The Champion-King Illiam Castell

Atop the footed throne beyond the grand promenade sits the well-poised Illiam Castell. His face worn with years, though his skin shimmers in youth. His hair waxed back to feathers to make a mane beneath the golden crown. His eyes discerning, piercing every lie that enters into the ordered hall. Advisors spit their guarded words, defending their positions while honoring their truth. Above them slowly rotates the seat of order. A sphere enlightened with the penumbral glow of the sun, the seat of order vibrates with every word. Before answering, he peers into the orb as though in conversation. His eyes reflect the iridescence that brighten the room. Advisors calm as their scribes take notes.
Illiam Castell was born of a lineage of honor. His father of the same name bore the weight of his people as they ventured through the folding ruin. Their captain and chief, the late Illiam Castell fought against the fiends that reached from other words. With great sacrifice, he led his people to the the Mountain's Fareway. There, the people made their way through the lush grasslands. Crystal water descended from the snow covered peaks. There, they ventured further, following the river to the great harbor of the Cunab Gulf. Exhausted and tired, they laid their heads to rest. Illiam Castell trust his sword into the ground, "This is far enough!" The proclamation rang as the great city of Isfa would be raised through sweat and tears.
When the young Illiam Castell was born, Isfa had already taken advantage of the bounties that the new territory had to offer. He was raised as the people thrived. While his father numbered high in his years, Illiam was still a child. He was raised among the workmen that erected the first chambers of the Citadel Serenus. Illiam watched as his peers spread throughout the great basin, bringing treasures, stories, and passion to fill all of Isfa. Then, his father passed.
When the great chief Illiam Castell died, there was disorder among the people. Many rose to take the prestigious position in the now thriving center of the world. The people became fractured by those that sought their allegiance. Fear and worry nested in the breasts of children. Around them, the world seemed to break from cursed words. Illiam believed there had to be a way to reunite his people. In the quiet of his youth, he rose up and implored the people, "Build me a promenade to the sea so that I might deliver my father to the realms beyond."
Contenders of the throne sat quiet, reluctant to do any dishonor to the fallen chief. Artisans carved great works, merchants decorated every step, and Illiam himself crafted the coffin. Within a season, the promenade was ready. A calm had descended over the people as laurels wafted over the stonework. Illiam called the contenders to the throne forward to help carry his father. None refused, believing that they would gain favor from the people. Together, they raised the coffin and ascended the steps to the citadel. However, Illiam had them wait.
His stood on the steps and turned back to the grieving crowds. "We all have grieved a great man. A father to all of us. A father to Isfa. On his shoulders, we built this city. And now, following his example, I have besought from you that you build this promenade. These people that carry my father have divided us. What greatness have they done since my father passed? They have sung their own praises and sought your affections.
"Follow me and I will continue the work of my father. Together, we shall create a safe harbor. We shall welcome those in need and say, 'This is far enough!'"
With that, Illiam Castell won the hearts of the people. He took his father's seat in the citadel. But yet, he was no champion. He was merely a king.
In the years to follow, King Illiam Castell welcomed delegates from many countries. But, terrors strode in from the far desert that rests under the eye of the world. The Gamjuvan king Garreel rose to the citadel with welcoming hands. Incense danced from censers as Illiam Castell made their exchange. With the hall filled, Garreel drew his blade. It's venomous bite seething forward. Yet, Illiam drew his father's blade, a relic from the travels through the folding ruin. It's pristine edge parted through that of Garreel's. Garreel lunged forward with his heavy hands in desperation. Illiam felt the pressure pushing on the blade as it pulsed within the dishonored king. Garreel struggled to remove the blade.
A darkness dripped from the wound, spilling to the ground. A darkness spread over the ground, gathering to a mass. Garreel's body splintered and cracked. Luster driven out of the husk that remained. The darkness creeped forward, a shadow to blot out the world. It's movements were beyond the realm of man. It spread from the citadel to the streets. Illiam looked out as his people cried. The sun could not light the darkened stone, nor the illuminate the eyes that walked them. A curse had befallen his people.
With advisors all around, beseeching his guidance, the king could not find an answer. Instead, he cast his eyes up. Seeing the light force away the darkness, he called upon Aven, the worldtorch, to restore his people; to drive out the darkness. And a fragment descended to Isfa and Illiam felt the light within him. An orb that appeared to contain the worldtorch, drifted over the citadel. Illiam regarded the structure and the its calm. Unwavering, he approached. Doubt, as daggers, lunged at him, but he did not falter. Fear, a noose, sought to strangle him. His eyes resolved, glory sought to blind him, but he did not need his eyes. He words determined, he made his claim.
Then, he heard the Heir that strengthened him. The darkness became formless. His mind became clear and structured as if bathed in unending light. With a torch as his blade, king Illiam Castell broke into the chaos.
From his footsteps, the shadow could not hide. With his words, he gathered the shade together. Then, the heir spoke through the king with marvellous words. Lights drifted as feathers before settling on the shaken, cowardly form. Suddenly, the shadow vanished.
From the midst of chaos was born the Champion-King Illiam Castell.