The Age of Legends (~1950 to ~2350)
- The last words of Thelonius the Scribe - Part III
"The world did not recover quickly and the devastation that followed in the wake of the First Crusade lingered on for centuries. The Great Surge had left Creation scorched and grieving. The ancient cities of Atlantis, Helios, Carpathia, and Thule lay in ruin or shadow. Yet into the ashes of that fallen splendor, new stories were being written.
This was the Age of Legends.
The knowledge brought by Phaionios and Armozel endured, passed down by scattered, but determined survivors, scribed in crumbling halls, etched in relics of glowing stone. Their sacred geometry, their divine metallurgy, their rituals of light and warding, all became the foundation upon which a wounded world would heal and rebuild. Not in marble, but in will.
Congregations of believers emerged, scattered and often at odds, yet all looking to the heavens for guidance. In the absence of central kingship, warlords rose, some cruel, some noble, others forgotten. The land was broken into many holds and keeps, ruled by sword and pact, raided by monsters that had not returned to Hell, but lingered in deep woods and deeper caves.
It was a time of restoration, and also a time of haunting.
Across Creation, there were places the Surge had touched too deeply, lands where the veil between spirit and flesh had torn. In these haunted regions, ghosts could not pass into the Beyond. They wandered, lost in sorrow, rage, or confusion, bound to fields and ruins, like memories that refused to die. These lands are still with us, even now.
From this broken age, great names rose. Heroes whose deeds outlived their bones.
Arthur, Roland, Moyra, Siegfried, El Cid, Almanzor and Maven, these were not kings or queens alone, but symbols. Embodiments of sacrifice and sovereignty, strength and sorrow. They held the night at bay, slew horrors born of ancient sins, and built realms on cracked earth. Some died in triumph. Some vanished in mystery. Their legacies became the light we carry into our darkest hours.
And then, from a place of no throne and no banner, came another light, soft, steady, and enduring.
Oroael, the Sixth Redeemer, did not arrive in flame or miracle. He walked the land as a teacher, not a conqueror. He spoke of balance as peace, of the seasons as gifts, of work as devotion, of kindness as strength. He gave us no walls, no weapons, no empire, but the tools to live a worthy life.
And people followed.
From his wisdom came the first monasteries, carved into old places of power. His followers raised shrines and gardens, taught healing, music, scripture, and sacred labor. His calendar ordered the days, his prayers greeted sunrise and moonrise alike. He gave us the Rule of Life, not with command, but with clarity. And though he never ruled a nation, his words governed the hearts of nations to come.
Even now, in forgotten corners of the world, his teachings echo like bells in deep stone.
The Age of Legends did not end with silence. It ended with seeds planted and saplings growing, that would bear fruit for the generations to come
And it is said, if you listen to the wind at dawn, when the mist is thick and the world is still recovering from the chill of night, you may yet hear the stories of that time, whispered by ghosts, sung by monks and remembered by the souls of the past."
—Thelonius the Scribe
Credits, paintings: The Age of Legends - The Valkyrie's Vigil, Edward Robert Hughes, 1906