The King of Red Lions
Long ago the world's oceans were lower. Great continents were divided by thin straits of salty water and crisscrossed by bountiful, coursing freshwater rivers. The Flame of Magic did not exist in this world. Indeed, the gods of the continent themselves were yet to be born. This was a time of heroes, of magic and monsters even the most knowledgeable chronicler of beasts would balk at. In this time, there was but one primordial force of darkness and destruction, a single entity leading the forerunners of entropy. This darkness grew in power, and those who protected the world from it fought against it time and time again in a repeating cycle. In one of these repetitions, the darkness claimed dominion over the land, and the gods flooded the land in order that its people might be spared more grief. Upon the king of these people the gods placed a divine geas. He would not find rest until he found the hero fated to defeat the darkness, and his form would be regal yet seaworthy. The King of Red Lions was this form; a crimson magical boat who scoured the islands that dotted the great sea for centuries. Eventually the king's journey ended, and the gods lowered the water once more, though kept the oceans high enough that the ruins of the land of heroes would never again be discovered.
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