18th of Harren’s Folley, 1682
The sun rose over the baltas, revealing the crowd of Illatians standing in the cold morning sun. Many of them could not afford food; looking evidently starved, the Illatians knew where their plight came from. The Adrian duke’s oppression against their people.
Before them stood a figure clad in armour, his tabard a paly of yellow and black. He cleared his throat, addressing his people, “Fellow Illatians! The Adrians starve us, they beat us into the dirt. They tell us we aren’t welcome here. The Adrian dogs do not deserve us to grace their ‘duchy’ with our industrious presence. Prepare yourselves for travel! In an hour we shall depart this wretched place, take what you can and burn what you cannot. Leave nothing for the Adrian filth!”
An hour passed, rising smoked filled the sky from the many fires set by Illatians to burn their unneeded possessions.
The armour clad figure remained, speaking once more to the Illatians, “Illatians, let us not forgive or forget the Adrians. Someday they shall know our fury, and they shall learn of regret.” He paused for a moment, silence following his final few words. He lifted his hand, gesturing for the overpacked Illatians to follow him west on the road, away from the depopulated city of Belvitz.
On this day, the Illatian’s began their long journey to find a true homeland for their people to settle, one in which there were no tyrannical Adrians to hold dominion over them.