Unlike the preceding Age, the Age of the Chosen began with the start of a war rather than the end of one. The Realms had been in a state of relative peace for generations, but the coming Age would be one of the bloodiest and most chaotic in recorded history. Still, though, it was also an Age of great wonders, soul-stirring art, and spells and rituals so breathtaking in scope that entire branches of the Imperial Library are dedicated to studying, cataloging, and recreating them.

Little is known of the Chosen who marked the Age. Many of the most influential people of the Age claimed to be Chosen, but none have ever found a way to verify such claims; even powerful Truth-Finding rituals and other divinations fail to reveal such information. Careful analysis of historical records has allowed us to be confident that a few specific individuals, such as Khajdar the Imperishable, were Chosen, but it is thought that the number of Chosen numbered in the hundreds or even thousands. Surely not all of their ranks rose to the heights of fame and glory, and in the same manner, many of the powerful Chosen must have acted behind the scenes, opting to let others take the credit for their accomplishments.

Even the identity of the Chosen who triggered the Age is not known with perfect certainty; many scholars believe that the Lady Elessiandaria Life-Singer, who is said to have sung songs capable of bringing the dead to life and the undead to true death, was the catalyst. I, however, dissent. First, records of her life stretch back much further into the Godless Age than any other individual thought to be Chosen; and second, although she is said to have a miraculous voice and talent for weaving magic into her songs, there is no evidence that she acted as the direct agent for any Powers of the Realms.

Instead, it is my theory that the Herald of the Age of the Chosen was a Chosen now known only as the Phoenix King, who rose to prominence in the northern Wildlands shortly after the start of the Age. The first mention of him is from the historian Tomas Falgren's account of the Wildlands War; here he is described first as a seeker of peace, but after an unknown event he became a "furious firestorm, spreading flames all across the land and leaving only ashes in his wake." Very little is known of what caused this shift in focus ...

—Excerpt from "Historical Figures of Ages Past, Volume IX: Godless and Chosen" by Emmanuel Tolliver, First Scholar to the Emperor Justiar VI

Aidan
The Realms
Seventhday, 4th week of the 8th month, Age of the Chosen 1
Mid-Morning
Ceallach Macht, Mistvale Highlands

Aidan walked into his city at the head of a procession of centaurs. Of course, Ceallach Macht wasn't much to look at yet; here at the outskirts, the road was still choked with weeds and the buildings crumbling ruins. The small group of Automata he'd created before leaving two weeks ago hadn't had the manpower necessary to complete their task. They hadn't been idle—looking down at the city from the hills above, Aidan could see that the center was cleared of rubble—but there was still a lot of work to do.

Aidan felt just as understaffed. He had gone from a plain, ordinary office worker living a frugal bachelor's lifestyle to the (somewhat theoretical) ruler of a city-state and Master of a Place of Power in what looked increasingly like an actual fantasy world, complete with magic, in less than three weeks. At first, Aidan had thought the Realms to be a detailed and realistic game. His first death in this world had proved otherwise, removing his ability to return to Earth. Given the time dilation effect he'd observed, if he was still hooked up to his IVR rig, he would have died of dehydration and/or lack of sleep. Since he still existed, he was forced to accept that the Realms was something much stranger.

That wasn't the entirety of his troubles, though. Aidan spared a glance over his shoulder; thirty Starchaser centaurs followed behind him, observing the ruins and whispering. They were only the first—an architect, a few farmers, a couple hunters, several crafters of various types, and a double handful of warriors to protect them—and all of them depended on him. Then, too, there were those who pledged themselves wholly to his cause. Cai and Llwyd, who acted as his bodyguards and confidantes and who he was grooming to be his right and left hands. Ailis, former Councillor of the tribe, now one of his chief advisors. Brighid, the love of his life and Soulmate, who was the reason he remained sane these last few weeks. Each of them trusted him with their lives and livelihood.

The Starchasers as a whole had placed their bets on him. The battle against the undead horde created by the Tannath Taig was devastating in its impact on the tribe. Fully half of their warriors, hunters, guards, and otherwise trained combatants died. All told, the tribe's population had dropped by around a fifth in a single day. They were now too weak to protect themselves if one of the neighboring tribes, or, Heaven forfend, one of the human realms to the south, attacked. Nobody was happy with the situation, least of all Aidan, but the Place of Power lurking within Ceallach Macht was their only hope for continued survival, and he was its controller.

That fact had been the subject of a heated Council meeting. Even his staunchest supporters, Gerwyn and Fionn, grilled him for hours about his intentions. Eilwen had been vicious in her attacks. Aidan wasn't sure why the old biddy had it in for him, beyond her adherence to tradition, but she made it clear that she intended to oppose his every move. Anwn, on the other hand, was more reserved than he expected. At one point, she was part of the bloc who voted to execute Aidan, but after witnessing the struggle against the Taig, she changed her tune somewhat. She still interrogated him without mercy, but her questions lacked the acid of Eilwen's barbs. In the end, she voted along with Gerwyn and Fionn to move the tribe to Ceallach Macht.

The tribe as a whole was split to a similar degree. The warriors and their families were behind him, but the ordinary villagers were recalcitrant. To them, Aidan was an agent of chaos, a hated human leading them to death or enslavement. Only a few of them were willing to see past what he was to who he was. They followed along behind their leaders, but there was considerable discontent within the tribe.

You can lead a centaur to water... Aidan thought to himself. He groaned and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm not cut out for this. I loathe politics and I'm a terrible leader." He spoke to himself, careful not to let his words carry to those behind him, but Ailis's pointed elf-like ears were keen.

"You are an excellent leader, Aidan. You care for your people—even those who do not care for you—but you do not let that interfere with doing what you know needs to be done."

"I could say the same of you, and we both know how well that worked out, Ailis."

"Harsh," the silver-haired centaur chided, "but fair. You do not have the ruthlessness to fall into the trap which caught me, however. More to the point, you have the wisdom to surround yourself with advisors who will tell you when you overreach. That, as much as anything else, speaks to how well-suited you are for this task. I would be a tyrant, were I in your position."

"I think your daughter would have something to say about that." Aidan sighed and shook his head. "Moving on. What do you think our first priority will be? I can make automatons for dumb labor, but they'll need supervision, and we only have so many qualified stonemasons. My thought is to set up communal living quarters first, longhouses or the like, so that everyone can sleep out of the cold and wet. After that, I'd like to work on infrastructure. Getting the central avenue rebuilt and building a warehouse and granary for our supplies, that sort of thing. Thoughts?"

Ailis nodded. "Yes, shelter needs to be first. The tribe is uncertain enough as it is; leaving them exposed to the elements would turn grumbling into shouting within a few days. After that, however, I suggest devoting resources to defenses. Even a low stone wall around the cleared area would go a long way toward showing that you are taking the safety of the tribe seriously."

Aidan grimaced but nodded. "I guess all our food is preserved anyway; holding off on the granary for a while won't be the end of the world. The poor condition of the streets will slow down construction, though. The automatons are tireless but not immune to walking slower over broken ground." He shook his head and sighed. "This is why I hate politics. It would be faster overall to build up the infrastructure first, but I have to pander to special interests or risk discontent. At least I don't have to worry about being voted out; enlightened despotism has some advantages."

"I understood about two-thirds of that," Ailis remarked with a wry quirk of her lips. "I believe the appropriate response to what I did get is: deal with it."

Aidan choked back a laugh. That wasn't a phrase he ever expected to hear in the Realms. He doubted it was Ailis's intent, but the laughter lightened his mood, so he smiled at her. "Thanks, I needed that. You're right, of course. Also, I may be able to do both; I need to talk to Niall, but I suspect that fixing the roads may not need strict supervision if we handle it right."

"There are also other options for defending the city." A deep, reverberating voice sounded from ahead of him. Aidan looked up to see Sarpedon, his gargoyle advisor, standing by the side of the road. "Greetings, Chosen Aidan. It is good to see you again."

"Likewise, Sarpedon. I hope we didn't keep you waiting long? I know it's been a little longer than two weeks."

"Oh, that is no problem. We gargoyles can enter a state of torpor where we remain aware of what happens around us, but which is otherwise similar to light sleep. You will not likely find many gargoyles who mind taking a nap while waiting for a meeting." Sarpedon's stony visage twisted into a smile.

"I'm glad to hear it; it took longer to set everything up than I hoped. Anyway, what were you saying about other options for defense?"

"A Place of Power is, as you know, a gathering point for manna. An awakened Place of Power, like Caer Macht is now, enables its controller to direct that manna in several ways beyond mere automatons. Indeed, those are the least, and least useful, of the benefits of controlling a Place of Power. Once you have settled in, I would be happy to show you what I mean; for now, you will need to access the interface through the altar. Once your mastery grows, you will be able to make some changes anywhere within your territory. Once you access the interface, you will also receive a quest to upgrade Caer Macht; I would advise making that a priority. The task will not be simple, but every upgrade will increase your territory—and your ability to defend it—by an order of magnitude."

"Finally, some good news!" Aidan smiled at Sarpedon. "I knew there had to be more to it than the automatons. Cheap, tireless labor is great and all, but it isn't enough to make a Place of Power priceless. Let me get our little caravan situated and start the initial construction projects, then I'll join you at the altar chamber. Ailis, Brighid, you're both welcome to come with me. I don't imagine either of you will be very interested in watching automatons stack bricks on top of each other."

"You just try to stop me!" Brighid stuck her tongue out at him.

Zurai

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