In the year DE375, the king of Godhýl, Ebethy II conquered the southern Tellyry kingdom of Aneresy, ----. Legend told of a sacred rope that hung from the side of a cliff, and if someone were to throw a spear through this rope, they would become the new emperor of Legiond. In the year DE376, Afelwest I threw a spear through the rope and was declared the new emperor of Legiond. However, he instead declared himself Emperor of Aneresy, and founded his kingdom, Tellewen.
In the following 11 years, he conquered a large chunk of the Aneresy Isle, and in his death in 387, he was succeeded by his nephew Afelaw.
Dermy directed his gaze to the other side of the room, where some children flocked around a table. “And then, Afelwest threw the spear through the rope, and from the hatch fell a crown. A great golden one of many… no, uncountable jewels and gems!” said an old man.
“And what happened when he put the crown on his head?”
“Some do say he levitated two feet off the very earth! Others reckon his face glowed fiercely like the face of God, it did. Some even say the ground shook so much it knocked those watchin' clean off their feet, and the old king's castle tumbled beneath the great vibrations.”
Perfect, a bushy-faced patriotic storyteller from Tellewen with a sailor’s voice. Not only one who is under the guise that people will believe everything he says, but has an audience that will.
“Is it true that the soldiers of Styll felt the ground shaking and were so dismayed before battle, they raised a roast pig at the tip of a spear to call upon their god of demons?”
The storyteller laughed. His chuckle was like the gurgle of a fish, assuming fish do gurgle.
“Course’ it is, that's why they lost, isn’t it? Their own god was so afraid of Afelwest he came and blunted every single one of their blades, so they just glanced off the sides of the Tell’s armor, they did. Despite being outnumbered two to seven thousand, such a victory it was that day that the Tell’s made Afelwest their new king, and they named him Afelwest Ŵýn Edafar, that is, Afelwest the Great.”
What a liar, Afelwest the Great had almost five thousand men at his disposal. Still outnumbered, but nothing like two-thousand to seven thousand. Now that was simply outrageous.
“And so, how did he conquer the rest of the Aneresy Isle?”
“He never rested. Once the flag of the Tells flew from the castle of Castyl, he moved on to the next kingdom, he did. Kingdom after kingdom fell to his wrath, and his army did not wane, oh no, it did grow. After each battle, men from his conquered kingdoms saw the glory of this valiant king and flocked to his side to join his grand army, they did. The Andgyr, the Oseryrýn, the Selebedrýn, the Sýnewýngyr. All fell to the might of Afelwest Ŵýn Edafar’s spear, they did. Some kingdoms even fell into disarray before his armies could approach their borders, like the Vesteny. Poor folks. It’s no wonder they are the least treated duchy in Tellewen, isn’t it?”
“Why did he stop there?”
“Now that’s the question. Some say he grew tired of the bloodshed. Others that he was hit by a rock in head during battle, but ever since he had conquered the whole of south Aneresy, he wasn’t the same person. He beat his wife, he burned people who denied his power, he had sex with many women. Some say he even castrated his own son, and appointed his sister's son, Afalaw king of Eved, to be his successor”
Fisk shivered at the thought. “How dreadful,” he thought to himself.
“What was worse of all,” the storyteller lowered his voice for dramatic effect, making it hard for Fisk to hear.
“He murdered his brother, in fear he would take his throne. He threw him into a pit of Enfields.”
When Fisk heard the words, his mouth grew dry, and his eyes swelled like a chest taking in a breath.
But his chest only took in an air of utter regret and shame.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to run out and scream, “Banestýn ýgs hyr sien, O Syigary wa hyreth Vanenn!” Kill me now, oh Demons of my heart! But instead, he mustered all his body strength to hold himself in his seat. Though he had heard this story hundreds of times over his lifetime, and knew what was to come, he needed to hear the rest of the story. Surely there was a way out? Surely there was some salvation? His people must have loved him again. Otherwise, he would no longer be called Afelwest the Great. Otherwise, his story wouldn’t be told by almost every grandfather with a beard east of Meep. Besides, why would anyone call somebody who murdered their brother great?”
“What did they do to him?”
“Yeah, did what happened next?”
The storyteller chuckled again and rubbed his chin.
“He grew so raving mad that he threw himself over a balcony, he did. Trying to impress the ladies one can assume. After his death, his sister’s son Afelaw I became king, and his kingdom fell back into disarray.”