Everbright - Prologue

Prologue

Welcome to Starra’noor; Jewel of the Starath Plains, Home of the Eternal Sun, City of a Thousand Lights or Everbright as it was known the world over. This great city – encircled by a wall of crystal – is home to the Weavers who long ago mastered the art of spinning light to their whim. Straddled across the river Doan, Everbright rose toward the centre in a crescendo of towers at the very centre of which was the tallest, the home of the Weavers, crested with the great Sun Crystal – the Star of Starra’noor - from which the city gained it’s many names.

Eons ago, in a war that never was, darkness came to the land, came to Starra’noor first, trying to claim it for its own. Between it and victory stood only the Weavers – then a small group, considered only good for spinning their tricks of light into tales to entertain – and stand they did.

They stood afront the Council – who ruled over Starra’noor and the surrounding plains – this small, ragged group of Weavers told of a plan to drive the darkness back and keep it back for ever. Sceptical but knowing this was their final hope, the council bid the work to begin and the Star of Starra’noor was created.

With little pomp and ceremony, for time was pressing, the Star was hoisted to the top of a hastily constructed tower, rising high within the crystalline architecture of the surrounding city the Star found its home and gazed down on the world below.

Five of the most notable Weavers, their names now lost to the years, sealed themselves within the tower and began to Weave and shape and make the light that would guard the world. Anxious days passed with no sign of the activity from within, no sign other than the occasional sun bright flash of light from behind a sealed door or window frame, whilst all along the darkness marched forth.

On the sixth day, Starra’noor was surrounded by darkness, inky tendrils lashing out, probing its advance. As far as sight beyond those crystal walls, which shimmered lightly against the dark, a roiling blackness heaved and moved, silent shapes swimming within its mass. The worst was feared by all. Their fate was sealed and death would soon be on them.

The people gathered that night in the halls and temples of the Gods, often overflowing into the streets and alleys around them. They prayed to whomever they thought would listen, would offer them the best chance of surviving. Those outside were the first to know, the first to hear, not the silence, but all sound sucked from the world and the calm that came with it. They were the first to see the briefest flicker, as if of lightning, from the top of the Weavers tower. The flash became a flicker and then hastened to a pulse then, with an intensity that burned the eyes, a solid warming light burning bright atop the world.

The first man to the wall dropped to his knees in disbelief. The encroaching dark that, just moments ago had threatened to doom them all and those beyond, was gone. Not retreating not lay wailing in pain at the light that ended it, just gone. As if it had never been.

The city, now saved from its fate, celebrated as only those who have stared death in the face can celebrate. The quickly erected tower of The Weavers was expanded, decorated and given the reverence it was due as the saviour of the city. The Weavers, now elevated from entertainers to champions, were tasked with keeping the Star burning bright and protecting the city evermore.

This is the story told to every child in it’s crib. This is the story that all the people know. This is the story that every soul believes to be true.