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Forgive me if my story isn't terribly appropriate: I didn't know either of
the people involved, but it's a story aboutbeing able to make your own
choices, and fighting for what you think is right, so it might be more
pleasing than I'm giving it credit for.
Remember, my kin, back through the dawn of time! Remember back,
before cities as we know them rose, back to the time of legend, when
Elspet ruled the world, and Gog and Magog fought for the amusement of man
and beast! Remember, and listen, for the story I tell is the fall of
Hyrman, King of Elsmaren.
I see in your eyes that few of us remember Elsmaren, and fewer yet
Hyrman, and that fact saddens me: For it is said that if he were Kindred,
he should have been of our clan, and if he was not, he was an examp0le we
should have studied. Hyrman was of the best of men, his bravery unfaulted
amongst his worst critic, his kindness the matter of legend. The greatest
compliment, we are told, even amongst his worst enemies, for bravery that
could be awarded was to be told that he had Hyrman's heart beating in his
chest. Hyrman was the King of Elsmaren, and his people's love for him was
rivalled only by their love for his Queen, Hannaren, said to be a
Dead-Speaker so mighty that she could speak to the ghosts of those who had
died as long before her as she is before us, or indeed, had never lived at
all Her beauty was the beauty of waterfalls and the soaring kite: The
fairness of nature made flesh. For her the flower opened in the morning,
and the moon waxed full . And Elsmaren prospered under their reign, for
they wqere amongst the best of people.
Elsmaren lay at the boundaries of the civilised world, the closest
city to the Lands Beyond: What lay there few knew, save that it grew
mightier and mightier, and would seize and rape the land beyond. Indeed
those who Dwelled beyond came forth many times to try and take what they
could from the Land, but each time they came upon Elsmaren, with it's
shingin walls, and were fought back. The city they came to hate and fear,
for it was the razor sword that held them back from the lands they
coverted: Not even could they work their foul sorceries upon the city to
divide the defender's hearts, for in Elsmaren, each man trusted the others
as his brothers, and went wih heartand mind free in the trust of Brothers.
Sagladius the Dwellers came to call it, The Sword that could not be
Broken.
And they hated it , and feared it, with a passion that was extreme even
for their corrupted standards. And so they gathered their forces into the
largest Warhost that has ever been seen: They had as many campfires as
there were stars in the sky above us: Where they drank, rivers ran dry,
where they walked, the land was ruined. And they marched in one host
towards Elsmaren: One host of those who would despoil, corrupt, and
destroy. Hyrman could not fail to know they came: Indeed, to fail to see
their hordes would have required him to be blind, and he sent out
messengers to his fellow Kings, asking for their aid. He was told that if
he could hold for seven days, he would have his aid. Seven days. It might
as well have been Seven weeks, or seven lifetimes. Elsmaren would not hold
for seven hours without the blessings of those above. So he ordered from
his keep those who were too old or too young. Those heavy with child, and
who were not willing to die for their city. And he ordered from it
Hannaren, for she bore his son inside her. The two argued with each other,
raged, over this, but in the end she left, swearing she would return, and
that if he died, her own death would be not long after.
The Dwellers came upon the city, and they attacked. And battle was
joined. I tell you this turely, that if it had been any other place, it
would have fallen within hours, but instead the batle dragged on for day,
then a second, until seven days had passed, and Hyrman, still living,
looked from his walls for the banners of his allies, joy in his heart. But
he saw only the countless legions of the Dwellers. Even at this betrayal
he could not find it in his great heart to hate the other kings, for this
battle was lost: And none would commit themselves to a lost war. To one
side, the Ruadien, the White River, ran red with the blood of those who
had already died there: Afterwards, we are told, it was called Aranthen,
the River of the Dead, so much bloodshed and death had it seen over those
days. And so the battle went on. And on, until seven seven days had
passed, and Elsmaren fell. Hyrman's body, it is said, needed not to be
elevated, so many were the dead around him: His sword shattered in the
throat of one, his hands locked around the throat of another, breaking
it's neck even as he was disembowelled. And the Dwellers rejoiced, for
Sagladius, the sword that could not be broken, had been shattered, never
again to be forged anew.
They looted, and marched onwards, rejoicingthat the lands beyond
were now opened to them. And they found Hannaren, with those who had been
sent from the city, alongwith those few who had chosen to risk their lives
from other cities. No, not risk, for that implies that they could ever
have won. Those who had chosen to spend their lives doing what the y saw
as right. T'was in a glade much like this one I fancy, that the forces
came on each other, and the Dwellers charged in one body at the humans who
were left. And it was slaughter: The ground ran red with human blood, as
they fought and died, in their droves. Until only one group was left: One
hundred men and women, around Hannaren, who had yet to interfere in the
battle. Then she looked at the host, and at it's leader, Jaen of the
Endless War. What passed between them in that look is now unknown, and I
fancy forever will be, but I have heard some say that in that second, he
wavered, and began to order a retreat.
He ordered it too late.
Hannaren spoke a word, and one hundred swords flashed in the
morning sun, as those who had remained with her prepared themselves. The
Dwellers started forwards, only to see the humans bury their swords in
their own hearts. That Blood has power is a fact everyne around this fire
should know. That blood freely shed has more.. That I fancy is one of the
Elder Laws: That which can not be taken, can be freely given. And
Hannaren, the greatest magus of the age, began her mightiest enchantment.
What it did has remained unknown throughout the ages until now, andI fancy
will for many more years, until the cycle of ages turns again, and
thisevent replays itself. But none walked from that field: Some Dwellers
fled, screaming, back Beyond, and closed the portals between their world,
and this one. Hannaren died, for there is a limit to the amount of power
that any man can weild untouched. But the lands beyond were saved.. Until
next time. And then there shall be no Elsmaren. No Hyrman to give his life
for us. No Hannaren to save us. Not whilst we remain as the people we are
today. [He sits down again] Honours to the dead, for with each passing we
grow weaker. Honour the dead, for they have given so we might live. Honour
the dead, an do not let their names pass from our memory.
My apologies if my story offends: Was all, I fear I could
remember.
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