This narrative is only partially finished. I have added some short explanatory notes here and there to make it readable from beginning to end. It should also be proofread by an English-speaking person with some grasp of the more arachaic nuances of the language.
The lost Valoria
Ere the coming of the Rimelords and the age of the Great Winter, the nine kingdoms of the North were one vast realm, as had it been for centuries beyond reckoning. In the times of old, a High King sat upon the winged calcedony throne, governing all the lands of the free peoples. Valoria this realm was called, and its pounding heart was Valoris.
The city of Valoris, today but a shadowy ruin, was at this time a place of great splendor. From the rocky isle amid Lake Pelarnor it rose, the high white walls and towers visible for leagues across the verdant valley. Hence it was known as the Shining City, and a mighty city it was, and a grand one — grander even than windswept Gol Ashamdir of the south.
Great wealth there was, yet no gaudiness, and great pride, yet no vanity. There were frescoed temples and bustlings streets with merchants from all across Aeldaria; there were nobles and clergymen, and wing-helmed soldiers in gleaming hauberks. There were courtyards of white stone, and gardens where grew trees and blossoms as have never since been seen in this world. And above, high above rose turrets and spires and marble palaces, the eagle banners of the High King flying from the battlements in the light of the fair morning.
But all this would come to a most direful end.
Exodus of the Drynnings
It was the Drynnings of the mountains who first brought word of the coming darkness. The mountain-folk did not often leave the dark of their burrows, nor ever in great numbers, for they feared the light and the open sky. But one day a messenger from the northern fiefs arrived at the King's court, accounting that a great host of Drynnings had indeed set forth from Drynnircleft in the Landsend Mountains, and was making its way south. Angheld, who was High King in that day, inquired as to the reason for the mountain-folk's departure. This the messenger knew not, but they would soon find out, said he, since the Drynnings were headed straight for Valoris.
It was not long before the Drynnings stood upon the shores of Pelarnor, but farther they would not go, as mountain-folk are loth to cross great bodies of water. Instead they bade the sentinels at the mainland port bring word to the High King that Gwyll, king of the Drynnings, had come with grave tidings. And so Angheld, with escort and retinue, crossed the lake to confer with the Drynni king. An ominous day this was, for none knew the Drynnings' intentions, and despite their peaceful renown there were whispers of war.
“A new age comes,” said the Drynni king, “an age of shadows, and of shattered hopes. Seen it we have, in the light of the northern skies, and felt it, in the roots of the mountains. Much that stands will topple ere the darkness ahead is at an end.”
[King Gwyll tells Angheld of the Rimelords, ancient beings of the northern wastes, whose cyclic power is now rising again after centuries of dormancy. Many times in the past the Rimelords have cast the continent into cruel winters that have lasted for decades, each time almost obliterating all life. There are three of them, the Lord of Storms, the Lord of Ice and the Lord of Darkness.]
The Seal of Power
“There is, however, another matter,” said king Gwyll then, glancing at Angheld's escort, “that I must discuss with the High King, and the High King alone.”
At this many of the courtiers snorted, and Angheld said:
“Know you not then, that ever since my ancestor, the High King Gilean, was dishonorably murdered during parley, the monarch of Valoria must by law be attended at all negotiations?”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” said the Drynni king. “Indeed, you should instead fear what will happen should you opt not to hear me out. And know this: I will speak with the High King alone, else not at all.”
This king Angheld pondered. And then, seeing truthfulness in the Drynni king's eyes, he ordered to be left alone.
“I advise you to listen now, and listen well,” said Gwyll when Angheld's disgruntled escort had departed. “For on my words the future of your great kingdom balances, like on the edge of a knife. Heed them, and all may yet be well. Heed them not, and all you have built will be torn asunder, the world of men cast into an age of darkness.
Valoris is old, that you know. But just how old you have no means of knowing, despite your loremasters and historians. Your Shining City was built upon archaic ruins, as was that lost city which preceded Valoris, and so on for ages upon ages. But when the world was young and the Drynnings walked under the sky, as do now men, my people built that first city; hewed it from the very bones of the world. The name of that place is long since forgotten, even among my people, and its remains all but lost. Only the lower levels still exist, far down in the bowels of Valoris. I see disbelief in your eyes, High King, but doubt not that I speak the truth. These ancient chambers were hidden with powerful magic, so that none could gain entrance to them, let alone find them.
In the deepest chamber is a Seal of Power, a magic ward of Drynni crystal, and bound by that Seal is the most fearsome force this world has seen. The Drynni and the lost Aeladri defeated this force in ancient times; defeated it — and imprisoned it.”
“And what is this force of which you speak?” asked the High King.
“Its name must not be uttered, nor would it mean anything to you, man-king. Suffice to say that this force is your race's only means of redemption. By breaking the seal and unleashing it, you will be able to defeat any foe — even the Rimelords.”
“I do not understand,” king Angheld confessed. “If you know a way of defeating these beings, why do you depart? Why not stay, to fight them and destroy them? Surely this concerns the Drynnings too, and not just men.”
“We can not,” said king Gwyll. “When the Seal of Power was created, we vowed never to break it. As did the Aeldari, and the Lyrs of the Sea. All high races swore that oath. But your race, High King, was not a high race. In those times you were little more than beasts, like the Thûls of Everhoar, and you did not swear the oath. Thus it is in your power to break the Seal and, possibly, wield the power it holds.” Suddenly, the Drynning's eyes grew sorrowful. “Furthermore, just like Humans, the Drynnings have changed over the centuries. Ours is an old race, and weary. We have grown brooding and reclusive, and the will to fight is no longer in our hearts. This is a time of men, as is the battle ahead.”
“But this is not ill tidings,” said Angheld, frowning. “Why were you unwilling to speak of this before my court?”
“Because,” said the Drynni king gravely, “it is a powerful knowledge, and only the ruler of Valoris should possess it. The Seal must be broken at the right time, not a moment too soon or too late. Should anyone else know of the Seal, you might be persuaded — or forced — to break it before the time is right, and then all will be lost.”
“And how will I know when that moment comes?”
“You will know,” nodded king Gwyll, “you will know.”
[Gwyll bids Angheld farewell and leaves with all his people, headed for a Drynni city deep in Haldin's Reach, where they will ride out the coming winter]
The rising of the Rimelords
Winter came early that year. The nights grew bitterly cold already in [September], and the snow and the storms came before the trees had even shed their gold and amber garb. And with the winter came the first dark tidings, accounts of evil afoot in the northern reaches of the kingdom. Fell creatures roamed the forests and the fields; great white wolves that seemed to possess uncanny intelligence; pale-skinned giants with the strength of ten men — this and other, fouler things. Hordes of Thûls, the white-furred beast-men of the northern wastes, came swarming down from the mountains, laying waste to remote villages and farmsteads. This was unheard of, for the Thûls could not bear the warmer clime of the south and had never in the history of Valoria left their habitation in Everhoar Barrens.
[More descriptions of bad things happening…]
So the Valorians barred their doors and their windows against the onslaught of winter and its creatures, praying for the cruel season to end. Come Elyntide, it was said, the thawing would surely begin, for not even in the northern provinces had the snow ever lain longer than two weeks past this day. But Elyntide came and went, and yet there was no sign of spring. The snow lay cold and deep, as had it for many moons now, and all over the kingdom whispers of curses and devilry were heard. Bealin's Eve, the day of the Sun-Feast, was rapidly approaching, still the nights were filled with falling snow and the howling of wolves.
And it was on Bealin's Eve, the first day of [May], that the Rimelords made their first assault upon the kingdom of Valoria.
The dispatches which reached Valoris a week later were ill-boding. The few couriers who reached the Shining City were all wounded or severely fatigued from their journey, and their accounts fragmentary. At dawn on the first of [May], they reported, great hosts had fallen upon Valoria's northern cities Myrkanis, Hillscrown and Eradil. Comprising Thûls, frost giants, wolves, ice trolls and [some other creatures], the armies had smitten without warning, laying waste to everything in their path. Each of the three hosts, said the couriers, were commanded by shadow-like beings draped in swirling snow and astride fearful mounts; the first one an enormous bird of prey, the second a giant wolf, and the third one a [?] — this creature not white like the others, but black as pitch.
The northern strongholds were lost without a doubt, and just as doubtless the Rimelords were now marching towards Valoris itself. The High King was troubled by these news, and his heart mourned for the lives lost. Still, he knew that he and his subjects would have to stand their ground. In order to unleash the secret power of Valoris, like king Gwyll had suggested, he must not falter.
The siege of Valoris
But Eryod, the captain of the High King's bodyguard, was outraged at the King's decision. The High King's certainty of victory he saw as a doomed man's folly, and he begged his master to reconsider. Angheld admitted to understanding Eryod's concern, but yet he would not be swayed. They would remain in Valoris, he decreed, and the fortifications of the city would continue.
“But sire,” spoke Eryod, “this is a battle we can not hope to win! The Mirror Lake lies frozen, and with that our greatest advantage is lost. We must evacuate Valoris and bring your highness to safety in the south. In Morigand or Greenwater we can regroup, and there we can make our stand.”
“We will do no such thing. And who are you, young Eryod, to speak of what must and must not be done in the High King's own hall?”
“Forgive me, my king, I meant no disrespect. But I have sworn to protect your highness, and your next of kin. And that I can not do in a city besieged and surely doomed.”
King Angheld smiled, moved by his captain's words, and said:
“Your loyalty does you honor, young Eryod. But know that I have not lightly made this decision. You will have to trust me when I say that all is well, and despite our recent loss we will emerge victorious.”
“As you wish, milord,” conceded Eryod, and took his leave. But in his heart he did not believe the encouraging words of his High King .
Eryod's betrayal
As the Rimelords' inhuman minions massed upon the shores of Pelarnor, and it seemed all hope was lost, Eryod grew convinced that the High King had gone mad. Filled with much sorrow and as much anger he ordered his men to sieze Angheld, for it was clear to him that his King was no longer fit to rule.
“What is this madness!” cried Angheld as Eryod and his soldiers entered the throne room, their weapons drawn. “You betray me, Eryod?”
“It is not I who am the betrayer,” spat Eryod, “for unlike you, my King, I seek only to defend Valoria. Resigned to your doom you wait for the killing blow, but I will not idly stand by and watch our city be ravaged.”
“You do not understand! I only do what I must!”
“As do I”, said Eryod.
Suddenly, anger glinted in the High King's eye. ”I command you to lay down your weapon and stand back, captain.”
“That I can not do.”
“So be it then”, said Angheld, leaping for [??], the sword of the Kings of Valoria, where it hung above the calcedony throne. Unsheathing the blade, the High King span to face Eryod.
“I do not wish to harm you,” said the captain. “Yield, and you shall be treated fairly.”
“I will not taint my honor with your mercy, betrayer. I will not yield, to you or any man.”
“Then you truly are a fool,” snarled the captain, parrying as the High King lunged at him.
The ensuing fight was fierce but short. King Angheld, though a skilled swordsman in younger years, was now old and slow. Soon Eryod had the High King cornered, and pleaded once again:
“Yield, Angheld! I do not want your blood on my hands!”
“[???]”
Then, without a word, Eryod brushed Angheld's blade aside and thrust his blade into the High King's heart.
“Iadis have mercy upon your soul,” whispered Angheld as he slid limply to the marble floor, “for you have doomed us all.”
And so it came to pass that Eryod unwittingly betrayed king Angheld.
[In a nutshell, this is what happens next: The Rimelords launches their attack and Valoris falls. The fate of Eryod, the Queen and the infant prince is not known, but they're believed to be dead. Many survivors flee south . For 30 years a cruel winter holds the northern part of the continent in its grasp. The Rimelords' attemps to spread further south is thwarted by the Human armies. During this time an order called the Warders is formed, sworn to the preservation of all Valorian knowledge. Finally a hero named Illuran emerges and manages to vanquish the Rimelords. Stand by for more details :)]