From the Journal of Sir Kirkpetty, Lord Knight of the Lotus:

I was in my tower in the city of Carmenty when it happened. Carmenty was on the coast of the Hogor Ocean, on the Eastern Shore of the continent of Heron. The thriving city was just five miles to the east from the Isle of Lankford Primus. There, in my tower, high atop the Knights of the Lotus Guild, I heard the scream come from across the still waters of the night. IÕm not ashamed to say that it caused even me to tremble in my armor. Then followed a green crack of lightning that arched over our capitol island and I had seen the World Wyrm return. O, what thoughts of terror careened through my brainÉthe stories from my youth of this mighty celestial beast that could swallow armies wholeÉBut just as quicklyÑit was gone. I prayed to the heavens for whatever force could drive such a monster back to its void. And there came a whisper on the windÉNo salvation without a price. And this was true. Before my eyes, tidal swells, extending out from Lankford Primus like a blue and black rose unfolding. 100 feet high its petals fell on Carmenty, Ki, Lenton, the small islands of Hudminster, Chickorth, and Gundilin. Everyone, including CarmentyÕs Navy of twenty-two ships was killed. Crushed they were and swept out into the drink. I was the only one I knew of then that had survived and only because I was in my tower 200 feet above the ground. Something foul and wicked had happened at the EmperorÕs palace to cause such a catastropheÑwhat we would never know until much, much later. These cities, totally ruined the islands never again to come back above the waters. Slowly, the ocean washed back to its slumber. Of Carmenty and the lands that were not forever swallowed, all I could see was the bony arms of stone foundations, boats washed inland, miles from shore, fish flopping on top of mountains before their gills gave out. There was even a poor whale gasping for air in the center of what was CarmentyÕs lovely flower garden. I proposed marriage in that garden. I could only hope that my beautiful wife was now a mermaidÑwaiting for me to someday meet her beneath our sea. We waited, those of us who survived and gathered together on makeshift rafts and boats. There were ships from Turthage and Crigets Traders there as well, some sails we didnÕt even recognize. We floated silently off the coast of Lankford Primus afraid to go to port and find out what had caused all of this. Eventually the number grew to 100 ships that had made anchor and waited, staring into the green gas that encircled our former capitol. What could Nomon have said to have caused such destruction? What was this foul mist we knew not. We only waited; knowing something had gone terribly wrong. No one spoke much. We were all recent enemies, waiting together. Sharing what rations we had. Pointing occasionally when we thought we saw something in the ghastly fogÑsomething foul, but never clear enough toÉOnly to haunt us. Our imaginations too haunted us. I think this is why none of us spoke. But on the third day, as more and more ships drew anchor around our former capitol, the home of the first Emperor in 1000 years, a small raft crept out of the sickly fog. On this raft, it was him. The one called Nomon. The Prophet. The sayer of terrible things. His eyesÉby the gods I swear his eyes were still burned from his sockets, when I first saw himÑWhen I first saw him paddling his hunk of the front gate of the Castle of SunÕs Birth. His eyesÉBut he was not dead. We gave the old monk rest. And we waited in make shift tents on what used to be Carmenty. From as far away as the Hyperborean Territories to the Sultanate of Sufra Hajani they were there, waiting for the old monk to speakÑguarded by the Golden terrors that came across on his raft with him. Those spectral Knights incased in their golden plate, their gauntlets wrapped around bloody golden Mauls. We all waited to hear the tale. On the third day of NomonÕs rest he finally told us all he dared. He told us that Nch brought magic back. That the kings were all dead, that Graymoore had saved the world. And that the island, our capitol, Lankford Primus, is now haunted. This was all he had told us of the events of that terrible day, leaving many holes and crevices on which we could only fill in with our own haunted imagination. And Nomon helped our speculation along with his incessant rantings about the Sturm und Drang and the finding of the 32 Artifacts. He ranted until we just had to walk away. We had heard enough and all needed sleep. We awoke to find Nomon and his golden monsters were gone, along with a great deal of the peasants who called themselves Nomonites, those who followed the old monks teachings before the Day of the Death of All Kings. No one saw them leave, but we were all thankful, this I will tell you. It was then that it struck us, like NomonÕs golden guardÕs bloody maulsÑwe were without our Emperor, without our kings and high Knights. We were a chicken with its head cut off and plucked of its feathers. Greed and power filled the eyes of many as they reboarded their ships and sailed off with thoughts of seizing power. Many just left to think and ponder. And finally, many of us just got back to the things of life. There was, after all, much to rebuildÉAnd our old city of Carmenty was now to be renamed after our fallen emperor, our hero who drove the World Wyrm awayÑour new city was to be called St. Graymoore. From the Keeper of the Records of the Great Tree: AronÕklix the Elven Historian: Woe O LinkeshÕordÕcrax (Lankford) for the World Wyrm breathed its breath for five minutes and set the wheels in motion again. Its time, its time for us to once again walk among men. Its time, its time, for us to tell our brother Dwarves to stoke their fires and make weapons of war and join us in the lands and minds of menÑcome out of their caves. A great and terrible day has come and the Storm and Stress is whipping its tail. Woe, woe all living things for we shall all be the ink in the letter, the seed in the story to come. I feel magic again, for this I am happyÑthough I also feel golden anti-magic. For this I am confused. For I had thought all the Golden Knights defeated by their own arrogance. Of this I am sad and confused.

From the Song of the Forge Dwarf Kland McKravendish:

Drop my hammer, drop my stone,
The Lich had come and cleared the throne.
The Dragon spit into the worldÕs eye.
The Spellsword born, Our hopes for peace die.
Pound my hammer, pound my steel.
I turn the crank, I ride the wheelÉ
Until I open our mighty gates
And see the sun again,
My back, my back, my back.
Give me more beer to deal with this,
A dwarfÕs one and only friend.

From the Pen of Hojjit the Halfling Tailor:

I pricked my finger today. Not a good thing this for a tailor to do. Soiled my customerÕs waistcoat I didÑred. Must be the old song again. Guess Kikee wasnÕt kidding when he said his smoke rings spelled doom. WhereÕs my wife to scratch the hair on my feet? I hope she is okay in Lankford Primus. I hope the Emperor liked the robe I had made for him. I hopeÉto see you again my dear when my time has come too.

From the Drunken Mouth of Ogblech the Half-Orc:

Me feel bad. Somfing not unspoiled. Me hate mages. Why they have to come back.
Now Og have to tie his boots. I go kill somefing.
Make Og feel right as scars on head. War be good though. Chicken salad. (Burp. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz).

From the Song of Jeb the Fat Bard:

O no one will dare to wear a crown.
No one will dare to be king.
But they will slice and gash for power,
Know this, if any, one thing.
WeÕll begin to look for trinkets,
Who ever finds them will be rich.
Will begin to find new lands,
Knights will get the traveling itch.
There will be chaos, There will be warÑ
New schools of Magix.
No one knows whatÕs in store.
Sing tra-la-la-la.
Sing tru-lee-loo-lee-loo.
Sing tra-lo-lee-lo-lee.
Sing Do-do-d-OW!

"Heeeey! Bard wear helmet. Og not happy. I try bigger mallet on you, lute-boy."

From the Secret Histories of Cabal, Knight of the Golden Order:

We are the Knights of the Golden Order. We waited in seclusion in the Hyperborean Mountains for our time and that time is now. Nomon arrives, eyes burned out, and by his side our Giantkin brethren. They are transformedÑUndead Specters in righteous golden armorÑnew armorÑbetter armor. Nomon tells us this glittering plate is resistant to magic, and the more we wear it, the more it will become impenetrable to the arcane and so called holy forces. This is our destiny; this is the Hyperborean GiantkinÕs highest privilege, to be judges of this land. To keep the peace, and to keep magic in check for it brings about the endÑit brings about sin, wrong doingÉthe wrath of the gods. And worseÉthe Sturm und Drang. No man or woman shall wear a crown again without first passing the test of the Golden Order: And no one shall be emperor unless they brave the horrors that Nomon told us now exist on Lankford Primus. He had told us of that fateful day as he told no otherÑHis own death at the hand of the Lich Nch. Our rebirth. The death of all the Crowns in our final stroke of vengeance. Sir Graymoore, our EmperorÕs great sacrifice to smite old Fragnot and his ability to make the Spellsword. (This ability we shall have to watch). The making of the undead of all who were on the island. The tainting of the Castle of SunÕs Birth and its new layers leading down to the Void itselfÑAnd finally, thank the gods, NchÕs death at our new LordsÕ Mauls. Thump-thump little Magic User, I grin with thoughts of your end. We shall rise up once again and claim this land as oursÑa new Golden Order! From these two suits of armor we made 100 new. The armor bred like some strange plantÑexactly howÉThis is our secret. The Law has returned! Nomon splits our new Force into three Orders, as in the past: The Knights of Contradiction, Thorns, and the Box. Each section with its own new agenda. The Thorns from the Normanic Giantkin will be the Watchers of the Clerics and Holy Ones, their judgesÑas well as the seekers and keepers of the Holy Relics of the Sturm und Drang. "A Golden Thorn in the side of every temple and priest," shall be their credo. The Contradiction, the Hyperborean Giantkin elite, shall be a Knighthood of those who Judge the use of magic, regulate its flow. And woe to those who use the death magic, the demon inspired spells! The Contradiction shall also seek out and guard the Artifacts of Magical properties. And lastly: the Order of the Box. Well when one seeks to wear a crown on their headÉTheyÕll learn of the Order of the Box. But until Lankford sees that day once more, let the thump-thump of giant golden mauls and the thundering of marching golden feet keep all in perfect Golden Order. "Thorns and Contradictions, in our life in the Box." Cabal, Knight of the Golden Order