To know of the tales that shall carry out within these pages, one must first know their origins. And of the oldest amongst them, there is but one that harkens back to the days of dark and fell spirits, of idol and demiurge, whom had long since carved the world for themselves. And seeking to chisel greater marks yet unto the earth, took for themselves beings to do such toil. Thus were the first of the world's mortals promised little but the mortality they were gifted.

Long were these evil days of servitude, for the land was honed by living hands, yet not theirs to wield. But this would not always be so, for at the unknown closing of the age was birthed a son of slaves, who would be named Leofric. Brilliant was he amongst his kin, and so was taken at the wake of adolescence, and given the patronage of one of the world's great tyrants, whose name does not survive. And so was Leofric made into the vassal of this being, forever to give his ear to its whisperings, and be the voice that spoke them aloud. For most his life did he suffer this fate.

And yet amongst the skies and its realms whose voices uttered unto the earth, not all were malevolent nor self seeking. Of those few, some were pieces of the shattered Good the world had not yet known. And it were they who set in motion the fall of this age with guile and cunning, by usurping the whisperings of their Evil kin.

It is here that mankind's fate shifted, for the first came to Leofric's ear in the fire of his idol's shrine, and for years began to persuade him to the cause for which he is now known. For in the latter half of his life, Leofric did indeed cast his master down and take for himself the reigns of his people, and by waging war in the name of Zeal, converted or condemned all who stood in his way.

Of Virtue

Thus would the discovery of virtue make for the felling of tyrants, done by deeds of both word and blade, for while the eventual throne and its crown were birthed from the felling of swords that shed the blood of the unfaithful, it was the ideal of purity and the virtues it encompassed, that had guided mankind to such deeds. They were Zeal, whose fire had purged the land of Evil; Awe who revealed the beauty left in its wake; Persistence who bid them the effort to achieve it; Justice to ensure all were held true to this task; Fortitude to embolden this purpose against doubt; and Wisdom who promised these lessons to all who come after.

Indeed those who later bore the crown and sat the Sixfold Throne were meant to represent the purity that had freed man from tyranny. And so it was that Issenica's Kings would thereafter claim to rule by the divine right of that of the Six Virtues, for none living do not know the tale of the heavens whispering to their ancestor, and of the first crusade that spread the faith.

Of Issenica

Alas as the pillars of the first age began to fall, so too did Leofric himself, who in death upon the battlefield ascended unto the skies that had whispered to him in a great fire. Thus the first to cast down the chains perished and his tale ends, and that of Kings begins, for thereafter Issenica would be ruled by the descendants of the one who waged holy war against Evil. First among them was Athal, who himself had fought on the field with his father, and took for himself his crown and led their people to the shores of Edrenica, and there founded the city of Lindenwell on the coasts of the Yearning Sea at the turning of the age.

Though never again did Issenicans do battle against the supernatural, the kingdom was above all founded in conquest, and such would continue for centuries yet. So rose yet more cities, and where went the sword so too did the faith, until all the men of the known world were united under the great House of Leofric.

But since those days of storied valour and purity, the wise of the today knew all too well that as all things rise, so too must they fall. First would the kingdom reach heights, the waxing of deeds and their tales, and then would it assuredly wane as all things do. For being founded by one, so too would it take but another whom could undo it.

Of the Red Days

It had been some nine centuries since the days of King Athal I, and though the kingdom had been witness to crisis and war of succession to the throne more than the once, the King's line remained and Leofric's lineage could yet be traced. It was in these years that King Ardaric V would see two sons enter the world, first Adal to be remembered as last of the Kings of Issenica, and then Lethis, to be remembered as one who ensured this.

At first the Traitor Prince differed little from his older brother, for the pair were indeed close, and for much of the last reign were they ruler and heir. For Adal had long since lacked for children, and so too was his brother deeply loved at court and beyond. And yet as it would always come to pass in Issenica, it began with the whisperings, for shortly after the birth of a new Crown-Prince did rumour begin of the new heir's uncle. First were the accusations of irate noblemen and women whom claimed Lethis responsible for interrupting in many a marriage, but Adal remained at his brother's side. Then came rumour of the Prince's unsavoury tastes, and again Adal spoke to his virtue and affirmed his trust. But then did the King die, and the Crown-Prince was not yet of age, and so came that Lethis began a regency over the throne.

THE BELOW IS A DRAFT AND NEEDS REWRITING TO BE A RECOUNT INSTEAD OF DIRECT STORYTELLING.

The Traitor Prince looked out across the gilded floor, polished to such a shine that he caught his own eye in the marble. The chamber was adorned and yet empty, save for the woman stood at its centre, dressed in white and red raiment held together by lavish gold. She was in her later years, hair absent of colour and skin devoid of youth. How the wise beheld age, he thought to himself, and yet no wisdom would serve to guide them now. Beneath her lay a black mirror set into the floor, upon which she stood rigidly, the dais was a rounded pitch surface that lay as wide as a small room. He strode closer as she lifted her head, lips continuing to speak under her breath. Her eyes unblinking met the man's for a moment, her posture perfect, but her breathing betraying her.

Was this the voice of an Archon, he thought. An old woman clad as a king, with not even the dignity to die zealous. He smiled to her as he removed the leather gloves from his hands, lightly dusted and bloodied from all that came before.

"What do you seek here, Prince." She stated, she still carried an authority to her voice. "I thought I might hear their words" he replied, now grasping his hands together as though they ached. "You and I both know that not to be true, you would not be here if you sought to redeem yourself."

The man spoke back "No, I wouldn't. You're quite right as ever, High Judge." he stepped over the lip of the floor, a black boot now atop the even blacker mirror. The woman's eyes filled with disdain, as though she might strike the man alike an insolent child, he carried on his gait all the same before standing just in front of her, so close that he could feel her breath. "Yet I'd quite like to hear what it is they tell you, now more than ever." his hand ran along the mantle of her garb now, its pious imagery was no obstacle to the dark thoughts his eyes cast.

She went to pull herself back but he held her firm, and so she spoke "Cast yourself out from the blackness you have wrought." his hand rose to cup her face at the cheek, feigning pity for the woman. "They have not answered, have they? For the first time..." It was then that his design became apparent, an evil lust was but one desire dancing within his eyes. "No matter" he added softly, leaning forward he kissed the woman all but briefly before she recoiled her head to the side, furthering her angered gaze towards him. Withdrawing his touch, he suddenly lashed across her face with a blade coming to hand, his expression malicious and denied. The woman shuddered but remained stoic in her standing, her face now cleft by a ribbon of blood. With his left he flicked the drops onto the surface of the dais at their feet, and in his other began to draw the red colour from her face as though from a spool, sending it elegantly pooling at the floor where it met its forerunners. Let this be her final service he thought. Trembling, the Judge began to utter prayer upon prayer with a quickness of learned tongue, before eventuality claimed her body. The once pitch mirror was now a glistening maroon, at last reflecting his visage as he uttered "Let this be thy temple's final exchange."

Leaving the woman to collapse and succumb then, he parted from the chamber and with it stood before the landscape he had turned his back on to enter. A great city aflame in red fire, smoke and scream equally filling the day's air. And he but watched, delighting in his design.

And so the skies emptied over the thousands dead, and the skies bled for the thousands left unburied.

Of Hell

Expose the current state of affairs, describe both the physical and spiritual scenery at play.