Morning Service, for Torenar had other duties to do. He quickly went up the narrow path to the Chamber, noting with displeasure the icy patches that the brethren of the monastery had allowed to build up on the pathway. When he entered the narthex of the Chamber of the Oracle, he gasped, for the Oracle stood there, pale in the face. Torenar was one of the few who remembered that this Oracle was named Letitia, for the common practice was that once an Oracle ascended to her duties, she would simply be called “The Oracle”. Torenar could see clearly that something was disturbing the Oracle, as her face seemed to be full of pain and woe. However, she said nothing, and simply nodded at him, and they started up the pathway to the mystic vents whose vapors helped the Oracle bring her messages to the people.
Torenar followed the Oracle,
and after him came a slight, pale young woman who was simply called “The
Heir”. She had been found a year before in a small village in the
south of Leonia. Her presence bothered Torenar, since usually the
new oracle would only be found shortly before the death of the old Oracle,
and Letitia was not that old herself. However, these thoughts soon
passed from the mind of Torenar as they came to the vents.
The Oracle removed her outer dress, and was revealed only to be wearing
a simple cotton tunic. She stepped up to one of the vents and began
to breathe the vapors deeply. Her face began to get that odd expression
that Torenar had seen any number of times before. However, then something
was different. The look on her face turned to something approaching
abject terror, and she seemed to struggle to speak. Finally though,
she said with great difficulty: “One breathes in the darkness of the world.
One furnishes an eternal void and silence. They call it the snake
of chaos. Only in the might of the Nightmare and the Six Lords of
Humanity might it be returned to the void.”. As soon as she finished
saying that, Torenar looked on in horror as he saw the Oracle stiffen,
and then collapse, as she fell to the floor, blood draining out of her
That evening there was a meeting in the great hall in the Palace in Tallas. Around the table sat a dazzling array of the most powerful people in Leonia. There was Hyteral, the High Cardinal of the Church, old and wise, yet still powerful, holding the gravity mace that was the symbol of his office. There was Tuyranl, the commander of the armies of Leonia, and mighty warrior who was the master of sending his power out in a mighty Iai slash. The Council of Mages was represented by Rurann, a Mystic who grew up in the region of Damas. Finally, there was Gyral, a rather uncouth warrior who was tolerated mostly because of his close affinity with the Griffons that were so key to the armies of Leonia. He was known for riding into battle on the back of his Holygriff, Ironfeather. Finally, at the head of the table sat Lutaria, the Queen of Leonia. She was tall and blond, with green eyes that seemed to see things that no one else could. While she no longer shown with the glorious beauty of youth, anyone who saw her would agree that she was still a regal and beautiful queen, even as gray began to shoot through the hair at her temples.
“My Queen, we have bad news”, began Hyteral. “The Oracle has died giving us a vision.”
The queen blanched, even as she said “A Death Vision?”
“Yes my Queen, it has not happened in over 200 years, but it was indeed a death vision.”
“Hey! Don’t leave me out of this. Just what do you mean by a death vision?” interjected Gyral.
Rurann looked askance at him, and answered “If you want to be on the High Council of Leonia, you should at least take the time to learn the ways of the Oracle you barbarian!”
“Ahem” interrupted Hyteral. “You see Gyral, the Oracle almost never dies in the course of an oracle, they die normal deaths, just like the rest of us. However, whenever an Oracle does die giving an oracle, it presages disaster. The last time it happened was just before the great earthquake that nearly destroyed Hadrian 200 years ago. However,” he continued, turning back to the queen, “this oracle seems to be even more obscure than most. All it said was ‘One breathes in the darkness of the world. One furnishes an eternal void and silence. They call it the snake of chaos. Only in the might of the Nightmare and the Six Lords of Humanity might it be returned to the void.’ We have no idea what it could mean.”
“The Six Lords of Humanity? I suppose that must mean Alcangin, Elrahan, Almekis, Batlahn, Dressen and myself. But what are we supposed to do?” mused the queen. “I suppose there is no choice, we will have to call a great council of all the Kings and discuss this report.”
“My Queen, is that wise?” Tuyranl asked, speaking for the first time. “I mean, of course, Forsena is at peace for the first time in ages, but I don’t think that would last if all of you tried to meet together.”
“You are probably right, but I
see no other choice. Prepare the emissaries, send them to the distant
lands and inform them that I wish to have a great meeting in Logres in
a fortnight.” With that, the queen got up and left the room,
wondering what disaster was about to befoul her fair land.