COMING SOON - DEEP-SPIRE

Every series needs a prequel - and the Palâdnith Chronicles is no exception!

COMING SOON!

A NOVELLA

Beware of friends that become enemies - for they know your secret heart...

DEEP-SPIRE takes place around forty years before the first novel of the Palâdnith Chronicles, JOURNEY OF SHADOWS, begins; over a decade before Val, Eni and Seth Falkyn are born. 

DEEP-SPIRE is the story of their mother.

Our tale begins on the battle-field. Two armies face each other on a winter's dawn - yet this will be a battle unlike any other, for it is between sorcerers, not soldiers. 

Belythna Arran watches the enemy emerge from the mist, before recalling the events, seven years earlier, which have brought her once respected order to ruin. 

DEEP-SPIRE is a tale of friendship, betrayal and coming of age. Belythna entered the Sentorân order at the age of thirteen, along with three others. Among them was a girl named Riadamor. 

As the years pass, Belythna and Riadamor mature into very different women.  One comes to realise that the price she has paid to become a Sentorân was too high, whereas the other chafes at the restrictions of the life she has chosen. 

Yet, only one will betray them all.

DEEP-SPIRE will be available on Amazon Kindle within the next few weeks - watch this space!

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #16

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Sixteen

Captives and Choices

S

alrean stumbled forward and fell to her knees as a whip lashed against her back. Peri heard her breath hiss between her teeth in agony, but she did not cry out. Instead, the ranger struggled to her feet and threw a vicious look over her shoulder at the hill man behind her.

“Faster!” the man, a huge individual made even more imposing by the ragged fur cloak he wore around his broad shoulders, snarled.

A sea of hill-men, all traveling north, surged around the captives. There was no escape from them. Even if Peri and Salrean had been able to slip the bonds pinning their arms behind their backs, they could never have fought their way out through the press of humanity around them.

Even Salrean, with her warrior’s heart, had conceded defeat. She had fought off as many as she could in the woods – they both had – until there were just too many assailants. At that point, Salrean had thrown her sword to the ground and raised her hands in surrender. Peri had done the same – it was either that or perish.

“I did not travel all this way to die upon a hill-man’s blade,” Salrean had whispered to Peri, moments before they were taken captive. “If they don’t kill us now, they’ll take us north to Carn Dûm. That’s where we want to go.”

“But we’ll be her prisoners,” Peri had hissed back, icy terror seeping into him. “She’ll torture us – turn us into her servants!”

Salrean’s face had turned fierce at that. “She can try.”

Peri moved forward with Salrean, jogging to keep up with her long stride. She knew better than to insult the whip-wielder; he had the look of a man who was just waiting for an excuse to beat someone to death. Peri had felt the touch of that whip earlier; and his shoulders still burned from it. He was exhausted, but still he jogged on, terrified of hearing that tell-tale whistle cut the air behind him.

It was a cold, sunless afternoon; the world was grey from one horizon to the other. Little seemed to grow this far north and the few plants that did were spiny and stunted. The wind blew in Peri’s face, causing his eyes to water. He had long lost all sensation in his cheeks and nose.

All the while, as he marched north surrounded by the hill-men horde, Peri thought about Rose.

Where was she – and where was that sly goblin who had led them straight into danger?

Terrifying thoughts about what might have happened to her distracted him from his own plight, from the fatigue in his limbs and the raw wind the chilled him to the bone. He could not stand the thought of being parted from her; could not bear to think that she was hurt, lost – or dead.

Curse Azil, he thought bitterly. This is all his doing. If I ever set eyes on the ferret again, I shall wring his deceitful throat.

***

Rose slumped onto the leafy ground and fought the urge to lie down and close her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to block out the world. After leaving Peri and Salrean to those hill-men – where they were likely to have met their deaths – a terrible sense of hopelessness had consumed her.

Azil, who had carried her all this way without rest, sank down next to her. His breath rattled in his chest.

“We outran them,” he wheezed, triumphant despite his exhaustion. “We lost them, she-hobbit.”

“Yes,” Rose looked up at him, her face bleak, “but we left Salrean and Peri behind.”

Azil returned her gaze steadily. He did not pretend to look sorry, for he was not. He was a creature that would do anything to survive, even if it meant leaving others to die. Frankly, Rose was stunned that he had risked his own neck to save her; even if there was part of her that wished he had left her behind.

“I can’t go on without them,” she whispered, fresh tears stinging her eyes. “We were companions; the quest depended on us staying together.”

Azil continued to observe her, before shrugging. Around them the shadows were lengthening; turning the grey, skeleton woods even gloomier.

“It will be night soon,” he observed. “I have taken us west, almost to the edge of the woods. We should be safe here till morning.”

“And what then?”

Azil met her gaze, his pale eyes frighteningly intense. “I made you a promise, she-hobbit,” he told her, although the regret in his tone was evident. “And Azil is true to his word. I will take you north to Carn Dûm if you wish it – to the secret way in the ranger spoke of – but no further.”

Rose stared back at him, stunned. She had not expected this.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it mattered not, that she would not go a step further north without her companions at the her side, but she held her tongue. Such an offer was generous – and would not be made twice.

“I’m not sure I can continue,” she finally admitted hesitantly. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this alone.”

“That is for you to decide,” Azil replied with another shrug, before heaving himself to his feet. He was so tired that he swayed slightly. “The offer is there. You have tonight to decide. In the morning I will take you on to Carn Dûm, or back the way we came – the choice is yours.”

Azil looked away from Rose then, his gaze darting around the darkening woods. “Let us find somewhere safe to rest,” he told her. “For it is not safe out here in the open – it is not safe anywhere this far north.”

Rose nodded numbly before stiffly climbing to her feet. She followed the goblin through the trees while he searched for a suitable spot to camp. They walked for a while, and it was nearly dark by the time Azil found a place he was happy with. It was a small hollow, under a bank full of tree roots. There, they wedged themselves in like two badgers and watched as the last rays of light disappeared from the world and darkness fell.

They had little in the way of food – for Peri had been carrying the bulk of their supplies – so supper was one stale piece of wafer bread shared between them.

“I will hunt for rabbits tomorrow,” Azil promised her, “juicy and sweet ones.”

Rose nodded and gave him a weak smile, although misery had robbed her of an appetite. She was so hungry that her stomach felt knotted and painful – yet the thought of Peri dying at the hands of those hill-men made it difficult to swallow the dry wafer bread.

After their meagre supper, the pair lapsed into silence. Azil, used to solitude, was not a chatterer. Rose was relieved that he left her alone; even if her thoughts were bleak and painful.

She lay awake for many hours, on her back, listening to the night. Sleep did not come easily. She had too much on her mind – and an important decision to make.

***

“I have decided,” Rose told Azil the next morning. They had just climbed out of their burrow and were stretching their stiff, cold limbs. “We shall go north to Carn Dûm.”

Azil nodded, his expression giving nothing away. Rose knew he loathed the thought of going anywhere near that ruined fortress, yet this morning he hid his feelings.

“And why?” he queried, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Now that your companions have gone, what do you hope to gain from entering the Witch’s lair?”

“I don’t know they’re dead,” Rose voiced the thought that had plagued her for most of the night. “In fact, I imagine Morwyn has instructed her servants to bring anyone trying to reach Carn Dûm directly to her. I believe Salrean and Peri are still alive – and even if there’s but a glimmer of hope, I must try to rescue them.”

Azil regarded her silently for a moment, an odd expression on his wizened face.

“I do not understand hobbits,” he admitted eventually. “You look soft and foolish, like children, and yet you have a core of iron. The stories really are true then…”

“What stories?”

Azil hesitated a moment, as if unwilling to explain further.

“I grew up in the dark of Moria,” he said eventually, “and heard many a tale of hobbits, and how they defeated the great Sauron. I expected fierce creatures, wily survivors like we goblins – instead you appeared bumbling and innocent. I can see I was deceived – you are like the stories.”

Rose smiled at that. “Indeed you were deceived. Although not all of us are made of the same mettle as Bilbo, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Most of us are as unadventurous as we look.”

The goblin snorted at that. “Not you though. Come, we still have at least three days hard travel ahead of us – and many a servant of Morwyn to slip by. The days are shorter this far north, we must make the most of the daylight.”

Rose nodded and, wrapping her cloak tightly about her to ward of the morning’s chill, followed Azil into the trees.

***

“We are nearing Carn Dûm.”

Azil’s announcement, mid-afternoon on the third day of travel, caught the hobbit by surprise. He had not spoken more than a handful of works since daybreak; the further north they travelled through the bleak woods, the more morose he had become. Rose sensed it took his entire will not to abandon her and flee south. Only the fact that he had given her his word kept him going.

He looked nervous now, his eyes darting around as if he expected goblins to erupt from the trees at any moment.

“I have taken you west,” he explained, his voice a low whispering hiss, “to the rocky slopes just beyond the towers of the stronghold. Very soon we shall see it.”

Rose nodded, remembering Barandur’s words. It seemed like an age ago now – yet she was glad that she had, indeed, memorised his instructions – for there was no one else present to remind her of them.

To the west of the towers of Carn Dûm, there is a collection of jagged rocks that climb the mountainside. Make your way into the centre of them, and under a sharp rock, darker than all the others, you will find a tunnel. It will take you deep under Carn Dûm, into the dungeons; from there you can make your way up into the fortress itself.

As Azil had warned, the bare trees gradually grew sparser, and the landscape rockier. A chill mist crept across the ground, its thin tendrils snaking around their legs as they walked. The earth was parched and bare; what little grass grew was pale, wispy and dry. It was a barren, lonely land and Rose would have given anything to be back in her parents’ hobbit hole at that moment. Still, she forced herself on, following the goblin up an incline.

There, at the top, she had her first glimpse of Angmar’s infamous fortress.

Carn Dûm was even more forbidding than she had expected, and even at this distance she could feel malevolence radiating out from it. She and Azil stood on the edge of a rocky valley. On the side nearest to them, Rose spied the jagged rocks that Barandur had described, where she would have to venture to find the secret way in. The fortress sat to the east, partly obscured by rocky outcrops and swirling mist. Austere, black towers – some completely ruined, others less so – and topped with horned turrets, rose into the pale sky. Crumbling walls and fortifications snaked along the rocky outcrops around the fortress, making Carn Dûm look as if it was part of the landscape. Rose had expected the ancient citadel to be more of a shell, however it appeared that the Witch of Angmar had been industrious of late. The Witch Tower rose high above all the others, its obsidian surface pitted with age.

Rose’s gaze seized upon the great tower and she shuddered. She could not imagine taking one step further, yet it was to that evil place that she must journey.

She only hoped that, if she indeed managed to reach it, that she would find Salrean and Peri alive when she arrived.

End of Part #16

Be back for Part #17 on 7 February!

_____________________________________________

I hope you are enjoying the story so far – thanks for the encouragement from all those LOTR fans out there. I am writing this story for you. J

I have a wee favour to ask you, my readers.

Every year the SFFANZ (Science Fiction and Fantasy Association of New Zealand) run the Sir Julius Vogel Awards for New Zealand writers of Science Fiction, Fantasy or Horror. 

This year, I would like to submit THE WITCH OF ANGMAR.

However, since is a vote-based award, I need your help. 

If you are reading, and enjoying, my LOTR fan fiction THE WITCH OF ANGMAR I would be delighted if you could vote for it! 

It's easy to vote – just copy and paste one of the below into an email. The only part you need to fill in is No.9 – which requires your name and email address.

If you do decide to vote for me – THANK YOU! 

If you wish to vote for THE WITCH OF ANGMAR just copy and paste the following into an email and send to: sjv_awards@sffanz.org.nz 

Hello,

 I would like to nominate the following fan fiction for the Sir Julius Vogel Award, 2014:

1.                                THE WITCH OF ANGMAR (The Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction)

2.                                Author: Sam J. Charlton

3.                                Type of work: Serialised novel, fan fiction

4.                               Year of publication: 2013

5.                                Published on a blog: http://epicfantasyadventures.blogspot.com/ or available on author's                  website: http://samjcharlton.com/LOTR_Fan_Fiction.html 

6.                               Author contact: samanthajcharlton@gmail.com/Website: http://samjcharlton.com

7.                                Fan award category

8.                               GENRE - fantasy

9.                               Contact details of the person making the nomination e.g. email

LOTR Fan Fiction: The Witch of Angmar - Part #15

The Witch of Angmar

Legacy of the Fellowship

Part Fifteen

Azil leads the way

A

 freezing wind howled over the bleak, shrubby hills of central Angmar. It was hard to believe the weather was still mild further south. The four companions bent low into the teeth of the gale that seemed to blow straight from the frozen north. According to their goblin guide, Carn Dûm lay four days walk to the north – although that estimate was based on them not encountering any obstacles en route.

“Hordes of hill-men and goblins now guard the Witch’s fortress,” Azil had told them that morning as they packed up camp. “We will have travel west and skirt the fringes of their armies if we wish to reach Carn Dûm.”

“Very well,” Salrean had agreed. The ranger now strode at Azil’s side. She did not trust the goblin and so had tied a rope around his neck with a knot that would strangle him if he tried to escape. She held the other end and let the rope fall slack between them. Rose knew, however, that the ranger was ever watchful of the goblin.

Relations between Rose and Salrean had been frosty ever since Rose’s refusal to go a step further with the ranger if she hurt Azil. The ranger had warned her of the goblin’s sly ways. He could not be trusted. He would try and escape at the first chance.

Rose knew all this, but was still glad of her decision.

Even Salrean did not know this land well. Azil had traversed these hills previously; he had hidden from the hill-men and goblins sent after him. He knew how to ‘become one’ with the shadows when necessary and he would teach them to do the same.

At the end of the first day out from the Black Woods, the landscape became scarred and ugly. Deep ravines, twisted trees covered in a strange black fungus, and sharp boulders made of a pitted black stone surrounded the company for as far as the eye could see in every direction. They travelled northeast along a dried up river bed with a grey sky overhead.

“There is woodland up ahead,” Azil told them, his gaze darting to Rose’s face as he spoke. “Morwyn and Targkok’s armies will be patrolling it – but the woods will be safer than continuing out in the open.”

Rose nodded, aware that Salrean was watching her.

“Thank you Azil, that sounds like the best choice.”

Azil nodded back vigorously, seemingly eager to please.

“Kind she-hobbit,” he gave a smile that revealed small, yellowed and pointy teeth. “I will take you to Carn Dûm since you promise to set me free.”

“Of course,” Rose assured him, looking away from those feral teeth, which made her a little nervous. “As soon as you lead us to the fortress you are free to go.”

***

A chill, windy night settled over the sparse woodland. These woods, full of skeleton trees, were very different to the dense Black Woods. It was not so easy to hide here. An icy breeze whispered through the trees, ruffling the thick layer of leaves that carpeted the ground.

This close to Carn Dûm they could not risk lighting a fire. As such, the four companions huddled at the base of a huge, black elm that had a split at the base of its trunk. It was a cramped but sheltered spot and the hobbits and the ranger took turns at taking watch.

“Be wary of our prisoner,” Salrean warned Rose before wrapping her thick cloak about her in preparation for trying to get some sleep. “He knows you are sympathetic to him. He will try to convince you to set him free.”

“I will not!” Azil hissed, appearing affronted by the ranger’s suggestion. “I made a promise and will see it out.”

“The day a goblin keeps his word is the day the elves return from the west,” Salrean replied. “Be careful, Rose.”

With Salrean’s warning ringing in her ears, Rose sat, hunched by the edge of the hollow, her eyes scanning the silent woodland. Her sight had adjusted to the darkness; yet, even so, she could make out very little.

Peri had curled up next to her, his body pressed against hers for warmth. The contact felt reassuring and Rose slowly relaxed as the rhythmic rise and fall of Peri’s breathing grew deeper; signalling that he had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. In her hands, numbed from the cold night, she held Azil’s rope.

Unlike Peri and Salrean, who were soon sleeping peacefully, the goblin did not rest. Instead, he watched Rose silently; his large eyes glowing like pale moons in the darkness.

“Why don’t you sleep?” Rose asked Azil eventually, tiring of being stared at. “Surely you must be tired?”

“I cannot sleep here, so close to Carn Dûm,” he responded, his voice subdued. “My master still looks for me – I dare not close my eyes lest he finds me.”

“You’ll have to sleep eventually,” Rose answered with a shake of her head, “or you’ll be no use to us.”

“Why does the she-hobbit not sleep for a short while?” Azil suggested innocently. “I will keep watch.”

Rose stifled a laugh at that. “I think not. You would be off in an instant, and you would steal everything we own.”

Azil shook his head in vehement denial. “Never. You must not listen to the poisonous words of the ranger – those of Farnost hate my people. They will think the worst of us, even without cause.”

“I think you have given them plenty of cause,” Rose frowned, remembering the goblins that had attacked them outside the walls of Farnost. “In fact I know it.”

“I thought you were my friend,” Azil’s face crumpled in hurt, “but now I see you are just like all the others.”

“Friend?” Rose replied, not bothering to hide her surprise. “Of course we are friends. If you help us and keep your word, you will be my friend for life. Hobbits have long memories.”

Azil nodded hesitantly before lapsing back into silence. He remained so for the rest of Rose’s watch and feigned sleep when Rose gently woke Peri to take his turn.

“Watch him,” Rose whispered in Peri’s ear. “He may look like he’s sleeping but he’s not.”

Peri nodded, his expression masked by darkness. Without another world, Rose bundled herself up in her cloak, pulled up her hood to shield her head and face from the cold and did her best to get some sleep.

The next morning they rose early, with the first watery streams of sunlight filtering through the naked trees. None of the companions were in high spirits. It had been a cold night and their bodies were chilled, cramped and sore.

Rose had forgotten what it felt like to be warm. She longed for nothing else but a roaring fire to warm her toes in front of. She thought of her parents’ cosy hobbit hole and the crackling fire her mother would have going in the sitting room, and instantly regretted the thought. She missed her mother. She missed the Tower Hills and she missed the Shire. It would be the beginning of autumn now and the smell of wood-smoke would lace the air. Hobbits would be roasting chestnuts over open fires, cracking open the first of the walnuts and frying mushrooms in butter.

Mushrooms.

Rose’s mouth watered at the thought before she banished thoughts of home and focused on the grim morning and the long day of walking ahead. There was wafer bread and hard cheese for breakfast, washed down with stale water.

They resumed their journey, walking in pairs with Azil and Salrean in front and the hobbits bringing up the rear – and they had not been walking long when Salrean halted and bent to examine some tracks.

“Men,” she announced. “They passed this way a short while ago. We must be careful.”

Azil nodded, his bright gaze darting around him.

“They are close – I can smell them.”

“Really?” Peri gave Azil a probing look. “I can’t smell anything.”

Azil sniffed. “Goblins have a highly developed sense of smell. There were five of them and they went east.”

“I’d say the same,” Salrean responded. “Come, we must move quickly. There will be others.”

The company moved on, travelling swiftly now, and making an effort not to stand on twigs or brush against anything that would make a noise. They had been travelling a short while when Salrean suddenly stopped once more. Her body was rigid; alerting Rose to danger.

The others watched as the ranger crouched low and crept forward towards where a thick wall of conifers blocked their view beyond. Gently, Salrean parted the branches and four pairs of eyes gazed through the gap.

Rose’s breath stilled.

On the other side of the trees, just yards away from where they stood, the woodland suddenly ended. Beyond, distressingly close to the woods, a carpet of bristling spears and ragged banners that flapped in the breeze, marched north through a barren, scarred landscape.

They were men; grim-faced and dressed in swathes of grey clothing to protect them from the cold. Many wore fur coats about their shoulders. They carried crude weapons – iron blades, axes and spears – but it was their faces that frightened Rose.

They were the faces of men who had only ever known a bleak, violent world.  Men that hope had forsaken.

“Hill-men,” Azil hissed over Salrean’s shoulder. “Patrolling the borders of Carn Dûm.”

“You’ve led us too close to the edge of the woodland,” Salrean hissed back. “We should not be this far east! You’ve led us into danger.”

“I did not realise we were this close,” Azil protested, his pale eyes bulging. His thin face was rigid with panic. “I swear!”

“We need to move,” Salrean swivelled, nearly colliding with her companions who were all peering over her shoulder. “Now.”

The urgency in the ranger’s voice, something she had only heard in moments of mortal danger, alarmed Rose. She tore her gaze away from the grey, marching mass as Salrean gently let the branches fall back into place and focused on obeying the woman who had led them this far safely. Salrean turned and moved west, pulling Azil behind her. Rose exchanged a worried glance with Peri before he followed.

Rose hesitated. Perhaps Salrean was just being over cautious. They had not been seen, at least. If they slipped away none of the hill-men would be any the wiser.

Rose was finishing this thought, and hurrying to catch Peri up, when a group of men burst out into Salrean’s path from behind a thicket of coppicing trees.

With the lightening reflexes that had kept her alive on many occasions, Salrean leapt backwards, letting go of Azil’s rope and drawing her long sword in one movement. The goblin let out a shriek and shuffled backwards out of Salrean’s way. Peri, who was just a few paces behind, drew the sword he had been gifted at Farnost and rushed to Salrean’s aid.

There were too many of them. They swarmed out of the shadows and rushed at Salrean and Peri, yelling as they came. For an instant, Rose was frozen there, watching the scene unfold. Then, Azil was hurtling towards her, arms flailing – shouting a hissing, incomprehensible tongue. A moment later, he grabbed Rose, his thin fingers biting into her flesh, and threw her over his shoulder. Azil only stood half a foot taller than Rose, and was all wiry sinew and bone; yet he was frighteningly strong. He carried her as if she weighed nothing.

“No!” Rose shouted, jolted out of her fright and began to struggle. “Let me down – set me free!”

“Stupid she-hobbit!” Azil wheezed sprinting through the trees like a hare. “If I stop now we’re both dead!”

“Peri!” Rose shouted, her voice raw. “Salrean! We can’t just leave them – they need us!”

“You can’t help them now,” Azil panted, not easing his grip for a moment. “If they’re not already dead they soon will be.”

“No!” Tears coursed down Rose’s face and she began to writhe like a landed fish.

“Stop it!” Azil grunted, his bony fingers digging even deeper into her flesh until she gasped in pain. “Do you want to get us killed too?”

Skeleton trees rushed past in a blur and the shouting and clash of blades behind them gradually muted.

“Peri,” Rose sobbed, sagging against Azil’s back. She could not bear the thought of him, skewered on a hill-man’s blade. He had only come on this journey, to look after her. They had been so close to their destination.

It could not end like this.

End of Part #15

Be back for Part #16 on 24 January!

_____________________________________________

I hope you are enjoying the story so far – thanks for the encouragement from all those LOTR fans out there. I am writing this story for you. J

I have a wee favour to ask you, my readers.

Every year the SFFANZ (Science Fiction and Fantasy Association of New Zealand) run the Sir Julius Vogel Awards for New Zealand writers of Science Fiction, Fantasy or Horror. 

This year, I would like to submit THE WITCH OF ANGMAR.

However, since is a vote-based award, I need your help. 

If you are reading, and enjoying, my LOTR fan fiction THE WITCH OF ANGMAR I would be delighted if you could vote for it! 

It's easy to vote – just copy and paste one of the below into an email. The only part you need to fill in is No.9 – which requires your name and email address.

If you do decide to vote for me – THANK YOU! 

If you wish to vote for THE WITCH OF ANGMAR just copy and paste the following into an email and send to: sjv_awards@sffanz.org.nz 

Hello,

 I would like to nominate the following fan fiction for the Sir Julius Vogel Award, 2014:

1.                     THE WITCH OF ANGMAR (The Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction)
2.                     Author: Sam J. Charlton
3.                     Type of work: Serialised novel, fan fiction
4.                    Year of publication: 2013
5.                     Published on a blog: http://epicfantasyadventures.blogspot.com/ or available on author's                  website: http://samjcharlton.com/LOTR_Fan_Fiction.html 
6.                    Author contact: samanthajcharlton@gmail.com /Website: http://samjcharlton.com
7.                     Fan award category
8.                    GENRE - fantasy
9.                    Contact details of the person making the nomination e.g. email

A bit of background: the History of Palâdnith

With the third book of my epic fantasy series, the Palâdnith Chronicles (The Well of Secrets) now under way, I thought my readers might like more insight into Palâdnith, its people, history, religion and culture. To this end, here is an overview of the history of Palâdnith...

The recorded history of Palâdnith stretches back five thousand years. It is divided into five ages: The Age of Warlocks, The Age of Chieftains, The Age of Kings, The Age of Darkness and the Age of the Realms.

Journey of Shadows (Book One of the Palâdnith Chronicles) starts in the Year 357 in the Age of the Realms.

1. The Age of the Warlocks – this first is the first recorded age, which lasted for at least two millennia.

This was a crucial period for Palâdnith, the age in which the population exploded, cities were built and culture developed.

During this period, a secretive order of warlocks founded the Citadel of Lies and Deep-Spire. The name of these Warlocks was lost – only the name of the last warlock was recorded: Gregnor.

During the Age of the Warlocks, Moden was created by the powerful magic of the warlocks, which has now been lost. Moden was an underground prison – said to be accessible from a secret spot somewhere in Palâdnith, although no one has ever discovered where, not even the Sentorân. Those who were incarcerated there are watched over by the Keepers of Moden, strange shambling creatures that patrol the dark abyss. Once there you will never age, never feel hunger or thirst – and never die.

The warlocks and kings of old, and even the first realmlords banished their enemies to Moden using the Blood Stone. These are now lost, and as far as anyone knows there is no way in or out of Moden. There were originally ten of these stones, fashioned from the heart of a volcano. In order not to lose the stones, every time they cast them at the feet of their victims, the rulers would whisper a counter-charm which would bring the stone back after its use. This was lost with the last king – and for that reason only the first realmlords used the Blood Stones, and ran out quickly.

2. The Age of Chieftains – this age lasted 1300 years, and began with the fall of the Warlocks. The order turned inward and disappeared from the world after a lengthy battle within the walls of the Citadel of Lies.

The Sentorân were established during the second half of this age – warrior sorcerers dedicated to the protection of Palâdnith and the promotion of peace. There were also the first records of the Sister of Sial, an order of witch women living in the forests of Sude, in this period.

The population continued to grow, and the cities of Isenlock, Dunethport, Catedrâl, Haithwell, Tarrancrest and Narn are founded during this age.

The dominant language is Goranthian.

3. The Age of Kings – this age lasted 900 years and culminated in the War of the Realms that brought about the downfall of the aristocracy.

This age began with the chieftains of the six principal cities proclaiming themselves kings and defining their borders. Right from the beginning, there were border clashes.

The Sentorân were advisors to the kings of Palâdnith, but could not keep the rot from setting in as the six kings all vied for dominance.

The War of the Realms began eighty years before the end of this age, and ended with civil wars that tore Palâdnith apart.

4. The Age of Darkness – this age lasted 150 years. Chaos ruled before the Sentorân helped bring order to the world.

Deep-Spire becomes the Sentorân’s stronghold.

Poverty and violence brings Palâdnith to its knees.

                                                                                          

The Goranthian language is lost, spoken only by the few scholars and sorcerers left, replaced by a more direct, cruder language called the common tongue.

The Sentorân’s influence in this period gradually wanes, especially towards the end when the population recovers from the desolation and the six realms formed.

5. The Age of the Realms – this is the current age in Palâdnith. Just over 350 years ago, the six realms of Paladnith were established: Omagen, Sude, Farindell, Westhealm, Marl and Cathernis.

During the first century of this age, the Sentorân retreat to Deep-Spire, with one or two sorcerers working in the service of the realmlords. However, unlike the Age of the Kings, the Sentorân’s power is limited.

Year 315 – Riadamor leaves the Sentorân order and goes into hiding.

Year 322 – Battle of Deep-Spire. Death of Serina, the last leader of the Sentorân. The Esquill win. They take possession of Deep-Spire. Riadamor begins tracking down the remaining Sentorân.

Year 327 – Riadamor disappears and Marin takes control of the Esquill. Many of Palâdnith’s realmlords accept Esquill sorcerers into service as advisors, yet there is still a widespread distrust of sorcery and those who practice it.

Year 357 (early spring) – The first of Riadamor’s servants reaches Dunethport and attacks Seth Falkyn. Eni Falkyn witnesses a stabbing and is accused of murder. Val Falkyn is sent on a perilous quest to the Citadel of Lies to retrieve a mysterious artefact, on behalf of the Realmlord of Farindell.

Our story begins…