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[✓] [Mani] The Angler, Ape, Bovine, Bee, Lizard, & Ratite


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Greater Mani

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Malikki, Prince of Apes

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Image by Vance Kovacs.


     “The winds howl in anger. The heavens weep for the fallen. For fourteen Moons this temple has been my only sanctuary, yet how long until they too flood? How long until we are all lost!? When mothers and fathers butcher sons and daughters! Without a means to enter or leave the capital, our rations will run out! What then? Never in my lifetime did I think to question the Divine King, but I fear for my peers. If we all surrender to the jungle, not another soul will suffer.”

-Final accounts of a Fei-Zhu scholar

 

     It was in ages past that the Daemon of Time claimed a single monkey in the Jungles of Asul as her pawn, bestowing sentience on par with that of a Descendent. Under the name Hou-Shen, the Monkey King, he would erect the first and greatest empire of the Hou-zi. Imparting the gifts of their Goddess between every simian that swang from the trees...at the costs of favor with their former Wild Gods. Yet the tolls of this afront would reach a tipping point when the Prince of Apes, Malikki, gave an ultimatum. So it was that an event recollected by only the eldest Hou-zi historians came to be known: The Siege of Jing-Taiyun.

 

     Shortly after the construction of Jing-Taiyun, bodiless voices filled the ears of its citizens. “Discard your rags. Abandon these dens of stone which pervert the land. Embrace your nature or suffer the consequences.” An instinctual uprising resonated through peasant and noble alike, all save for Hou-Shen. He stood from his throne and declared that he would sooner die than live the life of a savage beast, forbidding his citizens from forsaking their sacred kingdom. Initially, life resumed as normal for the fledgling state and complacency returned to its denizens. But when the calm before the storm gave way, Malikki’s wrath was a typhoon. For a harrowing twenty-nine days and twenty-nine nights the clouds never parted. The rains flooded the streets while entire buildings were swallowed down into the earth. Those that ventured into the jungle were never seen again, and many others were driven feral, none more so than the Hei-Zhu. As the jungle reclaimed the city’s outskirts, the howling of apes grew louder as the hopes of the populace only diminished. Yet on the 30th night, when the full-moon managed to breach the clouds, fate let Hou-Shen fell Malikki then and there. Abruptly bringing the siege to an end.

 

     The Arboreal Giant is known in numerous Hou-zi fables as a most controversial figure. Followers of Shenjiao, the faith of Hou-Shen, portray him as a vindictive demon. An embodiment of a primitive past that condemns the rigors their people have endured. Over time, this notion would be contested by those who revere the Mani as an Ancient God. A guardian who shaped their first ancestor from the mud, twigs, and moss of their native jungles. Today these people remain in hiding, eagerly praying for his day of rebirth so that all worldly strife wrought by the Doombringer might be undone.


     As Chieftain of the Great Apes, Malikki resembles an orangutan of tremendous stature with a wildly unkempt coat of hair. Prone to hide his shrewd and authoritative nature beneath a convincingly easygoing guise, do not mistake his empathy for weakness. Jeopardizing the Mani’s troop is to surely incite the definition of guerrilla warfare, where his aptitude to lead and strategize reign prominently. The Gigantopithecus is prone to using fallen trees as an instrument to bludgeon his opponents, whereas those worthy of his favor are gifted a branch bestowed with his blessing. When the demigod fell, it was from one such tree that Hou-Shen fit his famed polearm “Yuan-Dāo,” or the Moon Blade. Forging its blade from the purest moonlight with a glow that never dims.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

Ceruvil, Prince of Bovines

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Source found here.

 

     “Claims attest to tremors occurring throughout the day. The cowhands had become increasingly agitated over the weeks and were thought to be mistreating the cattle. Later that evening, witnesses saw a dust storm on the horizon. Several of them swear it had piercing red eyes, calling it an apparition of devils. Devil or not, after it crossed paths with the ranch, not a picket was left standing. Every worker lay dead with the animals nowhere to be found.”

-One of many ranch tragedy reports across the continent of Aeldin

 

     Descendentkind has forgotten when the first farmers corralled those of Ceruvil. Whether cattle were first domesticated for milk, meat, labor or otherwise. Save for the Prince of Bovines, who to this day is said to resent mortals for robbing his kin of their right to roam. For generations in wake of his vengeance, calamity has followed. A force of nature that has brought civilizations throughout the ages to their knees, typically in times of tyranny and strife.

 

     The Chieftain of Bulls goes by many names across numerous cultures, having amassed a broad influence. Historically he has been worshipped in ritual and emblazoned on a coat of arms. Holymen have attributed his wrath to that of GOD, orcish warlords would invoke his name unto foes, nomadic elven tribes have even perceived him as a harbinger of the end times. The peoples of entire clans have lived and died believing that he and his harem will ferry them across the stars and into the realm of the afterlife. For the only parallel between these societies is their unified fear of his notorious stampedes.

 

     Despite bringing dread and distress to most visited by the Champion of Horns, there exist pastoralists worthy of his respect. Rarer still are those handpicked by the Wild God to oversee one of his sons, born to someday lead a herd of their own. These chosen few dedicate their lives to the well being of the herd, often becoming druids in their own right. Other followers of the Aspects will often pay him homage during times of tyranny or enslavement. Given a penchant for bringing oppressive peoples to heel, it is perhaps this coincidence that has earned the Mani's title: Patron of Freedom.

 

Lesser Mani

 

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Silissa, Princess of Bees

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Image by VladBacescu.

 

     “If this message is ever found, know that my name is Josef Walter. Our ship ran aground during a roaring storm, and now we're stranded on the coast of an uncharted landmass. Aside from several abandoned shipwreck sites, our chances of finding other people look bleak. Just pristine forests and meadows as far as the eye can see. Some of the crew swear they saw a massive beehive beyond the western ridge, so we plan to pack up and investigate in the morning. If we’re lucky we’ll find others stuck on this rock. Please, should I never make it back home, tell Helena Walter that her boy always loved her.”

-A message in a bottle, but one of many under almost identical circumstances

 

     The Queen of the Hive fervently toils to ensure the longevity of her brood, deep inside a hidden labyrinth of honeycombs known only as the Buzzing Citadel. It’s within the safety of her domain that she holds total dominion over her children. Being able to amass swarms of bees throughout the known realm, very few descendants are ever inclined to make an enemy of the Matriarch. Superstitious individuals believe that all queens are subject to her blessing, while other theories speculate she only shows kindness to those capable of leading. Some rural communities still celebrate her during the early spring, donning bright flowers and dancing jovially through the streets.

 

     History recalls that attempts to tame and yield the profits of Silissa’s brood always ended in failure and agonizing death. A perpetual cycle that would continue to persist until two travelers chose to make a change. One was a young druid of Old Malinor, the other a traveling Farfolk gypsy. Equipped with quick-wits and moxie to match, they would manage to locate the Buzzing Citadel and approach the Queen with a proposition. A proposal of their lives for the chance to quell her rage, which was as infamously relentless as it was iconic. Yet, disregarding ample chances to murder the two outright, the curious Mani allowed them to try under strict terms. Ready to slaughter both at the first signs of foul play. Thus in a ceremony of precision and dexterous movements, they danced before her, employing beautiful flowers from places unknown. Lasting from dawn ‘til dusk, they performed, chanted, and lit incense that soothed every one of the hive’s denizens. For the first time since the Hivemind had taken her mantle, she felt inner peace. A feat that would earn both travelers her royal highnesses favor. When asked for the gift to harvest honey, she would in-turn ask for the company of the elf in exchange. So it was that the druid would dance every day up to his last, while the gypsy went on to pass the knowledge of beekeeping to generation after generation of descendants. All the while, victims to their furious swarms would dwindle to the negligent, brash, and gravely unfortunate. Although the gypsy is widely believed to have lived a prosperous life, some think the druid still dances somewhere within the depths of the citadel. Sworn to do so eternally lest the vows are undone.

 

     Plenty of explorers have searched for the Matron’s fabled hive only to return bitter and despondent. Easily enticed by rumors of a royal jelly that can cure all sickness, locating the Buzzing Citadel has been the bane of countless adventurers over the centuries, despite itself being larger than entire cities. Since becoming Matriarch, Silissa’s growth has been a constant that requires continual expansion throughout her immeasurable domain. Workers in the hundreds of thousands must tirelessly tend to the necessities of their ever-growing broodmother, while even more search for sources of nectar. This provides a perpetual cycle that gets bigger with each subsequent winter.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

Ray’voray, Prince of Ratites

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Image by Ravenari.

 

“I shalt usher youth from the shadows of the nest.

I shalt help youth to forage and fend for themselves.

I shalt give youth time to grow strong.

Henceforth, I know nary greed, gluttony, nor sloth. Now and forever I serve to nurture strength and wisdom, a champion of the fathers before me. My life I pledge to the Elder’s will, upon the blood of my blood, every wife, daughter, and son.”

-Vows of Fatherhood of a forgotten Farfolk people 

 

     Often overshadowed by his airborne brethren, those knowledgeable of Ray’voray know him for his humble devotion. Praised as a figure of fatherhood, the lengths that the Prince of Ratites has pursued to maintain this are vast and bloody. Over time his beautiful black feathers have gone gray with age, while their ruby and sapphire streaks have all but washed away. Due to this, he is often regarded as the “Elder of the Outback.” Yet this old buzzard still stands as an ardent defender of his flock, swift to neutralize potential threats. His spite for the mortal races runs so deep that those brash enough to incur his ire could forsake all they love and even their most distant relatives. The scarred, one-eyed avian having discarded his last shreds of sympathy for their ilk long ago.

 

     Superstition suggests that the Elder's flock fell from grace, leading to the loss of their wings as penance. Other accounts mention a gamble during perilous times, abandoning the skies in favor of the ground. Whatever the truth might entail, the inability to fly came with evident consequences. When the earliest Descendants roamed the realm aimlessly, and farms were yet to become commonplace, many foragers targeted the larger eggs of the ratites. Emus, rheas, and cassowaries alike making for easy meals, taking out the nesting males and reaping the respective eggs. Those affected by the gluttony of people only grew over the course of time, until the Mani could bear it no longer. Yet his retribution to keep the poachers in check had come at a time too late, the damage already done. Their parental genocide meant fewer females could find mates, marking the beginning of their decline across the realm.

 

     Ray'voray watched the determination of poachers develop with each less nest to pilfer, much to his abhorrence. Eggs were nigh sacred to the Flightless Father, as were the obligations of every parent. Although innumerable offenders would be torn asunder by his talons, for every one that fell, another two took their place. Unless drastic measures were taken, the ratites would fall victim to the same zealous growth that had killed off so many other species. So what does the demigod do: eliminate threats before they’ve done the deed. Regardless of innocence or guilt, whether they’re just an apprentice or a distant relative, any noteworthy association would prompt the Mani to take action. Alas, this countermeasure would come to an end after a nearly fatal injury left him permanently handicapped. Forced to recuperate, he and his flock would abandon their native ranges to stave total extinction. Despite the disappearance of the Elder’s blessed born, the Moa, ratite populations would recover over the course of time. The plight of their patriarch but a byproduct of an age where people paid little heed to what they slaughtered.

 

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Èyr, Princess of Anglerfish

 

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Source found here.

 

     “I don't care what you think, nothin’ normal can describe the damn horrors I saw! The night was dark, the ocean even darker, yet out of the blue it started glowin’ like a thing possessed. Soon enough the corpses started floatin’ up, but no! Not fish, not people, feckin’ MONSTERS! All of them! Sea devils and dragons, hydra and sirens; other things with teeth linin’ their tentacles, jellies with a bulgin’ eye, giant snakes tha’ were all mouth and no face. Swear the sea must’ve gotten drunk and puked the lot out- uck. Then the ones still alive started to shriek and flail. The water churnin’ with their entrails and various limbs, rage and hatred boilin’ ‘em waves like somethin’ outta hell. They went for me! ME- and my vessel before I knew it! They was gonna tip the boat and take me with ‘em for feck sake. So I threw the fish overboard, I beat ‘ere tendrils back, I fell ta my knees screamin’ and pleading for it ta stahp... Then everythin’ goes quiet. I look over the bulkhead and the brine is still red and rank with death...but calm. Empty. A shadow underwater shrinking away with the last bits o’ light.”

-Recounting of a Terrified Fisherman, inspiring countless high sea stories thereafter

 

     Far below the ocean waves in a domain starved of sunlight, an unassuming glow prowls the abyss. Creatures who’ve laid eyes upon it fall under her spell, becoming sustenance to be devoured by rows of jagged teeth. While whispers on land tell of the Maiden of Maws guiding seafarers through their darkest hour, the reality is that anyone remotely capable of encountering her wouldn’t live to tell of it. Whereas most Mani are known to be reclusive, the Jewel of the Deep Sea isn’t known to interact with any of the surface races. While sources do exist among the odd haggard seaman, it’s a given that knowledge about her is all but abysmal. Just as the Matron of Anglerfish prefers to lurk in the dark, so too is she content to remain invisible to any and all mortals.

 

     As a chosen of the Aspect of Culling, Èyr makes it her mission to eradicate the wretched sea monsters that threaten to overrun her domain. No nemesis does the Mani loath more than the Old God of the Sea, Dresdrasil, the progenitor of all manner of alien leviathans. Being keenly aware that direct confrontation with the former Daemon of Abundance would be her undoing, however, has instead opted to keep the numbers of her spawn in check. This thirst for blood causing her to cross paths with those directly descended from the daemon, such as Kavous the Warlord and Thetis the Siren Princess. Ongoing to this day, the forces of culling and abundance clash without a reasonable means to an end.

 

     Cold like the abyssal trenches and equipped with a voice as cutting as her teeth, the Wild God remains apathetic to matters not concerning her fold. It comes to no surprise that this incessant conflict has left her with many grievous wounds and little time to recover them. For that reason, male anglers always standby to merge over their matron’s injuries through a method of parabiosis, latching on by the teeth in order to supplant lost fluids or the organs required for bodily function. Truly a grotesque parasitic dress that keeps her appetite in high demand, eager to slaughter prey and consume them even sooner. Know her name is an ill-omen to hear, and an even worse one to find yourself begging for mercy.

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

Kadal, The Prince of Lizards

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Image by Akiman.

 

     ”At dawn, the men depart to face the Tyrant of Scales at the forest’s heart. Those that return will return as warriors, ready for every danger this land has to offer. The Elders of Cannavin tell nothing of his origin, only that his supremacy was chosen at the hour of Reckoning. For every beast beneath these great boughs recognize his rule, as do the Lesser Lords allow their liege to prowl unopposed. Most would flee in terror at first glimpse of the tyrant, however, that is not our way. That is not the way of Kadal, nor the seeds of Orrarante. It is our sworn duty to honor our Lost Lord. -Oracle Adria, 1st of The Deep Cold, 1589”

-Translated Texts of an Elven City, located in the Great Library of The Haven Islands

 

     Kadal, a name once indicative to numerous nomadic Mali’ame seeds, has all but vanished completely. The Prince of Lizards was once venerated for his faultless resolve to overcome any challenge. Few remain today that still remember their esteemed patron of tenacity, let alone his countless tales of triumph. He who had faced hordes of war, who butchered rampaging titans and repelled the tides of calamity that once endangered his kind. Others reputed him as a herald of death, indeed a most befitting title for those who warrant his ire. Yet Kadal also demonstrated an affinity for his followers. The Lord of Scales, much to the disparity of most Wild Gods, not minding the company of Descendents proven of their own worth.

 

     During ancient times, the demigod led his kindred cold-bloods across the realm to settle where the Sun shined brightest. Navigating the dangers of entire jungles, canyons, savannas, deserts, and even the wide open ocean. Each time a few of his kind would remain in their newfound surroundings, and each time the Prince would impart skills necessary to survive, all before leaving them to their fate. Those that were strong and resourceful would live on to bear future generations, gradually evolving both physically and functionally. Many becoming integral to their existing domains, while others still forged for lands to claim. And so the Mani watched from afar with tinges of pride, satisfied that one among them would someday rival his own success. However, weathering eras of conflict and contemplation, at last, gave way to a revelation: his kin would never stand at the top. How could he have been so foolish? Those under the Greater Mani had always overshadowed his fold as intended, either outcompeting or hunting them instead. What point did his prowess serve if it couldn’t usher the same for his scaled children? Thereafter, the Lord of Scales withdrew himself from nigh all realmly affair, and slowly he was forgotten amidst the sands of time.

 

     None have known of Kadal’s fate for hundreds of years. Druids eager to invoke his presence fall on deaf ears, while other Mani answer with abstruse riddles. Efforts to locate the Wild God have proven fruitless, known by neither lizard nor inhabitant of the Fae. Rumors about the Lost Lord remain dubious at best, ranging from claims that he was stripped of influence to being captured by a malevolent force. The only legacy of Kadal that remains is, in fact, his fervent teachings. Upheld by his former disciples and taught to the generations that followed them. To this day those Mali’ame devote themselves to becoming masters of their domain while surpassing weakness at all cost. Knowing full well that they’ll have the opportunity to appease their absent patron when the time comes.

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Special thanks to everyone who helped give critique!

Edited by ThatGuy_777
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ok the original thing i wrote was inappropriate for the forums. this post is lovely and must be respected.

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wow

look

a oragoton

o

look

a bugg

look 

a fishies with lampon head

wow very cool

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Hey friend look at what your favorite high elf sorcerer is up to

112cbb19b6a6fc0a1ee6de1b89f2b7e2.png

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Epic

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Thank you for submitting your piece! It is now under review, you should have a verdict around the 19th (give or take a day, pushed back a bit due to vaults launching).

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This Lore has been accepted. Moved to Implemented Lore, it will be sorted to it's appropriate category soon.

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