The History of Haran
Chapter 1Of the birth of Haran, many things are said. The Bagi say it was Barak, God of Battle who created the world so that he might populate it with creatures to war with one another and so honor him. The Incar say it was Karenas, The World-Bearer who thought Haran into being. This even though Trieste herself did not know how the world came to be. It did not matter, she said. What mattered was that there was Haran and there was The Abyss. One was a world of light, and the other, a dimension of darkness.Always it is this way. In all realities, in all universes, in all beings there is that which devours and that which grows. When the world was young and unstable, wracked with earthquakes, pocked with volcanoes spewing ash and lava into the sky, drowned with constant floods, there was still life. There was no creature then to name them, but those who came after called them dragons. They ruled the water, the land, the sky. No beast could stand against them. And it was this that proved to be their downfall. The dragons multiplied unimpeded for countless centuries, each breed at war with the others until the conflict built to a war that encompassed the globe. A hundred years passed that saw the face of Haran scorched, the soil befouled, the water tainted with the blood the countless dead until only a scarce few remained. This is when The Old Ones appeared. Of them there were twelve. Whether they had been there all along and chose this moment to make themselves known, or whether they had just come from some other place is not knowledge held by any living. They bent the dragons to their will, so great was their power. Thus began the Age of Light, when all the races were born, when the great civilizations of Haran were built, fostered by the power and knowledge of The Old Ones. Great technologies were there then, and great magics. These things they shared freely with the beings that populated the world. But in the hands of mortals, the gifts of gods inevitably find other purposes… |
Chapter 2They called it The Corruption, those charged with the telling of the story. Trieste, The White Lady, prophet, magician, warrior, godchild, queen of frozen Haihaff, arrives in a land conquered by evil, and manages to seal the door with her own blood, locking out hordes of beasts, and impending doom. Meanwhile a King called Tirus has a battle with another King Rictus in this land, Tirus defeats Rictus and banishes him.The exiled king, Rictus, bid his magician open the gate and unleash the pestilence of the Pitborn and their dark ruler Abaddon upon Haran, The Immortal Land. In his hubris, Rictus thought he might control them, that he might herald his conquering of Haran on the crest of a black wave of the accursed. But there could be no alliance with Abaddon, the lord of the pit whose blessing is pain, whose enchantment is the wage of sorrow. Thence came Trieste. She bound together those with strength left to resist. To her aid came the dark magic of The Summoners, the power of The Incar, the blades of The Azure Order, the lethal arrows of The Segita, the brute strength of The Bagi, and the blessed touch of The Segnale. They made war then, blanketing the land with the hewed limbs of Pitborn. Their valor knew no equal, but their numbers were too few. The minions of Abaddon poured forth from the gate where they had waited for countless unhallowed centuries and their bloodlust could not be slaked. Despite their courage, the forces of Haran would fall. |
Chapter 3Abaddon bound Rictus in the darkness of the abyss and every time a man fell to claw, tooth or blade, every time a woman or child burned to black flesh, choked to blue or starved to sallow skin, Rictus died their death and lived to die again. This for all eternity, for such was the will of Abaddon. The land is invaded again, worse than ever before. King Tirus commits suicide upon seeing the carnage and only two cities remain.The Pitborn flooded Haran, the wake of their butchery staining crimson the once proud soil of The Immortal Land. Mankind teetered on the brink of annihilation. In the depth of his sorrow, overwhelmed by hopelessness, their king, Tirus The Grim, succumbed to death by his own hand. Centuries have passed and the enchantment of The White Lady has worn thin as she prophesied. There is no safe passage and of the once proud cities only Loa and Braiken remain. Yet, there is hope. The people of The Immortal Land resist. With bolt and blade, with conjured flame and summoned might they combat the minions of Abaddon. For it is said Trieste will return when once again the twin moons align. Until then, only the law of the sword remains: “No mercy for the weak, no pity for the dying, no tears for the slain!” |
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