A Time of Fire is a book based on accounts from Estaro of the Quandrin and adopted by Melvin Turncloak. It can be found in the Royal Library in Empo Sar.
A Time of Fire
Adopted by Melvin Turncloak, based on accounts from
Estaro of the Quandrin.
Long before the dominion of men touched the world
of the Creators, Eanir and Lyria. Before the division of
the great continent of Erasan. Two great powers
became interlocked in a battle which would reek
destruction to the very corners of the world. The
elves, men, dwarves, creators and guardians of this
world became allies, to aid one another in the
destruction of the Dark Lord. Phobos was defeated,
however he was not destroyed.
Thousands of years later, this dark lord's terrible
power had near been forgotten. Yet he had been
regaining his strength patiently, scheming in the
darkness. The world was a very different place now.
Many species had disappeared since the Great War,
and all were unaware of the hell that was to break
loose imminently. This time the Creators and their
children, the Gods, were prepared. But Phobos' power
was too great and the world was plunged into war
The Road to Canaroth
The sea swelled and sank peacefully, its sinister
surface shimmered faintly in the ashen glow of the
moon. On the long wooden deck of the Miriad, six
cloaked figures stood noiselessly as if in a trance.
Apparently oblivious to the hustle of sailors all around
them, who glanced out to the approaching shoreline in
One of the figures raised their head slowly, a few
strands of fair hair fell across his nose, toyed by the
weak breeze. Picking his way elegantly through ropes
and business of the sailors, Vaerin Silra climbed up to
the wheel, greeting the captain with a nod.
"Sir", said the captain in reply, his gaze transfixed by
the dark coastline ahead. Vaerin followed the captain's
gaze thoughtfully. "This close enough for you, sir?"
asked the captain hopefully, tearing his eyes from the
shore. "I don't know how deep the rocks are you see".
Vaerin tried to make eye contact with the sailor, but
the seaman shied away, looking back down onto the
deck. Clearly he feared these lands. Unsurprising
thought Vaerin to himself, considering what was kept
behind their borders.
"If you wish it" replied the elf, Vaerin solemnly and
holding no hint of song. Then without waiting for an
answer continued "we shall ready ourselves to leave, I
thank you for your hospitality."
"Of course, my duty sir" said the captain in relief.
"Lower the anchor! Slow her down!" he shouted to the
deck. To Vaerin's slight amusement, unlike many
before it, this order was carried out without a seconds
The remaining cloaked figures raised their heads to
Vaerin and either nodded or looked out to the shore.
One approached him as he rejoined the group, a chain
mail shirt clinked softly under his cloak. "Why did you
order them to stop, why not get closer?" demanded
the elf harshly, resting a gloved hand on the gem of
his sword hilt. "Look into their eyes Aldar, they can
feel the power of the dark one too, but cannot resist
it as we can" answered the elf. "It's killing them".
Aldar opened his mouth to speak again, but shut it,
looking back out to the other two ships following their
lead, before turning to the small, thin crafts which
were to take them to the shore. The six figures
climbed into different boats, each followed by ten
similarly clad elves of their kin who had taken
residence below deck for the past few hours of the
journey. Each boat was lowered swiftly down into the
"The sea has been kind to you, I hope for your sake
this land is too" the captain called down to them;
unable to keep the doubt from his voice, nor from his
weathered expression "May you be blessed by the
grace of Eanir and Lyria". Vaerin nodded, and with a
wave of his arms and a muttered spell, his little boat
and its occupants set off quietly towards the shores
of the southern lands, followed closely by those from
the Miriad and other two ships.
the Miriad and other two ships.
The boats slowed to a halt as they reached a short
stretch of sandy shore. The steep cliffs rose up
menacingly on either side, each rock was jagged and
sharp. Even the sand was harsh, biting into Vaerin's
skin as he rubbed it between the tip of his fingers.
"We travel south—east through the valley of Tirasia,
to Canaroth." Said Vaerin eyeing the mountains ahead.
"Who gave you command over us? We must take the
road through the mountain passes for the sake of
speed" spat Aldar, who had now removed his cloak to
reveal his armoured body, bearing the mark of a
highborn Quandrin elf.
"Aldar, put aside your arrogance and childhood grudges
for now at least, it was no less than your father who
allowed me command, as I know the roads we must
take. No guard has crossed over the passes for the
last two full moons, no coincidence I assure you. As
for Canaroth, we should not abandon hope." Answered
"I sho—" started the elf angrily.
"Now is not the time," interrupted a youthful female
voice, yet full of unmistakable power, "for senseless
bickering. We hold a common enemy do we not? Then
let us fight it, rather than amongst ourselves". Her
words seemed to slip over her tongue, without the
slightest haste. She removed her dark cloak, revealing
her long silvery hair which fell in waves over the dark
red robes, robes worn only by royalty. "We travel by
Vaerin's guide, together." Aldar looked livid though
said nothing, even he dared not answer back to a
princess of the Quandrin.
Six leading elves there were altogether. Two of
Loreath, Vaerin and Sabria; one princess of the
Ouandrin, Aliera; the remaining three, Aldar, Librael and
Estaro of the high houses of Quandrin. Each had the
command of a single small group, made up of around
three dozen of their people.
The company continued on, travelling between the
narrowing cliffs in single file. Several hours march
later and the group had made steady progress,
without sight nor sound of life or living thing.
"Over the next ridge lies Canaroth, and the end of our
journey if the gods allow it". Finally they reached the
edge of the ridge and a terrible sight met their eyes.
A Broken Land
Noxious tentacles of smoke billowed out from the
shallow valley floor, the previously smooth slopes
and valley plains had given way to cracks and pits of
blistering lava as far as the eye could see. Trees were
reduced to splinters and charred logs, still
smouldering in the evening gloom. Buildings lay in
shattered ruins, no wall stood higher than 2 feet tall.
Evidence of a last stand showed on a raised mound
behind what had been the city hall. The tree which had
once grown on the top had been reduced to cinders,
now mixed with the mutilation of war. Surrounded by
broken bodies and cold, wasted faces. Robe—clad elven
men and women alike, lay together, bleeding lifelessly
into the dusty ground. The earth stained crimson.
Shards of broken glass, rubble and smouldering ash
littered the road. Glittering weapons and armour
pieces lay scattered here and there amongst the
debris, reflecting the light of the blood—red heavens.
Several huge, winged carcasses lay here and there, the
area around them decimated by fire.
The six companies descended into the ruins of
Canaroth, the leaders at the head of each group. Vaerin
felt his mouth turn dry and he choked back the
smothering sensation of nausea. Aldar's proud
expression had paled, his air of naive patriotism and
superiority had vanished. Aliera's face remained
expressionless, yet her eyes showed the deepest
sorrow. None of them spoke. All stood in silent
sorrow. None of them spoke. All stood in silent
mourning, praying for the souls of the lost.
The silence was soon shattered however, as a horn
sounded in the far distance. All eyes of the party
snapped to the sound. "That is no orc horn", said Aldar
quietly, but not without hope.
Vaerin nodded in agreement. And the group picked up
their pace and turned to follow the sound. Every now
and again, one of the keen—eyed elves would think
they had spotted movement, but whatever it was
didn't want to be seen, and hid in an instant.
"Death is not the only terror which plagues this place.
There are creatures of evil following us. And their
numbers are growing." Whispered Aliera to the other
leading elves as they pushed on through the ruins of
Canaroth. A few of the others nodded in grim
agreement, and they all knew it to be true.
"They walk as us; flesh and bone, but without warmth,
and without care." Continued Aliera. "We must be
swift. They are undead, they never sleep."
"Do not undead need controlling by a master?" Said
Librael, though it wasn't a question.
"They never stray far from their necromancer. We
must be wary." Said Librael.
"Wary we must be, indeed. However I do not think we
shall suffer a meeting with such a being. This land has
been broken, I can feel the very fabric of the world
screaming as if it has been torn into rags. I fear
greatly that these souls have no mancer controlling
them. Our enemy has replaced their heart and their
mind with a hatred for the living. I fear that we walk
upon a broken land."
[Several pages of this book seem to be missing]
Erasan burnt for weeks after the eventual fall of
Phobos. The smoke enveloped Erasan, stifling the
unfortunate survivors, but mercifully shrouding the
destruction left in their wake; the wasteland that
was, Erasan. Phobos' last efforts to obliterate the
work of Eanir and Lyria had contorted the very fabric
of the world. The air buzzed with the after—shock for
days, and the stench of evil spirit magic oozed from
everything that had been touched by the dark lord's
wrath. And yet, life found hope. That faint, revered
glimmer, hardly a flicker, rekindled from the very
brink of extinction. Life found hope.