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The Lonely Iron King-

He sits atop his bladed throne, with the Copper Crown atop his head. He laid undisturbed for many years, worshipped only in myth and legend. The Church denied his existence, as did the Fathers. His previous years are unknown, referenced only in the old legends. As the legend goes, he was the illegitimate son of Father Lamcer, of the Founding Order, and Sister Mary, of the Holy Church. In the city, women were believed inferior, and this sort of activity was believed to be the work of the Devil. The baby was cast into the shadows, given no name or nursing, no food or water. He was to die, but was found on the streets by an old hag, called Gwyneth. She cared for him until he was 16, and then sent him away to the Pits, to bring in money and food. The Pits were underground coliseums, in which people paid money to watch the poor fight to the death. In his first fight, the boy was beaten. He lay on the ground, bloodied and bruised. His opponent stilled his blade, placing it against his throat. His head bowed. His hands clasped together. He began to pray, to Gnorr, the First Iron Lord. And as that blade was driven into his throat, he was reborn. The boy stood, surrounded my lava and flame. Before him, there was a thick black fog. There was a throne- a large one. Atop it, sat Gnorr- his head was said to reach the clouds, and it was obvious. His hands were cast in bandages, and every inch of him was clad in armour. Gnorr reached down, grasped him tight. He lifted him, before his eyes. They were cold and white. The Iron Lord didn’t move, just tightened his grip. He dropped him far, all the way down to the floor. And he was gone.

The body was discovered the next morning. The High Father was dead, murdered in his sleep, and the blood of his guards were found poured into a jar. The boy walked into the room, his hand held tightly around his dagger. The men cried out, they wailed, “Where is our protector now,” and “Do you know what you have done?”. They forced him to be their protector, their High Father, to repay them for his sins. And he did, until he grew old. He was locked away underneath the Cathedral, so that the Order’s secrets may never be told, and upon entrance, he was met with thousands of skeletons of the former High Fathers, and regular Fathers. The walls were stone, carved with thousands of men and women. He approached the throne at the end, where the most recent High Father was to sit. And he sat, his sword at his side.

But most importantly, nobody knows where the wolves came from, or how they got in.

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