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Wyrdsister

A Mother's Appeal

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A short piece of authorship has been spread to many libraries and bookstores, a sort of open letter to the people of Arcas and its scholars...

 

 

“I beg you forgive an old woman her ramblings... and hope these words find you well.

بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ ٱلرَّحْمَٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
 

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I do not know where my father is buried. Yet I know my mother is buried in Atlas. I was born there too, but all my life has been here, in Arcas. I have found love in Arcas, raised my family here. It was here I was married, gave birth, shed blood for comrades, and helped build a nation from nothing in the sands. Now this land may very well be destroyed.

In my life I have been many things – a foreigner, a wanderer, a poet and a mystic. To most I am a Qalasheen. To some I will always be, above all, a mother and a warrior. I was there when two of my nation martyred themselves, fighting alongside so many others who made the harshest of sacrifices to defend our world against the Void Horror, at the last battle. I was a young woman then, brave and terrified all at once. I knew nothing of the machinations of the arcane, the vast endeavours to study and halt and fight what seemed to be tears in reality, but what I saw that day changed me. I know it changed many others.

I saw Dwarf, Elf, Orc, Human, and all others standing and fighting together against that which would have, should have, sent any sane man running for their lives. I still do not understand all that came to pass that day, but I do know the Descendants had help from mysterious forces, perhaps divine, perhaps something else – of this I know not.

What can be said for certain is that we all fought together, and triumphed, even as all hope seemed lost and the world as we knew it seemed to be tearing itself apart.

Arcas was saved, and now once more is threatened by forces that seek its destruction. Our destruction.

Malfire burns on the horizon even as I write these words.

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I have seen firsthand the consequences that come with the scouring of worlds, the fleeing of entire races as refugees, be it a blessing or a curse. The Descendants carry the scars of a world lost in their hearts and souls, of a life taken from them and a heritage wiped away. Our graveyards are small and humble. They do not hold the countless legions of lives lost to us, only in our memories and our dusty tomes do they live on. The largest nations to the smallest villages are all the children of those who fled chaos and destruction, displaced and torn from their homes and the homes of their fathers. The sacred sites of the past exist for us only in stories, yet the crimes of the past live on, the grudges and the hatred still haunt us.

If we could only walk the earth of Aegis, the lands of our collective origin, how different would our lives be? If we visit the tombs of our most ancient ancestors, see the first Cloud Temple where the Descendants first took breath and walked as mortals, tie our souls to the marks of history? Would we realize just how foolish our petty squabbles are, compared to millenniums of lives lived amongst each other? I can think of only one way to find out the answer to these questions. To do so will require doing what has never been done before in our knowledge of history.

To defy and prevent the destruction of a world, our world, and prevent our forced exile from the lands we have fought and bled to make our homes - this is the undertaking I have dreamed of.

 

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Once I read the words of a scholar, who declared the Descendants to be nomads – some, like us Qalasheen, once lived as nomads in the truest sense. living beneath the stars, raising their tents on lands untouched by brick or plow. We chose this life. Yet every nation in this world has been uprooted, not by choice, but by necessity. Before Arcas was Atlas, before Atlas the land of Axios, through the ages back to Aegis... perhaps even further, to lands lost to time, inhabited by those who came before our species?

Ours is a cycle of upheaval, of destruction and rebuilding, of fleeing endlessly into unknown horizons. Is this cycle God’s gift to us, a defence against stagnation, a promise of rebirth? I cannot claim to know. It can be debated to death by scholars before me and after.

But to flee from a fight does not sit well in this heart.

Perhaps I am stubborn, foolishly so, to propose what has doubtless been called for dozens of time by scholars lost to the flood of ideals and philosophy written across the ages. It is this very fact, that of so much knowledge lost to time and the fires of change, that makes it seem almost equally vital for such an undertaking to require a complimentary task of collecting and preserving our cultures and histories, should we indeed be forced to flee to a new world once more. We cannot risk losing everything, should the chance present itself to live another day, another cycle, in a new world.

This declaration, however, maintains that to accomplish a victory over annihilation itself would be a triumph for our nations and for our God, worth risking our lives for. To finally break the cycle, to keep all we have built, to live in the world we were raised in, loved and lost in, to find out what we can achieve without having to start over again – that is worth dying for. For what we have accomplished in Arcas, building anew from nothing that which can be compared to the glories of the past, and even achieving newly found wonders of innovation and triumph, begs the question: what could we accomplish with twice that time? With a foundation to build upon? With a world of nations united by a victory against the forces of annihilation itself, free from the fear of destruction and exile?

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I expect your doubts at this proposal. Indeed, I welcome them. Debate is the lifeblood of ideas, ideas the soul of our cultures. Among my people there is a word – Ikhtilaf, difference, disagreement. It is not discord but harmony and growth to us.

I suspect, also, that the words I write may very well be ignored. So be it. I write as a woman who has felt the oncoming of death, who knows and embraces mortality. The author and poet seek immortality in memory preserved by ink, mind, and word: though it be in vain, for only Our Creator is truly undying. I hope only that someone will read these words, and perhaps carry the dream of the nations united against the darkness in their hearts. Perhaps even pass it on to their children, their friends, their loved ones. I seek to leave a spark in the minds of but one soul, at least, before I leave this world.

Maybe one day we can live in peace, without fear of an end beyond that which found my husband – surrounded by those he loves, holding the hand of his wife, with a smile on his face. He was a warrior with courage in his heart, as so many have been across the history of every race. He died a warrior, but a father too, and a lover of peace and life. He will always be with me.

And no matter what the coming days bring to us all, I pray God will always be with you.

الله يكون معاك

- Fatima al’Ihram al’Nabeel,

Humble Servant of God.”

 

Edited by Wyrdsister

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OOC:
Biss yu make me crii T^T

 

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Saeed Ibn Hamzah shed a tear for fatima's beautiful words, taking a oath to keep her dreams thriving, inshallah.

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