I didn’t mean to become the King of Nobledark.
Truly.
I was just minding my own business, poking around the edges of grimdark, whispering sweet nothings to hope, when I stumbled upon a dusty old crown lying in a forgotten corner of the fantasy genre.
No one was wearing it.
No one was even looking at it.
So, I picked it up, gave it a polish, and popped it on my head.
It fits rather well.
Naturally, I assumed someone would try to stop me. Perhaps a grimdark usurper, still drunk on blood and betrayal, lurching from the shadows, broadsword in hand, quoting Nietzsche and snarling about nihilism.
But alas, no.
Apparently, claiming the crown of Nobledark—that little corner of fantasy where honour still breathes (barely), where sacrifice means something, and where good people try to stay good in worlds that want them broken—isn’t high on anyone’s to-do list.
So here I am.
Jon Cronshaw. The King of Nobledark.
Now, I realise some of my fellow authors might feel tempted. You may think, “That crown would look rather fetching atop my morally complex, world-weary protagonist, actually.”
And I respect that.
But before you mount your literary siege engines, a word of warning: I’ve got wyverns. Highly trained ones. They don’t breathe fire—they just watch. Constantly. Silently. Judgementally. And if that doesn’t unsettle you, it really should.
I also carry a Ravenglass blade, forged with my own blood and tears. Beautiful, yes—but with the rather unfortunate side effect of burning its victims from the inside out. You won’t notice at first. You’ll think you’re fine. And then the screaming starts.
So if you, too, write stories where the world is cruel, but your characters dare to care anyway… then by all means, take up the mantle. Write nobledark. Spread the word. Let readers know that fantasy doesn’t have to choose between despair and delusion.
But the title?
That’s mine.
Unless, of course, you think you can take it.
(You can’t.)
Long live nobledark.
Long live the King.
🖤⚔️👑
