After a month of travelling through The Dragon Peak mountain range, Zammar, Ren and Tristan finally reached the city of Kampalla, only to find it razed to the ground. Emotionally charged, Tristan confronted his Und'kal friend, Aythyl. The two once again initiated the strange Und'kal ability of mind sharing, allowing Tristan to look through the eyes of several members of the alien species. In the process, he began to lose himself in their more violent conscious. Sensing this, Aythyl terminated the connection, upon which he was attacked by an enraged Tristan.
After regaining self control, Tristan joined Ren and Zammar. Zammar had summoned his beloved mount, a horse named Arion to carry them across the desert planes of The Blacklands. On its back, the trio rode fast and hard for three days until they finally reached the city of Candahar. Despite the confrontation at the city's gates, Candahar was isolated and had seperated itself from the rest of The Blacklands. Chief Abejide recognized his old accomplice, Zammar, and reluctantly allowed them through the gates. The city had already begun preparing itself for battle, awaiting the enormous Und'kal horde that marched towards them.
Meanwhile, Commander Abasi had fled the lost battle for Kampalla through a secret underground passage. He brought three companions with him - Jamil, Hadi and his old friend Imad. The three managed to scrounge camels, and made to ride across the desert, aiming to warn the Pharaoh of the impending horde of monsters. A few days into their journey however, Imad spotted a horse charging across the desert in the distance. Abasi, not a man to tolerate white scum in The Blacklands, made pursuit.
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Ren woke slowly, watching the dust motes above her dance lazily in the strong noon sun that streamed in through the window. The bedding beneath her was soft, pulling her in with its seductive embrace. Here, she could lie forever. The fox kit was huddled up on her belly, its big black eyes looking back at her curiously.
"Hi Air," she whispered, stroking the soft fur. "That's a nice and strange name...Better than Brenda at least." She grinned at it, reluctantly moving to get up. Air yapped before leaping off and bounding towards the door, where he turned back to look at her expectantly. Sluggishly, Ren followed him through and out of the empty palace in to the city streets.
Candahar reminded her only slightly of when she had ventured in to the Blacker regions of Torsts under city. It felt so much more primitive, the only real similarity being the colour of the people and the way everyone seemed to stop what they were doing to look at her. In Torst, she had mostly gotten suspicious glares. They were used to seeing whiter people, but the mistrust was strong. Here, people regarded her with wary curiosity; many of them had probably never seen someone with skin as light as hers. Of Course, many also looked at her with a lot more aggression, the sparks of hatred easily showing behind eyes on otherwise composed faces.
It wasn't their fault, she knew that. That was the way they had been raised, the seeds of hatred sown strongly through generations and further fueled by a millennium of bloodshed. These people must have felt justified in their mistrust. Still, the propaganda machines of The Blacklands certainly had a lot less impact in Candahar than they would else where. In Kairo, she would already be dead.
Walking through the crowded city streets, Ren tried her best to smile at all of the strangers that stopped to look at her. It was like she carried a little bubble of silence around her. Within a few meters in every direction, there was no noise from the city folk. Silent hushing accompanied her, as they dropped whatever they were doing to turn and stare with wide eyes. And once she had passed a threshold, they began gossiping behind her back.
'I am the queen,' she reminded herself, holding her head high and walking proudly. She had to look like she had a purpose, a destination and a determined ambition. Hesitation wasn't a luxury afforded to her anymore.
The sun was high and hot, adding to her misery and glinting painfully off the dirt paths. It also doused the city streets, casting short shadows and burning her nape. She had tied her hair back in a pony tail, knowing full well that she could not replicate the intricate braids that most of the local women adorned. Her attempt to look self sufficient seemed to have backfired. Additionally, her clothes were tattered and fully sleeved, an aid in the mountains that she regretted now. She felt strangely self conscious in them, doubly so in the presence of the almost naked natives.
Compared to Torst, Candahar was surprisingly bland. The red streamers and shades that had been erected over the stalls on the street sides did not do much to alleviate the dull brown that endless mud huts painted the landscape in. It was the primary colour on the city streets, merging seamlessly from the ground to the walls of the huts, almost as if they had been cast up as an extension of the earth itself. The cuboid structures stretched to the horizon, their walls broken only by dimly lit windows and shallow alleys. Apart from this, the most abundant colour in the city was the glistening, bare black skin of the native people as they crowded around their homes.
Still, Tristan had a point. The city was mobilizing for battle harmoniously. The way that everyone was contributing to the preparations reminded her painfully of the last days of Torst. Right before its demise, her home had been more unified than ever. In Candahar though, it seemed almost like every single person was preparing to fight. There was no preparation of emergency rations, or evacuation groups and drills here. The women, with their bare and enviously large breasts - she felt rather inadequate in comparison, were all arming themselves for battle just like the men. And apart from the few food stalls, all the marketplaces lining the sides of the wall seemed brimming with exotic weapons and barrels of poison. Protective armour on the other hand, was no where to be seen.
To Ren, it was like looking at an enormous family from outside their home. The bonds of city folk, that she had lost, reminded her of happier days. These were an ancient people, who had lived in this barren desert for centuries. Here, through their hardships, they had bonded and created a culture unique to even their own Pharaohdom. And now, Ren had ran from her fallen kingdom, intruding upon their home without the courtesy and permission that would have been due. Now, they gathered judgmentally around her, bringing her deepest insecurities to the surface.
A small red ball rolled across the road from the silent crowd, coming to a stop at her foot. She crouched down to pick it up and then turned to scan the gathering of people and see where it came from. A small, naked boy was clinging desperately to his mothers legs as he looked at her with wide eyes.
"Is this yours?" She asked, approaching the pair with an outstretched arm. They jumped back almost immediately, the woman's dark eyes growing even larger.
A shiver ran through Ren's heart, unleashing the culminated loneliness of the walk in a catharsis of pain and sorrow. These people were afraid of her.
"I won't hurt you, I promise." She gestured with the ball, once her rapid heart beat had finally settled. The little boy peaked his head out, and she managed to give him the tiniest nod of encouragement.
"Cody get back!" The mother yelled as he leaped past her and bounded to Ren. 'Cody,' Ren realized with a stab of pain.
"Here you go," she managed to smile, feeling dozens of critical eyes as she gave the ball back.
"Thank you lady!" He grinned up at her, his innocent smile bringing painful memories with it. She lost herself in the boys eyes for a long moment, before his angry mother snatched him up. Ren stared at the air where he had been, slowly standing to smile shyly at the glowering woman. She then turned quickly and kept walking down the street, ignoring the sudden whispering behind her. Ren, being the queen of a fallen kingdom and the last of an ancient civilization, had never felt more lonely.
After a while, Air, who had been trotting happily a meter or so in front of her, completely ignorant to her pain, suddenly stopped and began barking excitedly. "What's wrong?" Ren asked as she approached the fox. Suddenly, it bounded off and began running full out through the street. "What...wait! Air!" Ren cried as she tumbled after it.
It seemed like a long run, curving through the city streets. Ren struggled to keep up with lithe fox, but it helped that the city folk all jumped out of her way as if she was a plague reborn. There was virtually no resistance, and she could feel their disapproving glares drill in to her back as she ran by and tried to put on an apologetic face. Finally, she turned a corner to see Air leaping happily in to a larger hut at the end of the street. From within, a small orange glow hinted at a fire, and a strong smell of exotic spices permeated through the air, reminding her of Torst's marketplace.
Ren approached the mud hut cautiously, aware of the chant like humming that came from within. Inside, a single old man was sitting, facing the fire in the center. His large back, flowing with folds of fat looked redder than it should have in the firelight. He was humming, while gently splashing and rubbing some liquid on his round belly from a container at his feet. The large loin cloth he wore also looked stained with red, the blotches standing out from the white fabric in the dim firelight.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude..." Ren said, feeling self conscious as she stepped forward to look for Air. The fox was curled up right next to the man, enjoying the warmth of the fire despite the hot day outside.
The man did not stop his humming, so Ren stepped forward again cautiously, gesturing to the fox. "Psht, here boy..." It did not even bat an eye lid at her. "Air! Here!" She whispered frantically, stepping forward again.
"Even though he lives in the cold mountains, he loves the warmth of a nice fire." Ren almost fell backwards from the sudden, jolly voice of the old man. He turned to face her, revealing a happy, wrinkled face. His hair was short, and a long white beard flowed down from the chin. It too seemed to have been painted red. Ren could not imagine the face without a smile. "Come in, little girl...You are far from home!" He patted the space next to him on the bench that surrounded the fire. "This old man does not bite!"
Instantly charmed, Ren approached him with a shy smile. His very aura seemed to draw her in, and shed a bit more light on the world. The effect was amplified by the fresh scars of her lonely walk.
"Which old man? I just see a handsome, young lad!" She said, taking a seat next to him.
His jolly laughter echoed through the small room. "Oh, you are too kind to this one." The man turned back to fire and began humming again. It was a strange chant, in an ancient language that Ren had never heard before - one of the many that must have been lost when all the world switched to Anglish. He reached back in to the pail of liquid at his feet and began rubbing more of it onto his belly, splashing it on the ground around in the process. Ren realized that the liquid was the source of the smell of spices, and also the reddening colour of the mans dark skin. The odour permeated from him, mixed with sweat.
"What are you doing?" She asked curiously, leaning forward to look at the mans face with her head on a hand, her arm resting on a leg.
The man stopped humming for a moment and gave her a merry smile. "Why, I am preparing myself."
"Oh? For what?"
"Mmm, for the gods of course!" He gave her a sly grin. "The more important question, little girl, is what are you doing?"
"Huh? I'm watching you, I think."
"Mhmm." The man returned to facing the fire and continued his chanting. Ren followed his gaze, looking at the flickering flames for a long time. The firewood slowly falling apart looked all too similar to watching Tristan's village burn in a catastrophic inferno. And the image of Torst, still glorious in its downfall, was strong in her mind - a picture she would never forget.
"Actually," she whispered "I don't really know what I'm doing."
"Mhmm." The man poured some more liquid on his thigh and started rubbing it in, causing the fat to wobble back and forth continuously. The black skin slowly began to take on a redder hue. "I have found, that most of us don't."
"Do you?"
"No."
Ren paused for a second, surprised at his response before bursting out in laughter.
The mans jokingly serious expression disappeared in a smile as he looked up to the top of the hut. "Aah, to hear a beautiful girl's laughter in this old age of mine." When Ren finally calmed, holding her side because of the pain, the man turned to look down at her with a solemn expression. "Why do you not laugh more, little girl?"
"Sorry?" She asked, stifled by his suddenly somber tone.
"I recognize those eyes, but never in all my years have I seen them so sad."
Ren turned back to the fire, slumping down with the burden on her shoulders. The old man began his slow, soothing hum again. The beautiful song reverberated through her being, permeating through her consciousness with its soothing melody. It reminded Ren of days spent playing in the lush gardens of Torst with Cody...and lying under the trees on her mothers lap as she listened to stories of the cities glory.
"The Und'kal destroyed my home." She whispered after a long time.
"Mmm," the old man continued his ritual with a sigh.
"I miss it so much...mom, dad...and the people...they didn't do anything wrong...but I'm the only one that's still here...I don't deserve that."
The humming ended on a sad tone, "I know, little girl, I know."
"Do you? How can you?" Her voice was more heated than she had meant.
The Old man turned to look at Ren with a pensive face, the sadness in his eyes seemed to penetrate through her. "I have lived a long and hard life as a warrior of Candahar...Many friends and places I loved have left me long behind, I know of your pain little girl."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
"No, no little girl...I have learned an important thing. Times change, but love and life will move on...As such, it does do for us to dwell on the past, and forget to live." He gave her a smile.
"But, I can't just forget..."
"Even if you tried, little girl, you never will. But you can honour their memory, and you will!"
Ren sighed exasperatedly. "Everyone expects so much from me..."
"Maybe you give them a good reason to?"
"Not really...I'm pretty useless."
The old man started chuckling happily, "Oh, don't say that little girl. Look, you have brought a glimmer of joy to this old man's boring day! Surely you can't be useless!"
His happiness drew her in, and she gave him a warm smile. "Thank you..."
"Do not be afraid of the future, little girl, sometimes life can be a dark tunnel. You don't know where you are going, and you cannot even see the light at the end. But just know, that if you keep going, you will come to a better place."
Ren looked at the man affectionately as he returned to rubbing the liquid on his legs, continuing his song as if it had never been interrupted. He was right, she decided. Torst may have been destroyed, but its ideal still stood. And she was the Queen. She would make her own ancestors proud of their city, and bring to light the dreams of the founders.
"Why do your gods ask you to rub that on yourself?" She motioned to the pail of red liquid at the mans feet after another thoughtful silence of listening to the chant.
"Mmm? They aren't my gods...They are the cities."
"But then as a warrior of the city, they are your gods too right?"
"Oh? No no little girl, I do not even believe they exist!"
Ren was genuinely shocked. "Then why are you doing that?"
The man did not respond, and began his humming again. His right leg was almost as red as his large belly now, as he rubbed its underside tenderly.
"Do you believe in the gods, little girl?" He finally asked.
"I'm not really sure what to believe anymore..." She replied hesitantly.
The old man turned to her with a smile. "You will figure these things out."
Before Ren could reply, the bustling of the city folk outside the hut was suddenly lost behind a loud, bass bang that reverberated through her bones. It was followed slowly by another until the rhythm of a drum beat began to emerge.
"What's that?" She asked.
The Old man let out a sad, drawn out sigh as he continued to rub his leg. "Enemies have been sighted."
"What?!" Ren hurriedly got up and made for the door, picking up Air in the process. There, she turned around to smile at the Old man. "Thank you." The last thing she saw before rushing off was red back.
**
He picked up the Torstian longblade Ren had lent him, twisting it so that the single beam of sunlight from the high window fell across the symbol on its hilt. A familiar, mighty greatsword and book crossed each other, surrounded by a circle - the universal symbol of unity. Something made Tristan finger the blade, eagerly feeling out the sharpness. It was a lethal weapon. With it, he could rip apart his enemies easily; with the sword in his hands, he could protect his queen and shower the Earth in blood.
A small vibration in his pocket startled him, breaking him out of the trance. Tristan shook his head in confusion as the vibration sounded again. He reached down and felt the dark stone that Aythyl had given him - the heartstone. Pulling it out, he realized that instead of the lustre black of before, it was now giving a strange and ethereal purple glow.
That wasn't the only change. As he held the stone, it was as though the capacity of his mind had suddenly increased - as if there was physically more room for thought. Yet, despite the strange difference, everything felt and seemed the same.
"Tristan friend," A thought sounded in his head, causing him to almost drop the stone in surprise. It was just like an ordinary thought, except...It wasn't in his voice.
His response was just as automatic, "huh? what was that?" nothing more than a thought.
"It is me, Aythyl," came the responding thought, in a different voice to his own.
"Aythyl? Am I hearing Aythyl in my head? Or am I just day dreaming in the heat?" Tristan thought.
"Yes, Tristan friend, we have mind shared two ways...Now we are forever connected. The Heartstone allows the bond to increase in strength to a degree that we can communicate."
"Wait, so you can hear me? I'm not even talking"
"Yes."
"Wow..." The Und'kal never failed to surprise him with their amazingly unique and interesting biological quirks. "Where are you, Aythyl? Are you okay?" It was strange, directing his thoughts in to a conversation.
"I am returning to The Hive. Right now, I am close to where we first met."
"Oh good, we managed to find a city called Candahar, that's where we are staying right now."
"I know. Friend Tristan, they are coming...I can not stop the Prime Directive." Aythyl sounded concerned. No, he didn't sound concerned, he felt it. His emotions too seeped in to Tristan's mind, a foreign entity to his own.
"Yeah, the war drums have been sounding for a few hours...There will be a fight soon." He replied, consciously aware of his uncertainty about the coming battle, could Aythyl feel that too?
"Tristan friend, I have lived your mind and know you better than you do yourself...You do not want to fight." The alien replied, answering his question.
"No...I really don't...I don't want to hurt your people, Aythyl." Tristan could not lie, or ponder for even a moment. Thought was instantaneous, and Aythyl would hear it as such.
"They will not hesitate to rip you apart."
"I know..."
"So, you have to fight them, Tristan friend, fight them without hesitation...to protect those that you...love...yes, love. You have to survive, that is most important."
"Aythyl...I don't want this...I really don't, we can live in peace...I know we can!"
"Yes, friend Tristan, but first you must survive. We will work towards peace together."
"Do you think you can convince the Und'kal to stop the fighting?"
"You have lived the Und'kal, and know it will be a difficult task..." Aythyl felt doubtful but still brimming with hope. "I will try my best...I think we will have a good chance if I can convince Und Prime to mind share with a human...Can you convince your queen mate?"
Now it was Tristans turn to feel hesitant, "It won't be easy...but she's compassionate...I think I can."
"Good."
"Aythyl, I need to prepare for the fight...The Queen needs me." He looked at the heartstone with trepidation, how could he sever this connection?
"Wait, Tristan friend"
"Yes?"
"The Dertan...The war group that is coming to you...There is a Kal Prime."
"A Kal Prime?" Tristan remembered the Und prime from Aythyls memories clearly...What would the leaders of the warrior class of Und'kal be like?
"Yes, be careful, friend Tristan...and remember...You are a human." The connection was severed abruptly - Tristans mind capacity seemed to almost shrink, and the stone in his hand suddenly stopped glowing.
**
"Candahar." He said hoarsely as his three companions rode forward to stand their camels by his side.
"Thank the gods they haven't reached it yet." Hadi added, the relief clearly showing in his voice. "We should be able to drop in, resupply and be off before they do."
"Probably not." Imad replied with finality. He was pointing in the distance. Abasi strained his eyes against the bright sun to see. A thick, familiar column of darkness was approaching the city from the West with remarkable speed. They would reach it by tomorrow at the least. He sighed inwardly, still surprised that him and his companions had managed to beat the monsters to Candahar - the enemy must have taken a detour...More villages probably lay in ruin to the north-west.
Jamil was shaking in his seat next to him. "Oh Fuck...Fuck...Chief, we gotta fucking get outta here..."
"Shit..." Hadi whispered.
Jamil turned to Abasi, pleadingly. "Chief...There's nothing we can do, fuck...Candahar doesn't even follow the Kairan religion, they disobey and insult the gods...Let's get outta here man, we gotta fucking warn the pharaoh, that was our mission remember?"
"Chief, if we go down there...We're all dead." Hadi added.
Abasi kept his eyes on the approaching horde. Candahar looked so puny in comparison, and if Kampalla had fallen...
"Then at least we died fighting like men, not cowards running with our tails clenched between raw ass cheeks." He said firmly.
Jamils camel began to back away, his face showing the raw definition of fear. "Fuck...No chief...I ain't fucking dying for those savages!"
Abasi turned to face him with furious conviction. "Shut the fuck up you little piece of shit. I don't give two shits worth what religion they follow, or that they dress up like fucking two year old cunts. That is a fucking city of The Blacklands, and by the Pharaoh you swore to protect it. So shut the fuck up and give your worthless life to the worthwhile cause."
Jamil shook his head incredulously, "Fuck...I never signed up for this shit...Those were fucking monsters chief!"
"Then fuck off and get out of my sight you little shit. But remember, the penalty for treason is death. And no way in Duat am I going to forget you." He kicked his camel forward, conscious of the fearful look that Hadi gave his gashed back as he reluctantly followed. Jamil took longer, Abasi was almost halfway down the hill before he heard the man begin trudging behind.
The city people were running around busily, moving large wooden balustrades in front of the gates, pulling cauldrons of bubbling poison behind them, or mobilizing troops to practice field maneuvers. The small walls were brimming with boomerang throwers practicing their throws and little boys boys moving barrels in to position. A large gathering of people were gathered around an area in which groups of warriors were sparring, either with scimitars or spears. It seemed everyone was prepared to fight.
Abasi crunched his nose at the disgusting smell and appearance of the city folk. At least all of them were dark, compared to Kampalla and its lighter skinned refugees. He had missed seeing so much pure, black skin. Still, the least they could do would be to cover it up a bit, especially the women. Seeing the large, dark breasts brought back painful memories of Abasi and his wife in their bed. She's gone he reminded himself, he had forgone saving her, bringing a wimp like Jamil instead.
The gatesman gave him a wide yellow smile, his front teeth chipped or missing, as they approached. "Nice cut ya got there." He said, motioning to the gash on Abasi's back.
Abasi grunted in response and walked his camel through the gate and on to a busy city street. Impatient, he ignored the bustling city folk and urged onwards, counting the side roads. He turned down them twice before he was satisfied he had found the right one, then kept his eyes on the hut at the back as he kicked his camel forward.
"Chief, where are we going?" Hadi asked behind him.
"I have a friend."
A man, wearing a long thawb stained yellow by over use and food stains stepped out of the last hut as they approached. The garb stood out from the rest of the city men; all of the natives were bare chested and wore nothing but loin clothes. His dark skin shone with perspiration beneath his short, graying hair as he crumpled his forehead against the light to stare up at them. His home was indiscernible from the rest on the street, but he grinned as Abasi dismounted his camel.
"You old fucker." His teeth were stained yellow, and crooked with three visibly missing.
"Missed you too, Omir." The man embraced Abasi in a tight hug, causing him to wince in pain as the scar on his back erupted in furious pain.
"Oh fuck, you're hurt! Come inside, my daughter will stitch that up."
*
"I'm not sure if I trust you enough to eat this." Abasi said, taking the bowl from Omir's daughter."Oh come on, don't throw me in with the rest of these savages." Omir replied with a happy grin. "It's just Pine nut, vegetarian anyway."
Abasi spooned a mouthful down dutifully, fresh food was a luxury he had missed. Him and his companions were sitting on benches around the fire in Omirs hut, which only added to the already hot day. A big pot of soup was boiling away on top.
"Fuck, I knew those white shits were heading for this city." Abasi grunted, stirring his soup violently.
"Yeah, but get this Abasi...Rumour on the streets is that one of them is the queen." Omir replied, pouring himself some of the thick liquid.
"The Queen? Queen of what?"
"You're not gonna believe this, of Torst."
Abasi's eye grew wide in surprise. "What the fuck? I thought that monarchy was abolished years ago..."
"I know man, I don't get it either. But Abejide is using it as an excuse to keep them here...Under that ancient law that the rulers of Torst have free entry to any city."
"Fuck! That's bullshit Omir!"
"I know."
"Did he at least get word to the Pharaoh?"
"I don't know, but you know Candahar and The Blacklands...These fucking separatists are always trying to break off from the Pharaohdom."
"Shit, and that bitch is pretending to be a queen so she can hide here."
"Exactly, Abejide probably wants her support to help separate the city. Or he just wants her in his bed, they say that she's like a beautiful angel come to save us all from the monsters." The man gave him a dirty wink.
"What the fuck, she's white isn't she?"
"Yeah man." He replied with a helpless shrug.
"Shit Omir, I never thought Candahar was so corrupted. The Pharaoh won't stand for this."
"The Pharaoh is leagues away, he won't know until it's too late."
"I know." Abasi put down the empty bowl on the bench next to him. "Imad."
"Yes sir?" The stoic man asked neutrally from across the fire.
"Start getting the word out. We need to find good, strong people that are opposed to Abejide and these white fucks."
"Of course."
Omir was squinting at him. "Abasi, what're you planning to do?"
"We're going to organize a coup." He looked Omir in the eyes as the other mans face slowly turned in to a wicked grin silhouetted by the fire.
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History pt.I - The new age
The first racial war ended in the year 0000, leaving millions dead and a shattered world behind. Cities that had stood for years, and civilizations that thrived for centuries were razed to the ground by the harsh winds of strife. All history before the fighting was lost, the pages simply erased in the bloodshed. The conflict saw the formation of two mighty nations, divided solely on the colour of their citizens skins.
The initial attacks began in the south, where the hundreds of dark skinned tribes commenced a simultaneous purge of lighter skinned people. It was here, in the heart of what became known as The Blacklands that a man named Akhenhatan rose through the ranks of chaos, claiming to be a messenger sent from the true gods. He formed the Kairan religion, creating The Pharaohdom. From his throne in the newly founded city of Kairo, Akhenhatan saw the unification of The Blacklands into a single empire.
The lighter skinned people of the North began their purge of the blacks almost instantly in response to that in the south. However, once The Pharaohdom was formed, they faced a new threat. The people of the land known as The Whitelands found themselves overwhelmed by the unified might of Akhenhatan's armies. In desperation, the many, newly formed cities of the north allied themselves to each other. They established the Commonwealth of Nations, creating a democratic land of hundreds of self governed cities that collaborated together for the united cause.
With the creation of the two superpowers, the fighting raged for decades, resulting in a bloody stalemate. It seemed that the war, more brutal than any before, would never end. Until, for a reason lost to the sands of time, it suddenly stopped. It was the year 0000, marked as such on the date of a new page in history - the time of Torst.
Hundreds of Thousands of people had been misplaced from their homes, innocent civilians that wanted no part in the bickering of politicians. They began to congregate in the safest place they could find - hidden beneath the harsh peaks of The Dragon Peaks, on the border of the two warring nations. Here, a small group, led by two, founded the safe haven of Torst. The mysterious founding of the city, who was involved, how it stopped the war, and the events describing how it happened were all lost to time. However, the dream of a united world that its creators cherished lingered deep in the walls of the stone city for millenia.
For the next one hundred years, the power and influence of Torst grew until it was a force to be reckoned with. A century after the war, Torst had reached a pinnacle of its power. At this point, neither The Blacklands or The Whitelands dared confront each other, despite the tensions at their borders, for fear of intervention from the mighty neutral state.
Unfortunately, time took its toll on the city of Torst. The more open the gates were, the more corruption seemed to seep through them. The Adriatic line of kings, descended directly from the first monarchs, slowly lost power to the democratically elected council. As the people began segregating themselves within the city, creating borders and internal stress, so too did the politics divide. Political decisions came to a stalemate, laws debated and shot down to the point of no progress.
The Whitelands and The Blacklands started to realize the weaknesses of the city state. It began slowly, with the segregation of the "lower races." In The Blacklands, people with browner skin, rather than black, were separated and frowned upon by the rest of the populace. The Whitelands looked entirely to its Eastern lands, undermining the authority of the oriental cities.
Finally, this segregation transformed in to the absolute enslavement and deportation of the lower races. By force, hundreds of thousands of people were taken from their homes, and sold to the rich, noble families that could afford human slaves. Every traditionally brown or oriental city was occupied, the people oppressed into a miserable life of servitude. The world fell in to the stark contrast of black and white, with no room for colour.
The whole while, Torst stood by helplessly, unable to do anything but provide a sanctuary for those that managed to escape. Any argument made in favour of stopping the slavery with force was quickly shot down by supporters of the higher races. The political impasse was crippling to the city state.
It was fifty years before the slave revolutions began, triggering the second racial war.
A slave that had managed to escape the clutches of The Whitelands and taken refugee in Torst slowly, secretly gathered support from behind the safety of the city walls. Named Zhou, he amassed an army of ex slaves and sympathizers, riding north with them to liberate the enslaved city of Lasa. The Whitelands were caught surprised, allowing Zhou to charge through the Orientals up to Shin'xi, before they finally amassed ample resistance. At this point, he had gathered an impressively large and loyal army of ex slaves.
Encouraged by the successes in the north, the slaves of The Blacklands province known as Indus too began to take arms against their masters. The Beast-master tribes that roamed this land had been subdued and weakened significantly by the previous decades of servitude. Still, many survived intact, hiding in the lush tropical forests of the Bengal. They began the attacks, utilizing their tamed tigers and snakes to rip through the unsuspecting Blacklands forces in guerilla attacks and freeing their captivated comrades.
For the first time since their creation, the two nations of The Whitelands and The Blacklands found themselves in an uncontrollable internal conflict. The second racial war lasted for a decade of bloodshed. Driven by the undying dream of freedom, the lower races, at great cost, managed to annex all enslaved cities within reach. Yet, they remained unable to penetrate deep in to the heart of the massive nations to free the millions of slaves that were held in the major cities.
For the years of carnage, Torst continued its state of deadlock, unable to interfere. Its population had grown remarkably diverse, doubly so from the influx of refugees. Representatives of the higher races argued that the city's responsibility was to protect the nations and cull the uprisings. Likewise, representatives that had been elected by support of the lower races pushed for the city to help with the liberation efforts.
Finally, on the tenth day of the tenth year of the war, King Aeirys had had enough. Having lost all but symbolic power, Aeirys rued the council members, further so for believing that they had damned the world to eternal war with their incompetence. Using his personal guard, he stormed through the homes of each council member on what became known as The Night of the Long Knives. There was no mercy. When the people of Torst awoke the next day, they found the bodies of all fifty large council members hanging grotesquely from the city gates. The democracy had been abolished.
That day, the mighty armies of Torst finally rode out from the city gates.
Aeirys' ultimatum to show no mercy to any that continued fighting was quick to quell the conflict. Despite the internal strife, Torst had remained immensely powerful. Additionally, being a neutral state, no nation wanted to be on the cities bad side. After all, Torst would receive the support of the enemy, providing enough strength to tip the delicate scale that had held the fighting in a stalemate.
With the initiation of the ceasefire, Aeirys declared the liberation of the lower races. He personally took a map, sketching borders around the latest front lines, warning The Whitelands and The Blacklands against transgression. He then announced the millions of slaves still alive in the interior cities as a gift - the price that the lower races had paid for their freedom.
Thus, with no real winner and many bitter tensions, the second racial war came to an end. It marked the final formation of the four giant nations that now bordered Torst.
In the Orientals, Zhou on his deathbed declared his son Wan as the first emperor of The Dragon Empire. Similar to The Pharaohdom of The Blacklands, the monarchy would last for millenia, slowly evolving in to one ingrained deeply in the beliefs of the people. Over time and conflict, its people became masters of fire and physical combat, creating a unique and isolated culture that could hold its own against the might of the giant nations against which it stood.
In Indus, the beast-master tribes that had walked the land for centuries began to gather and form cities. Similar to The Whitelands, these cities allied in a conglomeration of self governed states. Still, the people retained the ancient arts of breeding and taming, becoming a dangerous foe despite the relatively small land mass allotted to them. However, the strong attunement to nature and spirituality meant that they were generally peace loving, avoiding conflict if possible.
The second racial war left the world divided more than ever, forging unforgivable grudges and planting seeds of hatred that would remain for over a thousand years. Yet, the days of oppression and forced slavery were finally over, leaving room and reason for a new age of prosperity for all the nations. In the end however, it was Torst that benefited most from the outcome of the war. As part of the peace effort, Aeirys made sure to expand the city states borders, taking land from all the nations. Torst grew intentionally to share a border with all four states, settling in to the peacemaking role it would play for the next centuries.
The city benefited greatly from the development of its bordering countries. As they grew, each acquiring unique technologies and cultures, their people mingled in and out of Torst. The city progressed highly from trade, accepting goods from all four nations. These trade good would often be sold for a profit to another nation that simply had too much pride to purchase from their old enemies. This open trade also resulted in the city receiving a remarkable variety of crafts and tools to further its own armies. A key example of this was the art of gunpowder creation brought in from The Dragon Empire. Using this, and combining it with ballistic technologies from The Blacklands, Torst was the only nation to ever invent explosive artillery, lining its tall walls with canons.
The end of the second racial war brought on a new age for mankind. An age of imperialism and progress. As years passed, the undercurrents and tensions of the past resurfaced. Racism and hate towards all other nations was taught to children in every city, growing stronger through the generations. Cultivated further by propaganda, the seeds of hatred would flourish, culminating in constant skirmishes and out breaking of fights along the borders. The world seemed to be in a state of perpetual war.
The next 1200 years would see constant struggles, as each nation vied for superiority over the others. Accompanied by bitter politics and technological progress, the world would never be the same again.
The initial attacks began in the south, where the hundreds of dark skinned tribes commenced a simultaneous purge of lighter skinned people. It was here, in the heart of what became known as The Blacklands that a man named Akhenhatan rose through the ranks of chaos, claiming to be a messenger sent from the true gods. He formed the Kairan religion, creating The Pharaohdom. From his throne in the newly founded city of Kairo, Akhenhatan saw the unification of The Blacklands into a single empire.
The lighter skinned people of the North began their purge of the blacks almost instantly in response to that in the south. However, once The Pharaohdom was formed, they faced a new threat. The people of the land known as The Whitelands found themselves overwhelmed by the unified might of Akhenhatan's armies. In desperation, the many, newly formed cities of the north allied themselves to each other. They established the Commonwealth of Nations, creating a democratic land of hundreds of self governed cities that collaborated together for the united cause.
With the creation of the two superpowers, the fighting raged for decades, resulting in a bloody stalemate. It seemed that the war, more brutal than any before, would never end. Until, for a reason lost to the sands of time, it suddenly stopped. It was the year 0000, marked as such on the date of a new page in history - the time of Torst.
Hundreds of Thousands of people had been misplaced from their homes, innocent civilians that wanted no part in the bickering of politicians. They began to congregate in the safest place they could find - hidden beneath the harsh peaks of The Dragon Peaks, on the border of the two warring nations. Here, a small group, led by two, founded the safe haven of Torst. The mysterious founding of the city, who was involved, how it stopped the war, and the events describing how it happened were all lost to time. However, the dream of a united world that its creators cherished lingered deep in the walls of the stone city for millenia.
For the next one hundred years, the power and influence of Torst grew until it was a force to be reckoned with. A century after the war, Torst had reached a pinnacle of its power. At this point, neither The Blacklands or The Whitelands dared confront each other, despite the tensions at their borders, for fear of intervention from the mighty neutral state.
Unfortunately, time took its toll on the city of Torst. The more open the gates were, the more corruption seemed to seep through them. The Adriatic line of kings, descended directly from the first monarchs, slowly lost power to the democratically elected council. As the people began segregating themselves within the city, creating borders and internal stress, so too did the politics divide. Political decisions came to a stalemate, laws debated and shot down to the point of no progress.
The Whitelands and The Blacklands started to realize the weaknesses of the city state. It began slowly, with the segregation of the "lower races." In The Blacklands, people with browner skin, rather than black, were separated and frowned upon by the rest of the populace. The Whitelands looked entirely to its Eastern lands, undermining the authority of the oriental cities.
Finally, this segregation transformed in to the absolute enslavement and deportation of the lower races. By force, hundreds of thousands of people were taken from their homes, and sold to the rich, noble families that could afford human slaves. Every traditionally brown or oriental city was occupied, the people oppressed into a miserable life of servitude. The world fell in to the stark contrast of black and white, with no room for colour.
The whole while, Torst stood by helplessly, unable to do anything but provide a sanctuary for those that managed to escape. Any argument made in favour of stopping the slavery with force was quickly shot down by supporters of the higher races. The political impasse was crippling to the city state.
It was fifty years before the slave revolutions began, triggering the second racial war.
A slave that had managed to escape the clutches of The Whitelands and taken refugee in Torst slowly, secretly gathered support from behind the safety of the city walls. Named Zhou, he amassed an army of ex slaves and sympathizers, riding north with them to liberate the enslaved city of Lasa. The Whitelands were caught surprised, allowing Zhou to charge through the Orientals up to Shin'xi, before they finally amassed ample resistance. At this point, he had gathered an impressively large and loyal army of ex slaves.
Encouraged by the successes in the north, the slaves of The Blacklands province known as Indus too began to take arms against their masters. The Beast-master tribes that roamed this land had been subdued and weakened significantly by the previous decades of servitude. Still, many survived intact, hiding in the lush tropical forests of the Bengal. They began the attacks, utilizing their tamed tigers and snakes to rip through the unsuspecting Blacklands forces in guerilla attacks and freeing their captivated comrades.
For the first time since their creation, the two nations of The Whitelands and The Blacklands found themselves in an uncontrollable internal conflict. The second racial war lasted for a decade of bloodshed. Driven by the undying dream of freedom, the lower races, at great cost, managed to annex all enslaved cities within reach. Yet, they remained unable to penetrate deep in to the heart of the massive nations to free the millions of slaves that were held in the major cities.
For the years of carnage, Torst continued its state of deadlock, unable to interfere. Its population had grown remarkably diverse, doubly so from the influx of refugees. Representatives of the higher races argued that the city's responsibility was to protect the nations and cull the uprisings. Likewise, representatives that had been elected by support of the lower races pushed for the city to help with the liberation efforts.
Finally, on the tenth day of the tenth year of the war, King Aeirys had had enough. Having lost all but symbolic power, Aeirys rued the council members, further so for believing that they had damned the world to eternal war with their incompetence. Using his personal guard, he stormed through the homes of each council member on what became known as The Night of the Long Knives. There was no mercy. When the people of Torst awoke the next day, they found the bodies of all fifty large council members hanging grotesquely from the city gates. The democracy had been abolished.
That day, the mighty armies of Torst finally rode out from the city gates.
Aeirys' ultimatum to show no mercy to any that continued fighting was quick to quell the conflict. Despite the internal strife, Torst had remained immensely powerful. Additionally, being a neutral state, no nation wanted to be on the cities bad side. After all, Torst would receive the support of the enemy, providing enough strength to tip the delicate scale that had held the fighting in a stalemate.
With the initiation of the ceasefire, Aeirys declared the liberation of the lower races. He personally took a map, sketching borders around the latest front lines, warning The Whitelands and The Blacklands against transgression. He then announced the millions of slaves still alive in the interior cities as a gift - the price that the lower races had paid for their freedom.
Thus, with no real winner and many bitter tensions, the second racial war came to an end. It marked the final formation of the four giant nations that now bordered Torst.
In the Orientals, Zhou on his deathbed declared his son Wan as the first emperor of The Dragon Empire. Similar to The Pharaohdom of The Blacklands, the monarchy would last for millenia, slowly evolving in to one ingrained deeply in the beliefs of the people. Over time and conflict, its people became masters of fire and physical combat, creating a unique and isolated culture that could hold its own against the might of the giant nations against which it stood.
In Indus, the beast-master tribes that had walked the land for centuries began to gather and form cities. Similar to The Whitelands, these cities allied in a conglomeration of self governed states. Still, the people retained the ancient arts of breeding and taming, becoming a dangerous foe despite the relatively small land mass allotted to them. However, the strong attunement to nature and spirituality meant that they were generally peace loving, avoiding conflict if possible.
The second racial war left the world divided more than ever, forging unforgivable grudges and planting seeds of hatred that would remain for over a thousand years. Yet, the days of oppression and forced slavery were finally over, leaving room and reason for a new age of prosperity for all the nations. In the end however, it was Torst that benefited most from the outcome of the war. As part of the peace effort, Aeirys made sure to expand the city states borders, taking land from all the nations. Torst grew intentionally to share a border with all four states, settling in to the peacemaking role it would play for the next centuries.
The city benefited greatly from the development of its bordering countries. As they grew, each acquiring unique technologies and cultures, their people mingled in and out of Torst. The city progressed highly from trade, accepting goods from all four nations. These trade good would often be sold for a profit to another nation that simply had too much pride to purchase from their old enemies. This open trade also resulted in the city receiving a remarkable variety of crafts and tools to further its own armies. A key example of this was the art of gunpowder creation brought in from The Dragon Empire. Using this, and combining it with ballistic technologies from The Blacklands, Torst was the only nation to ever invent explosive artillery, lining its tall walls with canons.
The end of the second racial war brought on a new age for mankind. An age of imperialism and progress. As years passed, the undercurrents and tensions of the past resurfaced. Racism and hate towards all other nations was taught to children in every city, growing stronger through the generations. Cultivated further by propaganda, the seeds of hatred would flourish, culminating in constant skirmishes and out breaking of fights along the borders. The world seemed to be in a state of perpetual war.
The next 1200 years would see constant struggles, as each nation vied for superiority over the others. Accompanied by bitter politics and technological progress, the world would never be the same again.
Authors Note:
Hello! Greetings! Salutations!
More experiments happening as our heroes continue their slow adventure!
I found that pt. 6 was incredibly short. It seemed like a good oppurtunity to implement two ideas I have been thinking about. The first is that small recap section at the beginning. Because it takes a while for parts to be released, and lots of stuff is going to happen (and is going to be easy to forget because every one is so busy!), I figured it would be a good idea to do an entire "PREVIOUSLY ON AVATAR...." thing.
The second, was the entire HISTORY section that I added. I thought that it would be cool to have an isolated narrative that just helped embellish the universe and give the reader a better idea for the motivations in the story. Doing it this way also probably makes it a lot easier, as otherwise I would have to make it subtle to the point that it would probably just be confusing. ANYWAY, you do not need to expect these "HISTORY" segments in every part. They will be done when relevant/ during a good time.
As usual, there are many references in here to shows/books and etc. that I am particularly fond of. In fact, I made sure to paraphrase a couple of quotes that personally touched me!
Thank you for taking the time to read. Please get back to me with what you think of the story so far!
Hello! Greetings! Salutations!
More experiments happening as our heroes continue their slow adventure!
I found that pt. 6 was incredibly short. It seemed like a good oppurtunity to implement two ideas I have been thinking about. The first is that small recap section at the beginning. Because it takes a while for parts to be released, and lots of stuff is going to happen (and is going to be easy to forget because every one is so busy!), I figured it would be a good idea to do an entire "PREVIOUSLY ON AVATAR...." thing.
The second, was the entire HISTORY section that I added. I thought that it would be cool to have an isolated narrative that just helped embellish the universe and give the reader a better idea for the motivations in the story. Doing it this way also probably makes it a lot easier, as otherwise I would have to make it subtle to the point that it would probably just be confusing. ANYWAY, you do not need to expect these "HISTORY" segments in every part. They will be done when relevant/ during a good time.
As usual, there are many references in here to shows/books and etc. that I am particularly fond of. In fact, I made sure to paraphrase a couple of quotes that personally touched me!
Thank you for taking the time to read. Please get back to me with what you think of the story so far!
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