Prelude to a Story

Written by Sir Talmid

I have no idea when it was first posted.

*Sometime after the Britayan war:*

A
single glass paned window remained lit on Mrenin Street, in the perpetually
medieval town of Scottar, Britay.  The light had lit up at dusk, and
remained alight well after the town hall’s towering clock building signalled
the eleventh hour after noon, when the rest of the town had descended into
slumber.  Behind the glass was a warm room, perceptible only in its dark
orange, firelit coloration, with all other details hidden by the frost of that
autumn night’s cold snap.

Inside
the room, beside a long desk slouched a thin man, one hand gripping the monocle
over his right eye, and the other holding open a book in front of him.
 Many more books lay about him on the desk in two distinct piles, some
open and some closed, some bound in aging leather and some existing only as
yellowed pages stripped of protection.

The
man’s eyes squinted in the dim light of the room, until another set of hands,
dark, smooth, and dainty appeared.  They tended the depleted candlelamp,
replacing the old wax with a new *LongLife Duraglow*candle, and
relit it with the *click* of an electric lighter.

“Many
thanks, Elspeth.” muttered the man, his name being Morgan.  His eyes never
left his parchment, and now with his light renewed, he could discern the words
much better.

Morgan
continued his reading, effectively disregarding the presence of his assistant,
until she reminded him, “It’s nearly midnight.  You really should get to
bed.  You’ve been reading for hours.”

He
turned a page.  “I’m nearly finished with this last addendum.”

Elspeth
leaned over his shoulder, quickly scanning the paper.  “This is Ancient
Ankorian parchment, 15th Century.” she noted.  “From before King Garast’s
venture - before the Sorcerer's reign, even.  How did you get this?  *Original History*needs a license to study.”  She turned to Morgan, who
barely responded with more than a twitch.  “Morgan?”

He
half nodded.  “Yes.  This is *Original History*.  I
know it’s illegal.  But I must find the truth.  The last king of
Ancient Ankoria is dying, and indeed he is the last, since his daughter refuses
to rule a land riddled with natural disasters....”

At
Elspeth's touch of his shoulder, Morgan sat up suddenly and blinked several
times.  It took a few tries, but he turned his neck to face her, putting
down his monocle.  “Sorry.” he said with a short laugh.  “The books
must have caught me again.”  He closed his eyes and leaned back in his
chair.  “What time is it?”

“Nearly
midnight,” Elspeth repeated, confirming the time with a glance to her
wristwatch.  “Actually it is midnight now, just about.”

Stifling
a yawn, Morgan stood up and stretched.  “I think I’ll make some tea, then
I’ll head up.  Thanks for keeping me sane.”

“Anytime.”
Elspeth said.  “See you tomorrow, if you're still alive by then.”

 She left the room through the apartment’s short hallway, and Morgan
followed, splitting off for the dinette while she went upstairs.  He
raised a stainless steel bucket from the *RefrigerWell*built
into the counter, poured the water into a kettle, and set it over the kitchen’s
wood stove.  After a few attempts with an electric lighter, a spark of
flame shot out and set the wood alight.

While the
water brewed, Morgan returned to contemplating his studies.  The last book
he’d been reading was a pikeman’s account, from the party of Garast I the
Fearsome, which took Ankoria from the Sorcerer who ruled previously.  In
revenge, the Sorcerer had put a curse on the land, and the entire region became
a parched, dilapidated place.  After a minute, the kettle’s whistling
drove Morgan from his thoughts, and he poured himself some tea, before he
continued his thinking.  He had a theory involving his land’s perpetually
medieval state: maybe, a long time ago, someone had cursed Britay and the rest
of the known world around it too, to a state of technological stoppage.

Britay
was only one of the nine known lands on planet Militiregnum.  The other
were Ankoria, Aquila, Easterland, Elepharia, Morcia, Norden, Sutherlany in the
Southern Isles, and Karribea across the provenly crossable Uncrossable Sea.
 All the lands were currently in a union, called the Amalgamated Lands,
ruled by a powerful fellow called “Thedude,” who introduced modern technology
and information about other worlds to Militiregnum.  It was also Thedude
who outlawed *Original History*, which encompassed everything before
the planet’s recorded third millennium.  It wasn’t without trepidation
that Morgan disregarded that ruling.

As he
sipped his tea, Morgan considered the electric lighter he held in his hand.
 It constantly malfunctioned, just like the automobiles, wheeled
contraptions that were once methods of transportation.  Thedude introduced
them in the mid 2020s, but according to modern, legal historical accounts, they
all stopped working.  *As if*, Morgan thought, *the world itself repulsed them*.

He almost
wanted to go back to his study, leave the fireplace and the*DuraGlow* candle
lit, and continue reading.  He still had more books to read, hopefully to
add depth to his minimal knowledge of magic, enchantment, and curses.
 They included tales of the ancient Morgai, human wielders of dark magic,
and their relations with the mythical elves.  He also had accounts of the
Last Sorcerers of the Third Millennium, a group of enchanters who, like all
other aspects of magic, disappeared from history with the formation of
Thedude’s Amalgamated Lands.

*But what in the world will all this do for me?* Morgan thought glumly.
 He was an unlicensed reader of *Original History*, so he could
never share his thoughts and findings with anyone else, except for Elspeth, who
he trusted dearly.  He was pretty confident in his theory, and at most a
conclusion should calm his mind... but would it?  Would he want to live in
a land cursed to remain ancient and technologically challenged?  He
doubted he could leave even if he wanted, *if the curse ensures all means of leaving the planet were inoperable*.

*But*,
Morgan knew, Elspeth was right, as the time for staying up had long ended.
 It was late beyond feasibility, and he needed his energy for another day.
 He finished his tea with a final sip, and let his eyes droop.  Now
was the time for him to extinguish the flames, go to his room, and sleep.
 Tomorrow, after he woke up, went to work, and returned, then he would
have time to keep reading and continue his research.   He would dwell
on his curse then.

>>Next Suggested Story>> The Adventures of the Peculiar Enchanter: Paths to Redemption