The decision wasn’t made in haste. One should not kill their king, their father, in a fit of passionate rage. Edwyn contemplated his father’s assassination for months, thinking through the inevitable cascade of events sure to follow his act and identifying the neighboring kingdoms, noble families, and shadow organizations most likely to take advantage of the power vacuum.

After eight moons, Edwyn initiated the cascade of events that would shape the kingdom’s - no, the continent’s – future. Edwyn began with the first and most trivial step in his rise to kingship: removing his father from the throne.

Edwyn’s father was a portly man, round of waist but with narrow shoulders. The king’s stature, being shorter and more frail than Edwyn at sixteen, was a constant source of embarrassment for his son. On that fateful afternoon, the King strolled into the palatial library dressed in his finest livery and a red griffin down cape draped around his shoulders. The man carried a brilliantly decorated sword at his left hip that Edwyn knew had never seen combat. 

He had come to speak with Edwyn during his studies, but his tutor had protested at the interruption. The 32nd King of Tir Tywyll, owner of the most sought-after land in Igris and commander of an army 30,000 strong, was negotiating with his servant. The crown upon his head looked more like the cap of a jester than the symbol of power it truly was.

The Onyx Crown was rough-hewn and carved entirely of the void-black stone, sharp, jagged spikes protruding upwards. The piece had represented rulership over the preeminent kingdom of Igris for generations, a treasure worth far more than the man beneath it.

“You are so weak,” the prince grumbled under his breath.

With a burst of motion, Edwyn had lunged forward grabbing the king’s ceremonial saber, ripping it cleanly out of the scabbard, and slashed diagonally up and across his father’s throat. The maneuver was executed perfectly, leaving his father no time to react at all. Of course the strike was perfect, Edwyn thought to himself, he had practiced it two thousand times.

“Worry not my king,” Edwyn sneered as his father sank to his knees, gasping for breath. “I will rule as you should have all along: through strength.”

He placed his hand on the back of the man’s neck, making sure his was the last face his father saw. Edwyn stared, unblinking, as the light slowly faded from the king’s eyes. The new king held the former up, relishing the entire process. Edwyn had hoped to see at least the barest flicker of anger or resentment, but alas, his father proved to be truly spineless to the end. Finally, Edwyn allowed the kneeling man to slump over, laying in a pool of his own blood, and rose to his full height.

Looking down, the symbol of sovereignty over Tir Tywyll rested at his feet. The Onyx Crown. On it, his father’s blood ran down one of the sharp points. Finding it a fitting addition to the work of art, Edwyn bent down to collect his prize and crowned himself King of Tir Tywyll.

A maniacal grin split his face as the blood dripped down his temple.

What better way to start his reign than with the blood of the weak.

Part of his ascension to the throne meant taking a wife. Lady Vivianne had been a great asset to Edwyn’s continued accrual of power. Avalyn had offered her as a way to tie their kingdoms together. Doing so increased Edwyn’s power and allowed him to place a chokehold on trade across all of Igris. He had never expected to grow any affection for whoever it was that would bear his legacy. But then again, he had never expected Vivianne. She had been a powerful seer in her own right and was more beautiful than any of the other cretins from The Order.

From their first meeting, Edwyn had been captivated by her devotion. He spoke of his goals of conquest and power, waging war to take hold of all that he was owed. Edwyn was The Onyx King, and as such, Igris would be his. He had never expected a bride who not only understood his vision, but wanted even more for him. The first time Edwyn had explained his plans to her, she had watched in ravenous awe. At the end, Queen Vivianne raised his massive left fist, and lovingly kissed his ring.

“Long May He Reign.”

The arrival of his firstborn was the sign that he was ready to take the continent that was his birthright. Vivianne bore him a healthy baby girl that they named Sarah. Edwyn saw before him the continuation of his legacy. As she grew older, her father’s strength and her mother’s cunning made themselves clear in the child. She would be the key to his continued reign. All Edwyn needed now was the knowledge and wisdom of how to secure his rule; and he knew just where to find it.

The Order of the Black Lagoon was infamous across Igris for their clairvoyant capabilities. Their namesake was the large, circular pool, its water the color of pitch, that served as the source for all of the coven’s major workings. There existed tales beyond count of The Order foretelling the fates of folk from all over Igris, be they glorious or horrific. And just as all those that came before him, the chance to glimpse one’s own fate was a prospect far too tempting for The Onyx King to ignore.

Edwyn had never questioned his wife’s credentials as a seer of the Order, but he grew more and more intrigued by the myths surrounding one Lady of the Black Lagoon. If the tales of her legendary oracular abilities were to be believed, Vivianne’s connections would serve as the perfect means by which to secure his prophecy.

They had taken the journey to Avalyn together and Edwyn had been blindfolded for the final descent to The Lagoon. When they had finally arrived, Vivianne disappeared almost immediately, reassuring him that she would be present during the ritual. And so he waited patiently at the edge of the black, placid water, awaiting the gift his wife had promised.

After what seemed to be an eternity, a procession of women finally descended upon the lagoon, all dressed uniformly in hoodless black robes. Each of the women wore a unique set of arcane patterns painted upon their faces, while their exposed arms were colored a vibrant white. The only exception was Vivianne, who walked at the epicenter of whatever magic was unfolding. She descended from the house wearing a pale, white dress. It was reminiscent of a wedding gown, a single layer of sheer fabric that drifted on the wind. In contrast to the others, her face and arms were painted an inky black.

Vivianne’s severe features had always appealed to him, her having been one of the few beautiful things Edwyn allowed in his life, and those characteristics were now accentuated artfully by the arcane calligraphy painted upon her fair skin. The dark paint accentuated her high cheekbones, sharpened the arch of her nose, and traced the border of her jawline. He had never seen a more perfect sight.

As the procession passed Edwyn, Vivianne’s eyes met briefly with his, bridging the distance between their souls. Despite the perplexing expression on her beautiful face, that look would live for an eternity in his memory, though lasting barely a moment in reality.

Even over the next twenty five years, Edwyn still could not unravel every emotion contained in that look. Naked devotion, unbridled love, and sheer terror were all prominent.

Vivianne continued down the ivory path, crossing a land bridge that stretched out to the center of the Lagoon. As she did, the rest of the coven took positions around the edge of the inky waters. The witches moved in perfect unison, their arms raised towards Vivianne as the white paint lifted from their skin and formed a swirling vortex over the Lagoon. As one, they halted, completely bereft of all paint, and Vivienne stepped off the land.

Edwyn froze, awestruck.

Instead of plunging into the blackened abyss, Vivianne stood upon placid water as if it were glass. As she stepped towards the center of the Lagoon, the witches began chanting in a strange language that Edwyn did not recognize, their voices undulating in an unsettling unison. Vivianne continued towards the swirling vortex of what was once paint and took her place beneath.

The coven, now shouting the incantation, swayed to a fro, stirring the massive cauldron that was the Lagoon as the arcane energy whirled above the younger woman’s head with astonishing speed. The vortex flattened and took shape - a perfect, glowing ring of radiant white, humming with energy. And when Edwyn believed he had seen it all, the chanting halted and the Lagoon fell deathly silent.

As the invocation ended, the flattened vortex of energy descended upon Vivianne, lifting her from the water’s surface as she passed through the whirlwind’s center. The jet-black paint pulled away from her skin as the energy passed over Vivianne’s body, much like those of her fellow witches. Though, unlike the rest of the coven, her sigils did not join the maelstrom but were instead drunk by the inky darkness of the Lagoon below, the waters whipping and whirling where her feet once stood.

Edwyn watched, paralyzed, as his wife was drained of more than just the dark, arcane sigils. Vivianne’s once beautiful, alabaster skin had turned sallow and ashen as though the Lagoon had drunk her color along with the paint. As the last drop of onyx paint was stripped from her skin, the power keeping her aloft gave way and she plummeted into the abyss below without so much as a splash, the darkness of the Lagoon swallowing her whole.

For several minutes, nothing happened. The witches stood motionless like gargoyles, never once moving or shifting from their vigil. Edwyn forced himself to remain calm, trusting his wife’s decision. After what seemed like an eternity, a shape emerged from the haze at the very center of the Lagoon.

What rose from the water was not his wife. As the mists cleared, a gaunt, skeletal woman glided forward limply, like a marionette with cut strings. Where Vivianne had beautiful auburn-brown hair, a head of long raven-black hair hung wet over this creature’s face, obscuring her features.

Before he had time to contemplate the loss of his wife, the Lady spoke. It was Vivianne’s voice, but the words came hoarse and gravelly, seemingly requiring great effort.

“Edwyn Arthurian, Onyx King of Tir Tywyll, Commander of The Onyx Legion, and Sovereign Ruler of one of the Ennead Realms from the pact of the Knights of Nine, enter the Black Lagoon, and let your fate be known.”

The surface of the Lagoon had returned to its eerily still placidity, neither a ripple nor wake visible beneath the haze. Even as Edwyn stepped into the pitch-dark pool with his heavy boot, the water’s surface remained wholly undisturbed, perfectly reflecting the world above. The moment Edwyn tried to rest his weight on his submerged foot, something grabbed hold of him and dragged him into the lagoon and beneath its surface.

Plunged into total darkness, Edwyn was met not with visions of his fate but with a prophecy, spoken in his own, most imperious, voice.

“Child of Folly. Brother of War. Heir to Chaos. Find the power deep within the heart of Igris and seize it for your own. With it, your strength will grow beyond reckoning and unify all beneath a single banner. Do not limit yourself by rejecting the unknown. Embrace it and your progeny, too, will come to power in time. All of Igris will unite under the name Arthurian and kneel.”

After the voice had finished imparting his prophecy, Edwyn’s feet finally seemed capable of gaining purchase in the mud and he surged upwards. As he broke the surface of the murky water, the lagoon remained eerily still, despite his sharp movements. He was surprised that the water only rose to his upper thighs, as it had seemed much deeper when he was submerged. Rather than the edge that he had stepped into, Edwyn realized that he was now at the center of the Lagoon - the same place where the Lady had previously emerged.

Turning to face the shore where he had entered, the King of Tir Tywyll came face to face with the Lady of the Black Lagoon. Her features were still Vivianne’s, but all of the vibrancy formerly possessed by his wife was gone. There was a momentary ache as Edwyn grieved the loss of the woman he had loved.

“Is my wife still in there?” he asked, trying to peer past the curtain of dripping, ebon hair.

The Lady paused. She leaned forward and with clammy, bony fingers lifted his left hand to her lips.

“Long May He Reign”

Reaching down into the placid water, The Lady of the Black Lagoon presented The Onyx King with a massive, umbral sword, its wide blade flattened at the tip like that of an executioner. Edwyn watched as a flicker of ebonflame danced across the blade, etching the prophecy into the blackened stone, his nation’s namesake. As the magical flame completed the engraving, it died with a spark, leaving the blade pulsing with a violet glow.

“The blade Caledfwlch is thine – and soon, all of Igris.”

Looking back up into the face of his wife - no, The Lady of the Black Lagoon - Edwyn reached out and took his destiny by the hilt. As his fingers fully wrapped around the grip, ebonflame burst alight across his entire body, scorching him from head to toe. The agony lasted mere seconds before The Onyx King faded into darkness.

When he awoke, a ravenous hunger for battle - for conquest - roared within him like never before. He was made to reign and nothing was going to stop him from achieving the full height of his power. Edwyn now contemplated the question: at what point did one’s dominion over the world propel their ascension into divinity? To which the gnawing hunger within him answered, “when all who oppose us grovel in fealty at our feet.”

Now that The Onyx King’s divinity had been ordained by the most powerful seer on Igris, all he had to do was reach out and grasp it with an iron fist.

Edwyn Arthurian, The Onyx King, looked upon the small city before him, its wooden shops and family dwellings ablaze in unnatural black-and-purpled-hued flames that flared with white where it was hottest. The flames gave off no smoke, making the scope of the raging inferno all the more profound. On thatched roofs, as well as the sizzling flesh of the remaining citizens, the fire burned. Even the few stone buildings present melted to slag beneath the ebonflames, a testament to their incandescent heat.

Edwyn took several moments to revel in his own power, enjoying the symphony of screams and sobs from the dying.

As he approached the wrought-iron portcullis, behind which the remainder of the city’s defenders cowered, Edwyn ignored the shouts and attacks coming from beyond the gatehouse. A barrier of dim, amber light shielded from any oncoming spells or projectiles as he planted his feet firmly and concentrated power into his right hand. Instantaneously, his clenched gauntlet was engulfed by a penumbral inferno that emitted heat so intense, the gate began to glow red from mere proximity. In a single, fluid movement, Edwyn charged the gate, pivoted sharply, and cannoned his burning fist into the wrought-iron bars.

The gate stood no chance against his might. It exploded inward, launching superheated shrapnel across the castle’s inner courtyard. The Onyx King strode in, surveying the damage with grim satisfaction. Shrapnel peppered the ground, walls, and a number of soldiers unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast. May lay strew about the courtyard, screaming in agony - or at least those that could. The only figure left unharmed was the Pyre King of Maesfedd, Tegwyn, who had conjured her own barrier of flame in time.

“Greetings, Pyre King,” Edwyn hailed, sardonically. “Your army is crushed, your fields are ash, and your territory belongs to me… I’ve won.”

“You and your Legion are a blight on this world, Edwyn. What is it you hope to gain from this fiery tirade?”

“What do I hope to gain?” he scoffed. “I require the entire continent under my thumb - and if that is not enough for me to transcend, then I will take the entire world for my own.” Edwyn swept his arms wide, as if to encompass everything. “And I give any who dare oppose me the right to challenge me for all of my kingdom.”

“You are no god,” spat the Pyre King.

“I am the ONLY god!” The Onyx King roared. You dared to claim a piece of my continent, Tegwyn. Now I will show you the punishment for your hubris.”

Edwyn brandished his monolithic weapon for all to see; a massive two-handed executioner’s style blade, dark as night, inscribed with the prophecy that set him upon this path of conquest. It was a tool of pure brutality.

“You will have the chance to stand against me” he continued. If any of you can best me, you will have your ashen kingdom back. In fact, should you succeed, I will give you Tir Tywyll as well.”

Both apprehension and the barest flicker of hope shone in the eyes of the remaining military officers, bringing a smile to Edwyn’s face. The only death greater than that of a living being was the death of hope.

One by one, the remaining officers rose to challenge The Onyx King, given the courtesy of the first strike. And one by one, they all fell to his reprisal.

The first to fall crumpled to the ground as The King slammed his gauntleted fist downwards onto her head, crushing her before she could strike a second time. The second poor soul lay strewn across the courtyard in two pieces, Edwyn smiling as he bisected them with a single swing of Caledfwlch. He did not even wait for the final challenger, a decorated general, to complete his strike before sending him flying into the stone wall with a mighty punch. Blood and viscera splattered across the wall as the general made contact before his body landed on the ground with a wet thump.

“Surely this is not all the Dusk Fields have to offer,” Edwyn bellowed, his face twisting in disdain. “Tegwyn, I am disappointed,”

“May the hells claim your soul,” Tegwyn spat, stepping forward.

“The hells will cower before me,” Edwyn returned. “Just as all of these dead men did, and just as you will. Now, make your strike, Pyre King.”
In response, the mage began to emanate an incredible amount of heat. As Tegwyn gathered power, her sunset-colored robes caught aflame, though they did not burn. The flames contrasted with Edwyn’s - sun-touched magenta with amber droplets that fell and melted small craters into the cobblestones.

Her arms spread wide, Tegwyn rose into the air as her magic manifested into a majestic firebird, its multicolored feathers burning and drifting in the air like embers as it spread its wings to mirror its summoner. When Tegwyn brought her hands together, what poured forth resembled molten gold rather than flame. Edwyn allowed himself a small grin, allowing his opponent the faintest hope of victory. As the magenta flames engulfed him, he paused for a moment, though not before wreathing himself in his own ebonflame barrier. It was as if the waning light of sunset had been swallowed by the dark of night.

Neither the torrent of flame nor The Onyx King relented, striding forth through the blaze while his armor endured the assault. By the time Tegwyn descended, he stood only a few feet away. She hunched over, gasping for breath and struggling to keep herself steady.

“Such a pitiful display of power,” he scoffed. “You do realize, Tegwyn, that the purpose of fire… is to burn.”

A crescent of ebonflame tore free from his body and hurtled forward, nearly solid in form and sliced through her defenses without losing momentum. Her final protection—a dome of vermilion flame—buckled, cracked, and shattered. The blade cleaved through the barrier, then through Tegwyn, and splintered the castle doors beyond.

“For all that power, you still lack control,” he lamented “At least Maesfedd now has a worthy king.”

He walked through the long corridor to the throne room, glancing at the deep scars carved into the walls. The throne was damaged, its back partially severed. Planting the tip of his blade into the stone floor, Edwyn lowered himself into the seat. He closed his eyes, savoring the steady growth of his power.

But this moment would not last long as the shattered remains of the doors crashed open, revealing three newcomers, clearly intent on being the next to challenge him. The first, a titanic warrior that nearly rivaled him in height. The second was a smaller figure, wrapped in bandages and carrying a shepherd’s crook adorned with a lantern. Despite these two imposing strangers, The Onyx King’s eyes were drawn to the familiar figure at the lead. A severe looking female warrior clad in gleaming plate, The Onyx Crown settled upon her shoulders.

Resting his chin in his hand, The Onyx King regarded them with disdain.

“Welcome home, daughter. I see you’ve brought friends.”