Language, History, Culture, Religion

Homeland - 帝國

The Easterner peoples homeland is Aeldin (Known to the Easterners as Ai-Zho), located within the south-eastern peninsula of that continent. There is no one eastern nation, but many different Kingdoms and Empires, each with different cultures and languages.

Further East of the Aeldin Peninsula is the landmass known as Xia, not pictured here. However, Xia and the eastern Peninsula of Ai-Zho serve as the main homelands of the Easterner peoples and their histories run parallel until the third era.

History - 歷史

This is a brief summary of the history of the Eastern peoples.

Tribal Era

The first people to inhabit the eastern peninsula of Ai-Zho are the Elves. After centuries as masters of the land, the Elves are gradually driven out by several waves of human migration. These humans settle in the mountains and plains of the eastern peninsula and become the predecessors of the Eastern Peoples.

The First Era

The fertile river valleys of the peninsula allow for the mass-cultivation of rice. Rice becomes core to the primitive humans of the east, and hundreds of petty rice-kingdoms form along the peninsula. During this age there is very little political unity or cultural sophistication. Most small kingdoms speak their own local language/dialect, and worship a local minor god.

Most Eastern peoples settle into sedentary, rice farming lives

The Second Era

The Hou-zi make landfall on the Eastern Peninsula, and come into contact with the humans there. The Hou-zi are a race of sentient monkeys, who despite their beast-like appearance possess superior technology and cultural sophistication. The Hou-zi owe their allegiance to Hou-Shen, their immortal God-King, who rules the far off Empire of the Golden Sun.

The monkey-folk easily conquer all the primitive, feuding rice-kingdoms of the humans, and the whole of the Eastern Peninsula becomes a province of the Hou-zi Empire. During this period, the Hou-Wen (Classical Chinese) becomes the lingua franca of the region, and all human subjects of the Empire are made to learn it.

The humans of the eastern peninsula slowly assimilate, adapting Hou-zi architecture, language, culture and religion. Through Hou-zi influence, small rice-farming villages like Heshan, Luzhou, and Changzi become bustling metropolises, thriving centers of culture and trade.

Under the Hou-zi, cities like Heshan become centers of culture and commerce

While most humans are second-class citizens in the Hou-zi Empire, a small class of rich human elites form. The most influential is the Li family, who have much sway in the Imperial Court, and possess their own private army. The Li rebel against the Hou-zi, gaining support from the various human peoples of the peninsula, and successfully free themselves from the yoke of Monkey rule.

Third Era

The newly formed Li Kingdom consolidates power in the Cathant region, and begin expanding outwards. They wage a war of conquest against their human neighbours until Cunyuan, Huinan, Oyashima and Zourhenia have all been subdued. The Li Dynasty is formed, and would rule over the Eastern peoples for 400 years.

Although the Hou-zi governors had been kicked out, the Hou-zi actually remained a well-respected minority within the Li Dynasty, valued for their cultural knowledge, from which the Eastern Peoples had borrowed a lot from.

Around this period, Hou-Zi monks from the far-away Hualian monastery arrive at the port of Zhuhai. They are missionaries of a new religion began by their prophet, Hualian. Hua-jiao becomes very popular among the commoners of the Eastern Peninsula, and spreads like wildfire among its peoples.

The official language of the Li Dynasty at this time is Li-Wen, a derivative dialect of the Hou-zi tongue. But regional languages are still spoken across the Empire, the most notable being Oyashiman.

Fourth Era

The Li Dynasty has ruled for nearly 400 years, and has become prey to stagnation and inner turmoil. Taking advantage of this, discontent vassals all over the Empire declare their independence. The first to do so are the Oyashimans, who had only been occupied around 80 years. They fight a bloody war with the Li authority. The rebels are victorious, and the Oyashiman warlords found an independent Shogunate based in the city of Yamatai.

Gradually, more and more peoples seceded. Cunyuan, Zhourennia and Huinan all form Kingdoms of their own, the era of Easterner unity is over.

Finding their populations in their homelands burgeoning, the Eastern peoples get on their ships and sail to lands far away from Ai-Zho to seek their fortunes. Pockets of Oyashimans, Cathantians and other Eastern Peoples have been seen on inhabited Continents from Anthos to Atlas over the last few centuries.

Cultures and Peoples 民族

A list of the major cultural regions and ethnic groups of the Eastern Peninsula

Li and Xian

In Cathant, the Li family still rules, albeit over a rump state- a shadow of the Empire they once had. Their capital city is Heshan, which is still a thriving center of wealth and culture. While the Li once ruled over many peoples, the ethnic group that inhabited the Cathantian heartland of the Empire were called Li-Ren- the people of Li. Like their spiritual successors, the Hou-zi, the Li people value Jade above all things, which is associated with power and class.

In the nearby continent of Xia live the Xian, they are identical in customs to the Li, but consider themselves a seperate people, as they rebelled from the Li Dynasty early in the third era and now have a seperate history of their own.

The Li and Xian are roughly analogous to Song Dynasty China.

Oyashiman

Just behind Cathant in population and influence are the beautiful Oyashiman valleys. The Oyashimans are a proud, war-like people who value politeness, discipline and loyalty over all things. Their society is extremely rigid, with a caste system that ranks butchers and merchants as bottom-tier, peasant farmers as mid-tier, and their noble warriors as high-tier. Oyashima is ruled by a Shogun, a military dictator with many minor lords, called Daimyos, under him.

The Oyashimans are roughly analogous to Tokugawa-era Japan.

Huinan

In the First Era, the Hui peoples did not settle into rice farms like other Eastern peoples did. Their land was a rugged steppe, suited better for hunting, herding and horsemanship. Even as the Hui lived for centuries under Hou-zi, and then Li suzerainty, they never completely lost touch of their nomadic, pastoralist roots. The Hui live in cities now, and their culture is greatly influenced by the Cathantians, but are still notably more rugged than their neighbours.

The Huinan people are roughly analogous to the 14th century Manchurian and Jurchen Peoples.

Zhou

The Zhou people, as they are called, inhabit the mountainous borderlands of the Zhourennia region of the Eastern Peninsula. They once held dominion over all Zhourennia, but were pushed out by the Cathantians during the Li Dynasty. What remains of their population now live in small mountain villages, herding goats and sheep and living a generally peaceful existence. The Zhou took to Hua-jiao in greater numbers than any other eastern people. Almost all Zhou people follow the Eightfold path of Hualian, and they have the highest per capita amount of Monks per people of all the Eastern Nations.

The Zhou people are roughly analogous to the Tibetan and Nepalese peoples.

Yuan/Salamduel

During the Li Empire, these peoples were called the Yuan, peoples of the Cunyuan province. Nowadays they refer to themselves in their native tongue- Salamduel, which simply means “the people”. The Salamduel inhabit the Cunyuan region, and are often the victims of Oyashiman imperialism, and have managed to fend off the Shogun and his warriors on three separate occasions in the last 200 years. The Salamduel are the best potters in the eastern peninsula, and make great barbeque.

The Yuan/Salamduel are roughly analogous to Joseon Korea.

Languages 語言

Li-Wen

Li-Wen (The Tongue of Li) is the Lingua Franca across all the Easterner peoples. Although there are many regional languages, Li-Wen is the tongue that all Easterners must learn so that peoples of different ethnic groups may communicate with one another.

Li-Wen is derived from the Hou-zi language (Hou-Wen), and people who speak Li-Wen can converse with the monkey folk with a solid degree of mutual intelligibility. It is the native tongue of the Li people, but is spoken as a second language across all the Eastern Peninsula.

Additionally, all Eastern Languages use the Li-script as their primary writing system.

Li-Wen is the equivalent of Mandarin Chinese. The Li-script is traditional chinese characters.

Oyashiman

Oyashiman is the tongue of the Shogunate of Oyashima. Unlike the Li of Cathant, the Oyashimans did not assimilate linguistically to the Hou-zi, and retained their ancient pre-contact tongue. Oyashiman is regional language, but most educated people across the Eastern Peninsula can speak it.

Oyashiman is the equivalent of Japanese.

Huinan-Hua

Huinan-Hua is the tongue of the Hui peoples. In the modern era, this language is limited mostly to the rural areas of Huinan, amongst lower class people and commoners. The nobility of Huinan mostly speak the language of the Li. Huinan-Hua endures, but it is unsure for how long.

Huinan-Hua is the equivalent of Mongolian. (As the Manchu language is mostly extinct).

Salamduel-Eo

The language of the peoples of Cunyuan survives, despite efforts by the Oyashimans and the Li to suppress it over their various centuries of conquest and imperial rulership. This tongue is quite similar to the Oyashiman tongue, but scholars believe it has an entirely different origin to the other Eastern languages.

Salamduel-Eo is the equivalent of Korean.

Zhou-Hua

Zhou-Hua is the language of the mountain-dwelling Zhou people. It is a regional language with significantly less native speakers than Oyashiman or Li-Wen, but it has value as a liturgical language. As the Zhou people are the torchbearers of the Hua-Jiao faith, many religious scriptures are written in Zhou-Hua, and scholars from all over the Eastern Peninsula learn this tongue so they can better understand the Eightfold path of Hualian.

Zhou-Hua is the equivalent of Tibetan.

Religion

Scripture depicting Hualian - the Prophet

Religion in the Eastern Peninsula is incredibly non-homogenous, and very syncretic. Each region has its own folklore and gods, down almost to as micro a level as individual villages, which will often have a local patron spirit.

With that said, Hua-jiao is the most widespread religion amongst eastern peoples, with a healthy amount of followers in all of the Eastern nations, with its strongest foothole in Cunyuan, Cathant and Zhourennia. Hua-jiao was introduced to the Easterners by missionaries of the Hou-zi prophet, Hualian, who achieved enlightenment by discovering the the Four Divine Truths and the Eightfold Path to living a good life. The Eightfold path that Hualian dictated upon his disciples serves as the doctrine by which many Easterners live today, and Hualian himself is considered a Godly prophet who will someday lift their souls from the suffering of this earthly world.

Most Easterners believe in some form of reincarnation cycle, and the concept of Karma- the idea that one's actions are all part of a cosmic balance, and that a person's goodness or evilness will affect not only their fate later in this life, but what they will be reborn into in the next.

In Oyashima, the people worship the Kami, an infinite amount of spirits that dwell in trees, rocks, rivers and other things. They have three main gods, Amaterasu the Goddess of the Sun and Izanagi the God of Creation with Izanami the Goddess of Yomi. The Oyashimans too have a set of eight virtues they follow, known colloquially as the Code of Life, a code by which their high class warriors can live honourably.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ibj6Q0YQ20

HISTORY OF THE AHERAL

“We are the blessed, one would be delusional to deny it. We did not find the pools, they chose us. They ascended us. We have achieve a state of body and mind that outsiders can only dream of. Our mother tells us we have achieved perfection. I say she is wrong! Perfection is a lie. Will we shackle ourselves in tradition like our savage cousins of the woodlands and caves, or will we harness our true potential? Maehr’sae hiylun’ehya… we could be so much more…”

~Lomal of the Altar

Chapter 1 - Iblees’ War

Chapter 2 - Magics of Old Malinor

Chapter 3 - Rise of Larihei

Chapter 4 - elCihi’thilln

Chapter 5 - Lomal and the Altar of Tayl

Chapter 6 - Trial by Fire: A Schism Forms

Chapter 7 - Crimson and Silver

Chapter 8 - Portal to a New Beginning

Chapter 9 - The Paths Split

Chapter 1 - Iblees’ War

The history of the mali’aheral, like all elves, begins in a fiery war which consumed the known world. In ancient times, while the four brothers were young, the archdaemon Iblees rose to power and sought to bend the mortal realm to his desire.

The elves were a distinct race at this time, lithe and pointy eared, but it would be a long time before they developed any characteristic sub-racial features or even the infertility and long life they were known for today. During the great war, the elves were merely the sons and daughters of Malin, and had the features to prove it.

As the war progressed, Iblees attacked on all fronts, isolating the four brothers. Malin and his children were pushed back to a few strongholds on what would become the isles of Axios. Slowly the war turned back into the favour of the elves. Taynei’Hiylu, the green dragon and ward of Malin pushed away much of the archdaemons’ blighted undead army. But Taynei was soon sealed away to prevent any risk of the dragaar being corrupted and turned against the forces of the living.

Enter Larihei, trusted advisor of Malin. A veritable beauty, her skin was pale and smooth, her eyes an azure blue and her hair a gleaming silver- a trait very few elves possessed at the time. Yet beauty did not define her.  In peace, she had been a scholar, a teacher and a pioneer of knowledge. In war, she had become a master of espionage. She was not a great warrior, but undeniably, her skill in the silver tongue, her innovations and her information behind enemy lines played a crucial role in Malin’s Children pushing back the Ibleesian horde. The Archdaemon’s forces would be driven off of Axios, and Malin would rejoin his brothers on Aegis to end them for good. Though, at a cost.

“Malin, I curse you with sterility, you and your kin shall forever lack the children they need. May your forest halls forever be silent, and your hearts heavy with sadness.”

The elves had not undergone drastic physical change like the dwarves or the orcs had, but Iblees’ final curse had hit them hard. In the years after the war, many a mother lamented, even took their own life due to having to look into the eyes of their stillborn child. Sorrow ran rampant among the newly long-lived, but infertile elves.

However, Malin, forefather of the elves, pushed on. The war had cost him the lives of many of his people, and of many unborn children in the years to come. But he would bring his kin into a golden age. The elves- now a long-lived yet infertile people, were his to lead.

In this newfound era of peace, on the lands which would become Axios, he would build his kingdom.

Chapter 2 - Magics of Old Malinor

The isles of Axios, the lands which had one been a fierce battleground against iblees, became Malin’s kingdom. He had chosen this land to become the home of his kin after the children of his brother Krug became too warlike to coexist with, and Urguan’s spawn too greedy to live among.

Malin set to building his kingdom. Marvelous cities which would have been alien to the eyes of men and dwarves, great halls hidden deep in the thickest forests, homes which weaved their ways seamlessly into the trees, built perfectly to co-exist with the wild, not replacing it, but becoming a part of it. The greatest settlement of Malinor was on the isle of Malin itself, an island named by the forefathers’ children as well. The city built upon this center isle of Axios was more magnificent than any other, though its name has been lost to time. It was there Malin’s throne lay, in the trunk of the eldest elder tree. It was there he ruled his people from.

Larihei had been bestowed many titles and honours by the Elven Forefather given her role in the bloody war and her part in the foundation of his Kingdom. Yet, she refused them all. Discarding any pomp and ceremony, she quietly returned to the places she loved most. Her laboratory, and her library. Indeed, Larihei dedicated vast amounts of resources and time to accumulating the largest pool of knowledge in all of Old Malinor. Elves would come miles for the chance to browse through the thousands of tomes painstakingly collected and written by the silver elf and her followers. But, only those who brought knowledge of value to the library’s gates in offering would be allowed inside.

Things progressed peacefully for years to come. Yet soon, all would not be well in the ancient Kingdom of the Elves.

Druidism played a heavy role in elven society. Malin himself was said to convene with the Aspects of nature themselves, and leaned heavily on the counsel given to him by the most elder of elven Archdruids. A faction of these Archdruids, the Taynei’Sil, reported the discovery of a new form of magics. Powers harnessed by words alone, imbued with the power of an altar from the realm of the Fae. An altar which granted its user the power to control all with the true name of all things.

Malin approved of this power when it was first presented to him. The war with Iblees was fresh in his memory and fae magics with the power to harness the power of entire ecosystems was an advantage he needed to prevent such a travesty from happening again. Larihei saw it differently. The silver elf saw the potential disaster that artifacts with such power could bring. And thus, she opposed it. Unsuccessfully. Larihei had influence, but not that which matched the venerability of old Malinor’s Archdruids. Her words fell on deaf ears, and her warnings went unheard.

That is, until the forest lashed out.

True names and the power of the Fae were things that mortals were not meant to tamper with. Natural energies beyond what the Aspects saw fit to bestow on the races of elves and men. This was proven true with the Taynei’Sil, attempting to control the Word Altar they’d discovered, set off a chain of events that went out of control, a chain of events they could not undo. The altar went haywire, and a good chunk of the forests on the isle of Malin turned feral. Plantlife overgrowing rapidly, both flora and fauna becoming vicious and man-eating, then rotting into husks on land, and flotsam in the sea.

Malin was horrified, and promptly outlawed the word altars. They would be buried deep beneath the earth in the most isolated of crevices in his Kingdom, wiped from the memories of elven kind. Larihei was not given credit for her warning and foresight. Uncaring as usual, she returned to her library to resume her pursuit of knowledge.

Chapter 3 - Rise of Larihei

“For all I’ve done for our people, you would censor me, stifle me. Put a gag on my achievements. I ask for no praise, no reward, and no titles. I seek only to better my people, yet you insist on holding us back. For how long, a thousand years, ten thousand?”

~Larihei, Advisor to Malin

Old Malinor was stagnant.

Tradition and the status quo ruled the day. The elves were content to dwell in their forests, pay respects to the spirit of the wild, and live in peace. But not all were willing to submit themselves to this mundanity.

Larihei and her inner circle had been busy. Deep within the depths of her great library they experimented, away from the public eye. It was this time that she and her followers had become enamoured with the Void. The existence of this plain of existence where all was everything and everything was nothing was not new to the elves. However, its potential was largely unused, as Old Malinorians preferred the familiar powers that the spirits of nature granted.

Within the bowels of the Library, the first true voidal casters emerged among the elves. First the evocations, harnessing the powers of wind, fire, water and air. Then, the alternationists, and the translocationists. The void was powerful. Yet, Larihei was careful. Science and progress was the word of the day. Advancement was incremental. Always controlled, always watched. She was determined not to repeat the mistakes of the Archdruids who’d tampered so carelessly with powers they didn’t understand.

Her efforts would pay off. And within decades, few could match the arcane prowess of her and her supporters. Their innovations brought new modern changes to the elven lifestyle. Enchanted appliances enhanced daily life, translocation made transportation that much easier, and even things as simple as a voidal fireworks show delighted children.

Yet, it made many uneasy.

The forefather himself was among the concerned. The ability to channel power from another realm of existence was sure to have long-term, unproven effects. As such, he placed an official order down for Larihei and her followers to cease and desist.

She refused.

Larihei had served for centuries under Malin and his Kingdom. She had asked for no praise, nor reward. In return, her counsel had been ignored and her progress had been stifled. Disobeying the orders of her king, she continued, changing only to lead her people deep into caverns beneath the earth to continue their studies.

It was in these caverns that she found something extraordinary.

Some would call it destiny. That it was no coincidence she was drawn to it. Some would say that her affinity to the void created a natural connection between her and it, which led her to it. Either way, what Larihei discovered deep under the earth of Old Malinor were none other than the fabled golden pools of old. Intoxicating, addicting and above all else, soothing. Larihei began to bathe.

It took years before she noticed any discernible change.

Soon enough though, she realized she was altering. Her ears grew longer. Her body taller. Her eyes bluer. Her hair, though always had been silver, had begun to gleam. Her followers would notice the same happening to them. Furthermore, their arcane prowess seemed only to increase with exposure to the mysterious cavernous pools.

Bit by bit, and piece by piece, Larihei’s grand library and it's contents were moved into the caves. For now, they were out of the public eye. And with their influence no longer so heavy on the meat of old Malinorian society, Malin cast a blind eye to their goings on. In hindsight, likely a mistake. As the following years would lead to the birth of a race- the Mali’aheral.

Chapter 4 - elCihi’thilln

As centuries passed, more and more were caught in the allure of the silver maiden living in exile in caves of golden ichor. Rumour spread fast from the forest floor to the high canopies of Malinor. Soon, what began as only a few became many who sought a better life for themselves. Who sought beauty and enhancement, who became estranged with Malin’s traditions and enamoured with the prospect of arcane and scientific power, as well as the hidden knowledge of the world kept from them out of fear. These elves searched far and wide for Larihei’s coven. Many found her. Each one who appeared at the gates of the golden pools, Larihei welcomed, and granted them the right to bathe.

This did not bode well for many. The Elves of old Malinor noticed many of their brothers, sisters and friends returning paler, fairer, and taller. A rift grew between those who bathed and dabbled in the arcane, and those who stuck to the old way. In isolated cases, ethnic violence erupted. The homes of mali’aheral were torched, and in return the followers of Larihei would equal acts of vandalism. Tensions had reached a boiling point. The elven world looked to Malin, the forefather, to put out the flames.

But Malin disappeared.

Larihei knew that now was the time to act, for if she didn’t, bloodshed would come to the elves. For the first time in many years, she emerged publicly out of her caves. Attended by a large contingent of silver haired mages and scholars, she marched right into the center of the heart of Malinor and declared her intent: an exodus of the Thilln.

Almost immediately, all the mali’aheral who had spent the last centuries bathing and perfecting their themselves in the golden pools answered the call. The old kingdom was dead, Malin’s dissapearance was the last straw. They had fulfilled their destiny and followed Larihei’s blessed leadership to achieve the purest form elfkind could achieve. Now it was time to leave, and create an ideal elven nation. One not afraid of progress, of the unknown, of maehr’sae hiylun’ehya.

Larihei led her followers into the frontier of the far west.

On the seaswept cliffs of western Tahn, elCihi’thilln was founded. The Silver City. Capital of the newly christened Haelun’or. The motherland, named in part after the Silver Maiden who had led them to this promised land, Larihei- the mother of all Mali’thilln.

Elcihi’Thilln came to be a jewel that elfkind had never seen before. Its name was apt. Its most notable feature was its skyline. Towering silver spires competed with one another in height as they reached for the sky. Buildings made of crystal with curved roofs shaped like a fairy’s wings. The mali’aheral believed in beauty, and as such their home was carved so delicately you could even assume a gentle breeze could blow it all away. Not so, however, as the greatest arcanists of the silver elves would keep their city protected with powerful wards.

The tallest of spires hosted one of two things. Memorials for honoured dead- usually in the form of murals and busts to which the living could pay their respects, and private collections of knowledge, owned by the most venerated of aristocrats. Indeed, Haelun’or was a meritocracy. Larihei herself stood at the top of the pyramid as the most venerated, a Maheral. Below her were a court of mages, scholars and scientists. Their position and influence within Elcihi’thilln depended in the wealth of knowledge they could offer to the state, and the innovations they provided. During this time, the forefathers of long lasting family lines established themselves- known names such as Sullas, Izalith, Thar, and Acal’aelor. Larihei herself was content to let her court argue and bicker among themselves over who was the most prodigious inventor or greatest mage, intervening occasionally to maintain the peace or give an executive order. She was still more scholar than leader.

To say that ancient mali’aheral society could be chaotic and dysfunctional was something of an understatement. But despite their pride and their feverish desire for advancement and scholarly recognition, an order kept their society together: maehr’sae hiylun’ehya.  Health and progress. All silver elves knew that the state must survive in order for their way of life to survive, and that all their powers and innovations must go to the community.

Many ancient historians would deem the centuries following the founding of Elcihi’thilln to be the mali’aheral’s first and only true golden age. They would perhaps be right, as after centuries of flourishing, trouble would soon brew within the picturesque silver towers.

Chapter 5 - Lomal and the Altar of Tayl

The meritocracy of ancient Haelun’or could be harsh and unforgiving. As one Lomal Naeri’onn would soon learn. The young mali’aheral was barely past his first century, and like his father before him, aspired to be a powerful arcanist and a scholar, to leave his mark on the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya.

Lomal had trained in the arcane arts, history and sciences from a very young age. He’d proven himself a capable enchanter and become a learned man. Considering himself easily the equal of any other in his field, he sought out to rise up in the ranks of the court of the silver city. Yet, the found the reality to be different than what he’d expected. The Elders and the highest standing advisors and servants of Larihei saw Lomal as little more than a child. Unproven, and worse yet, arrogant to assume he could stand in their shadow.

Frustrated, Lomal returned to his laboratory. As the years went by, he would create more and more outrageous inventions. Each one more desperate than the last to gain him the recognition he needed to rise in Larihei’s court. Each one failed, and after each encounter the elder Scholars looked down upon him, more and more, as a laughing stock.

It was only when his brash experiments led to the death of two that his failures came to a head. What was meant to be an enhanced ward against basic evocations, when presented to the court of advisors, went haywire. Two elders were killed. Accidents like this were rare, and the entirety of Elcihi’thilln was shocked. Larihei herself descended down from her private tower to issue a personal exile upon the young Lomal, for surely such carelessness had no place in the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya.

The young exile left the silver city in disgrace, nursing his smoldering hatred and his wounded pride. His setback had not dampened his drive, only changed his goal. He would learn patience, and in time, take vengeance on Larihei and her pompous followers, who had done nothing but scorn him since the day he was born.

For a year, Lomal wandered, seeking the key to his success. It was on the first day of the Deep Cold, sleuthing through the timeless ancient forests of Malin’s old heartlands, that he found it.

Deep beneath the earth, an ancient altar long hidden away by the elven forefather.

Guarding the forbidden word altar was an ancient Ent. A tree lord, created long ago by druidic followers of Malin to ensure that none would dare attempt reawaken the altar’s cursed power. The fight that ensued was fierce, and perilous. But in the end, the roaring flames of the void, channeled with power that only wounded youth could manage, won the day. The ancient guardian of the wild collapsed in pain, smoldering, then burnt away.

Lomal placed his hands upon the altar, he felt power surging through it. Yet, it was alien to him, beyond his control. The words whispered to him when he connected himself to the stony surface were so familiar, yet alien. In despair, the vengeful young mali’thilln knew that he alone would never have the power to channel the magics of the ancients.

Enter the intervention of the divine.

Daemons were observant and omnipresent beings, always seeking for opportunities to increase their influence in the mortal realm in competition with the many other deities they shared this plain with. One such Daemon was Tayl, a trickster of a deity and one who desired mortals to do his will. As such, he took the form of a ghost and appeared before Lomal. But, not just any ghost- the ghost of the elven forefather himself, Malin.

‘Malin’s Ghost’ shocked Lomal, who appeared stunned beyond belief. But only until the spectral presence explained his desire. Lomal would serve him, the spirit of his people’s king, and in return he would be granted full control over the Word Altar. The power to bend nature to his will. Furthermore, the powers of the word altar would be enhanced.

Not only would he know the true names of flora and fauna, but the altar would also give him the true names of descendents- elves.

Naturally, the prideful youth, desperate for the power he needed to take his revenge, and completely taken in by the deceitful Daemon’s disguise, accepted this devil’s bargain.

Lomal returned to the great gates of Elcihi’thilln. Immediately he was received by a platoon of elite Sillumir, mali’aheral soldiers who guarded the silver city from the many monsters, plagues and savage wood elven seeds which roamed the primal wilds of Ancient Axios.

Lomal knew he had to be smart. His newfound powers made him very formidable, but a full frontal assault upon the silver city was still too much to handle, given the old master scholars and their great magics. No, force was not the way to win. To do that, he would destroy Larihei by manipulating the very system she had created.

Lomal spread his arms before the platoon, and his body began to glow. Ancient elven runes appearing in the forms of wisps of light began to circle around his body. One of the Sillumir gasped, then fell to his knees. His body began to wither, his skin shriveling up like a grape in the sun. He cocooned, and with a last ragged gasp, became a husk. The magic imbued upon Lomal by the word altar that Tayl had altered was fierce, and he now had the capacity to channel it to assume full control over plant, animal, and elf. He knew the true names of all.

Lomal stared down the horrified Sillumir, and made a simple, calm request: Grant me an audience with Larihei.

Chapter 6 - Trial by Fire: A Schism Forms

“Many of you do not know me, I am Lomal. I am the shepherd of our people’s destiny. The spirit of our great father spoke to me. He bestowed upon me great gifts, you see the power I wield now. It is a power all of you can own, can be. Join me, and we can right the wrongs of Larihei and unlock our people’s true potential.”

“You are a fraud, Lomal Naeri’onn, and foolish to believe yourself to be a prophet. You have been taken in by a trickster, a daemon. Nothing more. We are not slaves to the whims of deities. We are mali’thilln. We forge our own destiny. Leave this place, and let your newfound curse consume you.”

“If you call me a liar, then I submit myself to trial by fire. Let the flames consume me, and when I emerged unburnt, let the whole world know that I am the one who will light our path.”

~Exchange Between Lomal and Larihei in the Great Silver Court

They stood in the great silver court. Larihei upon her upon a high seat she loathed to call a throne, and Lomal in the center of the room, staring up at the mother of his people, someone he had once considered larger than life. Everyone who was anyone was watching. The highest standing advisors, the wisest scholars and the greatest mages. All staring down the young high elf with passion in his eyes, who not long ago they had exiled.

Lomal told the truth, as he knew it.

The ghost of Malin had spoken to him. The forefather himself. The King’s Spirit had ascended to godhood, had given him a great power, and bestowed upon him a destiny. That destiny was to bring the high elven people back under the rule of their one true king, the one true ruler of all of elfkind. In return, they would ascend further than they ever had before, achieving physical and mental prowess beyond their dreams.

Larihei and many of the court would immediately dismiss these claims. And thus, Lomal demanded a trial by fire to prove himself.

First, he demanded the great wizards of the Silver Hall examine his body for any arcane wards, charms or any other protections. There were none. In terms of protection, he was entirely bare. Then, he invited the most powerful pyromancers present to summon the hottest voidal flame they could possibly conjure, and insisted they incinerate him to a crisp. And thus, they tried. A great pillar of flame erupted around Lomal, and entirely consumed his body. The flames scorched with such intense heat that even the hardiest of metals could be melted.

Yet when they subsided, Lomal stood there, still as a rock. Unburnt. Unwavering.

He spoke his ultimatum to the stunned crowd. All those who sought to enhance themselves and ascend unto powers previously undreamed of could follow him. He would go to the highest spire in Elcihi’thilln, and await any new followers there. An uproar erupted in the court. Lomal was a criminal, a murderer. He could not get away with his crimes, let alone invite the entire Silver Council to treason.

But then, something extraordinary happened.

Slowly, a few stood. Among them, great sorcerers, researchers and scientists. They emerged from their high perches from which they had once looked down at the young Lomal, and descended down, following him out of the court. Their intention was clear. They would answer the shepherd’s call. Lomal now had a following, one with which he could orchestrate his revenge on Larihei and fulfill his destiny, his influence was growing.

A schism had formed in Elcihi’thilln.

Chapter 7 - Crimson and Silver

The city was divided. From district to district. Street to street. Tower to tower. Some supported Lomal, who had taken the title of Elannil’Ilum - the guiding light. His followers referred to themselves as Elsil’Parir. The sword of the harbinger. Some stayed true to their Maheral, Larihei, mother of mali’thilln. A great wall was erected in the west wing of the city by Elsil’Parir, where only those loyal to Lomal could enter. There, they conducted their mutations.

The Altar had since been moved into Elcihi’thilln. It was now settled within the top of the high spire that Lomal had turned into his base of operations. Each day, a single elf was chosen to ascend to the top to receive an audience with Lomal. Upon meeting, the Elannil’Ilum would speak the elf’s true name, revealed to him by the cursed magics of the altar imbued with the power of Tayl, bestowing upon them bodily alterations. Some received the power to breath under the water. Some sprouted feathers and learned to glide. Some, like Lomal, learned to resist the hottest of flames.

Larihei’s followers had shored up as well. They prepared their defenses, utilizing the best of their best when it came to voidal masters and enchanters. The lion’s share of Elcihi’thilln still belonged to them, and they were prepared to defend their way of life if need be from these usurpers. Given the circumstance, one would think that a long and bloody war was soon to break out.

Yet, this was not the case.

The nature of the Mali’thilln, whether beset by the power of the word altar or a loyal follower of Larihei, was not warlike. And thus, the conflict stagnated. For years, little happened. At least on the surface of things. Anyone looking deeper could see a war, but not one of swords and battlefields, but one of intrigue and subtle sorcery.

Lines were drawn in the proverbial sand. The families of Acal’Alor, Thar, Sullas and many others threw their support behind Larihei and began seeking to undermine the influence of Lomal. What followed was a constant back and forth of seductions, power-plays, speeches, songs and daring escapades of espionage conducted on both sides, across either side of the great wall which divided elCihi’thilln. Many incidents occured, although only a few were well recorded:

el’lenniel lae kheliyat - The Song that Shattered an Image

Musicians and those who followed the bardic rite were common among the ancient Haelun’orians, who considered music to be one of the patron arts of the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya. However, during the great stand-off between Larihei and Lomal, bards developed a much more sinister role. One such bard was Larebel Ikurnamon, known as the best. A meister of the harp, violin and vocals. Tasked by Larihei herself, she proceeded to pour her best work into composing a melody that would break hearts and bring the most stoic of mali’aheral to tears. More importantly, this song viciously debased and slandered Lomal.

It worked. The tune,  titled el’lenniel lae kheliyah (The Melody of His Inner Darkness) was a masterpiece of both prose and verse. It told a tale of Lomal’s failed inventions. His arrogance and his woe. It embellished details of his personal life, sexual habits and alleged degeneracy, and called upon those loyal to the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya to return to the right side of the wall. Many influential archmages and dignitaries under Lomal’s thumb would cross back over, abandoning his cause.

Of course, the poet Larebel would soon be embroiled in a scandal of her own as her affair with a minor of only thirty years was exposed. A female minor. Of course, some reported that a well known illusionist had been skulking about her home days prior to this. An illusionist baring scales on his flesh, the kind that could only be granted to him by Lomal’s word altar…

The Ball of the Century

Lomal had certainly proved his ability to win over a crowd with showmanship. And thus, recovering from the scandal of el’lenniel kae kheliyat, decided he would strike back not with more slander, but with the grandest display of his lavishness and power that he could possibly conjure: a great party.

A grand hall was built for the sake of this upcoming ball. A huge, ornate court embellished with towering spirals and great impressionist statues, designed to gleam in an otherworldly manner in the moonlight. All were given invitations to the great ceremony that was to come. All except Larihei. The Maheral was infuriated, yet her hands were tied. If she ordered her councillors not to attend she would appear petty and overbaring, and perhaps incite open conflict. She had no choice but to watch her own people attend a display of Lomal’s power.

The ball was all it had been marketed to be. It lasted for seven days and seven nights. An endless display of voidal mastery, fireworks of colours that many had never even heard of. Countless displays of the magically altered prowess of those who Lomal had ‘enhanced’ with the word altar’s power. Many of Larihei’s followers were swayed that day, opting to stay on Lomal’s side of the wall and submit themselves to his modification.

The Great Debate That Never Was

Finally, things came to a head.

Trying to bring an end to this conflict once and for all, Larihei called upon Lomal to neutral territory, atop the elCihi’thilln wall itself, for a grand debate. There they would finally meet each other head to head and debate on their views, face to face. The event was made known to all, and on the last day of the deep cold, at the cusp of the turning point, the two met. On top of the wall. Hundreds of thousands of followers from either side attending to support the Maheral, or the Shepherd of the Altar.

Only the debate would never begin.

An arrow inlaid with silver pierced through Larihei’s rib, dangerously close to her heart. She fell off the edge of the wall, into a crowd of her horrified supporters. Pandemonium broke out. Some of Larihei’s faithful would quickly carry off the dying Maheral as the rest would charge the wall, ancient Haelun’ors many mages charging up their spells to bring back the warded surface which divided them from the usurpers of the word altar. Lomal himself had retreated into the safety of his own crowd.

Hundred died on both sides in the ensuing skirmish.

Chapter 8 - Portal to a New Beginning

Larihei was safe.

Medicine and healing was among the many wondrous advances of the mali’thilln. Yet the question remained, who had shot the Maheral? And why with such a basic and conventional method as an arrow? Many didn’t care. Many wanted vengeance, to end the war with the usurper and his mutants once and for all, and put things back to the way they were.

They did not expect Lomal to make the first strike.

The wards of the great wall had been broken. Scores of mutant elves poured through from Lomal’s section of Elcihi’thilln, finally in their full forms. Screeching like hawks and hissing like snakes, they channeled their almost grotesque modifications and stormed the homes of any influential mali’thilln loyal to Larihei, slaughtering whoever they could find. It caught the loyalists entirely by surprise, and left them reeling.

Larihei ordered a retreat.

The Sillumir fought bravely, stalwart in their defense against the hordes of Lomal and their power infused by the Daemon and the Altar. Street by street, block by block, tower to tower they were slowly driven back. Although many more would have died if not for their brave defense. Eventually, those loyal to Larihei were pushed out of the very city itself. They fled, through the plains of western Tahn and into the deep woods. It was there they sought the counsel of their Maheral.

But Larihei was nowhere to be found.

It seemed the mother of thilln had disappeared into the woods. No voidal tracking could pin her location nor could any other method. She was gone. Well and truly, to the despair of her followers, of whom Lomal’s mutants were quickly encroaching on. So, they continued to flee. Deeper and deeper into the primal and untamed ancient wilderness, until they found something extraordinary.

A gateway to another world.

Erected in the middle of the wild with no explanation as to how it got there, it stood tall. A pillar of marble with a beam of light shooting far into the sky, pulsing with intense magics that none could explain. To Larihei’s followers, the explanation was simple. This was Larihei’s doing. She had not run, she had left this here for her people to escape to a new promised land. And so, they leapt through the portal, thousands upon thousands of elves making a mass exodus. A land they had lived in for millenia, gone in mere moments.

When Lomal and his mutants arrived upon the scene, they found the portal dead. Deactivated. Larihei, and what was left of the pure, untarnished Mali’thilln were gone from this world. Yet, some had stayed. A scant few, the bravest of battlemages and Sillumir warriors, determined to leave their family and friends behind forever, for one purpose- to enact revenge. They called themselves the Vihai.

For Lomal, it seemed he had everything he wanted.

Elcihi’thilln was in ruins, devastated by the fighting. Larihei and her court were gone. He had won. And now he had all the power in the world. Or, so he thought. A devil’s bargain is one that never ends well, and as such, the very one who struck it with him reappeared. This time, with no disguise. Tayl manifested before Lomal, who ever since his victory had spent all his days up in his tower with his beloved word altar, never eating or sleeping. The Daemon revealed himself for who he truly was, and now that he had fulfilled his end of the bargain, he demanded to reap his end of the agreement. Lomal was to submit himself.

Lomal refused.

What had once been a youthful, ambitious mali’thilln with passion in his eyes was now a husk. The altar had given him the power to change himself, and others, but had torn out his soul. He was no longer the elf he was. But what he had not forgotten was his pride. He had all the power in the world. He owed this Daemon nothing. He was Lomal, the shepherd of the thilln. He was destiny. He was wrong.

Tayl realized the defiance of the arrogant mortal he had struck a bargain with, and made his choice. The power he imbued into the word altar was erased away. Lomal’s connection to it severed. And with that, the Daemon left the mortal plane to let all Lomal had built crumble. Without the daemon’s power infused into the altar, the mutated elves who had depended on it lost control of their minds. Some turned on others, going feral. Some simply isolated themselves deeply and descended into madness.

Thus, the Vihai struck.

They poured back into the city that had once been theirs. They blasted the mutants on the streets where they saw them raving like madmen. They snuck into the homes where they hid, and slit their throats. They purged the land clean, and when their job was done, they left. It is unknown if they were ever capable of rejoining their brothers and sisters through the portal they’d escaped through.

Lomal himself was never found. His fate remains unknown to this day.

Chapter 9 - The Paths are Split

For those who’d made the mass exodus through the dimensional portal, all was not well. A disturbance had ripped through the connection, and the mali’aheral flying through the space between worlds were torn in two. It is unknown why this happened. Some claim that the magics Larihei had used to prepare the portal for her people had failed her. Some claimed that a malicious Daemon had interfered. Whatever the cause, the result was the same.

Half of the mali’thilln rematerialized in a strange new world, an untamed world.

Half of the mali’thilln were thrown violently unto the beaches of Aegis. A land familiar to their forefather Malin.

Larihei herself was in neither. She was nowhere to be found.

Those who landed in Aegis would consolidate themselves and travel far. For years they wandered as nationless refugees, until they came upon Laurelin. Laurelin was a city built in the style of the elves of old, capital of a nation named after the first Kingdom of the forefather himself, Malinor. These wayward high elves would be welcomed into Laurelin, and find for themselves a new life there. They would lend their philosophy and magics into the culture of the new Malinor, and in time, merge and assimilate.

Those who landed in the other, strange and wild land would remain closer to their heritage. They soon came to realize they were pioneers in this world. They would erect a new city, and christen it Elcihi’thilln, just like the old one they had lost in old Axios. These mali’thilln remained true to Larihei’s memory. They remembered the horrors of Lomal and the word altar, and enforced the maehr’sae hiylun’ehya fervently. Enforcing strict purity of body and mind.

Centuries later, their civilization would collapse. No one knows how or why, but it was likely fated as destiny. For when the Elves of Aegis fled from their homes following Iblees’ resurrection, they came to this land. A land they called Asulon. And they found nothing but silver ruins.

It was then that the Aegisian high elves, the descendents of those few mali’thilln that had been separated from their kin during their escape from the portal many years ago, rediscovered their ancestral culture and way of life. They would inhabit the ruins of their ill-fated kin that they’d been separated from. After so long, the mali’aheral were back.

For silver will rise and silver will fall, but nothing is gone forever.

OOC:

This lore was written in conjuction with many high elven RPers and also designed to fit the already pre-existing (but fairly open-ended) high elven lore. It is not a static thing, and is completely open to changes and additions as suggested to me by high elven RPers. This lore will not be pushed into implementation if there are any major issues the high elven playerbase itself has with the lore, although it has been written to accomodate them to the best of my ability.

Credits to all who aided with information/suggestions:

Yuln

BrandNewKitten

Parion

Mithradites

Delmodan

History of the Orcs

"Betrayed! Betrayed and abandoned because we foresaw the doom? Betrayed though we suffered the most at the hands of Iblees... This... They would turn and run in the face of our adversity? Cowards. We will bring it to them. Yes, we will show them our suffering!"

- Agzal the Titan

The fires crackled around Krug’s ivory throne as he sat there slouched, his hair black as the sky above and his form bulky and strong, a stark contrast to the man before him.

“Your Brothers have all accepted my gift.” He said with a visage of confusion, addressing Krug. The man had a kind face, and nothing about his person seemed threatening, yet Krug looked upon him with a sense of caution, apparent through his slow gaze.

The man opened out his arms in question. “Why do you turn me down?”  He asked with a raised tone.

The formidable Father of Orc kind let out a slow sigh, sitting himself up within his chair. “I have never trusted you.” He said, his tone deep and rumbling. “Power does not come without a cost.” He added, before rising to his feet, his focus more energised as he looked down upon the man with scorn.

“You would not want wealth or power, more than you could ever dream?”  He snarled, his aura suddenly changing as he bore his teeth in anger. “I offer you the world, and you think yourself above your brothers?”  He added, yelling with fervent anger.

And so did the man reveal his true form, for he was in fact Iblees, that great and terrible Daemon that had fallen to the Mortal Realm. He roared in frustration as fangs and horns grew from his head, a swathe of emerald fire swirling around his form as his wings of devastation sprung forth.

Without a moment to think, Krug launched into action. Unarmed and unprepared, he barged into the Daemon, his skin scorching and bubbling under the corrupted flames as he knocked Iblees off his feet for the last time.

Chapter 1 - The Birth of Spirits

During the War, decimation had swept through the lands of Krug, and as he fought, he lost many loved ones, only to see them brought back from death to fight alongside his enemy.

Meanwhile, the Daemon, Apohet looked at the ongoing fight between Iblees and Krug, marveling at how the creature could hold his own against the powerful Daemon. He envied the power that had been shown in the descendant, and turned away.

He went into a small area of the Seven Skies, hoping to keep his machinations away from the prying eyes of others.

There, he poured a large amount of his divinely-granted power into one creation: what would later be called the Spirit Realm. It was quite separate from anything else; Apohet had made sure of that, not even being subject to time, as the Creator's world was. However, it was devoid of inhabitants, and he soon grew bored of manipulating a world that would never be seen. And so, he resumed his work.

Apohet smiled as his second marvel awoke, or marvels. Again, his handiwork was slightly crude in appearance compared to the Creator's, but they were conscious. They were partners, intertwined in almost every aspect of each of them. Spirits, he called them, one able to manipulate space to an extent, the other having limited control of the temporal. Their appearances were both serpentine, space blue, and time red. Together, they birthed several children, each also able to control a certain aspect of the world, many coming in contrasting pairs, others more independent.

The second generation was birthed from the less powerful elementals, and so they themselves were less powerful, finding that they were only able to control much more minor parts of the world, such as specific biomes, or things such as emotions or concepts. Feeling that these other creatures were somewhat unworthy to associate with them, the first generation beseeched Apohet, asking that they be allowed to separate. Apohet eventually agreed, and so created two separate planes, one for the first generation, and another for the second.

Apohet almost cheered in glee as his world was slowly filled with his own denizens. But they too soon grew bored of the world's relative blankness, and Apohet had grown bored of watching them do very little. And so, he did something rather risky, and he made a small connection between his realm and the world, so that his creations could play. And play they did, using their power to make slight alterations to the world, all that their power allowed them. But soon, that risk had some repercussions.

The dead that had perished in the battle against Iblees were flooding into the spirit realm. Apohet knew that the Creator would be perturbed, at the very least, at this development, and so he made sure that all dead passed through, so hastily that they barely even noticed where they were. He made sure this happened for the rest of time, and even now Apohet makes sure that the dead pass swiftly through his realm, to their respective afterlives.

Chapter 2 - Transformation
 

He who had not been swayed watched as Iblees roared for the last time, before the Daemon was banished to the Void for eternity. Krug stood burnt and bloodied, his skin seared beyond recognition, for the corruption of the Daemon had wrought a terrible transformation upon his form.

The influence of Iblees had caused him to grow enormous tusks, altering the way in which he and his people would speak for thousands of years to come, and his skin cried in constant agony, corrupted to a hue of dark green.

“And you Krug, the most hated of The Descendants, you shall always have the lust of war. You are strong? Well the strength shall be used against your brothers, used to pillage and murder! Your lust for battle shall be unsatiated and your descendants shall grow ugly and heartless.” - Iblees

Although the fighting had ended, Krug’s heavy breathing continued as he looked around to his brothers. He saw not friends whom he had fought with, but targets through which to vent the deep rage that coursed through his veins, for not even the blessing of Honour was enough to quell his fury.

His eyes glazed over in crimson as his voice shook the land, and his muscles pulsated with a newfound energy as he grasped his axe with intent. His Brothers watched in disbelief and fear as he began to slaughter those nearby, and in him they saw not their Brother, nor any deviation from the Daemon they had just fought.

In acknowledging his overwhelming strength, they evacuated the scarred land with haste, abandoning Krug and his people to the torrent of bloodshed that was soon to come.

Chapter 3 - Pilgrimage

Many a year had passed since the curse of Iblees sunk into the heart’s of Krug and his people, and after genocide upon genocide felled the Orc population, their bloodlust began to satiate.

Finally, and with an iron fist, Krug had subjugated all who had opposed him, and once again claimed the title of Rex of all Orcish people.

Yet the looming return of bloodlust ate at the minds of the Orcs as they attempted to live their daily lives. As a result, the Orcish people adapted a strong work ethic in order to vent their energies and distract themselves, and a period of wondrous progression swept through the lands of Mor’Ghuun. 

Many wondrous designs were set around the world, such as the Gatzug, the enormous Arena of Champions, and the vast forests of the West were cultivated into the ultimate hunting grounds, Duulgador.

As the Orcs built and fought for progression of their people, Krug fought an inner-turmoil that urged him to take action. One day, he gave in, standing suddenly from his throne and wandering off into the wilderness, alone.

The thought that he had been unable to kill Iblees pestered him endlessly. He felt he had allowed this curse to burn within his people. He felt responsible; Ashamed, even. He was determined to find a solution, scouring Mor’Ghuun for many years in search of respite.

Chapter 4 - A Voice Beckons

Krug gritted his teeth in irritation as he arrived at the coast. He looked out to the ebb and flow of the ocean, and foresaw only tides of blood, the endless push and pull of the bloodlust that would trouble his people until the end of days.

He roared with an awesome fury, the rage of his nation flowing through his voice. It swathed across the land, rumbling like an earthquake upon the dusty plains that surrounded him.

The world fell silent, save for the crashing of the waves. Until suddenly, a voice spoke out within Krug’s mind. It was the Spiritual Element of Air, who had taken notice of Krugs profound bellowing.

Apohet took note too, yet decided not to interfere on the interaction, watching with profound intrigue.

Krug spoke out to the voice, challenging it out of caution and curiosity. In this moment, however unwittingly, he had connected with the realm of the Spirits, and fell unconscious.

Soon he awoke, within a realm of clouds and sky, and before him, the Spirit of Air presented itself. They spoke for a time, and Krug developed a fondness for the Spirit, for the wisdom and power it came to represent. Krug’s intuition was strong, after all, it had revealed Iblees himself. He trusted in it even now to determine friend from foe, and acknowledged the Spirit.

The Spirit itself was enamoured by Krug, and the concept of assisting him, and from this interaction was birthed the first pact between Mortal and Spirit.

Apohet watched in astonishment as the Spirit conjured an impressive sandstorm for Krug on Mor’Ghuun, yet remained ever silent in observation. The Daemon wondered still where the power of this being ended, if he could not only contact his realm, but also utilise his children.

And from this cooperation, Shamanism was born.

Chapter 5 - The Cycle

Meanwhile, decades had passed since Krug took on the tutelage of the Spirits.

Without a guiding figure within Mor’Ghuun, the Orcs quickly degenerated once again into civil warfare. Many a mixed view was shared among the Orcish populace, and indeed the inevitability of conflict arose from these squabbles.

Many of the direct children of Krug, those with the most inherent power, stood to represent their own ideologies and desires for the Orcish people, and followers began to flock to each of them as they watched in marvel of their confidence and sheer power.

These children were named and identified by their talents and demeanor:

Agzal the Titan, famed for sharing his Father’s strength. He came to birth a nation of complete Warfare, those who would raid and steal their food and material needs, believing that those of supreme strength were deserving of the world. They chose to succumb to their curse, and embraced it as a strengthening process.

Dlimbok the Wise, famed for his insight in matters of internal conflict, of which a countless number arose. He in many ways came to mimic his Father at the time, splitting from the others in an attempt to find some semblance of peace from the Warfare.

Saranak the Silent, famed for her unparalleled ability to hunt and overpower the enormous creatures that threatened the livelihood of all Orcs. Her’s was a nation of monster hunters, those who could assist smaller settlements and ultimately believed the great beasts of Mor’Ghuun were there for them to vent their blood rage.

Balzug the Brave, an explorer with a vast nomadic tribe, who explored the lands to occupy their minds, believing that settling in one place would bring forth their bloodlust as they stirred in inactivity.

After many years of internal conflict, the siblings broke off from one another, scattering from their original homes and settling across the land, accompanied by their respective followers.

They came to establish formidable nations along Mor’Ghuun, having failed to co-operate as one united people. It would seem that the Bloodlust that ravaged their minds had once again destroyed their bonds. At best these nations would trade among one another and employ their services, but often times this semblance of peace was disturbed by the continuous force that ate at their state of mind.

The Nations of Mor'Ghuun

These Empires established great names, and came to represent each their own core values:

The Empire of Zetzug, lead by Agzal, would come to be feared as the strongest nation of all, famed for their aptitude for combat; even among Orcs. Their pursuit for power was so great that they began to selectively breed the strongest of their people. However, this came at a severe cost.

For when a creature must grow to such tremendous power, their energy becomes lacking elsewhere. From these Orcs were born the Ologs, those of challenged intellect, yet unrivaled ferocity.

The Empire of Balgrak, lead by Dlimbok, would be renowned for their studious nature, and would construct a citadel of such architectural complexity and beauty that it would rival even the Dwarven people. These Orcs grew slightly weaker in their disinterest for combat, challenging one another intellectually, which nevertheless resulted in broken limbs.

The Goorzag, Lands of Unending Hunt, lead by Saranak, would be famed for their hunting prowess and ability to cultivate the land and form impressive forests for hunting. They later became exceptional breeders, and formed an impressive trade company that was free to roam the lands, dealing in rare furs and exotic beasts of might and terror.

The Tribe of Keztag, lead by Balzug, would discover much in their travels, developing impressive immunities, as well as medicines and narcotic arts. Additionally, they came to uncover many relics that would later alter their lives forever.

Krug's Return 

Yet as the Empires continued to fight among themselves, a figure emerged at each gate, hulking and monstrous in form. It was the first and greatest Shaman, Krug. In each city he rose his staff into the air, and declared his iron grip once again on his people as an enormous wind swept through each city, and all bore witness, reminded of his unquestionable strength.

He, the most powerful mortal in all the realms had grown to an unprecedented stature, and all were helpless to look on in awe, respect and servitude.

His children would quibble in silence, but were smart enough to understand their inferiority. Still, his physical strength alone was too mighty to conquer, and so, with an iron rule, the first Rex of the united Empires instructed them all to make waves of war ships in preparation for their vengeance.

The many Empires would soon assemble their own fleets, and would meet along the shore with Krug himself, who had promised them a sight to behold.

And before long he delivered on his promise, for as the Empires boarded their vessels, an enormous wind swept in and forced the ships forward, onward to the lands of Men at rapid speed.

Chapter 6 - The Death of Horen
 

An enormous fleet arrived at the shores of the Human isles, heralding doom for all that would witness their arrival. Krug would be the first to step foot on the land, the fleets arriving too quickly for Horen to prepare his vast armies for defence.

And so, the united Orc Empires swept through the land, razing entire villages and slaughtering the armies that had scrambled to defend their homes. Until at last they arrived on the lush fields around the city Horen called home.

It stood tall and proud, blanketed on all sides by swathes of men adorned in armour, an amalgamation of soldiers and weaponry on standby for the War that would end the Orcish conquest, one way or another.

Suddenly, Krug threw his arms into the air. As his eyes rolled to the back of his head, chanting of Old Speech began to escape from his tusken mouth as looming clouds of ashen colour began to blanket the sky, enveloping the city in total darkness.

The sun had been blotted from the sky, and nowt remained to pierce the darkness but the hundreds of glimmering torches that adorned the city. Yet soon, a wailing sound began to pervade the ears of all present as the armies fell into silence, observing the terrifying display.

A wind began to sweep through the land, and soon the lights that adorned the city were put to rest, signifying the hope in the hearts of all men, that had diminished in the face of such adversity.

And the wind continued to wail within the sky, forming into an enormous hurricane of chilled, cutting wind. Both Orc and Men alike watched in total astonishment as it continued to grow, and the creator of this awesome display continued to chant, his tone fueled by the seething hatred at his core.

Krug threw down his hands, pointing them to the city as his focus came back to the Mortal realm. With this gesture, the swirling winds crashed into the city, stirring up an amalgamation of men, buildings and earth. The rubble would stain with the blood of a thousand soldiers as the hurricane continued to swirl, turning a crimson red under the ashen sky.

Within mere moments the city has been reduced to dust and stone, and a tremendous amount of casualties had suffered at the hands of that single Mortal known as Krug.

The Orcs roared with delight as the dark sky began to break, allowing light to once again shine on the fields, exposing the destruction that had been wrought upon the land by their Rex.

In their bloodlust they rushed forth into the city as a wave of iron, killing any that were left within the rubble; as far and few between as they were. Yet as the winds dispersed and the clouds opened up the heavens fully, the Palace was revealed within the rubble, stalwart and defiant as ever.

Krug trudged forth with axe in hand, the same weapon he had used to strike against Iblees in his final moments. He stood at the entrance of the palace, looking toward his distraught brother, who looked onward in a steady terror.

Krug let out a mild chuckle of astonishment, noting the fortitude of Horen to stand despite the destruction all around him. It was the will of his soul and his children's that had impressed Krug all those decades ago, and was the reason he loved Horen above all of his other brothers.

Yet as Krug continued to look onward to Horen, his memories of the past quickly took him to the moment Horen had abandoned him in his fury, and soon that same feeling began to encapsulate his mind.

He threw up his arm, and a gust of wind propelled Horen into the air, holding him against the wall as Krug marched forth, his heavy breathing much as it was on the day of his curse.

He stood face to face before Horen, raising him on the wall so that he could match his own great height. Horen's eyes explored Krug's own as he writhed in discomfort, yet in him he saw not the warm gaze he had once witnessed. 

“Y-you are not the man I once knew… brother.”  He said, assessing the deep scars that ran along the burnt and corrupted flesh of the Orc, now more reminiscent of the Demon they had once fought together against, than the man he had once loved as his own kin.

“No, I was abandoned.” Krug responded, a pain unlike anything he had ever felt eating at his core as he used the power of the Spirits to bring Horen back to the floor, standing amidst the rubble beneath the hulking Shaman.

“You will die as lonely as you left me.” He added finally, gritting his teeth as the Spirit of the Wind drew all air from Horen’s lungs, causing him to collapse on the floor as he struggled to breath.

Krug watched in silence as the fear of death finally broke Horen’s will, his hands clasping at his throat as he attempted desperately to breathe. Yet as he squirmed, he brought sooner the end of his life, and within moments he fell to the floor, his body lifeless.

Without hesitation Krug turned from the scene, leaving his brother dead on the ground as he turned to his people. The War had ended, and he instructed that no more Men be killed. They would be given the chance to recover, to enhance their strength. For despite having been betrayed, Krug continued to admire their unwavering Spirit.

In them he saw his own people, and in them he left a rage that would fuel their people’s progression, just as they had done to him.

Apohet cackled from within the confines of his realm. The city was destroyed by his creation’s power, and he found himself smiling. Impressed deeply by Krug, he made a decision, a rather brash one. Seeing that the descendants could indeed do great acts of Spirituality and Honour, he looked back to the passageway of the afterlife, and for the last time, tampered with his realm. He created what some would describe as a filter; allowing those with souls of Honour, Spirituality and Virtue to enter his realm. Knowing that his other creations may soon grow angry at the intrusion of mortal souls, he made the plane they went to entirely separate from the ones inhabited by the others.

Chapter 7 - The Nation of Krugmar

And so did the Orcs, the united Empires under Krug, return to the lands of Mor’Ghuun, where they would continue to battle with their bloodlust, and where they would work tirelessly to understand the realms of the Spirits.

Krug has passed on his knowledge to his children, so that they would always have a guide in life, even with his own passing. Yet the wisdom of the Spirits was not enough to quell their unwavering frustration, and soon they began to prepare, for there were others who had betrayed them, and they too would suffer the fate of Horen and his people.

All Empires were instructed to bring together their greatest Soldiers, Shamans, Hunters and Explorers, who would come to create a vast fleet of their own, tasked with the quest to traverse the lands around them, both in search of progression and also the domains of Dwarf and Elf alike.

This array of Orcs would later come to refer to themselves as the Nation of Krugmar, and would face many a challenge in their pursuit of progress and destruction, a cycle they too would suffer, for such was the curse of Iblees.

Yet as the fleets sailed over the horizon, a celestial object of tenebrous aura crashed into the West of the lands, stirring the forests of Saranak.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pCv7k_Hzvg

HISTORY OF THE AME

“Once the Elves were all united under one Elf. Malin. I am one of the few to remember him, you know. People speak of him now in a reverence that was well earned. Of course, When he disappeared, we were left helpless. Our brothers the Mali’ker went with their Velulaei, and the High Elves with their Larihei, and we were forgotten. We, the only ones who dared to stay with what our father had taught us.”

~Archdruid Garthon

Chapter 1 - Iblee's War

Chapter 2 - Malin’s Kingdom: The First Malinor

Chapter 3 - The Great Elven Schism

Chapter 4 - Exodus of the Forgotten Folk

Chapter 5 - Taynei Unearthed

Chapter 6 - Era of the Seeds

Chapter 7 - Garthon’s Great War of Unity

Chapter 8 - End of an Era: A New Malinor

Chapter 1 - Iblee's War

The history of the mali’ame (commonly known as wood elves) begins in a baptism of blood and fire. Iblees, the fallen aengul waged his war on the four brothers and their mortal children. Among the four brothers was Malin, and his children were known as the elves.

Iblees swept across the realm in a torrent of hellfire, tainting lands wherever his army chose to conquer. Malin and his children had become isolated on the lands which would become known as Axios, the land which would later become his kingdom. However, at the time it was a desolate battlefield and a realm beholden to the evil whim of Iblees himself.

Malin, however, had a secret weapon.

Taynei’Hiylu (The green spirit) was a dragonling created by Dragur, the master of dragons. She was little more than a babe when she was found by Malin. The forefather of the elves took her in and nurtured her, and Taynei’Hiylu quickly grew to see the eldest of the four brothers as her father and mentor. Taynei would learn to assume the form of a mortal and mingle among the other of Malin’s children, knowing that if became public knowledge she was a dragaar, many would try to corrupt her. In her adolescence, Malin had sent her to be tutored by the druids, a new order at the time. During her time with the drui, Taynei learn the true names of the wild. She learned the Aspects, the aenguls of nature, and adopted their worship. Her purpose became clear: to teach the druidic wisdom of the Aspects to Malin’s children.

However, this purpose would not come to pass, as Taynei’Hiylu was called upon for a more dire purpose. It was when Malin’s children became cornered by Iblees forces on the land that would become Axios, that Malin himself called upon her to unleash her powers as a dragaar to drive back the unholy army.

Taynei’Hiylu became the turning point of the war. Her time with the druids had taught her to use the wilds to her command. Droves of the fiercest beasts charged into Iblee’s demon army, the oldest and wisest of elder trees bent at her command, their roots emerging and suffocating the vile invaders. Taynei shone like a beacon on the battlefield, inspiring Malin’s children with strength as they finally drove the last of Iblee’s presence off of Axios.

Malin could finally rejoin his three brothers as they and all their children formed a united front to overpower and seal away Iblees. However, before they could do this, the archdaemon had a plan to subdue Taynei, who had thwarted his invasion so thoroughly.

The blight that had been spread during her time in battle had taken its toll on the mind of Taynei. The dragon who was sister of the druids and the elves had begun to lose her mind, succumb to the corruption which she had been exposed to, yet fought so hard to eradicate. To further complicate matters, iblees had sent one of his strongest drakaar to finish the elven dragon for good- Azdromoth.

Azdromoth was known as the god eater, and for good reason. The corrupted dragon hounded Taynei and pursued her across the world. Taynei’s resolve crumbled and she fled, terrified of being corrupted and turned into a tool of evil. The Aspects took pity upon their druidic servant. The aenguls of the wild called upon the earth to swallow Taynei deep into the ground, putting her beyond the reach of Iblees and forcing her into a deep sleep.

For centuries after, many believed that was the last they would see of the druidic dragon of the elves.

Despite the sealing of the Green Spirit, Malin and his three brothers continued to push, and finally were able to seal away iblees, although at a great cost:

“Malin, I curse you with sterility, you and your kin shall forever lack the children they need. May your forest halls forever be silent, and your hearts heavy with sadness.”

The elves had not undergone drastic physical change like the dwarves or the orcs had, but Iblees’ final curse had hit them hard. In the years after the war, many a mother lamented, even took their own life due to having to look into the eyes of their stillborn child. Sorrow ran rampant among the newly long-lived, but infertile elves.

However, Malin, forefather of the elves, pushed on. The war had cost him an extrodinary pupil, a dragaar he had considered his daughter. It had cost him the lives of many of his people. But he would bring his kin into a golden age. The elves- now a long-lived yet infertile people, were his to lead.

In this newfound era of peace, on the lands which would become Axios, he would build his kingdom.

Chapter 2 - Malin’s Kingdom: The First Malinor

"Malin, may your forests be a sanctuary of peace and your children long lived.”

The isles of Axios, the lands which had one been a fierce battleground against iblees, became Malin’s kingdom. He had chosen this land to become the home of his kin after the children of his brother Krug became too warlike to coexist with, and Urguan’s spawn too greedy to live among.

Malin set to building his kingdom. He wished for his realm to be one where the elves lived in harmony with nature. Malin was close to the Aspects, the aenguls of the wild, and even convened with them from time to time. He wished to pass on the values the Aspects taught him to his children. Thus, his kingdom took shape. He gave the Kingdom no name, yet his children christened it Malinor.

Marvelous cities which would have been alien to the eyes of men and dwarves, great halls hidden deep in the thickest forests, homes which weaved their ways seamlessly into the trees, built perfectly to co-exist with the wild, not replacing it, but becoming a part of it. The greatest settlement of Malinor was on the isle of Malin itself, an island named by the forefathers’ children as well. The city built upon this center isle of Axios was more magnificent than any other, though its name has been lost to time. It was there Malin’s throne lay, in the trunk of the eldest elder tree. It was there he ruled his people from.

All elves were one during this time. They were fair of skin, but usually dark of hair. Their height was middling, though some could be shorter or taller than the rest. Malin himself was fair-haired, his eyes ever-changing, those closest to him claimed their colour changed depending on his mood. Regardless, the forefather himself was special, but the elves as a whole were more or less homogenous, all the same lithe, sharp-eared beings of long-life who dwelled in their halls and homes so flawlessly woven into nature.

The druids also played a significant role in Malin’s realm. The order was older now and had learned much since the great war with iblees. They held great respect for Malin, as the elven forefather was known to receive visions and convene from the Aspects from time to time. While Malin himself was not drui, he too held the Aspects’ wisdom. The druids were welcomed in Malin’s kingdom with open arms as mentors and teachers, ensuring the elves knew how to live in harmony with nature.

Malinor prospered for centuries, enduring wars with the other races, and going through various other hardships. Despite its troubles, the Kingdom lived on, under the guidance of the immortal forefather of the elves.

However, it was when Malin disappeared into obscurity, never to return, that the signs of crumbling first began to show.

[[This period would last for quite awhile, Malin’s original kingdom before the elven sub-race schism.  Any currently existing event plans revolving around Malin and his first kingdom can happen during this area, before the schisms.]]

Chapter 3 - The Great Elven Schisms

Malin had been the plaster holding the elven race together. Without the guidance of their forefather, the denizens of Malinor quickly began to drift apart.

The Mali’aheral were the first to truly split. In the beginning, of course, they were simply elves like any other, with no physical distinctions. Following their prophet Larihei, they discovered the golden pools and bathed their bodies, purifying themselves. They grew taller, their hair lightened to that of gold and silver, their ears became longer.

The Mali’aheral- blessed ones as they called themselves- saw no need to abide by the values which Malin had taught. Larihei preached isolation, science, logic and wisdom as the key pillars by which life should be led. The maehr’sae hiylun’ehya. Instead of building with wood, weaving their cities seamlessly into the trees as the elves had done while Malin lived, the mali’aheral built towering stone spires and grand towers that shined of silver. They built these atop old settlements of Malinor, tearing down old forest halls and tree-top homes for their marble manors. They cared not for the old ways and now sought to improve themselves through science and logic.  

In truth, the mali’aheral excelled rapidly and the cities they built over the old forest settlements of Malinor were magnificent. However, they did not cooperate and coexist with nature, they conquered it and melded it to their design. The old elves looked on, appalled as their newly mutated cousins stripped lands bare of the wild to erect their shining cities of cold marble.

The Mali’ker were the next great schism. They were born from the mistake of one- Veluluai. Veluluai was an elf like any other, however, the spirit of curiosity ran deep in her heart. Veluluai had been commissioned to uncover any information of immortals and gods she could, by Malin himself, and set herself to the task with a passion.

Veluluai had heard whispers of older gods, older even than the Aspects or the shamanistic spirits she can come to admire. She ventured off to find them despite warnings not to. Much like curiosity killed the cat, it created the ker. Upon being found, the old god, whose name was "Poison", cursed Veluluai and all her followers with insanity. Having lost control of their minds, they attacked and destroyed a nearby elven city.

Horrified, Malin had the newly formed band of Mali’ker exiled, both by the old elves and the newly formed cities of the Mali’aheral. The Mali’ker would form a pact with the moon spirit Luara which abated their insanity, but turned their skin ashen grey. They would battle against their own sanity that the old god "Poison's" curse had put into flux for centuries to come.

And with that, the elven race was split in three.

The Mali’aheral, who had spread far. Their silver towers, marble spires and arcane guild halls had been built over many of the old forest cities that had been constructed when Malin walked the wilds. The Mali’ker, who had retreated into caves and deep valleys, dangerous and unstable as they fought the moon spirit’s curse.

Only a handful of the old elves remained, elves who had not bathed in golden pools or been cursed by the moon, elves whose culture had rapidly dwindling away. In their eyes, they were the last true elves, followers of Malin. The cursed ashen-skinned mali’ker were beyond aid in their eyes, doomed to ferality. The mali’aheral no longer held the respect and reverence of nature Malin had taught all his children to have. They did not care for the Aspects, or even Malin himself.

So, seeing nothing left for them in a crumbling and fragmented Kingdom of Malinor, full of elves mutated and lost to their old ways, these last old elves- the Forgotten Folk, made their exodus into forests so deep no descendent had ever step foot in them.

Chapter 4 - Exodus of the Forgotten Folk

It was Irrin Sirame who led the exodus of the elves which would become the mali’ame. She was known as the Elfess of Grass, born a weak, frail child. She had been a warden of the forests, and at one point a Princess of Malinor, a direct underling of Malin himself when he had walked among his people. Irrin Sirame worshipped the Aspects, she worshipped them devoutly in a time when most elves merely respected and revered them. She held herself to Malin and the Aspect’s teachings fiercely, and none were more furious than her when the mali’aheral and mali’ker abandoned the old ways.

The last ‘original’ elves made a grand exodus from the cities of Malinor under Irrin’s leadership. There had never been many cities, and what had been there had now been turned into silver spires by the mali’aheral. The high elves thrived, but the old elves did not. They scattered to the four corners of the world. Many of them settled into the deep forests of south-eastern Tahn in Axios. Some settled in the jungles of the isle of Asul. Some even sailed away to lands beyond the Abyss.

Irrin didn’t wish to form another nation, only to foster the wild spirit of the elves. She let the exodus elves spread across the land. These old elves, now scattered, formed into many different tribes. They became known as Seeds, as those who belonged to them believed they were the kernel that would lead to the returning of all elves. However, the schism of the mali’ker and mali’aheral was too great to heal, and the Seeds would never truly bring either subrace back into the fold.

Over time, the old elves of the seed began to transform as well. It is said that the Aspects themselves saw these disparate tribes exile themselves so deep into their wildest forests, yet live with great respect and reverence to their domain. They made the elves of the seeds shorter, stockier to better prowl through the thickets. They turned their skin brown so they may better blend with the trees. The transformation was slow, and gradual. Many Seeds didn't even notice they were changing, but change definitively happened. These newly transformed elves noticed themselves growing more and more at home with nature, and although the Aspects never showed themselves in person, they came to worship the Aenguls of Nature in a way Malin and the original elves never had.

Many druids had made the exodus along with Irrin and her elves. These druids were elves too, deciding to depart from the order to serve as priests, prophets and guides among the newly formed seeds, in what was certain to be a time that would greatly test both their style of life, and their faith.

Thus, the wood elves were born. Yet in the early days of the mali’ame race, as the culture of the Seeds was slowly developing, the Aspects had one final gift.

Chapter 5 - Taynei Unearthed

After centuries of being buried away, the great druidic dragon was finally re-awoken by the Aspects. Taynei’Hiylu had been ordained to be a protector and guide of elf-kind since her creation, and with the taint of iblees long gone, she was safe to return.

Taynei first travelled to the cities of the mali’aheral, imploring that they once more see the Aspect’s way. To return to Malin’s teachings. The mali’aheral spurned her, for they were thriving in their silver spires, making great advancements of voidal magic and alchemy. She next travelled to the caves and dens of the Mali’ker, but try as she might, the cursed elves were in too much of a battle against their own minds to return to the old way.

Taynei saw no way to mend the schism that had divided elf-kind so thoroughly. Looking upon the rest of Axios, she saw the mali’ame in their deep forests, worshipping the Aspects, their various Seeds now well established. She resolved that if she could not mend the schism, she could at least be a guide to those who followed the same Aenguls as she.

Taynei was a druid. The Transcendent Druid. That alone made her a figure of great respect among the various scattered mali’ame Seeds, as druids had been living among them since the Seeds formation as priests and mentors. On top of that, she had been close to Malin, the forefather. The wood elves had heard stories of her, passed down since the great war with Iblees. She was quickly hailed as the grand prophet of the mali’ame.

Taynei led two major reforms among the wood elven people.

First, she formed the order of Nealu’ir (Ones who teach). There had already been various druids travelling among the Seeds of course, but the Green Spirit formed them into an organized entity which could teach and guide all Seeds equally. She grew magnificent groves in the center of each forest where the Seeds roamed, and instructed all druids among the seeds to make their homes there. The druids were now accessible to all Seeds, who would travel miles and days to reach their groves to seek advice, healing, or spiritual guidance.

Second, she held the first Omentahu. The Omentahu was a grand meeting of all the Seeds, held at the center of the isle of Malin once every ten years. All the Seeds were expected to attend the Omentahu, which Taynei’Hiylu would preside over. At these meetings, knowledge would be shared and exchanged among seeds, and druidic sermons to the Aspects would be held. Any disputes or wars that had brewed between Seeds would be settled at an Omentahu by Taynei herself. For a race so scattered and often isolated in thick forests across the entire continent of Axios, the Omentahu was essential to keeping ‘ame culture alive.

Under Taynei’hiylu and the Nealu’ir druids she fostered, the wood elven Seeds lived peacefully. Scattered, yet united by the same guides. However, troubled times brewed ahead.

Chapter 6 - Era of the Seeds

After Taynei’s reforms was when the era of the seeds truly began. It quickly became a custom among seed cheiftains to ink their skin in various patterns and colours to mark themselves as the leader of a Seed. Soon, this practice evolved so all wood elves tattooed themselves, with the design and colour of the tattoo being dependent on the Seed they belonged to. This practice became known as ilmyumier.

While all the seeds were bound together by Taynei, the Nealu’ir, and their faith, in truth they diverged quite a bit. This was due to the fact that outside of the Omentahu, there wasn’t much consistent contact between Seeds. Some seeds became excellent hunters, renowned for their spearmen and archers. Some Seeds considered themselves elves of the sea, living along the coasts and conquering violent waves and sharks. But among all the seeds, the most respected where the ones who cultivated Ame’lie.

An Ame’lie was, in essence, a tree farm, but it really was much more than that. Living in deep forests, the Seeds had little room for conventional farming, so they turned to planting and selectively breeding trees. Wood elves during this time could do wondrous things with tree-breeding, producing trees whose trunks were soft and malleable enough to turn into clothing, or hard enough to produce into weaponry. Trees which bloomed fruit like figs, apples and lemons at exorbitant rates were also grown, feeding the elves with a king’s variety of sweet bounty. Ame’lie were grown seamlessly into the forest, and were strictly regulated by the Nealu’ir to ensure they did not grow too large and intrude too much on the natural forest.

The seeds for the most part lived by their own rules, with Taynei and the druids being the only real form of central leadership. Many Seeds were formed during this area by aspiring cheiftains, Seeds who have long since died away, and Seeds whose bloodlines stretch into the common era.

Irrin Sirame, leader of the exodus and the founder of Seed culture roamed from Seed to Seed, belonging to none of them. She was considered a wise-woman and a mentor, welcomed wherever she went.

Beloun - A seed focused on the art of the hunt. The Beloun tattooed their faces with jagged, black patterns which were meant to resemble spears. They were usually black of hair and blue eyed. The Beloun became renowned for their hunting prowess, becoming so successful that the Nealu’ir at one point had to force their Chieftain to migrate his Seed north, as they were dangerously close to hunting the local wild boar into extinction.

Chirr - Another hunting seed. However, the Chirr were savage. They considered themselves the finest warriors of all elf-kind, and their ilmyumier was a blood red streak painted down the eyes. They would kill and scalp any Mali’aheral or Mali’ker who were foolish enough to enter their thick forest territory. The Chirr would occasionally raid other Seeds for food, valuables and slaves. They fought a few skirmishes with the Beloun. Taynei and the Nealu’ir personally intervened to put a stop to this. The Chirr usually had red hair and blue eyes.

Caerme’onn - Caerme’onn was a Seed born from a union of an older Seed whose name is lost to time, and a tribe of elves from far away Aeldin. The Aeldinic elves landed and assimilated, lending their language to the Seed’s new name. Caerme’onn was a well rounded Seed comprised of hunters and Ame’lie tree-farmers. Their first chieftain claimed to have the blood of Irrin Sirame, the leader of the great exodus. But, his claim was largely ignored. The Caerme’onn usually had dark crimson hair and emerald eyes. Their ilmyumier were jagged crimson lines resembling the horns of a stag.

Tahorran - A seed best known for their hawk-like yellow eyes which lends them their name, the Tahorran were a smaller, enigmatic tribe who were rarely seen. They were generally taller than most wood elves, which led them to believe they were the last ‘old elves’, though in truth they were no closer than any other mali’ame. The Tahorran were known to perform huge ceremonies of offering and sacrifice to the Aspects. Some Seeds claimed the Tahorran practiced the sacrifice of living elves, but this was never proven.

Nor’ehya - A seafaring seed. The Nor’ehya lived in the south east of the isle of Tahn, by the ocean. With the wood from their Ame’lie, they crafted boats able to cut through the water at the speed of the wind. They hunted great beasts of the waters, sharks, whales and great squid. They were hazel-haired and deep blue eyed. Their ilmyumier tattoos were dark blue and resembled the waves of the waters.

Aureon - The most isolated of seeds, the Aureon were highly Xenophobic. They kept solely to themselves, refusing to interact with even other Seeds (except for at Omentahu), let alone mali’aheral or mali’ker. The Aureon were among the best Ame’lie farmers. It was said that they could grow wood harder than steel, and the fruits from their trees were so sweet that anyone you gave them to would fall in love with you. Their tribal tattoos reflected this, bearing the dark green branching patterns of a tree.

Despite some squabbles and the occasional skirmish, the Seeds lived in relative peace due to the leadership of Taynei’Hiylu. The green spirit and druidic dragon kept the diverse, Aspect worshipping elves in check.

But this would not last.

Chapter 7 - Garthon’s Great War of Unity

“Greetings, my children.” began Garthon in a soothing voice. “I trust you are enjoying the feast?” The Seed members all nodded. The Archdruid smiled. “It is good to see such a flourishing Seed in this era of distrust and war. It was not always this way, you know. Once the Elves were all united under one Elf. Malin. I am one of the few to remember him, you know. People speak of him now in a reverence that was well earned.” Caeldir raised an eyebrow. He wondered what the Archdruid was getting at.

“Of course,” continued the Archdruid, “When he disappeared, we were left helpless. Our brothers the Mali’ker went with their Velulaei, and the High Elves with their Larihei, and we were forgotten. We, the only ones who dared to stay with what our father had taught us.” Garthon looked around the fire, into each Wood Elf’s eyes.

“But we are fractured. Elvenkind is fractured. The time for a new King of the Elves is come.” Caeldir’s eyebrows shot up. Was the Archdruid mad? Who would dare crown themselves King in Malin’s stead? The Druid sighed, rubbing his temple. “However,” he said with a note of deep regret, “Like a snake shedding its skin, this new age must arise from the decay which covered it. Sacrifices… Must be made.”

~Archdruid Garthalon addresses the Chirr Seed. Except From “War of the Tyrants”

Garthon was an Archdruid. He was part of an elite core, an elder druid who had been appointed by the Green Dragon herself to be the spearhead of the Nealu’ir. But Garthon’s mind was not like that of a normal druid. While he kept up appearances and played the part of the nature protecting, balance upholding Archdrui he was, his real thoughts were of power and unity. He was an old elf, and thus remembered the great schisms. He knew better than most that all elves had once been one, and that they had been bound together by their King- Malin.

In his eyes, it was time for a new king. He met Taynei in secret in a forest clearing lost to time. It was there he appealed and pleaded to her to give him the power to conquer all the elves. The mali’ker and mali’aheral have scorned the old way, Malin’s way long enough! He claimed. Taynei would have no part in it. She had long ago accepted that the high and dark elves had chosen their path, whether or not she agreed with it.

Not only did the Green Dragon shoot down Garthon’s plea for power, she had him stripped of his archdruid rank. She attempted to unattune him, but Garthon fought back. Trees, branches, vines and roots whipped against one another as the two druids fought. Garthon could not hope to over-power a dragaar, but he managed to escape before Taynei could subdue him and unattune him from his powers.

In dismay that someone with as much power as an Archdruid was going to try to wage a war, Taynei immediately called an emergency Omentahu. She pleaded for all the Seeds gathered to swear their loyalty to her, to not fall for Garthon, whatever methods he would use to win their loyalty. For Garthon would bring nothing but death and destruction upon all elves.

During this, Garthon himself had been busy. He had been searching in the deepest forests, searching for something ancient and dangerous. After months of searching, and avoiding the druids Taynei had sent to kill him, he found it. A word altar.

A word altar was an ancient piece of magic which allowed one to enslave nature to one’s command. Their usage, along with the ancient elven tongue which was tied to them, had been banned by Malin himself while all elves were one sub-race, and his kingdom lived. Garthon was one of the few who still remembered they existed, and knew where to find them. The powers of the word altar far exceeded the power of any druid, as druids had to work with nature. Garthon now controlled it.

With the power of the altar at his disposal, all the wilds were Garthon’s to command. He went to several Seeds, blackmailing them to join his army. Join, and I overflow your Ame’lie with fruit, bring all the game to your forests for your hunts. Refuse, and I make your trees wither and your animals die. Some seeds joined Garthon because they felt they had no choice. Some joined because they genuinely shared Garthon’s goal- they wished to conquer the mali’ker and mali’aheral and make the elves whole.

Yet, many resisted. Many Seeds bore arms with Taynei’Hiylu, and prepared to defend their homes and their freedom against this draoi usurper who sought to claim a title which only Malin could ever bare.

The war raged for a decade and ravaged the forests which the Seeds had grown to love so much. Brother turned on brother and father on son as Seeds were torn apart from the inside, forced to pick a side. Garthon, the great uniter and wielder of an ancient power, or a tyrant seeking nothing but destruction, forcing nature to his will?

The final battle happened on the eve of the Era of the Seeds, on the center of the isle of Malin. Two armies of wood elves faced each other across a forested battlefield. Beloun, Chirr and other Seeds stood with Garthon. Nor’ehya, Aureon, Tahorran and Caerme’onn stood with Taynei’Hiylu. The fought, and wood elven blood was spilt for days. The trees were enslaved to Garthons command, who used them to swallow up the Taynei’s warriors. Taynei entered the fray in her full dragaar form, fighting against Garthon’s hold on the wild, channeling the power of the Aspects.

The tide of the battle turned. The warriors fighting for Taynei began routing those fighting for Garthon. Garthon retreated into the deep woods. By then the battle was over. Taynei appeared before her warriors and ordered them to spare all survivors of the enemy. No more elven blood would be spilt.

Then, she pursued Garthon into the woods.

She found him in a clearing, licking his wounds. Garthon saw her, and muttered bindings in the ancient tongue, ready to call nature to his whim once more to make a final stand. But, Taynei did not prepare to fight back. She morphed herself back to her elven form and spread her arms out.

“I will not kill you. Enough elven blood has been spilt. Please, surrender yourself and you will be treated fairly by your brothers and sisters. We must always find a peaceful way.”

Garthon’s heart had become cold as ice, devoid of love. Taynei’s words of forgiveness meant nothing of him. In mere seconds, the earth opened up and began to swallow the druidic dragon, much like it had when the Aspects first sealed her away so long ago. But now it was not Aenguls locking her away to protect her, it was a vengeful, powerful draoi with an ancient magic that rivaled the power of the Aspects themselves.

Taynei spoke no words as Garthon uttered the binding in the ancient tongue which would seal her away from her people, only looked at him with sorrow and betrayal. Despite his actions, he had been one of her people. One of her children. A child she could not turn from a dark path. Thinking these thoughts of failure, she succumbed to her earthy prison.

Garthon recuperated, and prepared to find his forces and regroup. Some of his warriors still lived, and now with Taynei sealed away, nothing rivaled his power. He could usually assume control of the rebel Seeds. He began to walk…

An arrow pierced through through his back, penetrating his heart. It caught him completely off-guard. The last thing the tyrant usurper Garthon saw before his death was the lithe figure of Irrin Sirame standing before him, bow in hand.

Irrin, paragon of the wood elves, rushed to where Taynei had been swallowed up, collapsing to her knees and breaking down in tears. Taynei had been like a mother to her. She knew the bindings Garthon had put in place with the power of the word altar could not be undone. At least not by her, or any druid. It would require the Aspects themselves to intervene, but the Aenguls seemed to have no interest in freeing the Dragaar.

Perhaps the mali’ame had forsaken themselves in the eyes of the Aspects. Perhaps their war, and Garthon’s usurpation of nature had condemned them. In any case, the Aspects would not bring back Taynei’Hiylu. Perhaps a time would come, when the elves once more learned to live among themselves in peace, and in harmony with nature, that the Aspects would re-awaken the druidic dragon.

The war ended before Garthon could spread his terror to the mali’aheral and mali’ker. Only wood elven blood was spilt.

Chapter 8 - End of an Era:  A New Malinor

Taynei’Hiylu was gone.

Irrin Sirame had exiled herself into isolation in grief, for she believed her gods had abandoned her. No Seed could find her. No Seed disrespected her enough to try.

The plaster which held the Wood Elven culture of the Seeds together for a millenia was now rapidly dwindling away.

It was on this backdrop that a final Omentahu was called.

The Seed cheiftains and Druids gathered. For the first time, without Taynei’Hiylu presiding over the conference. There was great somberness at the gathering. Seeds from both sides of the war agreed that it was only because the Wood Elves lived so scattered and far apart from one another that Garthon had been able to turn them against themselves, one seed at a time. So, a pact was made.

The Seeds be abolished. No more could the wood elves be divided by tribes. The Wood Elves would perform a great migration away from the lands of Axios, lands whose deep forests had been torn by the war, ravaged by Garthon’s word altar. They would sail far away, to the lands which would become Aegis. There, they would create a city. A city of homes woven into the trees and great forest halls, just like they had been back in Malin’s first Kingdom.

When they reached Aegis, they founded this city. They named it Laurelin, land of the noble. It was capital to a nation, a new nation. It shared the same name as Malin’s Kingdom, but it had no king, only Princes. This Princedom would be Malinor.

With the likes of Taynei and Irrin gone, the wood elves slowly lost their ties to the Aspects, and worship of the wild Aenguls slowly died away. Seed culture also evaporated, obsolete, as all elves lived in the same city. High and Dark elves, now with their own long histories and cultures, would move to Laurelin and assimilate with the wood elves, mixing their bloodlines.

For awhile, it seemed to be the end of the culture for good.

But, nothing truly is gone forever.

CREDITS

Watyll - Whose war of the tyrants inspired Seed lore

Tsuyose - Using his lore for Taynei'hiylu

Wood Elf Players - Who developed this lore in-game alongside me

An Excerpt from the Journal of Martin Benedict

                   “The Fate of the Golden Relics”

When the first children of the Creator waged war upon the great evil that was Iblees, they did not do so without the aid of the blessed servants of the Creator, the Aenguls. In the lost history books of the Great Sages, it was written that, by the bequest of Aeriel, mother of the Ascended from the days of Aegis, five other Aenguls stepped forward to aid the mortals in their desperate battle against the great beast, Iblees. In the sacred forge of the Realm of Aenguls, there were created four sacred, golden weapons.

   Perpetiael, the patron Aengul of Success, chose for himself a Golden Hammer unto which he granted his blessings of success and bestowed it upon the brother, Urguan. Gavrael, the patron Aengul of Peace, chose for herself a Golden Falchion unto which she granted her blessings of peace and bestowed it upon the brother, Malin. Malchediael, the patron Aengul of Courage, chose for himself a Golden Axe unto which he granted his blessings of courage and bestowed it upon the brother, Krug. Jophiael, the patron Aengul of Enlightenment, chose for herself a Golden Broadsword unto which she granted her blessings of enlightenment and bestowed it upon the brother, Horen.

   Armed with these sacred relics of the Aenguls, the four brothers were eventually able Gto cast down Iblees allowing for the servants of the Creator to seal him away within his prison in the Nexus. The relics continued to serve the four brothers as they went on to establish their own kingdoms, but when the curse of Iblees began to overcome them, they eventually banished the weapons from their sight, unable to wield them any longer.  Devout followers of the Aenguls gathered up the weapons and hid them away in four hidden locations to await a time when they might be needed again once more.

Years became decades, decades became centuries, and centuries became millenia. The four brothers had long passed and the four golden relics became little more than a vague legend, that is, until the awakening of the Ascended. When the Undead, minions of Iblees, began to terrorize Aegis, Aeriel raised up from the mortals noble servants to battle this new evil. The Sages, greatest of the Ascended order, were bestowed the wisdom and power of Aeriel to wage battle against the Undead.  Sage Omni, closest to the mind of Aeriel, was granted a vision which spoke to him of the four sacred relics which he then relayed to his fellow brethren.

With this knowledge, Master Sage Riizu dispatched the Sages to retrieve these relics from their hiding places scattered to the far reaches of Aegis. Of the four, the Sages were able to recover three. The fourth, the Golden Axe of Malchediael, was intercepted by the Undead once Iblees became aware of the Sages plans.  They took the Axe and hid it in the depths of the Nether so that no mortal could ever lay hands upon it again. Sage Arcadius, the battle sage, took the remaining three relics and returned them to the mortal races to serve their true purpose once more.

The Golden Hammer of Perpetiael was granted to Algrim, King of Kal’Urguan, the Golden Falchion of Gavrael was granted to Native, High Prince of Malinor, and the Golden Broadsword of Jophiael was granted to Edmund, King of Oren.  Whatever happened to these relics can most likely be found in the history books of their respective owners, but the fate of the Golden Axe of Malchediael is known by many. A bold plan by the brave warriors of Aegis took them into the depths of the Nether with the goal to destroy the Nexus, the source and heart of Iblees’ power in Aegis.

   Urir Ireheart, bravest of the dwarven warriors, fought his way through the depths of the Nether. His great courage allowed him to reclaim the Golden Axe of Malchediael and destroy the Nexus. His fate, and the fate of the axe, is largely unknown, but his deeds allowed the mortals to flee Aegis without the fear of Iblees being able to follow. His power sealed in the ruins of Aegis, Iblees and his minions despair in their defeat. Although Aegis was destroyed, it is a rather fortunate alternative to what we would have been forced to do elsewise.

   Earlier, there was mentioned that five Aenguls chose to lend their power to the mortal races. The fifth Aengul, Gazardiael, the Aengul of New Beginnings, crafted a Golden Staff and bestowed upon it his own blessings. He placed the staff within the Tree of Life where Sage Maiavel eventually recovered it beneath the city of Haven. It was then that the Sages were charged with a dire task. The Sages were charged to use the staff, in conjunction with the other four sacred relics, to perform a final act of sacrifice to finally free the Seven Skies from the threat of Iblees.

   Before this could happen, however, the Sages were banished from Aegis by Availer, the Wandering Wizard and Aengul. His motivations were curious, but we servants of Aeriel are not to question the decisions of her brethren. When Availer was struck down in Aegis, however, the Sages found themselves pulled back to the mortal realm, so they continued on with their original charge. With the death of Sage Arcadius and the destruction of the Nexus, however, the Undead threat was vanquished. With the threat of Iblees gone, the Ascended were no longer needed to protect the mortal races.

   One by one, the Sages began to lose the song of Aeriel which sang in the blood of all Ascended. With the absence of the song, the affliction which became known as the Void began to overcome the Sages. One by one, they faded into memory, and eventually into legend, until only one remained. Old, broken, and alone. He still walks about the realm of Asulon, however, watching over the Golden Staff as charged by his master, Gazardiael. The fate of the other relics are still widely unknown, but those who still remain of the old order hope that they are still protected since they are the only remnants of the Aenguls that the mortal races can still hope in.

Author: CountJuno88

The Homeland of the Demonhunters

In the beginning,

Man was spawned, and their tumultuous nature scattered them across the ordinary. First, the center was occupied; Malin, Horen, Urguan and Krug were born within Aegis. Then, they split, seeking four homelands beyond the crest of their true place of birth. And finally, the descendents roamed from these four homelands to carve paths of their own, scouring the uncharted world in conquest for sovereignty and land-claim. To scholars of the elder-age, this event was known as a great disunification, for when Man broke apart it made strayed communities isolated and their cultures differing. Such was the nature of old Yulthar.

Yulthar was the product of a binding of ancient Men descended from Malin and Horen, whom both had initially deviated a time before its formation to become those known as “Easterners”; Farfolk of foreign visage with fair skin and almond eyes. Though these two eastern-contorted races allied together for the prospect of Yulthar, they did not converge upon each other in fear of the coalesce of two curses -- a fate they foresaw as dismal and dishonorable, and a blight upon future generations. It was in a vast, gloaming expanse of land in the east that Yulthar was established by these primordial peoples, carrying with them the legacy of a foreign culture borne of nameless nations.

[A Yultharan human male.]

What did they not carry with them was the traditions of theism, and the coveted scriptures of gods; the Men of Yulthar proclaimed themselves great, for they were “unshackled” by their ways, and free from the tyrannies and fears of deific covenants. Their godless beliefs derived from the occult of the Old Lords, whom in an archaic nameless time apparently visited the unknown east to speak of their hatred of the Immortals. The progenitors of the Yultharans took to these doctrines, and though they did so in small numbers, their efforts to forge a haven of mankind had been successful with their fervent efforts to gain followers. In the east, this ancestor-ideology to Xionism was easily beheld as honorable and just to those uncaring for the Old Lords’ glorification of dark magics. Thus, Yultharans were seduced into godlessness, and built a cityscape upon its basis.

There, a culture of eldritch wisdom and mortal prowess was formed. Yulthar was like an amalgam of the east and west, where the gothic, stoney visages of the centerland’s four kingdoms and the graceful, foreign stylizations of eastern villages were sewn together in both body and spirit. The city was split into two racial districts - not out of disunity of Yultharan elves and humans, but as a show of mass self-restraint and consideration for the moral, spiritual and order from which Yulthar was built upon. Racial purity was coveted in the godless realm not out of xenophobic tradition, but because they feared the accursed darkness which dwelt their blood, like all mortals: the curses of Iblees. Those whom succumbed to interracial desires had been known in the annals of Yulthar to commit honorable suicide with an age-old blade known as a katana, one of the vestiges of the east preserved by the Yultharan people.

For centuries, Yulthar persevered. When barbarians brought war to them, they met their enemy with dark visages and grim stratagems, encroaching upon the opposition with a means of combat that both compounded upon western reckless abandon and eastern calm and patience. When pestilence came to them, they honed in upon its source like reapers, and snuffed it out with violent, flameborne purging. When the winters became harsh and the skies became too dark, Yulthar became a shining beacon in the east, fabled for its spires which burned with nigh-everlasting fires. They were masters of the dark, stormy skies in that region, and cloaked their city in the warm light of fire when the sun refused to part from the stubborn, omnipresent clouds.

[The visage of old Yulthar, when the clouds sparsely parted to let the sun shine upon it.]

So numerous and fearsome were the beasts amid Yulthar’s land that its denizens were practically forced to adopt a huntsman’s culture; men and women took up the black garb and departed from the walls to cull the savage, animalistic masses that threatened their borders. The imagery of Yultharan warriors and war-crafts had been focused on the design of wolves, for they were abundant in the lands amidst Yulthar, and were as ravenous as they were untameable. There was no domestication of beasts here - only the hunt, where either man or creature was slain. This was regarded as an honorable tradition, in due time.

The anomalies of magic were not common in Yulthar. Whenever it bore a presence, it took the form of Dark Arts, for their very beliefs were based on the glorification of “mortal” powers borne of their revered Old Lords’ meddlings. Whatever greater antitheist position that existed likely held a form of their four-numbered prophets’ powers, for proto-Necromancy was venerated in the ancient times amid people lulled by the Old Lords, and the Yultharans respected the wisdom of the dead as much as they respected their occultist forefathers themselves, and thus raised the passed in respectable rituals in which those who embraced death would impart sagacity to the living so as to prevent errors in future generations.

A time before the modern ages arrived (1300-present), the Fallen One had risen again, and sought to scorch the mortal world with the Undead working in his malevolent shadow. It was old Aegis that received such a terrible blight firsthand, but after the calamity of the Abyss transpired, the profane flames of Iblees scattered, and malformed beings of netherious matter absconded into the beyond where societies far from the centerland laid. Yulthar, as a cityscape wedged between the foreign vastness of the Far-East and the closer western lands that now exist as a gelid, ashen pit, was subject to the wroth of these creatures -- the mindless minions of the Daemon of Ruin converged upon Yulthar, and brought to the hardy eastern peoples an unwelcomed war. It was in the divergence of the Undead and the exodus of the descendents into the next world that caused the lesser, mortal flock of Iblees’ loyalists to become greater in position, using what shambled power and authority they held to take control of the remnants of their forsaken god’s foul spawn.

Thus, the dark deific waged war against the dark godless. The accursed cultist who enshackled Iblees’ demons in forced servitude, akin to how one may chain a blooddrunk wolf, converged upon Yulthar with a most terrible ire. The men and women of Yulthar, knowing only the way of the hunt, responded as they have for generations - meeting the threat that clambered at their walls. Though the Yultharans were not a people experienced in warfare, their savage means to combat beasts that prowled their sullen land were employed effectively, matching the remnants of Iblees’ minions with skill where they could not in number. Eventually, the mortal few that led their Fallen One’s masterless demons were slain by the Yultharans, leaving their dark spawn to wreck havoc with no guidance; this proved to be an incline in the bedlam that met Yulthar, for with no chains to contain the demons, their collective forces were free to scour the lands of Yulthar and overwhelm its denizens.

[A demonspawn of Iblees, left behind after the Undead lost the second war for Aegis. These creatures scattered after the Abyss was formed, but were eventually rounded up and enslaved into an army by those who called themselves remnants of the Fallen One's occult.]

Year after year, the war against demons became less of a war and more of a hunt; the Yultharan people were scarred, desensitized, their peace broken and their progress shattered. The masterless demons brought them pain and suffering and stained the honor of their name, thus the enemy they once regarded as “equal” became little more than animals for them - for that was what they were, these old demons of Iblees. Animals. Savages. The men of Yulthar would not allow animals to shatter the city they built with their bare hands, and thus devised a means to eradicate them -- they would make rise of the Demonhunters.

[A Yultharan warrior, ragged from battle and bearing his uniform kirusodu, or "kill-sword".]

Those gifted such a mantle were selected from the greatest of Yultharan warriors, led by one known as Unmei-no-Dāku, which in his tongue meant “destined dark”. The Demonhunters, bound by oath, were gifted rings enchanted by a curse woven by the head of Yulthar’s godless occult, Highvicar Mezame. The Highvicar’s rings, ensnared with his dark magics, denied the Demonhunters the right to die - condemning them to rise almost immediately after death as half-sentient ghouls so that their duties may be ever-pursued. Unmei fought to the (un)death alongside his fellow compatriots, and was written as a legend among his people as the “one-armed swordsman”, for in his last moments he wielded his blade with one unbroken arm and one eye, fighting like a wolf backed into a corner.

The sacrifices of the Demonhunters of legend are said to preserve Yulthar when it neared total desolation by the hands of the demonic incursion. In the end, Yulthar was left drenched in blood and half-ruined, its peoples lessened and its legacy contained by those whom had no perished in the war. Known as the Lodge of Yulthar, these dark-cloaked hunters sought to slowly rebuild their fallen society with what is left of it. Never again would the deific converge upon their homeland; their hatred would act as their vigor behind every stacked stone.

The majority of Yultharan culture was preserved by the Lodge, which in its current state is equivalent to a large village with enough people to keep their traditions alive. Though they have come to adopt grim aspects into their ways, Yultharan customs of yore are still practiced; even racial segregation still strives, showing that these men of the east still practiced wisdom and self-restraint. Since the formation of the Abyss, the godless nature of their culture had been compounded upon in many ways from reverence to the act of execution.

The formation of the Abyss was discovered by the men of old Yulthar while the remnants of Iblees’ followers still led their demonic slaves against the godless state, and acted as a means to rouse the occultist spirit of Yulthar’s warriors and heighten their desire for retribution; this godless ire is cited as fearsome in Yultharan tales of the war against demonkind, and said to have caused the final push that both killed off the invading followers of Iblees and, as a result, released the demons from slavery. Wisemen and scholars of the Lodge recall such a thing bitterly, for it shows even the godless may be pious, and therefore reflect the rash nature which their doctrine sought to oppose. This philosophy is known as “machigae-mokuteki”, or mistaken purpose.

The discovery of the Abyss made rise to two prominent traditions: a form of execution, and the adoption of the Way of Embers, which is known as a denomination of Xionism. The remnants of Yulthar’s occult say that the Lord of Embers himself came to old Yulthar after the formation of the Abyss, sharing with them his dark philosophies and expanding their godless views before receding back into the centerland, apparently to descend into the Abyss itself. It is not known where this alleged Lord of Embers truly went or what his fate was.

For those whom would disrespect the honor of the Lodge, the Abyss was utilized as a means of execution. Traitors and heathens were brought to the Abyss in guarded pilgrimage to say final respects to the Old Lords before being covered in pitch, set alite, and then kicked into the bottomless depths. This brutality was seen as justified, for the Lodge could not afford the presence of traitors and the godless-turned-godly. The use of the eastern katana as an executioner’s tool for Xionist judges could be linked to the migration of Yultharan scouts who would make passage into Athera pre-occupation and leaves bits of information and tribute behind to mark their presence.

[A Yultharan katana, thicker and heavier in design. The eastern gracefulness of such weapons are said to have been ineffective against the flesh of great beasts and demons, and thus were forged differently to both become sturdy and retain the semblance they originally bore. These swords are named as “kirusodu”, or kill-swords.]

The Lodge of Yulthar continues to persevere to this day; and at the beck of distant peoples, the men of Yulthar come and go to visit lands afar to spread their godless doctrine, or to seek recompense for the sins and dishonor the godly brought to the doorstep.

Written by: Swgrclan
Conceptualized by: mth_dew

The War of the Dark Sun was a long, bloody feud, it's’ ire inspired by an amalgam of conflicting barbarian-sovereign interests. Adovacer sought to rule all of Esheveurd, for he sought to become the prophesied Provident of Mankind, yet King Helvegen thought little of his enemy’s ideological rights; fighting instead for the right to rule Esheveurd itself, and to honor the sons of the sun with the Sunforged Remnants that the Eshænveurd had claimed they’ve the true rights to. It was a savage, bloody war of constant sunlight and darkness, in which brothers slayed brothers for five decades - half a generation of human Man, leading to the deaths of ferocious youths to sagacious elders alike. It was more a war of acclamation than anything else, for the sole reason behind the crescendo of tension was whether which kingdom deserved the hallowed Remnants; therefore, the dynamics of war were twisted as both sides stole a single or two relics away every other year, leaving one or another to their enemy so they may plot to claim the others while their enemy did the same.

But upon the last year of the war of five decades, the kings Adovacer and Helvegen assembled their greatest forces and marched their regimes into the middlelands. Both the kings and their kingdoms have aged over the course of their conflict; what were once youthful, charismatic men were grimaced and grayed by the cruelty of time and perpetual, bloody conflict. This battle was destined to be the last, for all of the Sunforged Remnants were upon the battlefield: Adovacer, whose godless seers corrupted the relics with their dark powers, held the Gloaming Blade and the Blightfire Bow - the distorted reflections of the relics, whose true nature still shined, never able to be truly consumed by tumultuous, uncertain shadows. Helvegen, wizened by the passing of ages, wore the Helm of Sun’s Sight upon his head. Though he stood outmatched by the lord of the Vækr, he met him as an equal on the battlefield, and as the armies of the Vækr and the Eshænveurd clashed, the two kings battled amid the center of bloodshed and chaos; exchanging blow for blow, strike for strike, and extending their noble duel through time until a day and night had passed them by.

But as their armies grew weak from the constant fighting, the two kings too grew weary; they were matched, equal men beneath the sun that now rose from the edge of the world. It was at this moment that Helvegen was invigorated by his faith, and therefore converged upon Adovacer the Vækr king, whom would respond in turn with arrows of black fire. But his helmed adversary would be too quick, stealing with force from Adovacer the bow he wielded, and in soon time the Gloaming Sword, whose blade ensnared with dark flames did not frighten the King under the Sun.

Thus, King Helvegen stood against Adovacer with all Sunforged Remnants; and though two of them which he held were darkened by the magic of the godless Vækr seers, their powers were still aligned with man, and therefore bade no harm to Helvegen just as they hadn’t to the Vækr king. But Adovacer bore other legendary weapons beyond that of the old relics. It was with a great, furious call, weakened by the wounds that Adovacer suffered, that forth from the clouds came a great dragon ensnared in chains bewitched with black magic; enslaving the timeless beast to the grim lord’s will. Acting as the master of the remnants of the ancient days, Adovacer commanded the monstrous dragon to make Helvegen undone; but when the dragons’ flame blasted upon his person, the King under the Sun stood unscathed. Bearing the three Sunforged Remnants had made him immune to the destruction of the winged leviathan’s breath, and at the same time, purged the sword and the bow of their corruption. Thus, King Helvegen pierced the dragon’s breast with blazing arrows of the Sunfire Bow, and cut Adovacer down with his Glaring Blade - yet, sparing him of death, and offering a dismal mercy.

Thus the War of the Dark Sun had been won. In the coming months, the Vækr were expelt from the land of Esheveurd, condemning the sparse remainders of the godless people to the very edges of the harsh, gelid country. There, they suffered the cold in temples forged of frigid stone, while the  Eshænveurd built their pagan kingdom into a strong nation, set back little by their barbarian ways. For an age, there was an untimely peace; where man governed himself and and suffered not the chill of Esheveurd, blanketed by the warmth of the sun. Adovacer, whom had survived his searing wounds in his defeat, was banished; cast out from Esheveurd, and condemned to the unknown lands beyond.

There lies one speech that had been spoken by the good king, which fragments of it had been passed down through the ages; words passed by mouths, and preserved by ink. Helvegen spoke this before his battered kingdom - as the sun shined the brightest in the sky.

“To our godless brethren, we brought them sword age; axe age; we splinter shields asunder.
They challenged our rights, and thus we fought them for what was belonging to us.
It was under the warmth of the sun that we won this battle - by the will of our rightful relics that I survived the scorching flames of a gelid beasts’ flame;

and, by the will of the incandescent heavens and the toils of we the Eshænveurd, that we had taken victory from the gloaming night.

We have won - not with words, but deeds.”

It was only several decades later that King Helvegen had passed - and with his death, the Sunforged Remnants had miraculously disappeared. Five years were dedicated by the Sun King’s heir after his crowning to their rediscovery; yet, to no avail. It was under the reign of Helvegen’s one son, Wulfsige, that appraisial of the sun had waned, and upon the final year of one decade of his rule, Wulfsige’s kingdom and people were visited by men from the seas; pious, bitter folk, who bore the cross of the Canonist God upon their sleeves, their banners, their blades; and it was through their silver-tongued ways that Wulfsige cast the covenant of the sun aside, and shepherded his people to follow the ways of the Creator.

~:;:~

This lore has been written with the intention to concrete the origins of the Ashford line - the noble human family which had splintered into small sects such as de Savoy, de Bar and de Saltpans, all of which had become prominent in Orenian and overall human history. At this time, I wish to portray the contents as this history as valid -- but specific aspects, such as details on the powerful artifacts defined as the Sunforged Remnants, to remain vague and unexplained until I write lore justifying their existence. 

 

OOC Prelude

Hello everyone,

For once I have gotten off of my bum and done a thing; I’ve written some lore for LoTC ancient history (Not super ancient history but pre-Aegis), specifically for the Elves.

My goal is to use this lore as the foundation for Events; Specifically both event builds, and eventlines. Keeping in mind the goal that this lore will be revealed in roleplay through events and IC discoveries, I have not posted all of the lore here. The LM team can privately contact me for the full documentation of the lore, some of which is still being worked on, and is currently at about 15 pages lore and 3 pages OOC.

However, I am enemy #1 of “secret” lore, and so I am posting this lore on the forums so that players have a method of voicing their opinions/concerns. This will include a general lore overview and information on a few of the main aspects of this culture (though not full details and not all the info as that shall be discovered IC). First though, some (a lot of) OOC Information.

General Lore Overview

General Culture Overview

Final Statements

As mentioned in the beginning, I am not posting all of the lore. There is a lot more written about this and in more detail than it currently stands; There is also lots of room for improvements and additions. The full lore as it is includes in-depth explanations of how their society functions, their culture, their laws, and the different jobs and positions held within their societal structure. It also includes in-depth information about some important cultural aspects of life, such as rituals for funerals, celebrations, what arts they praticed outside of magic, etc.

The full details are being kept secret because I would like them to be discovered in character and I would like characters to draw their own conclusions based on the discoveries they and others make.

tl;dr:: Realist naturalist mage elves who have an actual lore reason to have something left behind after millenia, that can be uncovered and explored by players.

Also if you are good at Elven and wish to help me in my attempt to make this lore as immersive as possible, please hit me up.