Monmouth, Albion, 1035

History is a strange beast and I should know, I have been in pursuit of it all my life and that is a very long time.

There is a saying that history is written by the victorious and that is true, to a point. But those who are not winners also write, it is only that their versions are not preserved, their stories not told.

I, however, am in position to make a small difference in that general truth. I have at my disposal the greatest library of all Albion and this tale that I write will be preserved with in it, a tale that will tell of those who were not in the end victorious, but who changed and shaped this very country.

Of course, I will be somewhat biased and limited in my interpretations, I am after all only one man and thus can only tell so much. Most of my tale will focus on that golden kingdom, Camelot and its capital, the white castle that has so dominated Albion these last three decades and perhaps longer.

But! As a methodical man, I must start at the beginning, as that is where all stories start is it not? And the past has so much impact on the present.

So that is where my tale will start, about a boy of no consequence who was born in a place and time of great consequence…