Tales from Anghvir: The Gemstone Diadem

Did you know how we found the Gemstone Diadem. Maybe in time we will know why it matters so much but for now we’ve managed to triumph. Hopefully that damnable Sorcerer is dead for good and all. Ah, but I digress! Here now is the story of how we came by the Diadem in the first place, at least, in part. 

-From the writings of Javier Lerad, Bard Extraordinaire

Xanathak knew they called him the Learner. It was all in jest. They all mocked him because he couldn’t learn or do anything at the same pace as everyone else - for one thing, all his spells were wonky, and he could hardly stand up straight without tripping over his feet. Every time even the most mundane task called for some semblance of coordination, he was found unequal to it. 

And yet, there were times he was able to achieve incredible feats that had never once been performed before at the Doneth Academy, where the Wizards of Alesat sat in leadership of the Temple of Eternal Truth. 

Here he crept into the quarters of the Paragon, also known as the Inner Sanctum. Arcturus Cambion led the Wizards, and as such, was also the Holy Primarch of the Temple, the interpreter of Alesat’s Last Will and Testament, and foremost among the faithful, known as the Alesatari in their collective religion. Cambion himself was, at the moment, asleep. It was the only time he ever removed the Gemstone Diadem, symbol of his position. Plus, it was rumored that the Diadem was the key to finding the legendary Crystal Cortexes - at least the originals. Many copies were pale imitations of the true Cortexes, but they were still powerful enough to run the magical networks that fueled the technology of Anghvir. 

Cambion snored heavily; the physicians’ wing had diagnosed him with a condition called sleep apnea, for which he took a nightly potion to help with so that he might not die in his sleep. All the same, Xana held his breath, fearing for his life with every step. He was here to steal the Diadem and prove that its reputation was true. 

There were no spells, wards, or other defenses around Cambion’s elegant four-poster bed. This situation didn’t do much to help alleviate Xana’s anxiety. If he was caught, he was worse than dead. He had heard tales of what would happen to the students expelled from Doneth - they would be besmirched as Spellthieves, excommunicated, and branded as heretics. That being the case, he hoped against hope that the whispers were wrong, because he didn’t want to bring shame and dishonor upon his family, who belonged to the Noble House of Mateng.

Each plank of the hardwood floor was decorated with a different rune. Xana was paranoid that this was a subtle way that Cambion put shields around his bed, so that no intruders could approach the pedestal on which the Diadem stood when it wasn’t being worn. 

He slowed his breathing and stepped carefully, because for all he knew there could be a hex placed on a particular floorboard, and if he took a wrong step, it would activate. 

Yet…

He finally managed to get to where he wanted to be. With silent fingers he swiped the Diadem. Gritting his teeth and biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood, Xana eased away from the Paragon’s bed, unsure if the crown itself had a jinx on it. 

No, he got what he wanted. Without believing his luck, he slunk back out of the Paragon’s chambers and headed for his own, much humbler cell. As he left the room, he whispered out of the side of his mouth a single command word derived from Pre-Anglica, the mysterious tongue of the Predecessors who had come before the current realm. The door clicked shut and locked of its own accord, as if no one had entered at all. 

One of Cambion’s fierce blue eyes sprung open. 

***

The next thing Xana knew, he was on a horse passing through the gates of Doneth. How he had managed to evade the guards he didn’t know, and supposed he never would - he couldn’t recall leaving campus until he regained his senses at that moment. Whispers swirled in his head, speaking words he couldn’t understand, except that he knew enough to surmise that they were Pre-Anglican. This made his pulse race and his head pound. He would have to stop somewhere, and soon. He was on the Royal Road from Doneth that led to Mar Alyeska, the castle of House Gamron and seat of the Rubicon Throne.

Finding a knot of trees leading away from the road, he decided that this would be a good enough place to stop. He muttered the command word for “stop” to his horse, and it obeyed before he could repeat himself, this time a little louder. The horses stabled at Doneth were more intelligent than their ordinary kin, and it was said that they could anticipate their rider’s commands at the speed of thought, thanks to the ambient magic wound into the place that empowered every living thing inside its awe-inspiring gates. When he dismounted, he felt something rattle inside his saddlebag. He opened it up to find the Diadem inside, its gemstone settings glowing with an eerie blue light that had nothing to do with the light of the dual moons Telyssos and Zalkuras. 

“What is happening?” he said to the winds. He got no answer. He knew that once his crime was discovered, he would never be welcome back at Doneth. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped his prize. A single thought flashed across the surface of his mind - something that made him wonder if he had taken leave of his senses. 

He must place the corona around his own head. The closer his hands moved to his temples, the more the Diadem encouraged him, almost urging him to follow through on its suggestion. So, without further hesitation, Xana put the Diadem on and almost immediately thought his head would explode like a watermelon with a lit firework hidden inside it. 

So...much...power....

YOU MUST PROCEED, XANATHAK MATENG. GO NOW TO THE PLACE OF THE CROWN. THERE YOU WILL FIND MORE ANSWERS THAT YOU SEEK.

The voice of the Diadem was overpowering. Was this what the Paragon heard in his head every day he wore it? Xana had heard an old saying about how heavy lies the head, but he didn’t think it was anything more than simple superstition. It should have been left behind in the time of the Predecessors. After all, they had also believed that they walked with their gods, at least until the cataclysm that ended their hegemony over the continent. 

Feeling sick, Xana removed the Diadem from his head. He bowed his head in several silent minutes of contemplation on his next course of action. Once the waves of nausea had subsided, he prayed to Alesat for forgiveness; one did not trespass lightly against His Enlightened Wisdom or treat his relics with such flagrant disrespect. 

With a renewed sense of purpose, he got back on his horse - a symbolic moment that wasn’t lost on him - and continued on his way. It would be several more hours before he reached his destination, and he knew he should get there before dawn. Even though he should stop for some food and water, the Diadem seemed to sustain him and keep his fatigue from overcoming him. It was a desperate mission, this; he felt compelled to see it through as soon as possible. Or at least, the Diadem did. He was just the mortal vessel it had chosen. 

“...your thoughts turn to the Relics, do they not? Keep going and you will learn more about what you wish to know…”   

Xana whipped around in a panic, unsure of where the voice came from before realizing that it was emanating from the Diadem; its previous grumbling came in loud and clear. It was as though donning it for the first time opened a window in his mind that allowed him to understand what it was trying to say to him. The spires of the city came into view with sunrise.

Once he reached Mar Alyeska, he saw the heraldry of the bull and knew that he was where he needed to be. Since he was recognized as a Disciple at the Academy, he was free to go where he pleased within the city that crouched by the castle’s lower reaches. He had only recently achieved this rank, but now he felt like he was already putting it in jeopardy. Regardless, he had more pressing matters to think about while he was here. 

Regardless of his access to the city, he still had to be wary of the city watch. He was acquainted with the commander of the purple cloaks, Anatoly Asher, who was always friendly to him whenever he visited the campus of Doneth. He had some minor magical talents, but not enough to earn him a place at university. It was Asher who greeted him now, along with a small squard of stern-looking guardsmen. 

“Ah, Xanathak! Thank the gods I found you! The meeting is about to begin.”

“M-meeting? What meeting?” Xana’s anxiety had gone to high alert. Had the Zealots caught up to him so soon? He gulped, hoping against hope this wasn’t about to go against him. 

“Yes, my friend! The meeting! A diplomatic summit has been called, and you have been summoned as an envoy from the Temple!” 

Asher led him to the small council chambers, where the Lords Paramount of Houses Palomo and Mateng, along with the lesser lords who were provincial governors, all sat together deep in debates over this matter and that point. One dignitary who sat there was the lone Representative of Freehaven, an independent city-state somewhere in the Southern Sea. Xana knew it was a wild, rough-and-tumble, almost lawless place. 

At the moment, he didn’t have much time to think about that den of pirates and mercenaries. His eyes were drawn to the most beautiful woman in the room - Princess Allegra Gamron, newly-invested as Crown Princess of the Grand Kingdom of Anghvir. Today was a momentous day for her, and she glowed in a gown of indigo samite studded with rubies and amythests. A delicate tiara of spun silver and gold was around her head. 

She turned and smiled at him, and invited him to sit beside her, almost as if she was expecting him to appear when he did. 

“...go to her, she can help…” the Diadem said, almost too quiet to be heard. Xana did as he was bade and joined the beaming princess. 

“It’s always good to see a new face here. These meetings are always dreadfully boring.” Her voice carried a gentle lilt that turned his knees to jelly. Allegra had a reputation as being unruly and hard to control, but that was because the menfolk of Anghvir resented having such a headstrong woman as heir to the Rubicon Throne. She was so...kind. He looked away before he could be accused of staring. 

Princess Allegra had a slightly roundish but still heart-shaped face, bright eyes that were the same color as her dress, curly black hair that was done up in a sophisticated knot and held in place with a butterfly brooch, and a thin copper necklace that held an infinity loop as its charm, the symbol of the Temple of Eternal Truth. Her restrained makeup diminished the dimples that widened with each smile, but it wasn’t enough to detract from the overall gracefulness of her features. She wore no rings on her fingers, but she didn’t need to; and if she had a reason to stand up (which would distract everyone in the room, so she had half a mind to do it anyway) her bearing would have revealed a fuller figure that was part of what made her so different from so many other maidens in the kingdom. Every body-size was beautiful, but it all came together in just the right ways in the person of the Princess. Much remains to be said about her, but that is for another time. 

“Gentlemen,” she said in a clear, ringing voice that emphasized her position of authority in the room - she ranked highest and thus commanded the most respect, gender notwithstanding - “I think it is high time we adjourned for the day.”