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Prologue: A Long Forgotten Legend
Pekol - 'Unforgiving', in the Old Tongue, spoken by creatures far long gone for any to remember what they looked like, or their language truly meant. All that remains is Pekol - the monument of their suffering and their death. Yet still, with the world as difficult as it is, we know it was once much worse. Creatures who could steal the will of any living being; monsters that would kill quietly during the night; even abominations, their skin never once seeing light, that would drag unwary victims down into the depths of this harsh land, doing Gods-knows-what to them...
Worst of all were the Harbingers - creatures nearly twice the height of the first Humans, some even large enough to blot out the sun. They came in all forms and sizes; some old enough that entire worlds were on their backs, filled with living, breathing creatures. They moved across Pekol, mindlessly destroying in their wake, all the while, their Masters, the Ancients, laughed at the foolish humans trying to flee. There was no fighting; there was only fear and death. If it had not been for the Gods, our race - and the many others that grow around us - would not be alive today.
They descended upon the Harbingers from the sky, wielding weapons that gleamed in the light and powers never seen before. The six siblings felled the great creatures that harmed the young mortal races of Pekol with great thundering blows, chasing off those that survived their furious attack. The races of Pekol were given a chance: Many leapt into battle with the Gods, fighting side-by-side the furious monsters of the Ancients, driving them back to the Krayt mountains. What remained of the ragged forces of the Gods stood and faced the six Ancients, their fear overcome by the Dieties at their side. The battle was fierce, with fire lashing through the air and every blow booming like thunder. The Ancients were powerful, felling what little mortal races the Gods had left, but the siblings were ready.
While their mortal allies were distracting the other Ancients, the Gods would focus on one enemy at a time, and would rent their soul from their body. With their powers gone, the Mortals themselves would kill the once-Ancients, until only one remained, the most powerful Ancient of them all: Thanatos. When his body and soul were ripped apart, it is said the shock caused a great divide in the Krayt mountains - After which, he was not long for Pekol. With their enemies vanquished, the Gods and Mortals celebrated, despite the loss; for once, Pekol would be safe.
This is where we come from; A legend of old, mostly forgotten by even the Elders. Who can blame them? The tales between Luna and Solaris entertain the children; Aedus and his brooding personality fascinate most young women, while Dyfri's free spirit enamores the younger men. A Legend about pain and suffering, about the creation of our world as we know it, falls only on the ears of us Descendants. Those who came from the Gods when they sowed their wild oats; we're the only few who know this tale.
...Mostly.
Pekol - 'Unforgiving', in the Old Tongue, spoken by creatures far long gone for any to remember what they looked like, or their language truly meant. All that remains is Pekol - the monument of their suffering and their death. Yet still, with the world as difficult as it is, we know it was once much worse. Creatures who could steal the will of any living being; monsters that would kill quietly during the night; even abominations, their skin never once seeing light, that would drag unwary victims down into the depths of this harsh land, doing Gods-knows-what to them...
Worst of all were the Harbingers - creatures nearly twice the height of the first Humans, some even large enough to blot out the sun. They came in all forms and sizes; some old enough that entire worlds were on their backs, filled with living, breathing creatures. They moved across Pekol, mindlessly destroying in their wake, all the while, their Masters, the Ancients, laughed at the foolish humans trying to flee. There was no fighting; there was only fear and death. If it had not been for the Gods, our race - and the many others that grow around us - would not be alive today.
They descended upon the Harbingers from the sky, wielding weapons that gleamed in the light and powers never seen before. The six siblings felled the great creatures that harmed the young mortal races of Pekol with great thundering blows, chasing off those that survived their furious attack. The races of Pekol were given a chance: Many leapt into battle with the Gods, fighting side-by-side the furious monsters of the Ancients, driving them back to the Krayt mountains. What remained of the ragged forces of the Gods stood and faced the six Ancients, their fear overcome by the Dieties at their side. The battle was fierce, with fire lashing through the air and every blow booming like thunder. The Ancients were powerful, felling what little mortal races the Gods had left, but the siblings were ready.
While their mortal allies were distracting the other Ancients, the Gods would focus on one enemy at a time, and would rent their soul from their body. With their powers gone, the Mortals themselves would kill the once-Ancients, until only one remained, the most powerful Ancient of them all: Thanatos. When his body and soul were ripped apart, it is said the shock caused a great divide in the Krayt mountains - After which, he was not long for Pekol. With their enemies vanquished, the Gods and Mortals celebrated, despite the loss; for once, Pekol would be safe.
This is where we come from; A legend of old, mostly forgotten by even the Elders. Who can blame them? The tales between Luna and Solaris entertain the children; Aedus and his brooding personality fascinate most young women, while Dyfri's free spirit enamores the younger men. A Legend about pain and suffering, about the creation of our world as we know it, falls only on the ears of us Descendants. Those who came from the Gods when they sowed their wild oats; we're the only few who know this tale.
...Mostly.