Prologue~
In ancient days, the land of Glaedlond was highly coveted by the Northern Kingdoms. Dragons swarmed down from the skies and strange men and their creatures crossed the divide from the east. The inhabitants thereof met the adversaries with legendary bravery. They battled as one; under the Banner of the Five Kingdoms of Glaedlond - called The Bloom of Beorg: Cieteag from the south to the reaches of the Beorg Highlands, Wealdlond and Eikmouth from the western shores, Treowthe from the northern plains and Ebbadane. With any threat against their peace, each kingdom raised their Banners, and the Bloom of Beorg soared in the winds. With the passion it raised for unity, all battles were waged and won. Thus the people of Glaedlond prevailed - as good will always triumph in the end.
What they did not know was that it was not a battle against the dragons and men but of evil and darkness unseen. As long as this Bloom of Beorg went before them, the people were charged, their sense of unity incomparable, and not one thing stood in the way of victory. Some say it was enchanted and others only knew that when they beheld the Banner any bitterness toward their brother was gone.
Time and peace have a way of dulling the mind. Generations passed and the Banner was folded and put away, thought to be unneeded. Over time, the battles quickly won or hard-fought became zealous tales. All of the children of Glaedlond knew them by heart, they were the favorite stories of an unsullied mind. Mothers and Fathers only smiled at this fervent rendering of the Banner, casting it aside as a passion for the young.
Harmonious moments in history are indeed the most perilous. Evil, subtle and quiet, rolled in and settled inside the tiny fissures in vulnerable hearts of the aggrieved. Growing and festering, but only as a whisper and easily ignored, that is, until the broken heart of one king, weakened and endangered, was consumed. There was one thing he could have done: to give a call for his brothers sovereign, that they would come to his aid, heal his broken heart, and pull him from the clutches of evil.
But the Bloom of Beorg lay quietly folded in its chest, unbidden, until the hands of a childlike heart, at last, would remember.
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