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Prelude

No doubt, you have read other tomes that appear similar to this one. The pages of those works weave enchanting tales worthy of legend. Heroes & heroines face incredible odds. Often the fate of the world or even the fates of all of the worlds that comprise the universe hang in the balance. They are epic tales. They are the stuff that myths and dreams are made of.

You may expect this fantastic tome to contain many of the same conventions that fill the pages of those volumes next to it on the shelf. If that is the case, you are about to be introduced, if you have not been already, to the concept of disappointment. This tome will utterly fail to meet your expectations.

A hero, as you might know, is defined as someone noted for both their courage and their nobility of purpose. Though it may not be readily apparent, this book is not about heroes. While the story that I am about to relate to you does contain a great deal of courage, those about whom I write this tale are decidedly lacking in nobility of purpose. In fact, that very lack of nobility is the reason I was tasked by my master with recording these events. Without this record, the world would never know the truth. The principal players of this chronicle would continue to be heralded as heroes by the populace despite their foulest intentions. Worse in the eyes of my master is the notion that the world would never know of the subtle complexity with which he devised and carried out his diabolical plot under their very noses. They would never know that the heroes that they had cherished were, in fact, his darkest agents in the realm above. They would never know the role they themselves had played in bringing about their own demise. This is simply unacceptable to my master. My master is a creature possessing the vanity and arrogance that only immense power can provide. His machinations are so far reaching that, even though I watched his heinous plot unfold before my very eyes, I am both appalled and amazed at its sheer intricacy. He is an artist painting the history of the world in blood and ichor. Though I weep for my race, I cannot help but marvel at the means of their undoing.

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I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Larkin Hansard. I was born to a wealthy sword smith and his blushing bride in the city of Maldova, seat of Count Sevarius Malgrin’s power and capital of the County of Maldinach. My gift of divination was apparent from early on in my development. By the time I had reached my fifth year I could guess the contents of each of my Afflux Day presents with little effort. As I said, my parents were wealthier than most. I attended a prestigious Eristocratic primary school and I excelled. It was as if I could intuitively pluck the answers directly from the heads of those around me. When I turned eleven years old, I received a scholarship to the Suidae Verruca School of Wiz-craft and Witchery. Though I no longer recall the year, I remember the day as if it was just yesterday. It was the 66th day of Confusion. We were vacationing on the coast watching the great merchant ships on the aethereal sea when the messenger arrived. My parents were so pleased. Oh how I miss them. I graduated with the highest of honors at just sixteen years of age. Mages from all over the Lady’s Rock vied for my assistance in their arcane experiments. Nobles tried to solicit my services to monitor their foes and friends alike. It seemed as if nothing was beyond my grasp. Then the letter came. It was a plain envelop sealed with a daub of wax but bearing no official seal or emblem. Inside the envelope was a handwritten note simply asking for a chance to meet with me to discuss my future. It was simply signed “N”. I was intrigued. Who was this mysterious benefactor and what did he or she know of my future? I would find out soon enough.

That is how I became a slave trapped in a dungeon without walls; cursed to remain until my task is complete. Only then will my master grant me the peace that I long for... a peace can only be found in death. It was long ago that I first stepped foot in the master’s home, longer than any man should live. I spend my days as I have spent every day since I first answered that simple letter. Staring at a crystal ball and chronicling the events that I see so that one day, when my master’s victory is complete, they shall know that they had been defeated long before most of them were even born. Few of them will appreciate the years of planning that went into this masterful scheme. Most of them lack the intellect even to see the multiple webs of intrigue that my master wove. Those that

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do will fail to see the sweet irony that comes from getting your foes to vanquish themselves. In the beginning, I resisted the urge to appreciate the scope of it all. I tried in vain to warn someone, anyone of the impending doom. At times, I even found myself yelling at the images I saw in the crystal sphere in the hopes that they could hear my desperate cries. The only beings who ever heard me were the very agents that I was assigned to watch. Now I have grown to appreciate the grandeur of it all. Knowing that I cannot rest until my species and those like it have been defeated, I no longer mourn for them. Instead, I pray for their quick demise. On one occasion I even went so far as to beg the master to reveal himself and claim the mantle of victory now rather than wait. The power do to it was in his grasp. I knew this better than any other human on the planet did. He simply laughed and then, with a simple gesture reminded me that not knowing death and not knowing pain are two very different things. I never saw the need to trouble him again. I do not know what transpired before I entered into the service of my master except for the little pieces I gathered during my tenure as his scribe. I will now relay that information to you exactly as it was revealed to me. Sincerely,

Larkin Hansard Sam

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