[Event Team 2.0] Lore Competition

[firespirit44 1323]

 

 

 

Lore Competition, hosted by [Event Team 2.0]

 

 

Many of you might be wondering, why is there a lore competition when we have a lore team? As a former admin and lore master myself, I can tell you we write lore for very specific reasons under the orders of the lore director. Through nobody's fault, some areas of lore will be neglected. And thats why we have the players to write in the lore for us to accept. Botany, alchemy, magic, creatures, things like that are what make the world feel alive.

 

But the one lore that we always lack consistently is Region Lore. The lore about that awesome minecraft tree next to you, the lore about the swamp that you tend to avoid, the lore about that random giant earthworm and butterfly you see on your travels, those icey pools in the mountain that make it look like a board of checkers. Those are artistic creations by our builders, but that the lore team isn't usually aware about, and usually not part of any lore they are producing.

 

It makes the world feel infinitely more alive, when a purpose is attached to these blocks. In fact feel free to submit your own version of region lore, such as a flesh-eating-woods or what have you. The regions will produce their own story for others, once given a sense of purpose in lore. So without further ado, I present to you a lore competition

 

 

Lore Competition

 

Submit a piece of lore about a region in LOTC with a screenshot attached to it, and explain its characteristic or backstory of it. The contest will be held from 18th December 2016 - 1st January 2017, barring a few days for the judges to confer and decide upon the winner. Participation is open to all, including all staff members.

 

The rewards are as follow:

 

• 1st place, the item "Codex of the Worldmaker", 5000 minas
• 2nd place, the item "Tome of the Seeker", 4000 minas
• 3rd place, the item "Mark of the Herald", 3000 minas

 

All participants get 250 minas, and the item "Golden Compass".

 

The top 3 will have their works accepted into the lore straight away, whereas the rest of the submissions will be treated as lore submissions, and be judged appropriately. You are free to submit as many times as you like, but we will only pick your best work to reward you. The rest of the submissions are treated as regular lore submissions. Some may be accepted, some ma be rejected. I encourage players to do their best for the fun of it, even if their lore isn't accepted. For the sake of judging, do submit your lore below this post. We will sort it out into individual topics once the winners have been determined.

 

Panel of judges are: (Subject to change depending on judges availability)

Tsuyose

Gaius

Ever

Tahmas

 

[Jonificus 2741]

"Finally, a competition that I can actually have a winning chance at." Local man says for the seventh time this year

[Stag 3230]

Can I be on the panel?

[Aesopian 1639]

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The Kingdom of Masur
 

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"Long have we talked and the sands listened, but now the sand will talk and we shall listen."

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The deserts of northern Tahn have an ancient history. Their sands hide venomous horrors and the deaths of gods.  They have been home to colonies of orcs, dwarves, and half a dozen other races. However, despite all those who have lived there, only one nation was ever born in Tahn’s deserts: the Kingdom of Masur.

 

 

It was a human empire, and the ruling power of the deserts during the first and second great wars between the indigenous Hou-Zi and elven populations. Masur’s history spans approximately five-hundred years, from its initial unification to its eventual decline.  The kingdom’s origins are rooted in several merchant villages that occupied the coastal north of Tahn. They had been established as trading posts between the elves and their distant human cousins across the northeastern seas. The elves were largely content to occupy the woodland areas of Axios, and with Malin’s blessing, these human traders were free to do with the desert as they wished. It was a harsh land, and agriculture was a challenge. The merchant villages often survived on only overseas deliveries of grain. For many years, these villages engaged in small-scale trade with the Kingdom of Malin. The first war between Hou-Zi and elf would see these villages rise to prominence as key suppliers of foreign weaponry and war-technology to the elves.

 

 

During the first war, the rapid influx of gold and elven wares into these villages in exchange for weaponry prompted two events: first, a dramatic increase in migration and development, with the population of several townships eclipsing one-thousand, and second, a rise in tensions and politically-motivated violence. These settlements had only been loosely governed by their parent nations, and the migrants had a destabilizing effect, particularly after the first great war ended. This culminated in the decision for an aggressive conquest of the entire northern peninsula of the desert by the colonial general Imab Achure. One of the appointed leaders of a collection of these trade villages, he was a fourty year-old human, and had been a senator in his homeland. This unification war lasted approximately eight months, and was remarkably bloodless, with only eight-hundred deaths recorded.

 

 

Imab declared himself king, and spent the next three years acquiring independence for his new kingdom. Many of the human nations which founded the colonies steadfastly refused to support the endeavor, but none had the military reach to put down Imab’s efforts. He named the empire ‘Masur’ – this was, in part, a politically motivated choice, designed to placate their elven neighbors to the south. Surprisingly, it worked. The recent wars with the Hou-Zi had left the elves exhausted. They had no interest in souring their relationship with their northern trading partners. This began the Achure dynasty, which would rule over the Kingdom of Masur for the entirety of its existence.

King Imab set about creating a society of flexible inter-dependent rural and nomad communities which would solve many of the supply and taxation issues previously endemic to their colonial existence. He took great care in breaking the power of the court lords and trade magnates, distributing their wealth through reduced taxation on incoming traders. This relieved the pressure placed on the communities by trade restrictions from the human homelands, attracting much-needed commerce from other nations.

Imab's sons were groomed into fulfilling particular roles throughout the empire and, after his death, were assigned positions in his will. Though the original kingship still persisted with Imab’s eldest son, this weakened it substantially. The absolute control which Imab had first possessed vanished overnight. The last ruler of the Kingdom of Masur was Aayan Achure, who lead the kingdom to its doom in the course of the Great Sleep Incident.

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The Story
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-~=~-~=~--
The City of Sand al-Damanhur
-~=~-

 

 

The City of Sand was the capital of Masur, founded by the grandsons of King Imab. It swelled with trade and commerce in its early days – elvish infighting led to a great need of weapons. However, al-Damanhur did not truly become grand until the Hou-Zi turned their attention north once again. The  second great war began, and the merchants of Masur were delighted.  So far from the brunt of the fighting, and under no military obligation to the elves, Masur experienced a wartime economic boom. When the conflict had ended, and the elves returned back to their squabbles, al-Damanhur had gained enough economic traction to rival even the city of Malin itself in sheer wealth. New towers were erected from sandstone and granite. Water was extracted from an aquifer below the city and used to flood the surrounding sands, creating arable farmland.

The kingdom was damned quite accidentally. The veins of rainbow sand were first uncovered during a housing project in the east of the city. Thought to be nothing more than sand dirtied with impurities, day laborers made their camps upon the veins. They were ignorant to the sands' properties, and when they slept atop it during the night, they reported profound dreams. It was when one of court magi became aware of the intense dreams of the workers that the king himself learned of the sands. King Aayan believed it to be a great blessing. He had the lands consecrated by priests, and set about forming mining crews to dig up the entirety of the veins -- which stretched deep into the sandstone beneath the desert.

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The Ambrosial Sleep
-~=~-

 

 

Those who slept atop the sands experienced lucid dreams. People entered a dream world termed the Ambrosial Sleep, where the desert stretched on endlessly with all the colors of the rainbow. The Sleep lacked the sun and stars, and only the moon graced the dream-sky. Those within did not experience age, disease, exhaustion, hunger or thirst. It became popular to fill bedmats with the sand and place the mat atop a bed of weavings to sleep upon at night. The king and his closest advisers popularized this practice among the rest of the kingdom. King Aayan had his bed tossed out the palace and replaced it with a box of rainbow sands.

Soon after, the king withdrew from public life. He began spending great lengths of time asleep in his bed, under lock and protection of his elite guard. He left his trusted advisers in charge of Masur and the capital's operations. His advisers even took to using stand-ins for the king in order to give him the appearance of activity. Nights of sleep turned to days, and days to weeks. As the time stretched on, there were concerns for the king's health, though he refused any treatment. During this period, a number of al-Damanhur's citizens began to complain of seeing the king in their dreams.

 

Parents send their children to bed before speaking of the next part of the story.

The king eventually slept for twenty-three days unabated. Some court physicians went so far as to declare him in a coma after the second week passed. After he woke up, the king never slept again.

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The Achure Burial Mound
-~=~-

 

 

 

The king began collecting the great architects, stoneworkers and engineers; the most talented craftsmen from all across his kingdom. He hired the entire craftsguild of Elahdrel. He brought up high elves from the west. On the isle just north of Tahn, among the miles of rice fields, he set about construction of a great burial mound. The dirt mound would be over thirty feet high by the end of the project, and its stone infrastructure would plunge an unknown depth into the earth. Its largest room was truly enormous, a meeting-hall that was ninety-thousand square feet.

The king's instructions frequently changed, and he had divided up his teams of workers such that each would only need be provided with a single part of the overall plans for the mound. When the guildsmen complained that they had insufficient laborers to finish the project in the king's lifetime, he had his guard begin rounding up dissidents, criminals, and even commonfolk. They were given mandatory years of service helping to build the mound, on pain of death. It was during this time that rumors spread that the king was going powerfully insane.

The king grew abhorrent of sleep, and had the plain-beds confiscated from all those in his household. The meeting hall of the palace was filled with sand and declared to be the only place where those who lived with him could sleep.

His wives and concubines began whispering of the king having changed since he woke (the darkest of the rumors say that another creature woke up wearing the king's body as a skin). They spoke of mutterings of the king in his waking hours, and of his rapidly-deteriorating health; the dark bags under his eyes that swelled like pus-filled rot. Eventually, they were put to death for treason against the crown.

When the burial mound was completed, the king had its meeting hall filled with rainbow sand. He gathered much of al-Damanhur's citizens, as well as the mound's workers and his army, and had them all join him in the meeting hall on the summer solstice. Over thirteen thousand souls were squeezed into the hall.

 

And then, acting on secret orders given by the king, the doors were closed in, and the multitudes were plunged into blackness. Not one escaped.

They were trapped, screaming and panicking in darkness. The doors to the meeting hall were never opened again. The loyal guards who had performed the deed drank poisoned wine and then closed the exterior doors of the mound, sealing it forever.

With so many lost, the Kingdom of Masur disintegrated into small townships. The city of al-Damanhur was swallowed by the sands. The location of the burial mound was lost to time, and its entrance was covered in earth and weeds.

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Moiety
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The City of Dreams al-Damanhur
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While the original al-Damanhur is lost to the sand of the desert, and its many buildings and monuments lost to time, rumors persists that the city still lives on in a place beyond the material world.

Spoken by travelers and merchants are stories of the City of Dreams. They say that atop the dunes of Tahn’s deserts, when the moon waxes and the stars themselves grow weary, that it is possible to fall into a sleep deeper than any other. While bushmen emerge to prowl the hills for the unprepared, those who have set up their tents on the bluffs where they are protected may be pulled into the Ambrosial Sleep. However, in this dream, traders rarely find themselves alone. They are joined by their fellow sleeping companions; all standing outside the sandstone gates of al-Damanhur.

Of course, these gates are not real, because the City of Sand is now the City of Dreams, and only exists by the labors of thousands of trapped souls.

The multitudes contained inside the blackness of the Achure burial tomb each fell asleep over the course of several days. Their waking bodies entered a trance where they would not age or decay, and their dream selves entered an Ambrosial Sleep in which they were all members. It was only when the last citizen had fallen asleep that the king emerged from the skies. Although the multitudes were asleep, only the king maintained the powers of a lucid dreamer. Several attempted to strike him down. They failed, and were slain by his deity-like power in the dream.

The king ordered the reconstruction of al-Damanhur, and over several centuries the many dreamers rebuilt the city brick-by-brick. The king granted those loyal to him great powers and boons. In the land of sleep, no one defied the king.

Even when al-Damanhur was perfectly reconstructed, the king was not satisfied.

Now the merchants and travellers who are lucky enough to visit the City of Dreams speak of a new thing being built within the city – some say a great pyramid, a portal, or a temple.

The secrets of the City of Dreams are known in pieces to many. Only the sleeping king knows the whole truth, and it is not a truth he will part with easily.

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The Clay Legion
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The Kingdom of Masur made use of a curious military construct in order to supplement its army. These were the clay knights: mechanically animalistic warriors built from clay. Clay knights were lauded in their time as magical wonders, for their great strength, durability, and stamina.

The process of creating a clay knight was an arduous one, though not so lengthy as to make it a poor substitute for living warriors. It began with the collection of high-quality clay from riverbeds and shores. This would be collected and purified in thickening vats, its detritus turned into fertilizer for desert farms. The resulting clay was turgid even while moist, acting as perfect substrate for bodypotters. Using systems of spinners and pulleys, bodypotters would mold whole humans out of the clay. Though techniques varied between each bodypotter family, they were all tremendously skilled in their own right. Many of their creations so accurately resembled their models that the real people had to take to wearing colorful clothing while in public to mark themselves as actual humans.

When the clay people were finished, and a set of clay armor molded and cast around them, they were delivered to the Spirit Kilns. A spiritblower was not the average kiln operator. Though they did tend the kiln’s fire, they had a more important duty: to coax a spirit to enter the clay knight while they were being fired in the Spirit Kiln. Spirit Kilns were designed with twisting and winding shapes coming up out of the ground, confusing and trapping spirits that wandered into them from the earth. A series of runes on the inside of the kiln forced trapped spirits to follow a series of instructions, for instance ‘protect the church’, ‘follow the third battalion’, or to perform other tasks.

 

This magic was an ancient hybrid. They say the knowledge to connect spirits to artifacts was stolen and perverted by an unholy orcish shaman, and sold to Masur’s merchants in exchange for asylum. The merchants would go on to adapt it, with the assistance of runesmiths, to build the first functioning clay knights. One fringe orcish belief maintains that it is this event that would later provide the inspiration for the orcish spirit of smithing, Gentharuz, to devise a means to allow spirits to empower orcish weaponry.

When fired successfully, clay knights become automatons of service, capable and willing to fulfill their inscribed tasks.

Though most of the clay knights are now entombed in the sands of the desert or in the mud of fields, there are rumors that, during the creation of the burial mound of Achure, a great legion was produced. Ordered by the king, a legion of a thousand clay knights was crafted. Divided up into companies of one-hundred knights, they were marched into several rooms of the burial mound and sealed within. The king had the spiritblowers who gave the clay knights their original instructions put to death. Now, the clay legions rests in silence, until their mysterious orders come into play, whatever they may be.

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The Dream-Stalkers
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There were those who abandoned the Dream City of al-Damanhur, choosing to wander the infinite sprawling wastes of the Ambrosial Sleep rather than dwell under the rule of their sleeping king. Rarer still, are those who somehow insulted the king, and rather than have them killed, the king had these individuals banished.

After wandering the infinite sands for so many years, many of these souls have gone mad. It is through this path that these people become dream-stalkers. They can taste the patterns in the sand and hear its many colors. More importantly, they can navigate the sprawling expanse beyond the Dream City of al-Damanhur, to find the sleepers of the world.

Dream-stalkers can pass out of the Ambrosial Sleep and into the dreams of the normal denizens of Axios. They particularly target children, due to the vividness of their imagination and their limited ability to escape. It is in the dreams of the normal folk that Dream-stalkers hunt. They chase men and women through their dreams, hoping to run them down.

For, if a dream-stalker should slay you in your dream, then they will be able to steal your body and return to the waking world. Your soul will then be thrown into the Ambrosial Sleep, to be lost amongst the infinite expanse of sand and dreams.

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Conclusion
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Here you go.

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[Hiebe 2493]

I'm glad there are contests going on

[Wyvernbane 252]

Prelude: Each 'entry' to the notebook (there are two contained here) count as separate competetion entries. I wrote these in the style of disgruntled adventerur for a bit of extra flare. Enjoy (If hard to read due to LotC formatting and my being forbidden to change text color apparently, click here for the actual doc.

A soiled, tattered notebook is found. The pages are scattered, floating in the stagnated water in which it sat. It’s age is beyond measure, and the pages barely able to be read. Inside, one would find these documents.

 

 

Beware the vines!

I’d been wandering for days through this hell hole- the swamp. Everything is hostile there, I tell you. The plants are sharp and tear at your skin, and the gnats fill the gashes to get at your blood. I was sick and tired of the damned place and was rightly convinced Iblees himself worked up its evil as personal torment for myself. The sun was falling so I righted my tent on the only piece of dry ground I could find- the roots of one of the many drowning trees. I didn’t bother lighting a fire- I was already sweating from the humidity. Wasn’t long before I joined the dream world, as they say. Plop! I felt my forehead light on fire with pain, an angered howl leaving my lips. I got out of the tent fast as I could, blade drawn, half expecting some angry reptile waiting for me. Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong. A vine, one of the many covering the trees, had grown as I slept. The entire tent was covered with them, steaming with noxious gases. I watched my hard-won tent collapse under them, nothing more than a sizzling pile of mush. These vines I decided to call Ata’lenti, tainted growth in the common. Even as I watched, the vine retracted to the trees and stopped dripping acid. I was shocked, and pretty damn mad. This hellish foliage stole my tent, and I still had months left of places to visit. I raved for a good hour I’d say, oblivious to the fact the vine was growing towards me again. I felt a tendril wrap around my ankle, burning my trousers. I cut it, and the vine retreated again. As a bit of a test, I threw a piece of dried meat near the tree. Even as I watched, the vine grew down and absorbed the ration through that acid. I left mighty fast, and wrote this the minute I was clear of that damned swamp. A few defining features of Ata’lenti is it’s attraction to the swamp trees. In all my travels, it’s the ONLY place I’ve ever seen it. Stuff has a pleasant aroma with small bunches of blue berries and small, round leaves, by appearance alone completely harmless. Don’t touch it! Stuff is dripped with acids, which burn through skin and clothing in seconds. The plant is carnivorous, mainly feasting off the many bugs and animals within the swamp. It grows quickly, as if a Druid itself was controlling it. It’ll surround the meat it plans to eat, absorbing it with the acids. For some odd reason, the trees don’t seem to be affected. Perhaps it saves the acids solely for prey. Beware camping in this swamp! The vine will not hesitate to feast on you while you slee-

 

The page is soaked and stained past this point, the ink gone and the rest of the entry destroyed.

 

~~~

 

I'm not really sure how I end up in these situations. One minute I'm walking on the path minding my own business when bam! There comes along a group of brigands. Just my luck. Take everything I got, except this book. I guess it won't sell for much on the auction. I wandered for days after that, maybe even weeks. No food to be found in this damned forest! I was getting so hungry I could’ve sworn my very own fist looked like a fresh steak. I felt myself getting weaker and weaker till I just couldn't stand no more. If you'd asked me then, I would've said I was going to meet my Creator. However, seemed he had a bit more set out for me. I fell face first, getting a mouth-full of something thick and soft- a heavy woody flavor overpowering my senses. It flooded my mouth with warmth, that same warmth rejuvenating my dying body. In seconds I felt as if I could punch a bloody orc and he fall dead. The feeling quickly faded as my stunning good looks and cunning took back over, but the fullness in my stomach remained. The mushroom I now dubbed Siru’ahern, or Mushroom Blessing in the common. I filled my pack with chunks of the thing, saying my prayers to the Creator in thanks. No longer would I starve in my journey. Now to just sell some junk to some peasants to get a bit of coin.. Anyway. I returned with a full purse, documenting what I saw in here. Siru’ahern is large, anywhere between twenty to thirty feet tall. The cap is predominantly red, with white spots. When eaten, the substance replenishes your energy and fills your stomach, as if you’d had a recent and hearty meal in the Emperor's castle. Fear not the mushroom, for its touch is warm, welcoming and hearty!

[Farryn 860]

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Gaofar’s Crests

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Tread carefully, my son,

Of the massive pinnacles that block out the sun,

Where Gaofar’s winds brings forth the freezing cold.

His crests are a sight for one to behold.

 

Screeching winds that shake the soul,

Travellers be weary or down they go into a hole.

Be warned of the beast that roams

For Gaofar’s Crests is its home.

~~~~

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Located within the north-east of the isle of Asul, travellers would find themselves faced with an astonishing sight. Towering and curved pillars of stone erupting out from the land, with a massive cliffside and the sea below. Scattered around the landscape and pillars are holes that are either too small or large enough to travel into. For many years, the descendants have questioned how such landscape came into be, some say that this was the work of an aengudaemon, while others have more logical explanations. Yet to this day, Gaofar’s Crests are still a mystery and a great danger to those who come to these pinnacles unprepared.

 

All year round, the peaks have been battered and clashed with powerful winds, enough to blow over a cart full of goodies and even medium-sized rocks. The landscape is barring with hints of grass here and there, wildlife is thin unless looking in the caves where insects and other cave-dwellers are seen. Storms and hurricanes are relatively common around this area, constantly scraping away at the pinnacles. If one was to listen carefully, they would hear a clear and loud roar, resembling that of a set of loud whistles and rumbles. The cause of such noises are unknown but many suspect it is generated by the holes. Those who travel here have been warned to avoid the location during its storm moments, during the Deep Cold and the winter seasons, as well as to avoid falling rocks that break free from time to time. Death in this area is common due to either being blown off or being struck by falling rocks.

Shelter is always best when a sudden gust of strong winds passes through the cliffs.The land itself is not made for farmlands, as the harsh winds will ruin any crops or cattles. If one was to live here, then they would need to use the landscapes and cliffs to their advantage and know the best times to come here.

 

Gaofar’s Crests gained its name from a common legend that originated from it, one that is still a mystery to this day. The legend goes that a great creature rests within the area, some say that the creature is a dragon while others say it is something else. This legend originated from a man named Gaofar who supposedly saw the creature. He explained that he was exploring the cliffs when a storm struck; he heard the beating of winds which caused the powerful winds that strike the cliffs, while the mysterious sounds at its cries. He turned to find the source and he found a towering shadow looming over him, blending with the storm clouds above. The creature supposedly flew high into the skies and hides itself within them, darting between the tall peaks before the storm faded away. The locals thus called the peaks Gaofar’s Crests, although many are unsure if they should believe the man’s tale or not.

Some believe this legend to be true, while others see it as false. However, a second legend floats around, many believe that a great trove of treasure is within the cliffs. The creature’s horde. Thus many have ventured out to the landscape to find the creature or the treasure but many returned empty-handed. To this day, Gaofar’s Crests remain a pure mystery, yet perhaps the questions shrouding the landscape can be found?

 

((Here is my entry!))

[LuneAria 169]

-Imma reserve dis guys. Don't worry, I won't procrastinate this time.- 

[Gallic 1066]

I submitted this like a month and a half ago and it still hasn't been reviewed. Can it count?

 

[Smaw 2376]

This will serve as my submission for this competition, which I hope to expand on when I have a little more time.


 

The Sullied Swamp

 

 

 

"Indeed, the calling of the Dyrad is an Ancient and powerful one, and few Elves would be remiss to ignore its potency. However, such a pilgrimage must be taken after great consideration, as those that pursue this path are forced to abandon their old homes and people, in order to embrace the world and her deep roots."  - Voron Naeleth

 

Gaelira Lumoria was late to receive her calling in life, and for many years suffered at the cruel treatment of her peers; for they saw not one of their own in her, but a husk of an Elf.

 

It was true that she lacked any semblance of personality, and her elegance was yet to be discovered. She seemed almost incapable of grooming herself in any respectable way, and walked with a posture that left much to be desired. To boot, she had not received the calling that she should have when she came of age, and this lead her to be perceived as a failure.

 

She lived only with her graying father, who was as dull and humdrum as his life after the passing of his wife, who had died many moons before Gaelira would come to understand what was missing in her life. Her Father too shared the unforgiving nature of his daughters peers, and scolded her repeatedly for her lack of ambition.

 

Yet all would change for her when she awoke one night to an overwhelming sensation. A voice had spoken to her in her slumber, and had revitalised her with a sense of purpose; one that would call to her from far across the land, and one that would welcome her in a world where she felt so little comfort.

 

With a sudden burst of energy, she packed all that she felt necessary and embarked on her journey. She did not leave a message for her Father, nor those that had treated her so poorly for all of her years. Her life had meant so little up to this point that she left nothing behind, nor felt her presence would be missed.

 

 

It was an arduous journey, but nothing would prevent Gaelira from heeding the call of love that had reawakened her heart. She traveled on many ships with the little coin she had saved during her working life, and ate only the scraps of food that the sailors had thrown in drunken revelry. 

 

Yet before long, she had arrived at the banks of the land that had called to her those months before. It was an enormous swamp on the edges of the Jungle, brimming with life and humidity. She cracked a smile as she waddled through the emerald waters, which rose up to her waist in a warm embrace.

 

She continued to follow the voice that had spoken to her in her dreams. It was an Ancient Oak known as Dorgeen, who would offer her the love and guidance she had craved for so long. When she discovered him she fell to her knees, weeping in relief as he spoke out to her.

 

Now was the time for them to become one, and it was at that moment that Gaelria came to understand what it felt to have a family, and to love and be loved unconditionally. She welcomed Dorgeen and they attuned their Spirits into one.

 

 

 

Dorgeen began to teach Gaelria about the true meaning of life, and how her society had been fabricated by a Daemon. How her people had grown to embrace their egos, taught to abandon and abuse nature. He spoke of how Elves were convinced to engage with caution in their Dyrad callings, and how the passing of her Mother was a result of this negligence. 

 

He told her that the cruelty she had faced was an insight into the corrupting nature of society, and spoke of how the two would have to work in unison in order to heal those that had been influenced by the hierarchy of the modern world.

 

And so Gaelria began to work on calling out to the people she had left behind, in order to help them heal and become one with nature, starting with her Father. 

 

He arrived in the swamp with tired eyes, pushing through his physical exhaustion in order to find his missing daughter. And when he found her, his face morphed into an expression of shock and horror. For Gaelria had grown more ugly, more animal than before, and looked at him through viscous and wild eyes.

 

She cackled in his presence as she rose her gnarled and bent form, pointing her skeletal hand at him as roots began to rise from the ground around his feet. They attached to his ankles as the earth around him grew softer, forming into a mud that his weight sunk into. Slowly he was pulled into the earth as he flailed widly, and before long all grew silent as the bog overwhelmed him.

 

Gaelria had twisted her purpose, and she sought not to assist her people, but instead to satisfy her vengeful spirit. Her influence corrupted the very land she was connected to, and soon it began to spread, overcoming the Jungle and the surrounding waters. She continued to succeed in her pursuits for many years, as Elves from all areas of the world stumbled into her lands, and suffered the same fate as those that had come before them.

 

One such Elf was fortunate enough to survive her attack, and relayed what she had seen to the Elven Nation, who amassed a small army and ventured into the depths of the Swamp.

 

They started their assault by scorching the very edges of the land with their Magicks, preventing its corrupting influence from spreading across the land. They scarred the complete length of the border, and to this day nothing has been able to pass this chasm of fire.

 

 

Many men were lost in the attack on the swamp, but enough remained to finally reach Gaelria and Dorgeen.

 

Yet as the army approached her, the tree she had grown to love began to twist and contort before her very eyes. It morphed into the figure of an apparition, and vanished beneath the land where all of her victims stewed. 

 

Suddenly, she had been completely abandoned, and this realisation came close to tearing her heart asunder. She broke out into a fit of rage and upset, her wailing causing all of the surrounding life to disperse in terror. She then fell to her knees and began to weep uncontrollably, her knees sinking into the land that had betrayed her.

 

An Elven spear soon pierced her heart, putting an end to her suffering as she fell onto the land. But before the Elves could deal with her corpse, the land began to turn sour and wet, creating an enormous pit of sinking earth that drew in the remaining soldiers.

 

All were lost to the Swamp on that day, claimed by the powers that lurked beneath the Sullied Swamp. 

[Praetor 1550]

(582 / -1750)

 

The forgotten men

 

 

Not every patrol sent out to Oren's borders returns. Sometimes, fate catches up to them on the edges of the world, and before they can react, it consumes them. They become casualties of a long and troubled war. Numbers on a clerks ledger, short missives sent to wives. Ink on paper, blood on snow. They are forgotten and their lives, like small sparks of light, are extinquished in the bitter winds of the north.

 

When their names are all but lost, whisked away by time like smoke, some return. One or two men, perhaps. Their armor long ago discarded, now replaced by a patchwork of rags and rough furs. Their pikes turned into shattered walking sticks. Heads that were once held high now hang almost below their shoulders and dead eyes stare back at those who would deign to look upon these miserable men.

 

 

They are the lucky ones, the survivors that managed to crawl out from the pits of death and fight tooth and nail to return to their homes. I met one such man, long ago. Age had wrought him into a broken thing that lurked in the corners of taverns and payed off its meaningless existence in beer and wine. He spoke to me, though I did not ask for it.

 

Once he had been a soldier, like so many other young men without purpose.

 

He marched out of the gates with a contingent of fifty men oredered to scout the thick forests that seperated us from the dwarves. Farmers had been complaining for years about disturbances on the edge of their properties. Stolen goods, poisoned wells, slaughtered animals. He was a young man of twenty summers following a captain of only two more. A noblemans son on his first mission.

 

 

They traveled down the great roads of Oren until they turned into pock-marked rural paths. When those became mere indentations in the overwhelming underbrush of great pine forests, they forged on. Swords rose and fell, hacked and sliced through the wilderness. The cold, he never stopped speaking of the cold. It invaded his body and gnawed at his bones like a cancer, until he thought his skeleton would shatter and his eyeballs would freeze to glass. Even fires could not mask it for long, it always came back to haunt him. 

 

By the end of the third week, his captain councluded that the forests were empty and that the farmers were jumping at shadows. He turned his men around in an unnamed valley far from human civilization. It was a mere cleft between two mountains, like a scar in the skin of the earth itself. By then, many men had discarded pieces of armor as they ventured deeper and deeper into the forest. For who could bear the weight of steel plate day in and day out as they climbed over trees and hills uncounted?

 

 

The first man to fall was the captain. A crossbow bolt lodged itself in his neck and he tumbled from his steed, choking on his own blood. Perhaps his horse was the smartest being in the patrol, for it panicked and ran, bowling over to men and fleeing for the open fields. Crossbows twanged like the mandolin of death and men fell on every side, bolts slamming into their unprotected flesh. Then the dwarves showed themselves and with them came great wolves, born of ice and fury. They leapt for throats and tore at them with a voracious hunger.

 

 

But the Imperial Army did not breed weak men, and those few who survived the initial assault gathered together, shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield. The dwarves surrounded them, they jeered and mocked these men who had ventured too far from home. Few were unscathed by then and some fell even as they were taunted, their bodies giving up where their minds held firm.

 

He would not tell me much of the ensuing slaughter, only that the soldiers fought like men possessed. For every fallen comrade, two dwarves lost their lives. But the men were few and exhausted, while the dwarves had many lives to spare. He too fell to the enemy, with a pike buried in his guts. As he fell to the ground, another comrade collapsed above him, his throat torn into a wide smile. Soon, he was covered in blood and corpses, unable to scream in pain as the iron spike dug into his flesh.

 

The dwarves took their time executing the last of his men. They tormented the wounded before finally granting them the mercy of death. The wolves had their fun too and feasted upon fallen soldiers even as the dwarves left them to rot. Still, this man did not die. He watched the bloodied fangs of one of the wolves tear into the flesh of the man above him, watched it sniff him and move away.

 

 

It wasn’t until that night that he finally pushed off the bodies above him and rose, unsteady and weak from blood loss. The screams of the dying and the clash of steel upon steel accompanied him as he limped away from the mound of bodies. He swore to me that it was not his mind, but the spirits of the dead that screamed in anger at their early death. For days, he survived off the rations of his fallen brothers and mended his shattered body. The bodies began to rot, their flesh bloated and festered and still, every night he would be woken by the screams of the damned. The mist would warp and twist into the shadows of dead men and run at him, crying and begging for release.

 

One the third night, he ran despite the gash in his stomach. The spirits didn’t follow him, they stayed above the site of the slaughter and howled at the stars, cursed to linger the land they had stained with their blood.

 

——

 

He looked at me with eyes filled with such pain that I struggled to discard his tale as the words of a mad man. The spirits of the dead had risen and stared into his eyes and as I looked into those tormented orbs, I saw them staring back.

 

[Samson Option 9652]

I get to judge rather than be judged, how nice!

 

I kid and I can't wait to see all the submissions that will be filed!

[firespirit44 1323]

20 hours ago, Sir K Andruske said:

Can I be on the panel?

Hit me up and I'll get you sorted. Also thanks for the submission smaw and praetor, theyre really good.

[thesmellypocket 1859]

Mind if I use my Akritian Culture post as a submission?

 

 

 

The Akritian People

 

 

The Akritians are a people much-reduced from their former status, yet are still famed for their shrewd politics, rowdy hooliganism and deep piety. Today, they live in the Archduchy of Lorraine.

 

History

 

Akritian origins are unclear, but tradition holds the mythical king Midas brought over Heartlander colonists. Arising from a harsh, mountainous island called Akritos near the Turkin Steppes, theirs’ was a realm of warring warrior-poets in small, fortified city-states. These warrior poets were and are the stuff of epic poem, almost certainly more fiction than fact and interweaved with the ancient pagan superstitions which often disgust modern eyes. However, the Plague of Eudokia wrought havoc on this early civilisation, leaving a clean slate on which to build in the so-called ‘Dark Age of Akritos.’

 

An ancient depiction of the legendary warrior-poet ‘Midas’ who is said to have owned a crown so heavy with jewels it had to be suspended above his neck, and is credited with both discovering and colonising Akritos.

 

The Dark Age eventually gave way to new, more advanced polities. Governments were one of three forms: oligarchy, tyranny and democracy. Philosophy and trade flourished despite near constant warfare, and there was no sign of the cities of Akritos uniting any time soon.

 

However, after a long war known as ‘The Unification Wars’ a man called Diogenes (Sometimes called ‘The Great’) , a strange philosopher-despot said to have once lived in a barrel and to have behaved like a dog, brought all the city-states under a centralised, despotic Akritian kingdom. It was during this time that an Orenian priest called Petrus made the desperate journey to the kingdom from Aegis. He brought the nation into the Canonist faith, entirely turning upside down her views on philosophy, governance and everyday life. Temples were quickly converted into churches. Over time, the Akritians developed a doctrine different to the Orthodoxy back in Oren in some respects.

 

A copy of a mosaic in one of Patras’ many churches, long since abandoned. Depicted in the image is Diogenes the Great, who brought not only stability and peace, but prosperity and culture, and, above all: Canonism. He is often called the ‘Second Founder of Akritos.’

 

After years of stability under Diogenes and his direct descendants, known as the Diogenoi, a certain heretical priest known as Michael brought terror to the land with his fiery words:

 

‘Diogenoi: most cowardly and effeminate of men, most shrewish and whorish of women; most impious and disgusting of wretches. I give these words unto you so that you may learn the truth of God. For I see you now worshipping at wayshrines: praying to Saints as if Gods. God spare me from such idolatry! Be ye assured that thou is of the material of the pagans, and all material may burn within the holy fire of the Creator.’

 

Michael was mocking the characteristic Diongenic love for the Saints and their deeds, yet also for the ‘material of the pagans’ - their love of classical philosophy. Michael even accused Dionysus Diogenes, the current Caesar (Co-ruler) of claiming that the Epic Poet Godilas was a ‘Canonist before the Canon.’ Such talk sparked civil war. After decades of devastating warfare which ravaged the countryside, the Diogenics and their Orthodoxy reigned supreme over the heretics. In order to quell any further religious disputes, they re-copied the dogma of the Canonist Church in order to follow it to the letter.

 

Dionysus Diogenes with his lance. Dionysus was at best a middling swordsman and a blundering tactician, but was able to defeat the heretical rebellion after an extremely costly campaign at the Battle of Lithakia, some say by a divine miracle. By the end of the war, only ⅓ of Dionysus’ troops were left alive.

 

Near the time when Vailor was reached, the Akritians and Turkins were engaged in warfare. In the ‘Turkin War’, when Alexios Diogenes was nearing victory against the Turkins, they suffered a brutal reversal at the Battle of Nicopolis. Alexios and his bodyguard famously fought to the last, but a certain nobleman, the respected and battle-hardened Demetrios Palaiologos was able to break the Turkin encirclement and escape the field with an invaluable body of men, including cataphracts.

 

What followed was the most shameful moment in Akritian history.

 

The capital was sacked and churches looted. Nuns were raped, and a great slaughter took place among the people there. Demetrios thought the capital was unsaveable, even with her towering walls, and so, in a controversial move, he placed all his men at the coastal city of Patras. Destroying the Turkin fleet with a masterful use of incendiaries, he was able to hold off for years until the Turkins finally withdrew due to trouble at home. After a treaty of ‘Eternal Peace’ with the Turkins, the Turkins were officially the overlords of the Akritians, but in reality, exercised no power over them.he Akritians returned to their capital determined to come back bigger and stronger, breaking out of these humiliating, if unrestrictive, conditions. But it was not to be.

 

The Akritians advance at Nicopolis.

 

Plague hit both the Turkins and the Akritians. Akritos fractured into thousand petty despots as the chariot races of each city fell into wild hooliganism, until the Pagalogoi were able to unite these and ‘Make Ariktos Great Again,’ as went their slogan. Restoring order, they took the decision to sail to Vailor and join the nobles of Oren who had brought them their faith, so many decades ago.

 

Constantine Palaiologos (pictured), current ruler of the Akritians, is a direct descendant of Demetrios.

 

Religion, Philosophy and Politics.

 

The Akritians are a notably religious people, yet still read the works of ancient pagan philosophers and poets. They also, despite the edicts of Dionysus reaffirming firm Canonist doctrine, “unofficially” venerate several Saints, including Saint Diogenes, Saint Dionysus Diogenes and Saint Petrus, who all, according to Akritian sources, performed miracles. Another Saint included in this category is Saint Michael of Patras, who, according to legend, was blinded by the heretics so they could not read - and whose eyes regained sight so that he might continue his workings against the heretics. There is also Saint Kassia of Volos, a female composer of hymns. Apart from this, the Akritians are relatively orthodox when it comes to religion.

 

 

 

An icon of Saint Peter, the man who brought Canonism to Akritos.

 

The Akritians had many philosophers, both before and after their joining to the Canonist family. These include Sophocles, who wrote in dialogue, Thales (of whom no works survive), who wrote works on the soul and the Gods, and Alexandros, a Canonist theologian and philosopher. Akritian philosophy is diverse, covering issues from how to live happily, to God, metaphysics and political philosophy.

 

 

In and immediately after the so-called ‘Dark Ages’, political philosophy was diverse. However, since the reign of [Saint] Diogenes, ideas of despotism and hereditary government have dominated the field. Strangely enough, those born during the rule of a despot are considered ‘Born in the Purple’ and are favoured for succession. This tradition can be traced back to the ‘Purple Room’ of Diogenes’ palace.

 

Cuisine

 

The diet of an Akritian depends on his social status and wealth. The higher orders import rare spices and sweeteners and frequently eat honey-cakes, fruits and sweetmeats. Meanwhile, the lower orders tend to eat coarse bread, salted meats and sausages, salad (which is very popular) and cereals. Olives also used to be a staple, and, whilst still present in salads, are hardly as common due to the change in climate and land. Beef is rare, and lamb and mutton tend to be reserved for the upper classes. The upper classes also eat the meats they hunt, as hunting is a common hobby among them.

 

Koptoplakous, sometimes thought to be the ancestor of baklava, is a common dessert, which in turn is derived from the Placenta cake, which was, by legend, invented by Midas himself.

 

Placenta cake.

Akritian wines are even more renowned than those of their neighbours, the Lotharingians. The wine of Commandaria is sought by Orenian nobles to drink at special occasions, but cheaper wines such as Retsina (flavoured with pine resin) are available to drink in daily life. 


 

Fighting Style

 

 

Following the Heretic War, Dionysus Diogenes reformed Akritos’ administrative system. Dividing the island into ‘Themeta’ or ‘Themes’, he appointed military governors called Strategoi (generals) to watch over these small provinces. Whilst the Basileus could appoint or remove these governors at will, and the central government held a large central army, these Strategoi were allowed to give land to soldiers in return for military service to the Themeta. As a result, the autonomy of the Themeta increased, as did their military capabilities, and they held off the Turkins and other menaces for a long time. It was only at Nicopolis that the Themeta system collapsed.

 

The Themeta system changed how the military system worked. Emphasis was removed from armoured, professional heavy infantry to provincial spearmen (which in many ways was a throwback to the ‘Hoplitai’ system dating back to around Midas’ time), and it was only the collapse of the system at Nicopolis which has reserved this.

 

Nicopolis was the decisive moment which sparked a move back to the professional armies of old.

 

Demetrios Palaiologos, credited as the third founder of Akritos, brought in a set of reforms to confront the military reality. Emphasis was put on a retinue of hard, professional heavy infantry and cavalry cataphracts instead of spear-armed provincials. This solid corps of veterans was bolstered by small units of Peltastai, javelin-armed light infantry raised from levies. Armour also evolved when they reached Oren, but the Akritians have always been playing catchup to the other peoples of the empire in terms of armour development. Plate armour was adopted at this point. The Akritians have also been bolstered by access to the famous Lotharingian horses, including destriers and coursers.

 

Note the Orenian-style plate armour of the man on the left, and the gauntlets and boots of the Basileus on the right.

 

The Akritians are famous for engineering and siege works. According to some, the Akritians invented the trebuchet, which they call the helepolis (city-taker.) The Akritians have in history built some massive siege engines. Phillipos, Archon of the democratic city-state of Volos, and a rival of Diogenes the Great, was said to own a helepolis so large it had a pulling crew of 1,200 men, firing 96 kilogram stones. Great siege towers and battering rams also became famous.

 

The ram and siege tower christened ‘Nika’ or ‘Victory’ was stolen from Volos to bring her own city walls crashing down.

 

 

Entertainments

 

 

Whilst the nobles hunt with dogs and horses in the same way as the other Orenian peoples, and many nobles also participate in Orenian-style tourneys, the common people have a far different taste in entertainment. Chief among these fashions is the simple chariot-race, perhaps the most tribalistic sport known to man. There have been some devastating bouts of hooliganism during the chariot races of the Akritians, but this is partly because the teams are so intensely politicised. Often, the two major teams, the Greens (Prasinoi) and the Blues (Venetoi) often come to back one pretender or another, one side, one religious issue, or one faction within their polity.

 

During the reign of Diogenes the Great, the Blues came to represent the landed elite ,whilst the Greens soon came to represent many unlanded peoples. In addition, the Greens tended to support a strict religious orthodoxy, whilst the Blues are more divergent from the Cannon. In the city-state of Volos, which was a democracy, the two teams became akin to political parties. In one riot most of the city’s famous siege equipment was destroyed; in the aftermath the ram and siege tower ‘Nika’ was treacherously brought into the hands of Diogenes’ forces by the Blues.

 

Riots in Volos were brutally put down by the army. The riots there are the most infamous in all of Akritian history, and opened the door to the city’s capture by her eternal rival.

 

Music

 

Like most cultures, the Akritians have two kinds of music: the secular and the sacred. The Akritians are known to have a very distinct range of musical instruments and songs, many of which are derived from before the Dark Ages.

 

Secular music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_8aSrsTlCE

 

Akritian secular music is derived from her ancient counterparts. The Akritians use instruments including the lyra (a violin-like string instrument), the lyre, the harp, the organ (used during chariot racing), the aulos (a distinct flute), and the askaulos (bagpipes.) The Akritians record their music and composers are well-known. This can lead to a bit more orthodoxy and less change in music than in other cultures. They are slightly more prudish in their tastes, and so ballads of courtly love and such tend to be far rarer than in say, the Lotharingian culture.

 

Sacred music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=brdhbgeGW4E&t=2389s

 

The chants of Akritian sacred music are sung in both Flexio and Akritian. They are often recitations of the stories of the saints, hymns to the Creator, or even of Canonist dogma. The Akritians are particularly proud of their choirs, which include both men and women.

 

Kassia is one of the most famous composers of both sacred and secular music. She is one of those women venerated “unofficially” as a Saint by the Akritians.

[firespirit44 1323]

53 minutes ago, thesmellypocket said:

 

 

 

 

Hey @thesmellypocket thank you for your submission. Unfortunately your submission doesn't fit in with the competition rules. The rule is to create region lore for this map, and we do not take in submissions from anything else.

 

Submit a piece of lore about a region in LOTC with a screenshot attached to it, and explain its characteristic or backstory of it.

 

We only take in lore for culture or animals if its a side effect for the region lore, rather than the main focus. It also does not have an LOTC region in it, so I'm sorry to say your submission can not be accepted. Go ahead and submit it to the lore team if you want though.