I am the designated historian of clan Theirin. It is my duty to recount the history of my clan, to continue telling its story, a duty that was passed on from our True founders Lady to each of her children, culminating in me.
My family has held a small Duchy, nestled in the southern reaches of the Kingdom of Simetra, for as long as anyone can remember. It was widely known for its commerce as it bordered the southern Kingdom. Its old name is now long forgotten as it was renamed after our True founder died and passed the mantle of responsibility to one of his children.
The Theirin line made its home in the valley once named Thesin Valley. That is where our real story began; in the dark times, when the Kingdom of Simetra was hit by a plague that made all of its people destroy all of the buildings in fear that the plague had seeped within the walls. It is where my family almost died, but it is also where my families’ true history began.
Our Duchy was hit hard by the plague, the old Clan Head watched his people fall in large numbers, that was when he chose to take the drastic action many other Dukes had taken to help safeguard their people: he ordered the destruction of each and every one of the buildings – a plan he’d once told the King was ridiculous – now he was desperate.
He helped his people set up many refugee camps and placed his wife and three of their children into one of the camps leaving to help in the destruction of his own Duchy.
Not long after his Duchy was destroyed, the old Clan head fell to the plague along with his wife and three children that remained at home. His people mourned his passing, and for three years, as the plague seemed to linger within Thesin valley, many of the people had died. Almost everyone was losing hope and the will to live as the pyres continued to burn the dead.
And then one night the designated leader of the Wanderers stood before her people, a relaxed smile replaced the worry that had seemed to be her constant companion. “We can all rest easy now,” she said, “A Theirin will return. He will mark the end of the Plague that has eaten away at us for three years. He will help us rebuild all that we lost.”
It was said all the wanderers fell silent after she spoke, that their leader returned to her meal as her lover cast a worried gaze upon her. Soon a month passed and then two. People forgot what their leader had said that night, and she had never brought up the subject again.
But then a Theirin did return. And then they remembered.
His name was Calenhad.