Prologue

Vakasiya is a savage, untamed world. But upon the continent of Kutan, the kingdom of Mavarin is unique. Centuries ago, a conclave of world's most powerful mages formed a council. They enthroned themselves in what is now Mavarin, but was then a chaos of quarreling city-states. Their plan? To find and crown the Perfect King.

Generations passed before Epheldan was discovered. His origins unknown, shrouded in both secrecy and time. And while the Council of Magi had searched, others had forged. Epheldan was gifted the Diadem Undying, an artifact of overwhelming power. Upon his brow, it would grant him strength and immortality. With it, he would tame the world.

What people now call Mavarin began in Throne, where sat the Council -- but that was only a seed, if a brilliant one. Epheldan was a tactical, strategic, and political genius. Flanked on each side by the magi who had crowned him, Epheldan began to draw peace from an age of strife. Slowly, surely, the people traded independence for wealth and security.

But Vakasiya is not a world easily domesticated, and even as Mavarin's borders grew, the land remained dangerous. Some rose from amongst the people in its defense, but were slowly rendered obsolete by career guards and the Mavari Knighthood that served their Immortal King with iron loyalty.

Eventually Mavarin stretched west to shoulder the Hagspine Mountains. It swelled eastward, toward the southern coasts beneath the ruthless merchant empire of Vazuna. It pressed southwest, against the very edges of Neversung, where dwell the Elves. And past it to the southern coasts, where fisher and farmer drink with pirate and prince.

Its borders had outgrown any single ruler in known history, and in so doing began to slip into disarray. It was for this reason that the Immortal King Epheldan took inspiration from the People's Shield, a patriotic order of Wardens that had protected civilization during the earliest days of its growth.

In exchange for a dozen years of devoted service, Epheldan would secure the names and lineage of his Hands. Bound by ancient magicks, the Order of Epheldan's Hands would traverse the length and breadth of Mavarin, relaying his words and defending its people. They would be sworn as such: To the Realm, the People, and the Crown.

Thousands answered the call. Only dozens endured the mental, physical, and spiritual rigor that brought them to a camp outside The Scar, a ravine in which the ancient Knights Mavarin conducted their tests.

That was the day the world ended. A god stepped onto the land, his mere presence slaying those who beheld him. The Scar became a scene of unspeakable atrocity, destroying the Knights Mavarin and the hopeful defenders of the realm. Calamity spreads throughout the land. Unnatural creatures and strange magicks bleed from the shadows, as all that was built clings to the crumbling precipice of civilization.