#akol

In the year of Alder, fifteen thousand years since the meshing of dimes, the continent was vast and held aloft by kings and by men. Promethia, Lythantry, Idozerain, Drathania, Lorcathwyn, Undrella, and Rathynim were still cast aside under the banner of faerie filth. 

Fae were not men, they did not understand the hearts and the blood of those that fought under banners and sigil. Fae did not burn with love or with yearning. They could never understand what men had to do, what they had to sacrifice. 

The stigma, you see, was that the fae did not deserve the continent of Aer. They did not have to find their way after the meshing of dimes. They were not dropped into this world. They already owned it. They already had conquered all there was to conquer.

They had unnaturally long lives and so they could never appreciate that which was handed to them. So the humans, who did not covet the kindness of the fae king Althymer, rose up against him. 

The fae were a war-less people. They did not know fighting or war. They knew peace and believed in the land and in the power they were given by the gods since the world was born from the Mother's tears.

But no power, no magic could stop thousands of men with steel and swords and love for bloodshed. 

King Tryon rose from the ashes of battle and appointed his closest warriors and lords to titles no one had yet held and promised their lineage to carry on the spoils of a bloody war where one side did not fight back.

King Tryon with eyes of black and hair of fair blonde sired King Regia with eyes of black and hair of light brown. King Regia lived for almost a hundred years, sired seventy two known bastards and only one truly noble son who claimed his throne, King Alder.

King Alder was known as Alder the Terrible. He fought as much as he fucked, he drank as much as he ate, he spent coin as far and wide as he could see. 

He fucked whores from brothels while a rebellion grew under his very nose.

Through three generations of kings, King Althymer of the fae never died. Some say the fae live as long as the world does, some say they live for thousands of years until they find a love so pure and so untainted that they give their soul back to the Mother in thanks. 

King Althymer from behind his own barrier made of mist and darkness, one he created to keep the humans out, sired seven sons. 

Some say he created them with dark magic from the goddess Detyr. Some say human women birthed them, hence the reason their ears did not have the delicately fine points. Some say they were born from the earth and once they fulfill their purpose they will crumble like dust and sand. Some say the seven riders were born of Alder, all bastards, and the king of the fae gave them a gift.

Those seven sons of Aer rode across the continent with fae, witches, magic filled vikings. They struck hard and true, never forgetting how the humans and kings slaughtered their fae brethren. 

The battle, better known as the Battle of the Light and Dark, raged for many days. Some say ten nights passed, some say twenty. But the outcome was the same.

The seven sons stood upon Lyrican Rock, amidst all the gore and blood, the bodily fluids and they claimed the continent. They claimed it for the fae king and they claimed it for themselves. 

Once the battle was won, King Althymer wanted nothing to do with the world. He wanted no part of this reign or the next after seeing what was taken from him. So he kept the Veil up, keeping his lands hidden from the outside.

The seven sons took their place upon Lyrican Rock, crafting the greatest castle ever seen by men and fae alike. They split their duty and their land into seven equal parts with the castle sitting dead center of the continent. 

The seven kings of Light and Dark reign true with the gift of long life from King Althymer. They reign righteous and steadfast and hold peace in the land of Aer. 

At least that is what the found text of Brakenlothridge had said.

But sometimes even paper printed in leather tomes lie.