**Authors note: The following history is actually a compilation of passages and discourses from several rare and arcane texts located in Athens and Great Isle, as well as the author’s own personal journal. The author in no way claims said journal is on historically equal terms with these great books of history.**

‘ Thunder pealed and lightning flashed as the hordes descended upon the Kingdom of Aranlad. The outer fence was breached before nightfall, and the evil alchemists had frozen the moats solid as the very rock Aranlad was built upon. The defenders, engaged in combat for three days with no food and little water, were in full retreat. In the high tower,  Martarion I, King of the Realm and Marshall of the Forces, paced to and fro, stopping only long enough to peer through the chamber window out at the sea of his enemies. His remaining generals were assembled about him awaiting further orders, which would most certainly be to offer an armistice; some of them may be spared the anguish of torture. Yet the King gave no orders; indeed all he did was pace. “Is our King fey,” whispered one general to another, “or does he wait for some stroke unforeseen?”

At that very moment, a hush fell over the invaders; a pall of foreboding covered the battlefield. King Martarion raced to the window and peered out, his eyes attempting to pierce the steams and smokes of battle. He stared for a moment, and those who were present saw the King’s face bathed in a bright golden glow, as if the sun itself had descended to earth and lain upon his brow.  They were not far wrong, for it was the sun:  glinting off the armament of those whom the King was awaiting, the stroke unforeseen, the Egalmadrim, The Forty.

Now the Egalmadrim was a company numbering forty of the finest fighters in all the world, made up of men and women of all races and expertise. They would roam the lands, never settling down for more than a fortnight, and destroy whatever foul creatures they would encounter. Their faces were hard and grim to look upon, for they trod hard roads, but their eyes were clear and bright; shot with an inner fire which would flare in battle to such an extent that foes would rather fall on their swords than to endure their glance. They were clad in gold, whether it be robes or full plate, and when together in close quarters they glistened like the sunrise on a clear spring morning. They made few friends as a rule, but were friendly when encountered. As potent and powerful as they were (it is told that but one of The Forty was worth 1000 soldiers in battle), the Egalmadrim found their true strength in themselves. Closer than most families, The Forty thought of themselves as but a part of a greater whole. Some believe they had a strange ability to communicate where their senses became attuned with each other (although no proof of this ability exists today). They themselves held to the belief that if their number should decrease below forty that the Gods would show disfavor towards them and snatch away their mighty gifts.

Like a wildfire through dry grass, the Egalmadrim broke upon the rear of the hordes and devoured them. A ripple of panic ran through the enemy, who outnumbered their foes ten-score to one. Many simply dropped to the ground, awaiting their fate. In a few hours all that remained of the hordes was a pile of rotting flesh.

Although the people of Aranlad were valiant in their efforts to defend their homes, the fierceness of the onslaught took its toll. Whole villages and towns were abandoned. Therefore, with few of his people did King Martarion hold a great feast of victory, The Great Feast of Golden Mastery, to honor the victors and grieve their losses. Now the King was exceedingly grateful to the Egalmadrim but he was also very wise and far-sighted, so during the feast Martarion hailed the efforts of the Egalmadrim and issued a proclamation now known as the Victor’s Ransom. It declared that each and every member of the Egalmadrim be granted a parcel of land and authority to govern it as they would.  Not only did the King display his deep gratitude with such a noble and benevolent gesture, but he stood to buttress his kingdom’s defenses to an extent that none would ever invade again. Then Antorim, a representative of The Forty, stood up and thanked the King for his generous offer, but stated that the Egalmadrim must hold a conclave first before accepting to establish any lasting abode in the lands.

Late that evening in their bivouac outside the castle walls, the Egalmadrim held a debate concerning the King’s offer. The elders of the company wished to accept it and grow roots in the lands that they loved so dearly. However those younger in years were wont to continue the quest that they were so compelled to complete to fruition. The debate continued on through the night with both sides divided equally. As the eastern sky awoke bringing the promise of light to the coming day, the conclave had come to a standstill. They were at an impasse. Faces were wan and forlorn. No one spoke. A golden eagle perched in a nearby tree cocked its head. Suddenly, a great vampire bat swooped down over the camp, its sharp fangs glistening. Maikhen, the Egalmadrim’s finest archer, was ready. She let fly at the descending menace, but fate was on the bat’s side. The arrow pierced but a pinion of the wing and exited out the other side. The bat fluttered away to its cave not knowing how lucky it was to still be alive after an encounter with Maikhen, sharp-eye, best of all archers in the lands. The incident woke some in the camp, wondering if they were under attack. But at that moment they hears a loud screech of great pain behind them. They twirled around to find an object falling through the boughs of a tree. It hit the ground and lay still. Slowly, those who were present approached the dark object, sensing a foreboding doom. Suddenly their faces were bathed in a blinding golden light; light of the first ray of the sun glinting off the plumage of a Golden Eagle, Maikhen’s arrow stuck through the length of its entire body and into the branch of the tree where it was perched ... an olive tree. The entire company was aroused by that time and all who saw what had happened were dismayed, although the wiser constituents on both sides of the debate were now answered in full.  They had a response for the King.

At the first trump of morn, the Egalmadrim entered the castle. When King Martarion asked if they had reached a decision, Maikhen stepped forward and raised the Golden Eagle for all to see. She turned to her brethren and asked, “What say you?”. They answered, as one, “We will abide!”.... ’
 
 
 

‘ That was many ages past in the reckoning of the sun. Many things have changed since then,  tis true there have been few invasions, in fact, none. Just the occasional border skirmishes in the outer kingdoms. They did a fair job apportioning the region way back then; everyone received a equitable share of the lands that they wished to own.

In the early years they settled into the business of settling.  People flocked to these kingdoms from miles around, knowing they would live in security. Nevertheless love for the wilderness soon caught up with the Egalmadrim, owing one’s life to nature for so long required reparations. Therefore once the kingdoms were stable, they decided to journey out once a year to keep their skills sharp and their spirits up. They continued this tradition right up until the first of the Egalmadrim had breathed his last. This posed a problem, now their number was 39, but the contingency was not unforeseen. The Egalmadrim had agreed to train each of its ruling houses in the utilization of whatever combat proficiency that particular soverign possessed. Those in direct lineage received the best instruction, that being from the Ruler personally. As you might expect, most of the heirs were direct descendants of the original Egalmadrim monarchs, but some did not marry, so the one deemed most adept in the house became ruler.

All went well for uncounted years. The people learned to farm and raise diverse animals for domestication. Villages and even cities sprang up over time.  Everything seemed too good to be true  . . . ‘
 
 
 

‘ Verily, twas too good. Now more than an age since the Great Feast, the heirs of the Egalmadrim had fallen to indifference. They ceased celebrating the Holy Days, even those heirs of the preisthood. They stopped conferring with neighboring kingdoms. Reading and writing was exclusive to ledgers.  Life was not living; it was merely exsisting, nothing more.

And then it came. The politicians had dreamt only for release from the bureaucracy. They were released. The merchants were absorbed in the business of making more silver than their neighbor. They were preoccupied no longer. For the greatest mobilization of invaders that Aranlad had ever witnessed had come down as the shock of a thunderbolt and had riven the kingdoms asunder. Great blades used in the days of the Egalmadrim, heirlooms of the Houses, had crumbled into dust on the walls where they had rested for centuries, now useless.  Potion makers mixed frantically but impotently;  their knowledge lost to maladroitness.  Weaponsmasters, their muscles flaccid with neglect, fell over their amassed wealth in combat and were slain. Bards voices cracked, their songs of combat forgotten over time immemorial. Priests, overworked and weary, became ineffectual due to severe impudence in the eyes of their Gods  (except  perhaps for target practice at  the hands of the enemy.)

When the dust settled, the kingdoms looked like ghost towns. Every building was ransacked, every orchard was burned. All told, four out of five of the peoples were lost in the onslaught.  A few survivors crept out of their holes and set about the arduous task of finding shelter and food, and burying their fallen brothers and sisters.

The kingdoms were reduced to independent petty fiefdoms. Many survivors forsook the villages and struck out for other areas, attempting to start their lives anew. Some never made it to their own  kingdom’s borders. Those who stayed lived a life of stealth and secrecy... ‘

‘ In the year 3654 of this age, I was born in the village of Enraktamas on Great Isle. My father was a tinker and my mother an apothacary to the village. I have been told that I am a direct descendant to the Egalmadrii Kenro, although it is now impossible to prove. Yea verily the surname Kenro goes back as far as written history permits, but my quality of life caused me to reject the idea that I had a royal lineage. In the year 3657 Enraktamas was raided by brigands. Although I was too young to remember independently, it has been told that I slipped a knife into the back of the brigand leader while he was reveling, a lucky shot to be sure. The villagers looked upon me in a different light from that point hence.

  Due to my supposed royal lines, I was tutored by the best Great Isle had to offer. I was taught the fine art of subsistence hunting by stealth; hiding in plain sight became second nature. My father had given me tools of his trade, including a lockpick. He would be furious when I would pick his hardest locks; I would end up pushing his skills to the limit in the time ahead, as well as giving myself some much-needed practice.

Several years later I had bloomed into manhood. I became skillful in stealthy combat due to several small raids that had occurred in our village at that time. It was found over the next few years that I could suffer great injury yet still be quite capable on the battlefield. When all the lockpickers in town would throw up their hands in frustration on some locked box, I would pick it with ease, much to the delight of my parents. I must say all the acclaim was building my confidence. I started believing that in fact I actually could be the heir to the House of Kenro! A change came over me at that time; I truly believed that the Kingdoms could rise again. I looked at my father wasting his skills pounding a mallet instead of swinging a greatsword and laying waste to a gang of marauders. I watched my mother creating oils for creaking joints instead of concocting powerful potions to turn the tide of battle. I summoned the Village Elders together (it did occasionally pay to have potential blue blood) and attempted to re-light the embers of the past; to dream of a strong secure kingdom, perhaps even to raise the Egalmadrim from the ashes of history to again scour the lands and eradicate the foul minions of Evil! They laughed. “Young fool,” they said, “go back to your shop and wear a crown of sweat upon your brow.”

  While walking home embarrassed, annoyed and disappointed, one of the Elders approached me. She told me to leave Enraktamas, even Great Isle, and strike out on my own. She had heard a rumor that not only have other descendants of the Heirs of the Egalmadrim left to find a similar destiny, but that some of the Egalmadrim may still live! Before I could ask her where to start my quest, a ball of flame engulfed and consumed her. Without looking for the assailant, I ran to my house, grabbed a few things, and told my family I was leaving. As I opened the door to leave, my father gave me a knowing look and said, “My son, don’t forget, ‘Dagolmet Ve Erquen!’, We Fight As One!” I smiled and closed the door.

I spent three long years wandering the lands once I left Great Isle. I knew no one and spoke to few. I became more in touch with the land that became my bed and the stars my blanket. I discovered herbs that were beneficial in many ways and where they were likely to grow. I had lain aside my quest for a time; I just wanted to enjoy the lands, unspoiled. Then one day, while sitting under an oak tree chewing some spearmint, I was accosted by a band of thugs. The last thing I remember was one of them raising a club in my direction...

When I came to, I found myself in Athens, Greece! How I got there I could only guess; I must have gotten knocked out and some kind soul found me and dragged me here. Rest assured, someday I will find that person to pay him/her back.

So here I am in world-renowned Athens, city of democracy and wisdom! Somehow I have the feeling that if I can’t achieve my manifold goals here, I never shall. May the Search for Knowledge commence ... ‘

Zed's Shed. All rights reserved.
 

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