Thousands of years ago, Titans roamed freely in the world. They weren’t feared as the history books would have you believe, instead, some were respected, and their council was most valuable for the King. Save for one Titan. Rodairon. Self-proclaimed King of the Titans at that time. Though he was battered and shunned, not by the dictate of the Crown, but rather a personal choice. He secluded himself on the island of Myrn. Southeast of the Mainland.
The year was 3299 B.D (before descent). The King was Merin the Second. He grew tired of the rumors lingering within the hills of Myrn, of a Titan, constantly weeping. The place was buzzing with life and commerce, folks would always visit if the chance presented itself.
“Lord Quinn,” the King summoned one of his bannermen.
“Yes, my liege,” Lord Quinn replied and stepped closer. “My life for yours,” he said as he bumped his chest and bowed.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the rumors lingering within the hills of Myrn,” the King said as he gently played with his black beard. “I’ve not just put down a rebellion to start another. If any creature dares refer to himself as King, then that is an offense that I cannot accept.”
Lord Quinn nodded. “I shall summon the best bounty hunters to ever walk this land,” he turned around and made his way towards the exit.
“Wait!” Merin commanded, and Lord Quinn turned to face his King. “I don’t want him to turn into another martyr,” he narrowed his brows as his nostrils flared. “Diplomacy first.”
“My liege, the Titans are… restless creatures. We do not know how they think, or what for that matter. I would caution-”
“You will caution nothing. Go on, and bring him to me, right here,” the King demanded pointing down to where Quinn stood.
“He… has…” Quinn clicked with his tongue and sighed. “As my liege commands.”
Quinn marched outside the keep and inside a tent nearby. He went in and breathed the silky air that radiated from the rugs and furniture all looking at a table that centered it all, he went closer and slammed his fists on it. “Damn this Titan lover…”
“Ease up, Quinny, you can’t be overheard. Lest they hang you for an oath breaker too,” Quinn felt a hand on his shoulder.
“You of all people should know how I feel, Phorul,” he said as he stared at his friend. “Everyone keeps talking about these damned Titans as if they are saviors. But none venture past Dragonhead. To see the real ones. Rabid and ravenous…”
“Well, what did the King command?”
“He wishes to parlay with the Weeping Titan.”
“Rodairon the Mad? Honestly?” Phorul’s brows widened. “But how?”
Quinn looked at him from the corner of his eye. “We have to go find him… Brelleck.”
VEDA. POLLUS. MAGNUS.
Emperor Magmar quelled the rebellion. All should have been well. But there was one problem: the Red Hand yet lived.
VEDA. POLLUS. COLOSSAL.
Now that the Gods have sworn to eliminate humanity, the Empire has fallen, ravished and turned to dust. The Magmars are no more, and he alone holds the key to salvation