The Realm of Dujulk: A curse of two kings

A worldbuilding exercise, written as a diary entry by a beloved character called Artheneus, the travelling bard and historian.

So many winters ago, under the dim lights of a tavern, I met a bard, and we shared a pint or two, a story or two. It wasn't uncommon for me to trade stories for drinks, dinner, or even a bed. I've told some of mine, and this bard told me some of his, but one, in particular, caught my curiosity.

This bard was from the south, someplace he himself had already forgotten about, yet he told me about Dujulk, a kingdom so far south of the world he was afraid it would fall out of existence, a place he could never forget. This kingdom had a gruesome tale: a dead queen, a war between kings, and a deadly plague that ran deep in the soil.

I kept this first story hidden in the depths of my mind, promising myself I would do a little digging about it during my travels. Asking around, spending sleepless nights in libraries, listening to songs, and reading other stories.

Now, I cannot say that this is my story, Dujulk is not my kingdom to rule, or write truths on stone, but this is what I found during years of traveling.

Dujulk is not a kingdom under the Lines of Zaeis, which means traveling there is a bit complicated. But, I had the chance to visit the country, spending ten months in the court of King Kibrac, the Occult Pne.

While I do intend to register what those ten months were like, I'd rather start this recording with Dujulk's story first.

One of the first lands to be populated after the Decay of the Immortals, Dujulk was ruled by the same lineage of kings and queens since its first people; some stories told that they descended from the Immortal of the Woods, Pavo.

Some say they turned their back completely against the Immortals, making them something else entirely, something entirely cursed. Whatever the case, if they descend from Pavo or are cursed by him, the land has a strong connection with the immortal.

But today, I do wish to speak about hexxed flora or its biology. I wish to tell the story of Queen Mwarva.

Queen Mwarva was the first in her bloodline, that only an Immortal can remember, to have more than one offspring. She had twins. Prince Kibrac and Prince Latse.

On the day they were born, the oracle wove a prophecy:

For the first time in Dujulk's days
A Queen had given birth two ways
There were no prophecy to be told
For her death, would be put on hold

So many battles the twins would create
They would obscure even their own mother's fate
When the day comes for her blood to spill
For it is impossible to write the future with more than one quill

Two crowns will begin to mourn
One out of gold, the other one, out of thorn
From the earth divided, will come a melancholy to reap
But there will be nothing more to do, than weep.

Afraid of the prophecy, Queen Mwarva decided to separate her two sons. Sending Kibrac to live in the north and Latse in the south.

What she didn't know was that while she had her own prophecy to deal with, the land had other plans. I didn't mention Pavo by chance.

When the Immortals still ruled the earth, those who lived by Pavo's ways would turn themselves into trees. The problem, you see, is that when the Decay happened, these people realized too late that Pavo was gone, and, with him, their power to turn them again into the humanoids they once were.

Without their leader to follow, without a religion to believe in, and stuck in their own minds, the people of Pavare, Pavo's realm, found in themselves magic that no one had seen before, because no one knew they were there. Their roots were able to connect, and so, they were able to communicate in the way the trees do.

But their senses were long gone. The only feeling that stuck was the wish for freedom, for movement, for liberty.

With their combined strength, they created a new form of flora, later on called The Woods of Werph, that began to slowly appear on other continents, one of those being Dujulk.

The word, Werph, from the old language, used to mean "To draw", as in, to pull something for you. As in The Woods of Werph would draw the life of the land to them.

The cursed trees would grow tall, breath-taking, but the ground would slowly turn into ashes; the grass would disappear, the food planted would wither, and the animals would die.

Of course, no one in the south knew this was happening, in the same village Queen Mwarva had sent her son, Prince Kibrac, to.

The forest grew, and grew, and grew. And monsters became anew. Prince Kibrac created the Mantlers, hunters specialized in the killing of these made-out-of-bark creatures.

While the Queen grew old, and old, and old. Refusing to die, unsure of how her two sons would be, how they would try to rule, being a stubborn bitch. Without even realizing that she, herself, was taking energy from the land.

It's not certain in history exactly what happened, but it is known that her blood was spilled by Latse's side.

With red-stained hands, he placed his mother's crown above his own head. And as news spread on the continent, Kibrac was crowned by his hunters and the people, with a crown made out of twigs, branches, and thorns.

So, with fear in my heart, I found my way into Dujulk.

Pulling some strings, using some names, I actually had an invitation from King Kibrac.

Dear Artheneus,
I hope these words reach your eyes as I hope you may, someday, reach Dujulk. It is with a smile on my face that I invite you to my realm, but with a heavy heart that I must remind you that the travel may not be easy.

Please, don't write or ask for more information, it was on the verge of an impossibility to send you this letter. If you can find my castle, I will be waiting.

Yours truly, Kibrac.

And, of course, the easy words grasped my attention, my curiosity. The little I knew from Dujulk I had shared with you, and now, one of the Kings was inviting me to his own home.

I received this letter in such an odd manner, if I recall correctly, I was in Fitz, with some dear friends at an inn, when a curious creature with a small and slender appearance, hidden by a long cloak, approached me, asked me to see my eyes and handed me the letter, which then vanished into the wind after my first reading.

That letter was the first step into my journey to Dujulk. Later on, I found myself in Farawell Port, a busy, rainy place. A place where I met a creature made out of sorrow, but that’s a tale for another day.