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A tall, lithe man sat upon the seat of his covered wagon, the cobblestone streets that he rode on rough and uncomfortable. Potholes and loose stones make his journey a bumpy one, but the joyful and infectious smile on his lips never wavered.

On either side of him were modest buildings made of smooth stone and wooden supports, pipes running up and down the outside as chimneys atop the red tiled rooves billowed smoke and steam. Some were homes or inns, others shops, and taverns. Balconies jutted out of the sides of buildings high above his head, covered walkways and bridges connecting the taller more intricate structures.

The city was starting to wake up, the morning sun cresting the horizon and glinting off the white walls and red rooves. All sorts of people were getting ready for the day, shop owners unlocking doors and sweeping up, food vendors firing up their stoves and preparing for the morning rush. Drunks stumbled out of taverns after a long night of drinking, and travelers sat down at cafes or inns to eat a hearty breakfast before continuing their journey.

The street lamps that lined the cobblestone road went out one by one, the light they produced no longer needed. High in the sky above him, soaring like birds on the wind, airships flew by on pre-determined paths. The large ships with their dozens of propellers and massive flowing sails no doubt carried cargo, the smaller ones most likely public and private transportation.

The man drove his horse and buggy through the streets, passing a work crew who were re-stoning the road, two mechanical horses pulling wagons that contained the large slabs of rock. A feet that not even the two living creatures that pulled his own wagon could accomplish.

The road widened as the confining walls of buildings fell away to an open-aired market. Far off in the distance he could see the tall spiraling towers of the palace, large supports and bridges connecting the main tower to the smaller ones around it. Large airships docked on every level while smaller more agile ships buzzed around it like flies. No doubt they were delivering supplies or transporting government officials to and fro.

Nearer the square, yet still far off, the man spied a clock tower, massive gears the sizes of buildings jutting out here and there. The gears creaked and groaned, turning and moving the metal hands of the clock. A chorus of dings echoed out across the city, informing the residents of the time.

Hundreds of people filled the square, a unique assortment of races bustling about as they did their morning shopping. Merchants under colorful awnings called out their wares, trying to draw in customers to purchase their goods. Shoppers bustled about, coming and going from shops and stalls, browsing wares, and striking deals. Music from street performers filled the air, and the smell of hundreds of unique dishes laced the market with their attractive aromas.

In the center of the market was a large, intricate fountain made of glistening white marble. The centerpiece was that of a tall Elven lady dressed in armor, one hand holding a sword while the other was wrapped around the shoulder of her love, a human, whom she hugged close to her.

The details in which the fountain and its statues had been carved were exquisite. The fluid wrinkles of clothing, the detailed etchings of the armor, all done with a patient and skilled hand. The facial features, lovingly carved with such precision and grace that one might think the statues were alive.

Many believed the fountain had been crafted by the hands of a god. Others believe it to be the work of dwarves, their uncanny ability with stone and their unique attachment to the earth allowing them to create such a masterpiece.

A smile spread across the man's youthful face as he gazed up at the two figures. He wondered how the king and queen were doing, perhaps afterwards he would drop by and say hello, see if they had any of those delicious tarts that he oh so loved.

He pulled back on the reins of his horse, slowing the animal to a trot. Coming to a stop by the fountain, he relieves his horses of their bits, allowing them to drink from the pool of cool water at the base of the statues.

"Come, come!" Shouted the man, his voice somehow carrying across the raucous crowd and garnering attention. "Come and see the show, hear the stories, and witness history as if you were there firsthand!" He stood atop the bench he had been sitting on in order to be noticed, waving people over.

The mysterious man jumped down from his position at the front of the wagon, careful to not fall into a muddy puddle and dirty his colorful attire. He was dressed head to toe in finely crafted clothes, a bright red suit jacket with tails overtop a deep purple dress shirt. Slacks of the same red hue as his jacket, covering his long legs. On his feet, he wore a pair of expertly crafted black shoes, the morning sun glinting off their freshly shined surface. Dangling from his ears were gold earrings in the shape of musical notes, and atop his head, he wore a tall black hat, his hair pulled back in a long ponytail by a colorful ribbon.

A few people, mainly shoppers and those out on a morning stroll, looked his way. Though, only a handful ventured over to see what type of entertainment the colorfully dressed man had to offer.

He let out a sigh of disappointment at being largely ignored by the crowd, his run down and falling apart wagon not helping his case in the slightest. He really should upgrade his wagon, but it had been with him for such a long he could not bear to part with it. Perhaps a new paint job was in order. However, he had a trick up his sleeve that would surely gain him the audience he desired.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the man produced a long black cane topped with a finely etched golden ball. He then proceeded to tap the side of his wagon with it, waiting patiently for something to happen.

A mechanical clunk and the whirr of machinery emanate from the wagon, drawing the attention of passers-by. Suddenly, the wagon bursts open, splitting in half and unfolding like a piece of paper!

Wood rearranged itself, silky red curtains appeared out of nowhere, and metal fused with wood to create standing torches. Once finished, the wagon was no more, and in its place stood a large stage, the type you would see in a theatre.

The sudden transformation had the desired effect, attracting the attention of many more people as they oohed and awed at the spectacle. And, if the use of transformation magic was not enough, the bright, colorful explosions of sparks above the stage certainly added to it.

A large crowd started to grow, the man climbing the stairs up to the stage. He faced his audience with a confident smile and clear knowledge of what he was doing. Resting both hands on his cane, he scanned the crowd, weighing whether he was satisfied with the number of those currently gathered. Nodding to himself, deciding that they were enough, he began.

"Greetings, my good people, I am Marco!" Declared the man, "A traveling scholar, storyteller, and historian! I have traveled all across the continent of Dunehei, documenting the adventures of those who have made history!" His voice traveled over all those collected there, holding a confident and persuasive tone that drew the attention of even more market-goers.

"I have been to many towns and cities!" Marco continued, "I have stood in the courts of kings and queens, and I have witnessed history itself unfurl right before my very eyes!" He started pacing back and forth on stage, his audience growing larger by the second.

"The stories I have are full of adventure and intrigue, love and loss, sorrow and death! What I have to tell you is not the storybooks you have read as children. They are not the tall tales of bedtime stories and nor are they the fanciful heroics that many believe them to be!" At the last word, Marco banged his cane against the stage, a flood of orange sparks bursting forth as it made contact with the wood floor.

The crowd gasped, surprise evident on their faces. Sparks were an easy trick, any who sought out the powers of arcana could produce them with a snap of the fingers, but it worked rather well in grabbing people's attention.

"I warn you now, good people," he announces, the previously infectious smile he donned now slipping from his features, his voice becoming low and conspiratorial. "The stories I tell are not for the faint of heart."

All of a sudden, the sky darkened as a cloud passed over the morning sun. A cool breeze picked up and caused the long tail of his jacket to flutter in the wind. It seemed as if the gods themselves had taken an interest in the man. At least that would be the case if he weren't using a bit of arcana to control the weather to set the mood. Torches placed at the corners of the stage suddenly burst into flames, casting light and warmth on those nearest to them.

"The things I shall tell you are not simply stories, but history! Pure history, unedited and in its rawest form. Therefore, once again, I warn you. Leave now if you wish not to have your beautiful delusions of the world shattered like glass, and the heroes you know, shown in a different light!"

He gazed out at the crowd, his piercing brown eyes staring into the soul of each and every person in turn, his light brown hair swaying behind him in the wind. He had managed to gain the attention of almost everyone in the square by now. Even some merchants stopped what they were doing to listen in. Very few people left, and those who did, returned home with their shopping and illusion of the world intact.

Apprehension washed over the crowd, murmuring and shuffling footsteps the only thing audible as they waited for Marco to continue.

"Very well then," he smiled, "Let us begin with a history lesson!" With a wave of his cane, glowing white orbs of light appeared above the sea of people, cushions and blankets poofing into existence for everyone to use as a place to rest.

The people spoke among themselves as they sat down to listen. Debating on who he was and if what he spoke was true. His claims have been quite brazen, yet no one there had ever heard of him.

"The land of Dunehei, a lush and beautiful world full of magic and adventure!" He began, "A place where one can grow and become strong, master the arcane arts, train their skills, and become a legend!" His voice was strong and proud, his words booming across the square and reaching those further away just as clearly as anyone who stood before him.

"That is what some would have you believe…" said Marco, his voice turning somber, "In truth, Dunehei, in all its glorious beauty, is on the brink of war once more…" The emotions in which he spoke easily conveyed to the gathered crowd, people visibly saddened at the words as memories of the past 50 years resurfaced.

"The humans, with their monopoly on trade and slavery, have grown corrupt! The ten high-kings of humanity bickering among themselves as they send out armies to conquer land and expand their empire!" Marco once again started pacing back and forth on stage, hands clasped behind his back like he was a general, delivering a speech to his soldiers.

"The Elves, with their innate connection to arcana, wish not for bloodshed, but will defend their home should the need arise. They are not alone, though! The gods who favor the elves have come down and taken up residence within their forested kingdoms, providing aid and insight for the coming war.

"Sensing the inevitable chaos, the dwarves retreat underground, putting the final additions on a stronghold that has been 200 years in the making. An impenetrable fortress so deep beneath the earth, so large in scale, and so advanced in technology, it can support the dwarven race for centuries to come!" At that, several groups of the aforementioned people shouted out in cheer at what their ancestors had accomplished, said fortress now the capital of the underground dwarven cities.

Marco smiled but continued on, not wanting to lose steam just as he started to warm up. "Strangely enough," he continued on, "One would think the orcs would take advantage of the current chaos to raid and pillage to their heart's content!" Marco easily spotted several of the tall, muscular, green-skinned orcs amongst the crowd, their faces bashful and embarrassed at his words.

"But no. After a brutal civil war, the orcish tribes disappeared to the far north, having last been seen scaling the northern mountains and passing through the vale!" His tone turned eerie and mysterious, the floating orbs of light dimming and providing a spookier atmosphere.

"The vale, a massive wall of thick fog located far to the north in the dragon infested mountains of Vallenfall! It is believed to be a gateway to the lowest levels of the underworld, and none who have entered… ever returned…" Marco paused for a moment, letting his words echo across his audience.

After a few seconds he continued, the orbs of light brightening back to their previous glow.

"There is one race, however, that is completely unconcerned by the developing chaos. Chimeras." His audience became restless at that, murmuring and muttering among themselves as he brought up a rather touchy subject.

"A half human half beast race created by the god of the hunt, an unknown and mysterious deity that appeared several thousand years ago, only to disappear from existence after bringing life to their creation. Chimeras are unconcerned by the looming war for one reason, and one reason only. They are a slave race." His audience was doing surprisingly well, Marco noted. By this point, he might have gotten rotten fruit thrown at him. The only disturbance was that of a human woman holding back her Chimera companion from jumping on stage and ripping him a new one.

"This was not always the case, though! For once upon a time, hundreds of years ago, Chimeras were a prosperous nation, well known for their culinary talents and superb hunting skills.

"People from all over the world traveled to the ancient city of Kaladon, the capital of the Chimera nation! There, they would trade wares. Learn the martial and mythical arts of its people. And feast upon the exquisite cuisine of one of the most influential nations!

"Long ago, however, the nation of beast-folk fell to a ruthless man named Cieus III, the emperor of the human kingdoms!" The mention of that man's name garnered a strong reaction from the crowd, anger, and hatred palpable in the air as people seethed at the mere mention of him.

"Cieus III was a despicable man, devoid of mercy, empathy, or love. Some said he had no heart others said he had no soul. A demon from the lowest levels of hell walking among us." Marco pushed on, pacing back and forth on stage as his passion for storytelling started to grow, and his gathered audience became enraptured.

"He set out on a campaign of power, waging war against the known world!" Marco spoke, the hatred and disgust he felt for this man heard clearly in his voice. Something that the crowd could relate to.

"And in his lustful pursuit of power and control, Cieus razed kingdoms, burned villages, and slaughtered innocents. The Chimera nation, Valldune, was the first to fall. The beast-folk were a peace-loving people, and they lacked a strong military force due to their many centuries of harmony between nations."

Marco had to stop and take a breath. There were very few things he disliked about his job, one of which was that he had to talk about this man. But he was a scholar, a storyteller, and a historian. His job was to preserve knowledge and history no matter what and share it with others. If that meant he must speak of this disgrace of a human being, then so be it.

The people waited anxiously for Marco to continue the recount of history. His way with words and the emotions he was able to convey keeping everyone rooted to the spot.

"The gods," he finally continued, "Having had enough of Cieus' reign of terror, each granted a symbol of power to their most devoted follower. Branding them with their symbol and granting them abilities and powers one could only dream of! The gods then commanded their newly selected champions to rid the world of the evil that was Cieus!" Marco's voice was loud and inspiring, the crowd erupting into cheering as he brought to life the feeling of patriotism! Even though what he spoke of had taken place nearly 550 years ago.

"These champions of the gods, twenty-one in total, went on to become legends known as Symbol Bearers! Uniting people under one banner and raising an army to fight for their freedom!" More cheering erupted from the people before him, the air abuzz with energy as people grew enthralled at his storytelling. Marco waved his hand, gesturing for people to be calm so he might continue.

"It was a long and bloody war. Millions of people died, entire kingdoms were razed, and several gods perished in the conflict," he spoke. Grounding everyone back into reality and letting them all know that not all stories had a happy ending.

"The Symbol Bearers were not the only ones supported by a god though," he spoke ominously, "For Cieus, quite by accident, created a new god. The constant war and chaos, the death and carnage that was a result. It all accumulated deep within the earth, and from it was born Necrotos, the god of war, bloodshed, and chaos!"

People looked around warily as if the very mentioning of this deity's name could summon him, which it could if said god desired it. At that moment, though, it seemed Necrotos had better things to do than frighten a group of mortals.

"Necrotos, owing Cieus for his very existence, supported him by granting the emperor and his generals symbols of power. This finally allowed them to go on the offensive, driving back the Symbol Bearers and the rebel army that had pushed them into retreat!"

There was no cheering this time, no feelings of sadness. Just high-strung apprehension as people teetered on the edge, waiting for the historian to continue. Everyone knew how this story ends, it was common history, but the magic this man was able to spin with words kept everyone on the edge of their seat.

"The battle that came next was the worst of all… The entire rebel army was destroyed, and eighteen Symbol Bearers were lost. The last three standing alone against an entire army." Tension in the air grew to a breaking point, everyone waiting for the climax of the story. It was silent across the square, no sound produced except for the burbling of the fountain, the water it spat forth cascading back into the pool beneath.

"All hope seemed lost, the world looked as if it would burn, and the gods themselves grew scared of the power Cieus now wielded! The last three champions of the gods, the strongest out of all twenty-one, stood against insurmountable odds! They were scared, oh yes they were scared! For even though they were the strongest, they were still only mortal.

"However, they never once gave up hope! The three friends knew what had to be done if the world was to survive, and so they committed themselves to a last-ditch effort. Coalescing their power and unleashing its full force onto the enemy!" The more passion Marco spoke with, the more enraptured his audience became, the brighter the floating balls of light glowed, and the more he felt himself being swept away by the chronicles of history.

"In a bright flash of light!" He exclaimed, the floating orbs of light all around the square pulsing at his words, "The three champions, the enemy army, and Cieus himself, were no more! Their bodies turned to stone!" Cheering erupted from citizens, their hands raised and fists pumping into the air.

Marco waited patiently for the crowd to settle down before continuing, "To this day, the army of stone remains forever frozen, facing off against the last greatest champions of life in the valley of lost souls. It is rumored no living creature dares go near the mass grave, for it is a cursed place, a place of death and despair, and any who dare enter, never return with their minds fully intact."

Marco came to a close on his retelling of one of the world's darkest times, a bloody apocalypse that had taken place 550 years ago. His transition into more recent history was near perfect, his audience still mesmerized as he started to speak of the last 50 years.

"Now, after 500 years of peace, conflict is simmering once again as war is on the horizon! Nations send diplomats to one another in a desperate effort to gain more allies or stall the coming chaos.

"Despicable beings hide in the darkness, lying in wait for their chance to spring forth and cause mayhem. Creatures once thought of as myth have reawoken. And a mysterious god watches from afar with sadness in their heart at the plight of their children."

"However, the world has not yet descended into bloodshed, and it is quite possible it never will," he spoke, his tone now becoming upbeat, a pleasant change from the more depressive side of things.

"For the actions of individuals over the past 50 years, whether they realized it or not, helped thwart the growing darkness and saved Dunehei from being plunged into a new age of chaos!" The crowd exploded into cheers, the cacophony of celebration echoing across the city. There was no doubt they could hear it all the way up in the palace that was far off in the distance.

It took a while for the people to settle down. Once they did, Marco spoke again, "I have many stories to tell, so many in fact, I do not know where to begin! Perhaps I should just pick from my long list and go from there, for I am a storyteller! What I speak to you is an undeniable truth that even the gods themselves can attest to! If what I say is wrong, then may Rayla, goddess of light and justice, strike me down!"

The crowd gasped as one at the audacious statement, their eyes turning to the skies as if they might see the goddess herself looking down in disapproval. Marco stood tall, the confidence in his words showing in his posture. There was no great clap of thunder and no blinding beam of light shooting down to incinerate the man standing on stage. People began to murmur, wondering if the man really did speak the truth.

The gods were not invisible creatures that the mortals just believed in to explain away the world. No, every mortal knew the gods existed, for even though they reigned above in their might city in the sky, the gods were not above living down on earth, walking among its people and being one with them.

Marco smirked, knowing full well that the goddess would not strike him down. He banged his cane against the stage, golden sparks flying forth from where it made contact, gaining the attention of everyone once more. He spread his arms wide, a huge smile adorning his face.

"So, I say, come! Come and listen to my stories, hear the tales I have to tell, and learn!"