Llyorn: Darkness came to the Land, and realms fell. When exactly and why, only the Lords of Orhan know. But came it did. And when the peoples of the Land beheld the Darkness, they fell in sorrow and blood, fear and pain. They're lives were extinguished and their bodies used for the swelling armies of Demons and Troll. A Dark Lord led this monstosity against nature and its inhabitants. One by one the western realms fell, first the land of Ly-Aran and its powerful army, then Xa'ar and the warrior-priests of Phum, and then powerful U-Lyshak in all its glory, though it was known by another name at the time. They charred a black path into the heart of U-Lyshak, forever carving the Alunn Road into the skin of this fair land, as they continued their march towards the Rhakhaan armies to the east.

The protectors of this land and all lands, the Loremasters, that secret cabal that even I balk to hint at, became worried at the progress of Evil, and were moved to stop it. The birth of Tethior the Smith centuries before, perhaps the greatest of Enchanter to ever live, gave form to hopeful dreams. With the help of Daenku, one of the Ancient Ones, Tethior's labors became items of such power they bent the very Flows to their will. Six Crowns were created, six pendants, six swords. Each of the Six realms of the day received a crown for the King, a pendant for the Wazier, and a sword for the Champion of the King's armies. The Phoenix, the Gryphon, the Sea-Drake, the Unicorn, the Pegasus, and the Wyvern. The result was lasting; the armies of Darkness were held at bay for generations, centuries.

But then came the Wars of Dominion. And all things changed.

Unspeakable horrors poured forth from the bowels of the earth, unleashing their hatred and foulness upon our ancestors. This war lasted centuries, Darkness devouring the delicate flesh of society, until nothing was left. All was seemingly lost. And then the Lords of Orhan came and walked the Land, Gods did battle with unholy spirits and monsterous Ordainers. And one by one, the Dark Gods were imprisoned, and the Land, though twisted and fragmented by the impossible power released during the battle, fell silent, as if mute. The residents of this fair Land breathed a sigh of relief and counted themselves among the lucky ... and the few. This was the closing of the Second Era of Ire.

(A brief silence, and a look to the stars).
Barou: And what of the Crowns now?

Llyorn: Lost in time, my friend. The crowns adorn the heads of Kings no more. Unless, of course, Frelik, cousin to Jerrin III, Emperor of Rhakhaan, is to be believed. He has supposedly stolen the crown and retreated north into the plains of Zor. Jerrin III has labelled him a traitor. A dangerous man it seems.

Karstia: Certainly this is not the problem of these hardy folk. Rhakhaan might as well be on the other side of the world.

Llyorn: Closer than one might think I suppose.