-PROLOGUE-

The Last One

The Dark God was dead.  After a brutal campaign that lasted near a century, the Alliance of Men, Elves and Dwarves drove back the hands of time and defeated the Darkness.  The war itself had claimed many lives, and many families had lost loved ones, but at last, it was over.  
     
         Dwarves and Elves stood side by side on the scarred battlefield, littered with the bodies of the dark forces that plagued the lands for what seemed like an eternity.  Minotaur, Straith, scaly-skinned abominations with snake eyes and a slimy coat, lay dead at the feet of the Alliance.  Gryphons soared across the skies like bolts of lightning, making haste to a distant vista, squawking to declare their freedom from reins and battle.  The Dwarf King, no taller than the Elven Emperor’s waist, gazed up at his once foe and offered his hand in friendship.  Elves and Dwarves watched on, as a unity formed between Emperor and King.
     
         After many years of vicious conflict, with the Alliance no longer needed, the parties went their separate ways.  The Dwarves returned to the icy caverns of Baru, beneath the almighty mountain of snow, known as the Ice Ridge.  The Dwarf King had a family of his own, a young child almost his size, and a wife as fair as an eloquent princess.  Elves took their passage across the Gordanu Ocean, to the distant isle of Carthona, on the backs of mighty sea serpents, tamed by the Elves many years ago.  The sight was incredible to the Elves, large mountains off in the distance, sparkling brightly under the sun.  A city made from what seemed like diamonds, winking at them from the distance, drawing them closer to home.
     
          Humans on the other hand, though they did not live a life of centuries, nor were they born in battle, decided to made home upon the tattered plains of the battlefield.  Led by their leader, William, who was soon declared King of the people for his efforts in the war.  William quickly made his presence felt, by building a huge wall around a camp that over the years became the human capitol, Eldervale.  A mighty city, bearing many homes, taverns, blacksmiths and of course, the Palace of Kings, which sat upon the hillside overlooking the shimmering ocean.  All was well, the war had been fought, lives had been lost, and the future had never looked brighter.
     
           Yet, there was much more at work than anyone knew.  Over the years, there was a story passed down from father to son.  Not a story found in a book, nor a bedtime story parents told to their children when they tucked them in at night.  It was a story that etched upon the battlefield, where the Dark God himself, fell.  The story itself had many, many versions, but one was true.  The story told to a young boy called, Brisburn Blackthorn.
     
           Brisburn was a charming little lad, always getting into trouble in the local market for causing mischief with his sister, Maralda, who was a little young than him, but they were inseparable from the moment she came into the world.  Brisburn’s father, Cornelius, was a general in the Human Resistance during the Minotaur Rebellions of the Fourth Age.  He was a big man, grizzly in appearance, long beard that could easily play home to a small bird or two.  Cornelius’ tale was of brave warrior who lived many years ago, a warrior with no name, but his purpose was clear.  Every night, just before the twin moons descended, Cornelius tucked Brisburn into bed and sat upon a stool, to tell him a story.
     
           “He was brave and bold...” Cornelius began...
Upon the battlefield, as the red sky descended upon the war, the Dark God himself cut down an entire group of Dwarves with just one swing of his monstrous sword.  His vicious and cold eyes surveyed the approaching Alliance members,

         After many years of vicious conflict, with the Alliance no longer needed, the parties went their separate ways.  The Dwarves returned to the icy caverns of Baru, beneath the almighty mountain of snow, known as the Ice Ridge.  The Dwarf King had a family of his own, a young child almost his size, and a wife as fair as an eloquent (eloquent pertains to speech, not appearance) princess.  Elves took their passage across the Gordanu Ocean, to the distant isle of Carthona, on the backs of mighty sea serpents, tamed by the Elves many years ago.  The sight was incredible to the Elves, large mountains off in the distance, sparkling brightly under the sun.  A city made from what seemed like diamonds, winking at them from the distance, drawing them closer to home.
    
          Humans on the other hand, though they did not live a life of centuries, nor were they born in battle, decided to made (make) home upon the tattered plains of the battlefield.  Led by their leader, William, who was soon declared King of the people for his efforts in the war,.  Williamquickly made his presence felt, by building a huge wall around a camp that over the years became the human capitol, Eldervale.  A mighty city, bearing many homes, taverns, blacksmiths and of course, the Palace of Kings, which sat upon the hillside overlooking the shimmering ocean.  All was well, the war had been fought won, lives had been lost, and the future had never looked brighter.
    
           Yet, there was much more at work than anyone knew.  Over the years, there was a story passed down from father to son.  Not a story found in a book, nor a bedtime story parents told to their children when they tucked them in at night.  It was a story that etched upon the battlefield, where the Dark God himself, fell.  The story itself had many, many versions, but one was true.  The story told to a young boy called, Brisburn Blackthorn.
    
           Brisburn was a charming little lad, always getting into trouble in the local market for causing mischief with his sister, Maralda, who was a little young than him, but they were inseparable from the moment she came into the world.  Brisburn’s father, Cornelius, was a general in the Human Resistance during the Minotaur Rebellions of the Fourth Age.  He was a big man, grizzly in appearance, long beard that could easily play home to a small bird or two.  Cornelius’ tale was of brave warrior who lived many years ago, a warrior with no name, but his purpose was clear.  Every night, just before the twin moons descended, Cornelius tucked Brisburn into bed and sat upon a stool, to tell him a story....nor a bedtime story parents told to their children when they tucked them in at night.
    
           “He was brave and bold...” Cornelius began...
"Upon the battlefield, as the red sky descended upon the war, the Dark God himself cut down an entire group of Dwarves with just one swing of his monstrous sword.  His vicious and cold eyes surveyed the approaching Alliance members,"