Legends ofAmarna

Warning! The anathema is here.

The doctrine that poisoned the souls of many, that wrought blood against blood, life against life. Aspasia has not been the same, nor will it ever be. As history fades into legend, and legend into myth, so too are the whispers of peace that had once brought each of the races together in harmony. As such a time faded into history, so does the chaos grow - the resentment that breeds loathing - that brings about war.

With the world pitted against each other, each race, equines, canines, and felines taking sides, the question is, which side will you choose?

The History of Aspasia


As with all things, history fades into legend, and eventually legend into myth. It is the way of time. The details fade into obscurity, and those things known as true, fade into mystery, and are eventually lost. So is it with the dragons who dwelled in the lands of Aspasia, the true Amarnans. They are the ones of whom history rose and fell around, fading away as one season fade into another - history being made and remade according to the memories of each age.

In the beginning there was peace and everything was good. There lived, in harmony, four races of beings. The felines, the equines, the wolves, and the dragons.

During this time Amarna was an oligarchy, ruled by the Lords of Bakkuthar. The Lords were one male and one female of race that was elected by the people. Justice, equality, and virtue were given to all Amarnans freely and centuries passed without war or strife.

However, as with most things, peace never lasts, and pride, like a poison, took hold of one of the races.

The felines saw themselves as the most intelligent, the most agile - the fastest of both feet and mind. Arrogance poisoned their minds and led the felines to believe that they alone should rule over Amarna. To set themselves apart they adopted the name Ventri, or ‘the clever ones’ in the old tongue, and they whispered into the any ear that would listen. At first it was nothing, boasts of strength, great feats they had accomplished, but the damage had been done.

Rumors caught hold like wildfire and soon people started seeing daggers in the dark. Grouping together according to their race, fear creeped into the consciousness of the populace for the first time. Inevitably, attacks followed. At first, they were just small raids, no blood shed, just items of importance taken or broken. But soon the attacks escalated, blood staining the hands of many.

As the unrest grew, murmurs began to reach the ears of the Bakkuthar. The unrest had rooted itself firmly in the hearts of the citizens and spread like a poison through the ranks. As the races pulled away from each other into their own little sects, so too did the hearts of the Lords of the Bakkuthar begin to harden, and their bickering grow.

Blame was thrown firmly at the Ventri, accusations brought forth in the court, hearings held to lay the blame. Even with all these things, their emissaries would not listen to the slanders of the others, would not hear the accusations out. In an action that further spilt the races, the Ventri left their seats as Lords.

The race of equines, the ones most prone to attacks from the Ventri, vowed to put an end to the terror that the felines had caused. Relinquishing their seats as Lords, and seeking what they saw as justice, the horses moved into the region that consisted of plains and adopted the name Vata, or "the resilient ones" in the language of old. Fortifying themselves against outsiders, they became the first race to close their borders. They would protect themselves and their own. They would not become victims to those who saw themselves as their betters.

The wolves, who had always valued loyalty above all, saw the attacks of the Ventri as disgraceful. They too abjigated their seats and took to the mountains, calling themselves the Vasta, or the steadfast ones in the dead tongue. Though they did not consider themselves to be part of the problem, they let the division seep in and seperated themselves from the others. The damage had been done, and there was no way they could go back to what the world had known before war.

With the amassing chaos, the Ventri rejoiced. The other races were separated, weak, ripe for the picking, begging to be ruled over. As the Ventri moved to assert dominance, the dragons watched in confusion. They had stayed quiet, watching keenly as the others bickered and fought. Being the longest living of the races, their memories reached back further than most who held breath in their bones. They did not understand the strife, the conceit, the pettiness of the others. When they began to sow seeds of goodwill among the others, they became the laughingstock, and were hunted for their troubles.

Some of the races saw the truth in the dragon's efforts and allied with them to restore peace. However, they too were hunted mercilessly. They were seen as old-schooled, vain, idealistic. How could the world return to what it had been before the chaos settled in?

As the races fought one another they united one last time to fight the dragons. The dragons were beasts, barbarians set in their ways and they needed to be eradicated.

So, the genocide of the dragons and those who followed them started. Years wore on, and their numbers dwindled - eventually fadeding from the land. The last survivors simply disappeared from the world, leaving the wise and majestic creatures to diminish into nothing but myth.

Some among the races still hold true to the old ways, the ways of dragons and peace but they are ostracized and driven to separate themselves from the rest of the world.

The dragons, and those who followed the old ways - the true Amarnans - became nothing but a legend in a great and long history.

Each race has a version of this tale. Each one glorifying their heroes and heroines. But with the ensuing chaos, the constant war and division that seperates their hearts and pits friend against foe, the question needs to be asked:

Which side will you choose?

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