Pareel, Child of Lost Moons
“Child do not anger, sit with me a while. Your heartsickness may find kin here if you would but speak of home”:- Ballad of the Sky Man. Act 2, Line 33

Myrsgaurd did not always have just one moon, but once had three, at least one of which was inhabited. However some great catastrophe knocked them from the heavens and part of them fell to the ground. The only survivor of the moon-folk is thought to be Pareel. He had slept for thousands of years below the ground. If this part of the legend is true then he was older than Alruarchs’ proclamation. It should be noted however that this does not discredit it though as fate magic often retroactive.

Pareel is most often represented as a messianic figure. He talked the people of Hayve into giving their city to him without a fight and then turned there enterprises to his purposes. He dreamt of a new empire of the moons and commanded his subjects to build great ‘temples’ to them. A word introduced to the Scapes by Pareel and apparently meaning ‘place to venerate.’

He was apparently a mild speaking individual and showed surprising naivety, which led to his downfall. After Seventy years of his empires’ constant expansion though mostly non-violent means, he had many rivals. But his name was feared as he could, apparently convince armies to disobey there commanders and people to rise against their kings. Finally, the remaining city-states sent a hundred assassins out to end him. After many horrible deaths to the Moon-folks’ Technomancy, Pareel perished on the black blade of one Renik Blake, a known sociopath and evildoer. The madness he inspired died with him, and his temples were cast down. No others have ever been recorded in any Scape.

Pareels' story is well known due to the penning of ‘The Ballad of the Sky Man’. Perhaps the seminal work of the playwright Jacob Holmes. Holmes claimed to have spoken to Blake before he died, and told him of the great debate he had had, as Pareel had tried to reason for his life. I have no hesitation in admitting that the first time I saw the play, Pareels pleas brought tears to my eyes.

Xos The Plague Bearer
“Never Again” :- Elder Zrel, of the southern fleets, on Xos

Little is known of Xos, other than he was a Berren, that race of Seafaring creatures who rarely become interested in the affairs of man. He was known to, like many Berren leaders, be playing the game they know as ‘Poyeenin’. The game of life and knowledge. He apparently found a new, proactive way to play. He used magic to create life, but rather that use it on the fish and birds his race usually practice there magics on, he chose bacteria. It is said his entire fleet perished, but somehow, he sailed the ships to the Craged lands.

The Demion there still speak in fear of the silent ships crewed by the boneless zombie Berren. There is a special hatred in there heart for Xos as he sent his crawling and slithering former kin to attack the Demion, their deep fortresses proving no defence against the plagues that they spewed. The Under Sire of the time was Borinor the XXIV and he personally led the counter attack. He recognised the only way to stop the growing armies of restless dead that assailed him. Using rites granted to him by truly ancient pacts with the Berren he spoke to them, and they granted him a favour that they have only bestowed once. They gave him a gaming piece. His gaming piece. As long as he protected it he would never die, or be affected by any outside force, This great favour is testament to the shame they felt.

He took up his arms and then made for the ocean. He swam under water for three days before he reached Xos’ ship. The creature’s madness was apparent. He had turned his ship into a gaming board of artful complexity, hewn from the entrails of his former family. In the centre the Sire found him, ranting about winds and angles and bile. He had painted every piece in his possession with green plague marks and strung them in the rigging on strings made of flesh. As his feet hit the boards the Sires anger and size shook the deck, his eyes blazed with sickened fury. As he tore the grisly web apart, Xos ignored him and simple moved pieces. Half a dozen dead Berren sprang to his defence from their places hanging in the web. Though he thrashed mightily they clawed at him, raking him with filthy finger nails as Xos babbled about his game. “I found a new way” he said. “I can end all suffering. I can end the game. And win!”

Borinor knew the plaugue was in him, and so he could never return home. Enraged, the Demion reached for the fire bombs he had brought with him. The alchemists’ fire ignited on the deck and began to burn the fragile craft quickly. Xos babbling reached fever pitch and the flames seemed to subside, as he cooed to the fire like a parent to an infant. Taking his chance, Borinor dived for the creature, barging through the grasping hands of writhing zombies. They both fell over the side and, as he felt the Xos cease his struggling Borinor crushed his own playing piece in his mighty fist. He felt the plague burn in his veins and glimpsed the madness that had overtaken Xos. But before the plague could take him, the water crushed him to death.

How do I know what happened? Well, the Berren were watching. They say the saw the fight play out on their own game boards and told the story to the Demioun as thanks for the Under Sires’ sacrifice. The Demioun, knowing not to prod at another’s dishonour left the matter with that.

It is important to note that no humans were involved in this story. Mores the better, for if Xos had headed straight for the main land his plagues would have progress unchecked across the world. Know that humans are only a single part of the world and, if my travels have taught me anything, we are unnecessary to its continued existence.

Lowmund Dragonback
“Let the Fire Consume Me!” Lowmund Dragonback, attributed.

Myrsgaurd dragons are nothing like the majestic beasts which roam my homeland, they are not worthy to be the steeds of kings. They are semi-intelligent, wild beasts of hunger and fire. Lowmund was a man who was almost a dragon. His tribe eked out an existence in the tunnels the dragons call home, they kept the entrances secret and the dragons contained. Lowmund though, was said to dream of letting his ‘people’ see above the clouds, as they had done before man walked upright.

It is claimed his tribesmen cheered as they burned. Using methods unknown he tamed one hundred dragons and led them out of the cave networks to an unsuspecting world. He had no humans in his force, no intelligent creatures at all. The dragons burnt the land and devoured everything they found. They stayed in the air and so were mostly immune to any Myrsgaurd weapon, except sorcery.  The few mages who could road on griffins and imported exotic creatures, but many flew on levitated platforms and the battles were joined in the sky. The event known as the war of the burning sky raged for a month. Wounded dragons rained down on the land, and they caused terrible damage before they were slain. And through it all, Lowmund roared his defiance. Dressed in his red scale armour he looked like a dragon in human aspect. Swinging a stave made of bone and teeth he threw fire like his brethren and, when the dragon he road on was finally knocked from the sky at great cost. He clawed his way into the air and took the battle back to the wizards towers, burning them with his magics while he road on wings of air and fire.

The onlookers were sure he was becoming something completely inhuman. No weapon could harm him and to magic could do more than slow him down, it was as if his rage was taking form as his dragons died. He was unstoppable until a young Pathfinder, Pieter Droan, suggested a novel and elegant solution.

Using his rage against him, the mages lead the, now mindless Lowmund into the massive journey stones at Byree-narda. As they began to cook from the heat Pieter lead the assembled Pathfinders, a group unused to war, in a great rite. As Lowmund reached for him Pieter completed the spell and sent him away. He later said he saw feral understanding, and maybe thanks in the others saurian eyes.

Lowmund was sent to Aborsynth, and was soon lost in the endless jungles of that strange place. Maybe he found peace there. Or maybe he was eaten by a predator greater than he. No one can know.

Gregor, the Shadow Master
“Never was a course so apparent. Never was an evil so blatant.” :Lord Varloni, to his troops before the assault on Zrenprasel.

By far the oldest of the Dark Lords, Gregor has always been described as ‘A shadow in armour’ Claiming to have been left over from the beginning of creation, of being living darkness, he paradoxically also claimed to be ‘Lies Incarnate’ and ‘born from human sin”. What is certain is that he founded the city of Zrentprasel, City of Murk, on the banks of the river Ire. The city was lawless and lowlifes flocked from every corner of the world, and from further. The land it was built on was disputed at the time and neither of the quarrelling parties wanted to exhaust their armies against Gregors’ thuggish legions. Before long the city had spread like a cancer along the banks of the river and for the first time in two millennium Reaver ships sailed inland without being challenged. In the city itself, every excess and vice was catered for. Wild dogs, and worse roamed the streets, as Gregor laughed in his rotten wooden tower. Banditry sky rocketed in the surrounding countryside and a slave trade became well established in the hellish streets of the city.

Feeling he could wait no more, All-King Treebeun the Restless commanded his legions to wipe the city of the map, ignoring the pleas of silver tonougue ambassadors that Gregor sent to treat with him. Gegor, they said, was a rightful ruler of his city through right of conquest, and the All-king had no right to interfere unless Zrentprasel declared war on another city-state. The King threw them out.

Of all of the Dark Lord wars, this one was the most conventional. Gregors armies fortified townsteads and coach inns and fought alongside hired mages and mercenaries. Battles were won and lost until Gregor was beaten back to his city. Not for the last time Zrentprasel burnt under the All-Kings torches.

As the tower was ravaged by magic and fire, Gregor came out and challenged the All-king to single combat. Not a fool, the king declined. With words of life and nothingness Gregor brought forth strange creatures from the very wood of his tower. They drove the King back from the city. Gregor caught up to the king when his steed was shot from under him by vile magic.

A young soldier, called, Veridia Caspen ran to Treebeun’s aid. She fearlessly took up his lance as the king writhed in black tendrils issuing from beneath Gregors armour. As the king screamed and the army fled from the abomination Veridia stood firm. Gregor, delighting in his torture, didn’t see her until he felt the enchanted lance pierce his armour. The light magic contained within the lance burnt him from the inside out and as he died he met her glare with his own glowing red orbs. “One day, you will die as this.” He said as he came part.

The king was taken to his field hospital and, after three days treatment, he called Viridia to him. Surrounded by solemn ministers he asked her, the strength leaving him, if she would do one last thing for him, after proving herself so strong of character. The young woman, only twenty seven, bowed her head and said she would do anything for her king. And with that consent, the ministers there declared them husband and wife, and the king finally died.

With no others to contend, the peasant-born girls was declared All-Queen and reined for eighty years, Veridia the Just is rightly venerated and her decedents still sit on the throne of Sternholm to this day. Long may they reign.

Cobun, The Clockmaker
“Time… waits for me.” Cobun, when asked how he got so much work done by a college room mate.

It shames me to say it but Cobun is actually from Ptrygon, expelled from Bilsgate Engineering school for ‘unfitting conduct’ he took his work to Myrsgaurd. He made clocks. Thousands of them, of every shape and ever size. The people who raided his cave/workshop claim that he had neither the time, not the physical strength to build all the ones he did. It is known that he built clocks in he shape of men, which walked and talked in a strange mimicry of life. With eyes set into the faces and curved, jutting spike where the hands would have gone on a man. It is widely postulated that they somehow built each other. Where he got the vast amount of metal to complete there construction is another mystery, as Myrsgaurd is notoriously low on high quality metals and the materials Cobun was known to have stolen were not nearly sufficient.

Still, from brass and steel he built the clocks. There were dragon clocks and griffin clocks. But his masterpieces were clocks in the likeness of Dark Lords who had gone before him. Each mimicked the appearance of their templates. Maes clock was coated with delicate poisoned spines, and Lowmunds clock spewed fire from great fuel tanks. Pareels clock was a beautiful blue crystal construct while Gregors was a twisted, oily mess. Tybosus and Tobor’s effigies were chained together with delicate filigree, and Xos’ ticked discordantly. Syrinils gave off a beautiful and disturbing glow from magically powered light, while Arularchs stood above the others, malevolently. And of course they all told the time.

There were so many clocks that the sound of their ticking echoed from the cave ceiling, so the sound in the cavern apparently sounded like on long tick-tock, the difference between the two noises disappearing in the din.

The All-Queen of the time, known to posterity as Queen Jessica the Clever, had sent her men to investigate the disappearance of material meant for the great north railway. Led by the queens’ brother/guardian Hilren, they had tracked unknown thieves back to the cave after they stole an entire steam engine that had been on its way from Ptrygon.

After finding the Clock cavern Hilren sent his fastest man back to warn his sister, while observing the strange little man construct his clock. As the last screw was turned Hilren relished to his astonishment that he had been watching the construction of a clock he had seen by the entrance of the cave. He knew it wasn’t just a copy, as Cobun accidentally dented it with a hammer as he moved to put his tools away.

“I did that so you would recognise it.” came a voice from behind him. Standing in the midst of his men was Cobun, having approached without a sound. The Cobun they had been watching was still there though, tidying his tools away.

“How have you done this?” asked Hildren, drawing his swords.

“How do you measure time?” Asked Cobun, his voice sounded as if he were dreaming “I measure it in clocks, one for every day. I remember, when there were five clocks. I remember when there were a million.”

“Cease your babbling” demanded Hildren “this is an army, any fool can see that.”

“It is already finished.” said Cobun “I came back congratulate you. Only one more to go.” Blood was trickling from his lips and it seemed he had been battered badly by some previous battle.

In a too-fast movement he grabbed Hildrens arms and pulled himself onto the Gaurdians swords. “Good luck, I have looked in his eyes.” he said enigmatically then died.

And then the clocks woke up. They streamed out of the cave, forcing Hilren to flee before them, meeting any attempt at communication with violence. Soon, more caves were found around the continent, the clocks meeting up and flowing into vast forces. The details of the campaign are elsewhere but know that Hildren and Jessica fought a masterful war against an equally canny opponent. For leading the clock armies was Cobun. He seemed to somehow be on every battle field and leading the charge at every siege, though his body was in the vaults in Sternholm. By his side were the effigies of the former Dark Lords, though thankfully there were non as potent as the originals.

After a long and perilous campaign he led his army to that impenetrable fortress and to battle at the gates. Hilren and Jessica fought side by side that day and eventually the clock army was turned back, smashed at great cost. Cobun was the last to fall, at midday, on midsummer’s day. After a brutal fight his body fell from the battlements as he was driven back by the last of the gate guards. Though the body was never found and some of the guards claimed it had disappeared before it hit the ground.


His Majesty
The current threat to the races of Myrsguard is the one known simply as His Majesty. Power mad and strangely insightful he has united the last of the Wreal under his banner and rebuilt much of Zrenprasel. Even now, townships burn and children weep under his disturbing gaze.

I tell you now, though you may not believe me; I have met the current Dark Lord. I have eaten with him and talked with him. I knew him before he was called Majesty, though he had no name even then. I wouldn’t call us friends but we did not meet as enemies. I was there at his beginning, and I know the army he is amassing to be great and that he is fearsome indeed.

How he came to this Scape is a mystery, and many who have travelled, such as myself, hold that he is not a creature of the Sevenscape. He seems to be a creature that mimics man, but stands apart. I can only hope that there are no others like him among his kind, if they even exist.

But take heart, for he is the last of the Dark ones. Though he is one more storm the poor, long suffering Scape of Myrsgaurd must weather, his appearances heralds a new age of peace. The All-Queens Empire is as strong as it has ever been and, at time of writing, it marches to war against this new threat. One final war will surely end the cycle of death that has cursed the Scape. And after three thousand years, true peace may be within grasp.