Chapter 1-Dappled in brisk, amiable sunbeams, the morning emerged promising and light. An imposing citadel lay on the landscape surrounded by a village of vast proportions. Everywhere, people about their business scrambled, save a few rascals who lay lazily basking upon the sloping incline that lead to a small wooded area and the Lord's own stable. The Lord Galk had a fond affection for his horses and so amassed he an impressive cavalry, for which to protect his beautiful valley. Sustained by its own production, the merry estate seemed a busy town, entailing every need that life could throw. Cheese-makers harnessed their trade in a small shop at the north end of the estate, with all the other skilled crafts. Blacksmiths for the Lord's own army and resident cavalry, a winery for the Lord's pleasure, a bakery for growing families, even a few looms among many other diverse businesses all of which lived to suffice the need in the bustling lands of Lord Javan Galk. The many residents swore they owed their lives and very existences to the beneficiary and affectionately christened the domain, Galkton. Everywhere life went on much as it should, the common people living, as they should in total ignorance to the intrigue set-up about them.

The striking castle nestled against the valley was a sign of the past, from a time of wars and struggle. This time many people would come to coldly name "the Dark Ages". Now was a time for moving on, though war was rumored in lands to the North and West of the peaceful realm. Hesrel was set-up by a careful and economically smart regime, destined to install a hereditary line in which the future rulers would be chosen. As of late, the passive lands of Hesrel where under the careful watch of King Reuben the second. No one remembered King Reuben the first, and no one remembered anyone before him, but when a king's name stands uncommon in everyday language he has succeeded at leading his country without complaint or dire struggle. The ancient lineage had been dotted with its share of warmongers and power hungry idiots, but for the most part, men of intelligent mind ruled and they ruled to the best of their ability. Their first priority was to stay clear of the raging wars between their neighboring nations, Nook and Sandmas. The rulers of these two warring countries were so similar it was hard to keep one straight with the other on a political level. To the north a tyrant by the name of General Drake Bates and to the west another oppressor called Comrade Blake Gates. The generations and generations that had devoted their lives to the fighting of these hostilities had never had the time to set-up any sort of government. It was the people's mutual hate that brought them together, unifying them. As long as the nations opposed one another the leaders could rest assured that their people would not revolt but stand by their beloved leader no matter what the cost. Yet, both countries were painfully aware that once the war ended they would have no info structure or sound government to fall back upon. The end of the war would be the end of their reigns. Preposterous as it seemed, the war was real and it had claimed lives from both sides for more then a thousand years.

After such a time, you might find that the market for such necessities as food and ammunition might be in high demand. And so it was that the Hesrel Kingdom depended on the war for it's main source of income. The new found trade routes had made the Lands of Hesrel and its King extensively rich, and so it is that in all content wealth, selfish ambitions shall weed their way into the dark hearts of men. Particularly, the Lords of Hesrel.

Galkton rested at the base of a gentle mountain space, allotting the valley, through simple weather patterns and the altitude of the mountains a steady rainfall and fruitful soil. So it was that Galkton was prized for its fertile fields and vineyards, of which the Lord himself prized more then any other. It was a small residence, Galkton, in comparison to the severe estates of the surrounding Noblemen. Such fertile lands could sustain the population with the use of less land, for the crops yielded more then any other. Yet, the estates belonging to the surrounding Lords were less fruitful and yielded a modest crop, and so they expanded and bought more land to suffice their serfs and people. The noblemen of Hesrel had made slavery an early practice, for such extensive lands called for more hands in the fields. These were commonly of the Kreet race. Thin, gaunt and rusty green in complexion, the Kreetons never boasted of any higher intellect. They took their place in the complex info structure of Hesrel with little complaint, thankful they were not sent to war in Nook and Sandmas. Galkton prided itself as the one land nearly Kreet free. The lack of widespread fields and the surplus of happy citizens had supplied more then enough manpower to bring in the harvest twice every year.

It was in these fields that the citizens of Galkton anxiously awaited the return of their Lord Javan Galk from his business travels in the Crowned city.

"Morgon, please wait!" Squealed a high-pitched voice. Its owner was shrouded in the prettiest lavender and dusty green gown that money could afford for a girl of such age. Long black tresses fell in cascades down her shoulder blades and bounced at every leap she gave. Profound green eyes darted this way and that, energetically taking in all around her. The small girl of eight or ten scrambled through the forsaken gates to join the large crowd that waited impatiently just outside the Stone Wall. She marveled at the crowd, youthful vigor pushing her on to press through the mass of bodies in search of her playmate. As her voice sounded again in calling, the object of her search soon appeared, his usual smile spread sloppily over his face.

"I am right 'ere!" Morgon answered, catching hold of her skirt. She whirled around and at the sight of him light up in ecstasy.

"Father is returning!" Was her gleeful cry and she seemed to glow with pride. "Pick me up, oh please, Morgon!" She begged and reached out her arms for him.

Morgon laughed and picked her up. Her light frame was almost a foot shorter then he, even if their years were not quite so diverse. Plain, mud brown eyes were warm at the joyful noise that rippled through the crowd and he pushed himself toward the path, so the Lord could see his daughter. Morgon had never seen her so frenzied before; the Lord's daughter was always so well composed and collected. He wondered if she wasn't older then him many times, for such a vocabulary had she for her a small age.

"Okay Chip! I see him!" Said Moron, her happiness contagious as he raised her to the shoulders of his soiled satin tunic. Knee high boots of hardened leather and knickers that met them were his mark as the Lord's squire and stable boy.

The child so nicknamed "Chip" smiled broadly, her eyes searching for his horse and caravan. The sun dawning on the horizon, just as so did the Lord ride in with all of his grandeur.

Atop a fire-flecked bay, he seemed to breath dignity, trailed by forty or so of his top officers. Cloak ablaze in the distant breeze, noble features turned upward in a knowing smirk. He seemed omnipotent. As the dignified Lord drew near, his caravan drawing closer to the anxious crowd, a gleaming sword shone brightly from his hip. Slung into a silver and brass sheath the legendary weapon was both feared and loved.

Morgon smiled as he remembered the words of the Lord Galk in the stable, when he had caught Morgon awing his sword. His words were rhythmic and soothing as he spoke, time speckled eyes a dull green, still sharp and glinting an everlasting youth.

"At the time when all Noble families began, each house was awarded a sword, or shield depending on his quest in life. The most powerful of these attained a sword and they were destined to be the greatest, it is from these families that the heir to the throne was to be picked. Those that were handed shields were promised peace and prosperity, though warned that their reigns may be short. Legend states in its cold and distant tone, that those whom were gifted swords soon overtook those with the shields and through the coarse of thousands of years and peaceful interbreeding, the Shield Lords were mixed in with the Sword Lords. Also over that same time, every single sword was lost either through battle, or just time, every single one, that is, but the Galk Sword." The kindly man had lost attention and his voice had drifted off as his gaze shifted to the sky, an old very knowledgeable look appearing upon his aged face.

Morgon cried out in pain as he was torn from his thoughts, "Chip! Would ya care not t' pull me 'air?" He chided her, but his lecturing was lost in the uproar and tumult at the Lord entered his Lands.