Prelude: The Loss of a King

The day began as any other for Lucius, he began it by taking care of a few errands, both personal and professional. He started by reviewing transcriptions from court on the day prior, reading the records slowly to make sure that there was not something he had missed in discussion. How lucky he felt, most of the time, that he had owned such a magical quill to transcribe everything said around him, even if he did not hear it himself. Yet that feeling of luck was not there this day, as he looked over the records. Perhaps he had missed hearing something that someone spoke of in court. Yet, at the end, there did not seem to be anything spoken of that was out of place. Lucius figured that perhaps this one time, he would deviate from his routine reviews and reread the transcriptions. However, again, after he read the notations, he still had yet to find anything out of the norm. So with a shrug, and a sigh, he dated the records and placed them on the shelf in the proper order.

He continued on through his daily routines, making sure to take care of everything that his majesty the King Lord British had assigned to him. He took pride in the routines and even found a sense of inner peace by completing them. To complete the routines meant that yet another peaceful day would come to pass throughout the land. Still yet the feeling that had taken him before, in his reviews of the prior day’s notations, could not be shook. At every turn, at every completion of an errand, the feeling yet remained that something was not quite right. It was as if something were looming on the horizon, not yet seen, but felt deep from within his soul.

The errands of the day had been completed, and yet the feeling had remained. Something was not quite right, but that exact something could not be pinned down. Lucius considered for a moment to go early this month, to the Lycaeum, so that he might peer upon the stars that night. The Natural Gods often had a way of speaking to those who knew how to read the night sky through an art form known as ‘Astrology’. Yet as the day would to move onwards, the feeling began to grow, something was indeed wrong and at mid-day it had even began to felt almost tangible. As if something were….

It struck Lucius, finally he began to understand where this feeling was coming from and why so many around him that day had not really felt it. He was surrounded by warriors, guards, archers, and merchants of all types and races. Yet none of them, that he most commonly encountered, were manipulators of the Arcane, or the divine. Finally, the feeling was recognized… The very mana of the Realm’s Shard, or the ‘Heat Space’ as many called it, was being drained or redirected. Even a portion of his own mana was being tugged at by something unseen. Almost as if a mana draining spell were reformed, and was now being channeled, instead of simply being cast in a singular manner. When he finally stumbled upon the realization as to what was truly going on, Lucius immediately dropped everything and decided to take his report to the local Cabal there in Britain.

As he walked in, and took to gaze around at the Mages, Wizards, and Sorcerers located at the Cabal’s Guildhouse, he immediately understood that he was not the only one to succumb to this draining effect. All of the casters appeared to be drained, as if they had all fallen sick to some mysterious disease. The Guildmaster of the Cabal immediately bade Lucius to enter his personal chambers, and under any normal circumstance he would comply without hesitation. Still though Lucius, the Magister of the Moonglow Lycaeum, felt it would be best to check on something else before he could speak with the Lord of the Britain Cabal. Lucius simply shook his head and offered little explanation as to why he would decline the invitation, and took his leave to go to the local shrine of the virtues there in Britain.

A feeling of dread crept upon him the closer he drew to the shrines. Had the Priests, and Clerics, succumb to the same draining effect as he and the rest had? He crossed the bridge, spotting a Priest in the distance outside the Shrine, flailing his arms wildly as he spoke with obvious fervor to passing citizens of the land. What did this all mean, if everyone in the city were to have succumb to this drain? He approached the Priest, and bade the man to take a moment of solace so that he might calm himself. Yet the Priest did not respond in kind, and simply began spouting prophecies in a language only slightly known to Lucius. What was causing all of this distress? Lucius looked inside the shrine, not a single priest stood to greet him. They all remained at their virtuous shrines, and a few had collapsed entirely on the floor near any number of the shrines.

Something was not right… There was much to report in Court this evening. He knew there would be many questions, and yet he had to little to answer with. What was happening to Britain? Was this a divine event, or an arcane one? Was it local only to Britain, or had Britannia as a whole succumb to it? All of these questions and more would be poised to him.

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