Throne of the Emperor

Introduction to "Shieldmaiden of Shevarash"

Records tell, that king Elephon, the last of the line of Venramoir, called his council around his deathbed. In his last breaths, the king without heir summoned for his friend and shield brother. He announced him as his inheritor and rightful king of Islenor. His friend was Rennyn Thelirme, first of the Thelirme kings; devoted to Shevarash and the word of Corellon, protector of the west.

From Rennyn's blood came forth the line of warrior kings. His sons would see how the world would break and would punish the drow scum that, with their wickedness, had made the underworld unstable. They would join the lands of elves to create the vast empire of Islenor to continue its smaller, northern lands. They would bring prosperity, stability, and glory to their people, and drove the black scourge to the far west, under the Scorching mountains.

Rennyn the III, son Farynis, had just become the new emperor and protector of the land. Like all the Thelirme Kings, after his father died and left the crown’s weight to him, Rennyn travelled west to soak his sword on drow blood to complete his coronation. With him, he took his brother, Elydir, a talented warrior to do the task with him, among them some most well-trained soldiers of the land. But the black scourge had heard about the king’s arrival. With treachery, the nefarious drow had made a great ambush and assassinated the new emperor, cold-blooded, to satisfy their wicked goddess.

News arrived at the Tel’Taurn Tal, as sadness and unease filled the people. In the moment of crisis, the oldest of the Thelirme line and council agreed and called forth the third son of Farynis, the little brother of Rennyn and Elydir. He, like all of the Thelirme line, had been trained in the art of war. Instead of staying in the military, this young wizard, talented in enchantments, had been sent to learn magic. One day, they had thought, he'd be an advisor to his brother and maybe archmage in his own right. But that was not his fate any longer. Just the next day, Alathar, the third son of Farynis, barely 76 years old, is crowned Emperor of Islenor. The boy king, they called him.

Until turning 100, he would be heavily advised by family members and the court. But as he reached adulthood, he became the real ruler. And what kind of ruler he would be. He would never forget his blood or the fate of his dear brothers. He made sure he would protect his lands from the black scourge, rebels, and the corruption trying to ruin the sanctity of the Empire. He stood for the same things as all Thelirmes before him, but where his family had always been like a pack of proud wolves, Alathar would be more like a fox, calculative, and secretive.

He would gain many names. Alathar the Fair. Alathar the Brave. Alathar Silver-tongued. The Silent Wrath. The Wizard king. The Great Emperor. He would gain lands, deals, and allies, as well as enemies. He devoted himself entirely to his cause, never even letting himself marry or bringing life to a child.

Some call him cruel and secretly speak behind his back. And for others, he is a tragic hero. But as the years have gone by, now both his devoted and critics have to agree. The Legendary Emperor has become Alathar the Old, and his time to step aside is closing in.

This becomes even more real to you, Daoiness Ilakhan, as you and your lord, Feyrith Luneiros, are let into the great throne room in the glorious Glass Palace. In this massive, tall room with gorgeous decorations, large carpets, and twinkling crystal crowns, your eyes get fixed to the tall, white throne. It is decorated with gold, silver, and delicate carvings from symbols of power, as well as Thelirme family crest; a broken arrow fixed to a flaming shield.

On the throne, he sits; Alathar Thelirme, emperor of Islenor. His robes are the most exquisite velvet, his cloak rimmed with white furs. His long, golden hair goes beyond his knees, and as he sits, tips of it hit the floor. His spirit flows of power, you can feel it on your skin. Just arcane energy that flows through the fingertips of this over 800-year-old wizard king tickles your skin, only by being in the same room with him. His spirit, which still refuses to bend and makes his presence ever more imposing.

But as strong and crushing his character is, his body looks withered. Once, the handsome young king is so deep in his visions these days that he cannot eat as he used to. His porcelain skin has started to dry, become paler and thin, exposing veins under it. His elegant fingers are boney and his figure skinny, making his already tall, almost skeletal frame look more ominous. His cheeks have started to hollow, and his hair is thin. His eyes, once bright blue, are now dim. Memories of last lives partly cloak his vision.

Still, his gaze radiates wisdom, intelligence, and power, coloured by profound sadness and worry that comes with the weight of his crown. Crown made to look like golden arrowheads twined together with vines. It now seems too heavy for his withering body. Yet there he sits on his throne, refusing to name a successor. Still, as a formidable mage as he was in his younger days.

Your Lord Feyrith bows before him, and you follow suit. As Feyrith looks back to you and nods, you step a few steps forward to offer the chest of gifts to the Emperor. Your head held low you step back behind your lords back, as he gets ready to make his plea to the king. You have come a long way, and your message is an important one, so you both hope that Alathar will be as fair for you, as his title suggests.

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This text was sent to a player before the start of a first game session to get into the mood of the game.