This being the story of Xylan, a young knight

Here I stand upon the pitching deck of a ship, a ship soon to be outbound from the harbor of Trinsic, Trinsic, long my home. Perhaps too long. The tillerman looks eager to get under weigh, and the captain, a grizzled veteran named Taylor, is judging the tidal swell to see if the water's high enough to leave the harbor safely.

The sun is setting over the city, its rays becrimsoning the white walls, battlements, buildings, people -- becrimsoning this ship, and me too, come to that. It's as if the city has been covered with a tide of blood. I blink, and the illusion goes away, but the nightmare remains. Unbidden, an image of of another Trinsic, covered in blood indeed, comes to my mind. Trinsic, streets flowing with charnel, under a sky of two moons...

But I've gotten ahead of myself, and started telling my story at the middle. Perhaps I'm better with swords than with words.

To begin at the beginning then, I was born in the city of the Trinsic beneath two moons. My mother was a guard, stationed upon the walkway which runs over the front gate, where the city welcomes the forest road. My father, a paladin, was stationed at the docks, where the city welcomed the traders from the sea. I can still remember them joking about that -- my father saying that the prettiest face welcomed the travelers to the city, and my mother reminding him that more folk come by sea than by land.

My parents met at the annual Contest of the Poleaxe, married at once, and I was born a year later. They named me Xylan, a name meaning "heartwood" in the language of the shipbuilding sea elves. I'm sure they meant it to convey strength and steadfastness, and not to mean hard-hearted. I think I'm some of both.

I had a sister too, a couple of years younger than me. Her name was Zenith, and she was a royal brat. Our parents spoiled her rotten, gave her everything she wanted, never made her do the chores. I bet she never broke a fingernail while we were growing up. Sweetheart and princess she was to our parents. Zenith would devise little contests to try her strength against mine. I'd always win handily, because I was a boy, and older and bigger besides.

My parents sent me early to paladin training. All day long, I'd have to either be hitting the training dummy, or holding it steady while someone else would hit it. "Builds character," mother would say. "Builds strength and nerve," father would say. They pushed me into being a fighter, when I wasn't really sure that's what I wanted to be. I guess it was a Trinsic tradition, and had happened to both of them when they were kids.

When I was old enough, my parents sent me to the Paladin Academy which stands just outside Delucia. My third year there was cut short -- a frantic note from my parents recalling me back to Trinsic, because my sister had run away from home.

Well, we looked and looked, but didn't find her. I don't know why my parents didn't send me back to the Paladin Academy. I think they wanted to hold on to me, to keep an eye on me, to see that at least one of their children was safe. The life seemed to go out of Mother and Father though, and it was as if they'd aged a score of years overnight. They barely talked to each other any more. Around that time, there were rumors going around. Just whispers really, about a grave being desecrated in Paladin's Memorial. Just stories floating on the wind about a fallen Paladin who'd gone bad. Just tales told by old women, about a young tinker girl making something that no one could make heads or tails of. Rumor turned to waking nightmare. Gates opened up all over the city, and scores of the walking dead poured forth. They were led by the undead paladin, Juo'nar, and welcomed by the traitorous girl, Malabelle.

The finest warriors and mages of Britannia quickly assembled, and Juo'nar led a merry chase atop the walls and rooftops. A platoon of the United Tamers of Britannia attempted to keep and hold the central park, with a score of their dragon companions. It was a fine sight, to see the dragons fighting the lich lords, rotting corpses, mummies, and other undead. But then, something went awry -- an evil magic turned the dragons upon their masters, and the now-wild dragons joined in attacking the defenders of Trinsic.

Sheer numbers of undead cut the center of the city off from the periphery. I stood on the wall above the South Gate, helping the Citizens of Avalon and the Golden Knights hold the gate. From my vantage point, I could see that a structure of black stone, brick, and twinkling gems was being built atop the grand meeting hall. Now and again, a party of defenders would attempt to scale the stairs to the roof, to attack Malabelle and her minions who were making this awful thing. Always, the defenders were dislodged and driven back before they could harm the structure.

A flash of light, and the pounding crackle of thunder came from the middle of the city, and the ground shook, so that many lost their footing. I got to my feet quickly, and beheld a new shimmering moongate appear within the structure Malabelle had built. Something awful and beautiful all at the same time came through the moongate. There was a hush, and a lull in the battle, and an indrawing of breath, as even the undead turned toward the creature now glowing in the light of the moongate.

"A Casiid dragon," I heard someone exclaim, awe coloring his tone. Aye, a dragon, but huge, four times the size of the dragons that had been United Tamers' companions. It was slate gray in color, but gray only if you looked upon it for but a moment. If you looked longer, as I did, you could see that it was all the colors of the rainbow, and several more besides, ever changing as it shifted and moved. It was a thing of great beauty and great wonder.

I could see movement again at the base of the building; another party of defenders was gathering to ascend the stairs to the roof -- the roof upon which sat the glorious majesty of the Casiid dragon. But wait! The shield of the leader of that group, it was familiar -- I could not be certain. Yes I could. The way the man moved, I could tell it was my own father.

Father and his party made it to the roof, and there, the Casiid dragon swept them off, with one great flap of its wings. They landed, broken, upon the street. Then the undead closed in once more.

A shrill scream upon my lips, I rushed down to ground level, and began trying to hew my way through the undead, to make my way toward my father. But there were too many attackers, and soon I was surrounded and cut off, and then I was overcome and I was dead and all was shades of gray.

The dead have no cares, no woes, and so I drifted hither and yon. I came across no wandering healers in the vicinity of Trinsic -- just wandering dead like myself, and wandering undead. I drifted all the way to the Shrine of Honor. The way into the shrine was blocked by a wall. Set in that wall was a demonic face.

Days and nights I drifted, and one night, I noticed that something had changed. There was only one moon in the sky, Felucca the Sailing Ship. Trammel had gone. The forest blighted and died, leaving only brambles, sticks, leafless trunks. Some soil blew away, revealing rocky sand.

At last I found a wandering healer, and returned to life. Indeed, the landscape was sere and barren and desert and deserted. I made my way toward the Trinsic-that-was. On the road, there was a signpost, and next to it, a moongate. The sign read:

"Britannian citizen, this is a time of sorrow. We abandon this, our world, to Minax, and go to another place. Step through this moongate to join us. By order of His Majesty Lord British."

I stepped through the gate. I felt the usual disorientation -- and then, cool flower-perfumed breezes, the sound of birds, the feeling of life. Up in the sky was the moon Trammel, the Fishing Net, its familiar pockmarked face casting a glow upon the gloaming land. Up ahead was ... and I couldn't believe my eyes ... Trinsic. I made my way down to the city, and through its gates. Most of the people I recognized, but some were new and different. The house corresponding to the home I'd grown up in was empty and bare -- no people, no furniture. I moved in and made it my own. I kept hoping that my parents would come, but they never did.

In the years since the Trinsic war, I've been a hired sword, always firmly on the side of the law. Most of my time has been spent patrolling outside the walls of Trinsic to discourage brigands. I've also been hired as security for ships in the port. A few times, I've joined a ship's crew, to carry the fight against brigands all the way to the offshore islands and once even to Buccaneer's Den.

Stories and rumors come to the docks first, in any port city. I started hearing stories about a group of people, bonded together as a family, known as the Queen Shieba Alliance. As time passed, I heard more and more tales of these good folk.

That's why I decided to travel to Skara Brae. Maybe I can join the Queen Shieba Alliance, and they will fill the family-shaped hole in my heart. Then I can be again be Xylan, "heartwood, steadfast and strong," and not so much "heartwood the hard-hearted."

And that brings me back to the middle of the story, where I'm standing on the ship headed to Skara Brae. Although my narrative ends here, the story goes on as long as I can wield a weapon and hold a shield in service of Britannia.