In the Wake of the Broken Crown: Prologue

Prologue

There is a rumor—a tale spread through whispers—of a gateway into another realm. It is a very powerful realm known only as Xüa. This realm is the home to 7 of the oldest entities in all of creation, the Hethe. This gateway has been called many things by a great deal of species, but most commonly it is known simply as the Blank Canvas. Its secrets are heavily protected by an underground society known to many as the Imperium of 8, a dekn cult self-proclaimed as the guardians of our creators and their council.


There is also rumor of another group dedicated to preserving the knowledge and teachings of the creators. This group is fewer in numbers than the previously mentioned, however. Their information is more accurate and comes from a more official source. This group is known only as the Black Choir, and they are the true teachers of the creators’ works.


Again, this is all mere rumor.  There is no proof that any of this exists, nor is there any real way of finding out whether or not the Canvas isn’t just a lie told to dekn to inspire them. And these cults, these, fantasy underground organizations sworn to protect the secrets of higher gods? We all know that things such as those doesn’t exist. We all know that there is nothing deeper in this world than what meets the eye.

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A tall dekn man, strong in appearance but old in voice, stood at the front of a large classroom inside of a monastery. Drawings of skeletal monsters hung from the walls, and many writings on old parchment had been presented around a large altar in the front of the classroom, where the dekn stood. He held an ancient book, worn from years of use. The dekn easily cleared six feet and had to weigh more than 300 pounds. (Not out of fat but from muscle instead). His horns, protruding from the side of his head, above the ears, brought him to an even greater height.


There were desks, lined up and numbered, throughout the classroom. Each desk had a student at it—dekn children, there to learn the teachings of their creators. The room thrummed with curious minds that wanted to learn all they could from this life and the worlds they inhabited. A hand shot up from a smaller student, a young female. She was slight in nature and wore glasses. The dekn in the front nodded to her in response.


“But Professor Al, these cults don’t exist. There’s never been any proof that either of them do. Why are we being taught this sort of thing if they don’t exist?” She asked with a know-it-all tone to her voice. The other children in the classroom felt great distress at her inquiry, glaring at her for even questioning the professor. She glared at them defensively, hiding her face under her hands. “Well, it’s true,” she said. “Neither the Black Choir nor the Imperium have ever been proved to exist. Right, Professor Al?”

The dekn responded with only a large grin. He stepped to the side of the altar and began to read more from the book, ignoring her question. Behind where he stood, on a table propped against the back of the wall, there sat a mask. It was white and upon its surface were several birds printed in a flock formation. The dekn closed the book with a slam after he had finished his teachings and looked at the girl once more.


“Please, how many times have I asked, just call me Allastar.”