“Pay close attention to the Orbs during the ceremony. If anything strange should happen, send for me at my Embassy. Ask for Red. They will find me.”
These words haunt you on what should have been one of the most joyous days of your life. A very rare few are asked by their community to represent them in the Ceremony of Light, and this was your year. The elders never said anything about a member of that crazy Society of Red Mages hijacking your holiday abroad and filling you with unsettling suspicions. And the Ambassador to Coneria no less, the center of the world! You’re not sure how these people even qualify to have ambassadors; they have no country, generally don’t get involved as a people in anything, and just seem to wander from place to place writing things down and getting into mischief.
No matter. He seemed harmless, even helpful, aside from being a little …weird… and his Embassy has been footing the bill for your partying and exploration since you’ve arrived. Maybe this was just how Red Mages acted during important historical holidays. Yeah, that must be it. It’s all in the spirit of the Festival.
And the Festival! Food, sights, sounds. Every kind of people from every corner of the world, filling the town to overflowing during the day, and filling every Inn for miles around at night. People setting up great tent cities outside of Coneria City proper, each canvas metropolis filled with as much wonder and celebration as the city itself. It was a great time for everyone, and it had lasted for a good week so far. The Ceremony of Light was set to occur at dusk; afterwards the whole city, including Coneria Castle, would be overtaken with splendorous lights fueled by delicate and scintillating magic, ever changing in color and intensity, including great starbursts over the city heralding the Bi-millennial anniversary of the Light Warriors triumphing over the Archdemon known as Chaos.
Other places around the world had their own celebrations, but none as grand as that of the Kingdom of Coneria. This was the place to be on this night, and you have been taking it all in for free. This is the experience of your young lives, one you are certain to carry with you until the end of your days.
The celebration reaches a thundering swell as the shadows grow longer with the coming night, streetlamps flare up with magical illumination vaguely styled as open flame. Streets fill with costumed partygoers, garbed in obviously parodied copies of the original Light Warriors. A hat here, a wooden sword there, the odd colored cloak of questionable pattern. Rooftops and balconies dotted with imbibing revelers raised cheers again and again. Children play-fighting in front of shops, their parents closing up their business so as not to miss the crescendo of the Festival. Through the center of all this, your group of “Light Warriors” part the throng of jubilated townsfolk and tourists, escorted by a detail of the King’s Guard to the sound of thunderous applause.
The procession made its way into the City Center, a large patch of parkland where the main roads of Coneria met, in clear view of the castle in the distance. Matching them step for step, a second procession moved to join them, originating from the palace gates. This one included four ornately shrouded carriages, several King’s Guard, and the King of Coneria himself. The good King was bedecked in very regal finery; nothing but the best when meeting the representative saviors of humanity.
As the two groups merged in the City Center, the Guard ringed everyone involved in the ceremony with practiced steps, and began walking outward in unison, controlling the crowd with firm but polite motion. The four carriages moved, seemingly of their own accord, to take up position behind the King. Alone in the circle of armed guards, the King openly greeted each of this year’s “Warriors of Light”, shaking hands and beaming warm, fatherly smiles to the young men and women assembled.
A raised hand from the King quieted the witnesses to the event, thousands of them, as a testament to the respect granted the stern but forthright ruler and the importance of the event, and he began speaking the first, ancient lines of the Ceremony of Light:
“A great darkness shrouded the world.
The wind died.
The sea raged.
The earth began to decay.
Only a prophecy kept hope alive in people's hearts.
"When darkness veils the world, four warriors of light shall come.”
And after journeying far, four young warriors did at last appear.
In the hands of each rested a mysterious crystal... “
The cloth barriers lifted from the four carriages behind the King, uncovering the ethereal beauty of four smallish, crystal Orbs, bathing the immediate area with soft, cool light. A collective gasp overtook the crowd. The fact that this ceremony took place every year did nothing to dull the impressive majesty of the Four Elemental Crystal Orbs. Believed to have been illuminated at the beginning of the world, these orbs were darkened once, just over two thousand years ago, by the Archdemon Chaos. Relit by the courageous actions of the Light Warriors, they have given off their dependable, unchanging radiance ever since.
Until today.
Before the King could continue speaking, one Orb flared more brilliantly than the others for a half second. The crowd exploded with confusion and fear. Guardsmen, trying hard not to join the townsfolk and visitors utterly losing their composure, held the crowd back and tried to calm matters. When the same Orb began flickering and expelling bursts of dissipating, liquid-seeming energy into the air, they realized they were going to fail.
The other three Orbs remained as they always were, but seemed slightly dimmer in comparison to the now erratic fourth.
It was precisely the distraction the Imps needed. They attacked from underneath, swarming up from sewers and storm drains, piling out of building basements and unused warehouses. Like rats crawling upon rats, bounding and snarling, the diminutive goblin-folk surged forward stabbing and clawing down anyone in their path. Gibbering growls preceded screams of pain and terror as the horde made the once jubilant partygoers into victims.
The King called to his people, issuing direct commands with the precision of a military commander. “King’s Guard to me! Protect the Orbs! Get them back to the castle!”
He looked to this year’s Light Warriors, and in softer tones, “Run, if you can. Fight if you must. This is a catastrophe, young ones. That strange man tried to warn me. If you are who he claims you are, it is time. Look for a tower of red light. Go!”
Turning his attention to the immediate emergency, he retook his martial persona. “Royal Mages! Ignite the Ceremony lights NOW! Give them no darkness under which to hide!” Grabbing the breastplate of a nearby Guard, he growled an order, “Go to the castle with the Orbs, tell the caregivers to ready the tower to receive casualties. RUN!”
The new night’s darkness retreats instantaneously when the Royal Mages finished their spells. Vibrant hues and illusory images of victory, peace, and hope made the night as day but in sharp contrast to the chaos erupting on the city streets. The King’s Guard lived up to their title, surrounding the King and Orbs, quickly escorting the procession back toward the castle. Before leaving the area, His Highness looks to the assembled Light Warriors one more time,
“Don’t stand around gawking!” He points toward a broad shaft of ruby color stabbing skyward a number of streets over. “Get moving!”
It would be a simple enough task, were it not for a detachment of surprisingly organized Imps armed with viciously curved shortswords (largish daggers in human hands) blocking your direct path. Some six of them, and they’ve taken hungry notice of you.
Everyone knows that a lone Imp poses little threat against a healthy adult human. Sometimes the only difference between an inconvenience and a threat is a matter of numbers. This is the largest massing of Imps anyone alive has ever witnessed. The City Guard has its hands full just trying to hold ground, let alone make a dent in the horde.
Game on.
These words haunt you on what should have been one of the most joyous days of your life. A very rare few are asked by their community to represent them in the Ceremony of Light, and this was your year. The elders never said anything about a member of that crazy Society of Red Mages hijacking your holiday abroad and filling you with unsettling suspicions. And the Ambassador to Coneria no less, the center of the world! You’re not sure how these people even qualify to have ambassadors; they have no country, generally don’t get involved as a people in anything, and just seem to wander from place to place writing things down and getting into mischief.
No matter. He seemed harmless, even helpful, aside from being a little …weird… and his Embassy has been footing the bill for your partying and exploration since you’ve arrived. Maybe this was just how Red Mages acted during important historical holidays. Yeah, that must be it. It’s all in the spirit of the Festival.
And the Festival! Food, sights, sounds. Every kind of people from every corner of the world, filling the town to overflowing during the day, and filling every Inn for miles around at night. People setting up great tent cities outside of Coneria City proper, each canvas metropolis filled with as much wonder and celebration as the city itself. It was a great time for everyone, and it had lasted for a good week so far. The Ceremony of Light was set to occur at dusk; afterwards the whole city, including Coneria Castle, would be overtaken with splendorous lights fueled by delicate and scintillating magic, ever changing in color and intensity, including great starbursts over the city heralding the Bi-millennial anniversary of the Light Warriors triumphing over the Archdemon known as Chaos.
Other places around the world had their own celebrations, but none as grand as that of the Kingdom of Coneria. This was the place to be on this night, and you have been taking it all in for free. This is the experience of your young lives, one you are certain to carry with you until the end of your days.
The celebration reaches a thundering swell as the shadows grow longer with the coming night, streetlamps flare up with magical illumination vaguely styled as open flame. Streets fill with costumed partygoers, garbed in obviously parodied copies of the original Light Warriors. A hat here, a wooden sword there, the odd colored cloak of questionable pattern. Rooftops and balconies dotted with imbibing revelers raised cheers again and again. Children play-fighting in front of shops, their parents closing up their business so as not to miss the crescendo of the Festival. Through the center of all this, your group of “Light Warriors” part the throng of jubilated townsfolk and tourists, escorted by a detail of the King’s Guard to the sound of thunderous applause.
The procession made its way into the City Center, a large patch of parkland where the main roads of Coneria met, in clear view of the castle in the distance. Matching them step for step, a second procession moved to join them, originating from the palace gates. This one included four ornately shrouded carriages, several King’s Guard, and the King of Coneria himself. The good King was bedecked in very regal finery; nothing but the best when meeting the representative saviors of humanity.
As the two groups merged in the City Center, the Guard ringed everyone involved in the ceremony with practiced steps, and began walking outward in unison, controlling the crowd with firm but polite motion. The four carriages moved, seemingly of their own accord, to take up position behind the King. Alone in the circle of armed guards, the King openly greeted each of this year’s “Warriors of Light”, shaking hands and beaming warm, fatherly smiles to the young men and women assembled.
A raised hand from the King quieted the witnesses to the event, thousands of them, as a testament to the respect granted the stern but forthright ruler and the importance of the event, and he began speaking the first, ancient lines of the Ceremony of Light:
“A great darkness shrouded the world.
The wind died.
The sea raged.
The earth began to decay.
Only a prophecy kept hope alive in people's hearts.
"When darkness veils the world, four warriors of light shall come.”
And after journeying far, four young warriors did at last appear.
In the hands of each rested a mysterious crystal... “
The cloth barriers lifted from the four carriages behind the King, uncovering the ethereal beauty of four smallish, crystal Orbs, bathing the immediate area with soft, cool light. A collective gasp overtook the crowd. The fact that this ceremony took place every year did nothing to dull the impressive majesty of the Four Elemental Crystal Orbs. Believed to have been illuminated at the beginning of the world, these orbs were darkened once, just over two thousand years ago, by the Archdemon Chaos. Relit by the courageous actions of the Light Warriors, they have given off their dependable, unchanging radiance ever since.
Until today.
Before the King could continue speaking, one Orb flared more brilliantly than the others for a half second. The crowd exploded with confusion and fear. Guardsmen, trying hard not to join the townsfolk and visitors utterly losing their composure, held the crowd back and tried to calm matters. When the same Orb began flickering and expelling bursts of dissipating, liquid-seeming energy into the air, they realized they were going to fail.
The other three Orbs remained as they always were, but seemed slightly dimmer in comparison to the now erratic fourth.
It was precisely the distraction the Imps needed. They attacked from underneath, swarming up from sewers and storm drains, piling out of building basements and unused warehouses. Like rats crawling upon rats, bounding and snarling, the diminutive goblin-folk surged forward stabbing and clawing down anyone in their path. Gibbering growls preceded screams of pain and terror as the horde made the once jubilant partygoers into victims.
The King called to his people, issuing direct commands with the precision of a military commander. “King’s Guard to me! Protect the Orbs! Get them back to the castle!”
He looked to this year’s Light Warriors, and in softer tones, “Run, if you can. Fight if you must. This is a catastrophe, young ones. That strange man tried to warn me. If you are who he claims you are, it is time. Look for a tower of red light. Go!”
Turning his attention to the immediate emergency, he retook his martial persona. “Royal Mages! Ignite the Ceremony lights NOW! Give them no darkness under which to hide!” Grabbing the breastplate of a nearby Guard, he growled an order, “Go to the castle with the Orbs, tell the caregivers to ready the tower to receive casualties. RUN!”
The new night’s darkness retreats instantaneously when the Royal Mages finished their spells. Vibrant hues and illusory images of victory, peace, and hope made the night as day but in sharp contrast to the chaos erupting on the city streets. The King’s Guard lived up to their title, surrounding the King and Orbs, quickly escorting the procession back toward the castle. Before leaving the area, His Highness looks to the assembled Light Warriors one more time,
“Don’t stand around gawking!” He points toward a broad shaft of ruby color stabbing skyward a number of streets over. “Get moving!”
It would be a simple enough task, were it not for a detachment of surprisingly organized Imps armed with viciously curved shortswords (largish daggers in human hands) blocking your direct path. Some six of them, and they’ve taken hungry notice of you.
Everyone knows that a lone Imp poses little threat against a healthy adult human. Sometimes the only difference between an inconvenience and a threat is a matter of numbers. This is the largest massing of Imps anyone alive has ever witnessed. The City Guard has its hands full just trying to hold ground, let alone make a dent in the horde.
Game on.
