 “ That which you have attempted to take from the Atalan is that which shall be taken from you. The sins of Britannia and the burden of her crimes against the Atalan will be on the shoulders of their false King. So that all Britannia may witness the depth of their own wretchedness through him. Know that your self proclaimed Lord shall be a prisoner evermore, trapped within his Britannic Castle. Where he shall rot on the throne, which he so greedily coveted. To live out his days never seeing the land he falsely claims. Where he will linger helplessly; as the truth unravels the empty promise of Britannia as the kingdom and its pathetic ways fade out of existence. Even as Britannia withers and dies, its false King will linger on, in his prison while it rots and crumbles around him. There he will remain, eternally damned, hopeless and defeated, throughout the ages, a testament for all ages the failure of virtue. The Curse of Atalan upon you Lore Denin and the kingdom you hold so dear.”
* * * *
Great columns of white marble rose from the floor of the magnificent hall. A lush crimson carpet covered the floor, leading from the halls entrance to a beautiful golden throne, which rested upon a raised dais. Engraved in the stone above the throne, the emblem of Silver Serpent, the mark of Lord British. From the cool white stone, a blue moongate rises; a lone figure staggers out. The guards patrolling the throne room look up, always alert for the slightest indication of danger. The gate disappeared as the figure stumbles forward. The man does not appear to be threatening, probable just some poor drunk beggar looking for a handout from the nobles that frequent the castle. The man is thin and feeble, with an unkempt mop of dirty blond hair. He wears a tattered golden cloak, nothing more then a filthy rag tied across his back. A white tunic clings loosely to his body, heavily worn, and ripped open in various places. The man lurches forward, collapsing onto the ground in a heap. The guards move slowly, reluctant come to his aid.
“No beggar is gonna get sick on the King’s carpet on my watch” The burly guard smirks as he approaches the fallen man.
“Hey doesn’t this guy look familiar….” The guard gasps in horror as he recognizes the man. He turns to confirm his thoughts with his friend but the burly guard was already running to get the town healer. Even in such terrible condition there was no mistaking the identity of man before them.
* * * * *
Lore Denin had been a prominent political figure and a well renowned Order Knight and Soldier of Britannia. He had stepped forward as a leader in the times of chaos when Britannia was lost and without its King. A hero to some and a heretic to others, Lore come forward with the bold claim of Lord Regent, presenting himself before the people of Britannia and High Council. His claim was greatly supported but also highly contested. As time went on, Lore’s support grew throughout the Kingdom. It appeared Britannia would have someone on the throne since the Lord British went missing. Then suddenly Lore disappeared without a trace over a year ago. He had been last seen the afternoon before the trial of the then leader of Bregan D’aerth, Lady Lust. It was rumored he had been kidnapped or murdered at the hands of the Shadow Collective however there was no evidence to support such a claim. All investigations came up empty, it appeared Lore had simply vanished from Britannia. Though the Shadow Collective had remained the primary suspect, as it was no secret the Collective wanted Lore gone. The Atalan had even tried to persuade the High Council to hand Lore over for crimes against the Atalan people.
Lore felt the cool marble of the throne room on his cheek as the strong hands of the guard helped turn him onto his side. Lore shook his head, clearing away the disorienting effects of magical transport. He looked up at the guard who wore the face of genuine concern. With a determined smile, Lore reached his hand to the guard. The guard took it cautiously, gentle helping Lore back to his feet. Though weak, Lore Denin was alive, his body frail but his spirit far from dampened. He could already hear the commotion in the castle, the news would soon be out, The Lord Regent has returned.
Lore stood before the throne for a few moments, taking in his first breaths of freedom in as long as he could remember. Joy mixed with grief, as he reflected on his days in Atalan captivity and their dark decree. The Atalan trial against him was soon to begin. It had been deemed that Lore return to Britannia so he could prepare his case. Though he had been cursed, magical confined to “his” castle as the Atalan called it.
Lore was confused as he had already been told he was guilty of crimes but perhaps something was lost in the translation, as it appeared they meant to say guilty enough to stand trial. Or perhaps he was innocent enough not to be outright sentenced. Lore honestly had no idea. The ways of the Atalan were as strange and foreign now as they were on the first day he encountered them. The one thing Lore did know was that there was no mistaking their evil and the evil of the curse they had placed on him. The curse was Lore’s to bear until the time of his trial, though again the words seem to indicate that there was more then Lore’s own innocence or guilt at stake. His current confinement was only a taste of what the future might hold. He had a defense to prepare and a curse to unravel with no idea where to begin. Though he suspected the scholar, Arman Kharas might be able to point him in the right direction…..
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By this official proclamation, the High Council of Britannia, in order to foster better relations between the City of Honor and further, to show commitment to working with the government of Trinsic, so makes this declaration:
Jakob Covenant via Stratics:
Recently, many of you out there have let your mailboxes get full. Some of you have switched mail accounts or ISP's and your E-mail addresses are no longer valid. So, every time a news article is posted, I get about 30 error messages in my mailbox.