A Tale of Heroes

## Prologue

I write this tale so others may know the sacrifices these unknown heroes made for the good of not just their nation, but the wider world. I joined this group on some of their journey, but much of what I write is based on second-hand information collected once I knew I wanted to write this book. I am by no means a poet so excuse my writing skills, although I have no doubt the tale itself will keep you captivated.

This story begins in a world different than yours; one with suffocating oppression, extreme racial divides, and ruling through fear. And if you start to think “sounds like my world to me”, then you are wrong, this was worse. From the moment children are born, they are taught there are superior races and inferior races, it is ingrained in them so thoroughly that they then teach it to their children in turn. If you are not born human, elf, or dwarf, you are most likely a slave with no rights, to be whipped, killed, or used by the whims of your master. And you deserve it, after all, they are born better. If you are lucky enough to not be a slave, you will keep to the countryside or the areas of cities meant for your kind so as to not spoil the view of the upper classes. Speaking of the upper classes, dwarves are permitted to explore a life of their own as long as it does not become too ambitious as to interfere with the nobility. Humans and elves make up the noble houses of this world. Obviously there are different levels of noble, the lesser serving beneath the boot of the upper. However, ambition is encouraged and any noble can become powerful if the game is played correctly. Either that, or they might be assassinated.

Now I hear you, “even with all the mind control, some of the oppressed must rise up and rebel, it is just nature”, and you would be right! That is where the country’s god-king comes in … oh I didn’t mention him before? Well this country has an all-powerful magical being known as The Emperor, or so he would have you believe. And even more, he has an immortal army hidden all over the land that will come out and defend him from attack should it arise. It is taught that over the last thousand years, many uprisings have been thoroughly squashed by either this army or the emperor himself. Is this just folklore to deter rebellion or truth? Well time to find out…

## Chapter 1 - Manni

Manni Shorthold is an ordinary gnome. He wakes up alone in his tiny bedroom, walks down the corridor while banging on every door he passes before setting a pot of porridge to simmer in the shared kitchen. Groans arise behind him as his apprentices trickle out for a quick face wash in the shared water basin and grab a bowl of porridge. They quickly perk up over the meal and are ready for the day ahead by the time Manni has warmed up the forge downstairs in his smithy, Hold the Iron. Today he is completing an order for the city guard of 2,000 spearheads, he wonders if they even know they are made by gnomish hands … Manni looks around him … and tiefling hands, and halfling, dragonborn, and even firbolg. Manni sighs as he hefts his hammer; none of these apprentices show any promise, they’ll be gone by the end of the moon.

Hours later the hammer is set down with a clang as half-hearted cheers sound around the workshop, work is over for the day. Manni packages up the spearheads and sends them on a carriage across the city to Highmarshal Raphael de Lafayette of the city guard.

After closing up Hold the Iron, Manni takes the short walk to the local tavern, The Tall Order. Here he sits alone in his corner and drinks his ale like every night. And like every night, some annoying kid that doesn’t know better tries to talk to him. The Manni that rebelled was another man; the one sitting in the tavern is beaten, defeated by the deaths of his wife and daughter and the loss of his eye. He growls the same reply:

“Rebelling isn’t worth it kid, its not worth the loss, just keep your head down and stay alive.”

Watching the youngster walk away, Manni’s eye catches a cloaked figure sitting in shadow in the corner across from him, the obvious shape of horns jutting out of his wide-brimmed hat. The tiefling man nods towards Manni and raises his jar of ale before taking a long drink and setting it back down. Manni returns the gesture and settles back into his seat, purposefully appearing disinterested but keeping a wary eye on the man. For whatever clothes he may wear, and whatever spell disguises his features, the swagger and confidence his posture emitted could only mean one thing … human.

\* \* \*

Manni’s weeks continue like this; work, drink, sleep, wake, and dragging on into the next week, and the next. The orders keep flowing, Manni is a good blacksmith, but making swords for the city guard to oppress you with, helmets to protect them from your retaliations, and replacement bolts for the bridges that segregate you, can wear down on a person’s resolve. One afternoon, the last of Manni’s apprentices quits in a huff with the angry slamming of metal on metal and lots of shouting. But Manni only sighs in resignation and tells them to pack their belongings and be out of his shop by sundown.

That evening, he walks to The Tall Order and sits with his jar of ale, thinking “what next? more apprentices?” and he grips his mug with such anger his knuckles turn white and a soft growl escapes his throat. For Manni does not want the life of a blacksmith and ungrateful, untalented apprentices, he was made for more than that. And in that moment he decides it is enough, this night he starts yet another new life to avenge his family, or he joins them eternally. Manni stands so abruptly he sees stars, but does not waver as he strolls across the tavern floor towards the tiefling poser. Slamming both hands onto the table so hard the collection of mugs jumps an inch, Manni growls low:

“Outside … now.”

To which the man drains his drink, throws a few coppers onto the table, and adjusts his hat, nodding for Manni to lead the way. Manni takes a right out of the pub and strides as quickly as he can for a few streets before ducking into an alleyway, immediately turning to confront the mysterious man in the murky darkness of twilight.

“Now what would a *human*…”

Manni practically spits the word.

“...be doing in **MY** tavern, ruining **MY** evenings?”

The man before Manni drops his disguise to reveal a human in his late forties sporting dark stubble and a head of wavy medium-length black hair with dashes of grey. He loudly cracks his neck as he reaches into a pouch on his waist and slowly puts on a collection of faintly glowing rings, a pendant, and changes his cloak. Sighing satisfied he finally speaks:

“How’s it been Manni? Retirement treating you kindly?”

Manni’s keen darkvision from his gnomish heritage lets him see the features of the man in front of him almost as clearly as it were day. Recognition flickers across his face and he visibly relaxes.

“The arrogance of you to come to a workers’ tavern, I’ll never understand why you take such risks for such little reward, Lincoln Lox. Besides, I’m never going back to the guild, so you’re wasting your time.”

Lincoln chuckles in an annoyingly confident way and his face cannot help but split into a grin.

“Oh but you are coming back Manni … y’know why? Because we found one, Manni, we found an Ascendant Relic. We just need a plan to get it, and, well, you’re the plan man. Come back to the Guild of Rebirth Manni, we need you, and from what I’ve seen, you need us.”

Manni shakes his head in the darkness, struggling to believe what he is hearing; the relics are myth. They are stories to tell to children to give them hope, to give foolish adventurers something to hunt, they’re not actually real. But … but … but if they were real, whomever held one would have power to challenge armies. If someone held more than one … they possibly could face The Emperor himself. The first real lead for the Guild in over two centuries, could Manni give that up? Well this wouldn’t be much of a story if he did.

## Chapter 2 - Callie

The pudgy hand of Callie’s master rises, a finger adorned with fine rings extending to point at the line of girls and women. He moves back and forth in deep consideration, well as deep as his mind can manage. After passing over Callie for the fourth time he chooses Olivia as his entertainment for the night, a young vedalken girl, he’s always found her purple eyes … intriguing. As Callie retreats to the shared chambers of the slaves she feels a wave of relief at not being chosen, at not being used, but also a small part of her is sad she is no longer the beauty she once was. Pushing forty winters, Callie is well past her prime, only the youthful nature of halflings and her vibrant red hair keeping her in consideration.

Callie was captured as a slave at a young age, too young to remember much about her village beforehand, or understand why this was happening to her. Over the years, she was trained as a house slave; to cook and clean, read and write, and to please others. Now as a senior member of the house’s slaves, she spends her time as a scribe and teaching other girls how to act. Master Whytpyke is a very standard noble of the climate; strict, uncaring,condescending, but not cruel, and that is the best a slave can hope for. The nobles of Eriborn attempt to imitate the capital city of Druedon, often to extremes. Whytpyke could probably be a mid-standing noble in Druedon but enjoys being a big fish in a small pond too much.

Callie’s days are tedious, dragging on for hours of writing line after line, never thinking for herself, just copying messages, invitations, poems, the list goes on. She eats simple food, whatever the cooks can spare for the slaves after the nobles and servants take their share. And yet Callie keeps her mood up, she smiles and laughs, she keeps a strong happy exterior. What Callie fears most of all is that if the happiness stops and she considers her life in any depth, she will fall into a depression she cannot escape. More than anything, she wishes … hopes for true happiness. Sleep comes around each night easily for Callie; tired from a busy day’s work and comfortable in her cramped cubicle within the slaves’ quarters, for Callie likes small spaces. Bringing her knees up to her chest, staying quiet, it reminds her of a better time, of a fractured memory from her childhood. Callie is transported back to her woodland halfling village, playing hide and seek with her grandmother, a memory of true happiness and one that brings a smile to her lips.

\* \* \*

Except one day Callie wakes up angry. She is not sure why; she slept fine, nothing of note happened the day before, maybe she just finally ran out of patience. But sure enough, Callie’s smile is replaced with a scowl, she throws open doors like they offended her, and she snaps back at any who dare ask her questions. And yet none of this can quell the fire running through her veins.

Callie manages to make it through the day without antagonising the wrong people and is looking forward to finally eating some dinner when she is one of seven slaves called to the Master’s chambers, it's going to be one of those nights. She dresses up for the occasion; she is angry, not suicidal, and makes the long walk to Whytpyke’s chambers. However, Master Whytpyke is not alone. His son, no more than sixteen winters, is with him. It is announced that it is time for young Hugo to become a man, and he has some personal requests for the occasion.

To preserve Callie’s modesty, I shall not elaborate on this evening. All you must know, dear reader, is that Hugo Whytpyke was a sadistic monster who took our poor Callie to near-death. And it was at this moment that the fire which had been burning in Callie’s blood all day, the blood of her grandmother, finally exploded outwards with disastrous effect to the Whytpyke manor and disintegrating young Hugo where he lay.

Running through the burning mansion, Callie can’t think straight. She knows she can’t stay around; a slave does not murder a noble and get away with it. She needs to leave the noble district, probably the city, as soon as possible. But she can’t get through the checkpoints without documentation; the lower classes aren’t allowed in the noble district, and the slaves can’t leave. Tears run down Callie’s cheeks, evaporating almost immediately, leaving salty streaks in the grime. A beam ablaze crashes down in front of Callie, causing her to cringe back, shielding her eyes. Scrambling down another passage, the air is turning hot, singing her lungs with every breath. Smoke is swiftly filling every hallway and shouts can now be heard from the street beyond.

Callie’s clothing hangs in singed strips as she bursts out from the slave kitchen onto an alley next to the Whytpyke manor. Gulping in fresh air, she looks up at the upper floors now completely engulfed in flames. Carefully making her way to the end of the alley, her bare feet quickly growing cold in the evening air, she peaks around to the main thoroughfare and sees that quite the crowd has already gathered. With panic swiftly rising, Callie ducks back into the alley to try to think of a plan.

However, at that moment a cloaked figure sweeps into the alley, blocking her exit and gaze fixed upon her. He whips off the cloak revealing a grizzled gnomish face, a scar over the puckered remains of his left eye, and gently lays it over Callie’s shivering shoulders. The stranger has a comforting smile behind his unkempt beard and a kind look in his eye:

“It’s going to be okay dear, my name is Manni and I’m here to help.”

And for some reason deep down, Callie trusts him.

Manni proceeds to keep true to his word, smuggling Callie not only out of the district, but out of the city. He gives Callie a room above his smithy in Druedon, a city so big and crowded she will surely never be found. It is later revealed Manni was in Eriborn to swear in to the Guild of Rebirth, but we will come to that, no need to rush.