Several days later, it was decided that a new King should be chosen. In highland tradition, a great tournament was held. Without any weapons, the fighters were required to make their opponent give up through exetreme pain. One fighter in particular appeared, who called himself Tacen Andarion. He demollished the competition and won the right to call himself "King". But something was wrong. The new king would stay in his castle in Penndragon for weeks at a time. When he did emerge, the once healthy and virtuous ruler was decrepid, pale, and cruel.

Tacen Andarion was insane. After his innitial bout with illness, the once strong and virtueous young man was known for raving about the end of the world, to the point of having to be restrained by those in the castle. But, as the law of the land went, what the king said went. He was cruel and unrelentling. He ordered the enslavment of several thousand people in Penn, specifically elves, a race for whom he felt an irrational contempt. There were small murmurs of rebellion, but no true threats to the throne ever emerged. Then, the man who had come to be known as the King of Sickness carefully layed down a straw onto the metaphorical cammel and broke it's back. After a pitiful attempt at an attack on Castle Andarion, King Tacen created a law that he dubbed "The Andarion Curfew." The law stated that anyone caught outside of their own houses after sundown would be executed. This meant that if one was found inside a friends house, they were to be executed. This also meant that the Andarionic Knights had free reign of all homes, so they might search for guests. Windows were to be boarded, so the citizens of Penn were completely blind to the outside world.

It soon became apparent to all that something had to be done. On top of the Curfew, strange creatures had begun to appear all over Penn. According to legend, a dragon had nested atop the Painted Mountains, a pitch black monster of enormous size. Other creatures had begun to antagonize as well. Liches, were-creatures, vampires, and all manner of evil dead appeared, not just in Penn, but all over the known world. The citizens of Penn knew what the cause of the disturbance was. It was the King. Somehow, Andarion's madness had triggered the undead renneasance. One person in particular, the paladiness Elainia, was the main catalyst behind the rebellion that was brewing. She was a beautiful elf, a race that in these simpler times coexisted freely with the other races, who championed the godess Desaerii with her beautiful blue-steel sword and holy magic. Her peaceful, yet determined demeanor and endless charisma called the small-time rebels together to form an army. The seed had been planted.

The growing faction led by Elainia met in secret locations by night, via a secret and constantly growing series of underground tunnels. The most popular meetingplace was just under the King's nose, behind the stronghold of Wyrm, in a small clearing that would later be christened the Tear Grove. But, as the rebellion grew, the nights started to get longer and the number of undead, in particular vampires, grew. The King's troops were becoming steadily strong, especially with Lord Anduine Zarlock, a powerful vampire necromancer, in control of Fort Wyrm, and his vampires adding their numbers to the ranks of the elite warriors of the Adarionic Knights. The first few attacks on the King's army had failed miserably due to it's increased power from the ranks of undead. The Rebellion knew it had to do something, but what? It took weeks of scimming through published books of vampire lore, ancient tomes on revenents, scrolls abound with information on liches. Finally, the secret was found: if you destroy the Sire, the bloodbond is broken, and all undead creatures revert to their natural state: truly and finally at rest. A small team of about two-hundred soldiers, led by Elainia stormed the fortress with the express purpose of reaching Anduine Zarlock before too many men were lost. Unfortunately, the wraiths, vampires, skeletal creations, and zombies took out most of the faction before they reached Zarlock's throne room. When they finally did reach the vampire, there was only twentyone of them, including the valiant and beautiful Elainia. He was sitting there in his throne, awaiting their arival. He made a deal with them, saying "If I may fight Comander Elainia in a duel, only the two of us, the rest of you may go…" The soldiers were indignant, but Elainia ordered them to comply. The two of them fought long and hard, until both were bleeding and bruised. In the end, Anduine Zarlock, Prince of Vampires, was staring down the blade of Elainia's sword. He nodded and accepted defeat. The rust-red curtains behind the throne rustled lightly, and tiny rays of light hit the floor. Elainia decreed that the vampire, because of his honor, could choose the method of his death. He stood, and flung open the curtains, feeding himself to the sunlight that craved his destruction.

The Undead that had added so much to Andarion's forces were gone. With the destruction of their necromantic vampire chief, the monsters disappeared. When all was said and done, Andarion possessed not one undead soldier. Coupled with the fact that the morale among his troops, and especially within the Andarionic Knights, was at an all time low, Andarion's chances were beginning to dwindle. The morale of the Resistance was split. The next few nights were spent in celebration by some, in bitter mourning by others. Elainia herself tended to stay within her tent, strategizing, perhapse even thinking of friends lost. Finally, a call went out one night to rally the troops. The Resistance, in all it's glory, lined up in front of the platform that had been set up in the town. Newcomers even heeded to the call to arms, adding to the ranks. Elainia emerged from her tent, and climbed the steps to the platform. Her eyes were down, her face stern and concentrated. She spoke…

Those four weeks were spent burying the dead, training, and preparing their minds for the battle about to unfold. Then, the night finally came. The March on Penndragon Castle. The Resistance came to the castle gates, armed as best they could be, and calling out the battle cries of their different clans. The first wave of off-guard soldiers were cut down like wheat. The Resistance was like a fog of death. They could finally see King Andrion's keep only miles ahead. The army, in all it's force, headed straight for the keep, slaughtering everyone in their path. However, on their armored mounts, the Andarionic Knights were waiting. Even without the numbers of those knights who had deserted, they were impressive to see. They charged The Resistance, swinging huge blades, axes, and mallets. The ranks of the Resistance scattered, simply trying to find the Andrionic Knights' weaknesses. There seemed to be none. The Resistance doubled back and headed for the hills, with the Knights hot on their heels. They had not long to go until they reached a small raveen, which they leapt over. Unfortunately, the Knights were not quite so lucky. The whole time, The Resistance had planned this: Caught by a tripwire, the Knights and their mounts fell hard into the raveen, which was filled with oil. Due to the weight of their armor coupled with the slippery oil, they could not seem to escape. From his place in a nearby tree, an elven archer sent a flaming arrow into the raveen…

The Resistance fell to celebrating in the grove behind Wyrm. Elainia had returned from the keep safely, not speaking a word to any. It had been assumed that Andarion was dead. The castle grounds were completely abandoned, and the keep within was equally empty upon inspection. But something didn’t seem right. To astute witnesses, it seemed that Elainia was in sad spirits. Regardless, the celebrations raged on. What happened next happened so quickly that the celebration continued for several moments after.From the woods lept the thin, pale, sickly form of King Tacen Andarion. He weilded his blade like a madman, swinging without aim, growling like an animal. He finally stopped and faced the calm Elainia. "Stand, Paladin! The time has come!" The soldiers of the Resistance found themselves unable to attack, so stricken with overwhelming fear were they. Elainia stood, unsheithing her blue blade and pointing it at her foe. The battle began, a beautifully frightening display of skill. It lasted many hours into the morning, both of the fighters never tiring. Finally, Elainia lifted her sword on high calling out "Aeula dor taelgran Desaraii!" an elven phrase meaning "I envoke the name of Dasaraii." Andarion took advantage, thrusting forward with his blade, running her through. The crowd screamed collectively. Elainia smiled peacefully and lifted her blade. With her last ounce of strength she pushed it up and through Andarion's abdomen. The blade began to glow brightly as Andarion screamed in pain. Elainia called out again. "By the power of Desaraii, the Soul of the Planet, I call you back to your place of origin! I give this sacrifice of goodness to seal all evil!!" Andarion's eyes turned completely black, and began to smoke. Red mist seaped from his mouth. Then, as suddenly as the event happened, the blade gave one last blinding blast of light, and it was over. Two warriors lay dead on the ground. For the first time in many years, Tacen Andarion appeared alive. His cheeks flushed red, and his humanity returned for a moment. Then he existed simply as a shell. The next day, Elainia's body was burried, among many tears. Not long after, people began to notice the strange fruit groing on the trees of the grove. It was transparent and shimering, and turned to liquid when touched. They were dubbed Elainia's Tears, named for the hero of the Highland War.