| THE REBIRTH OF ALBOROTH Barren to waste under the rule of Clemencar, The vast lay of Alboroth stripped of its glory. From the stretches of the Sen to the grounds of the keep, Ridden of its beauty from old tales and story. Heartless was he, the King, son of Atacar. Decay lingered about the kingdom, grave and deep. Tattered the buildings and crumbled the streets, Hungered the people and treated as slaves, Corruption polluted the castle and spread afar, Begetting civil wars which drove innocent to graves, While the High Lord sat on his throne, accomplishing no feats. But he was ruling King, son of Great Atacar, To judge as he would for Alboroth - He was Clemencar. There was one who opposed the King for the most, And on his very council, his trusted Malathor. At one time the most loyal on his court, Yet Malathor revoked allegiance, justice he was for. Concocting a brave notion he gathered a host, Among villagers and clergymen and knights of all sort, They brought to their King a most defiant retort. So came Malathor to Clemencar�s throne. A duel ensued, to the victor the crown. Sword to sword while all of Alboroth prayed. It was then that Clemencar�s rule fell down. A new era to arise, injustice overthrown. Out stepped Malathor, a King of true grade, To wash away corruption and let darkness fade. Alboroth re-birthed, the glory it once knew, The envy of Lords, the City of Gold, Becoming again what it was in tales of lore. And there residing in Clemencar�s hold, To whom the people pledged their devotion to, The kindest of Kings - Lord Malathor. |