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?

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Site-Wide Plot Heaven Sent, Hell Bound

played by Hermes


Tracker / Plotter



‘What are you doing out in this godforsaken wasteland?’ 

He ignores his own question. Ntwadumela picks his way carefully through the scorched grass and burned remains of once mighty trees. Paradise they once called this place. Now, they should call it hell.

 Fires are raging, turning everything into nothing but burnt husks. Even the water that had once been found so liberally, now dries and shrinks against the unrelenting heat. Ntwa is grumpy and he has every right to be. Someone, or something, is setting this world ablaze with no regard to the denizens of the land. 

How rude! 

Huffing a mighty snort of contempt into the air, the lion crunches the remains of burnt, dead grass under his large paw as he makes his way forward. Surely there has to be sign here of who or what is setting the fires. 

As he pulls in great lungful’s of air, his nostrils are filled with the acrid smell of ash and fire. Even though the smoke has cleared and the fire long burned out, he can still smell the destruction and death. 

Skirting the burned, dead body of an unlucky animal, the white lion lets out a growl. How could this happen? Who was to blame for this? Who could he blame for this? 

He is a foul mood. Ever since Sarmina had tasked him with a special assignment, his mood had taken a turn for the worse. Add to that the fact that someone was literally burning the world to the ground and it made for one unhappy Ntwa. 


Eyes scan the horizon, searching for any clues or signs that might shed light on what is happening. Ears swivel, listening, assessing. 

Suddenly they pick out the crunching of charred grass. He stops moving forward and hunkers down low to the ground. Body stills as he tries to make himself less of a target. Eyes flick over the ground, past the trunks and felled husks of trees. 

He sees nothing. Eyes hunt around searching for the source of the sound. A rabbit darts out from behind a charred bush and skitters into the hallow trunk of a destroyed tree. 

Muscles relax, uncoiling and allowing the lion to continue on his journey. Tail lashes furiously from side to side, making his anger known to the wind. 

A light breeze runs its fingers through his fur, taunting him with its cool embrace. Too quickly it is gone, leaving in its wake the promise of colder days. A sigh escapes the white one’s parched lips; how he longs for a long drink of cold, clean water. All the life-giving liquid has been tainted with ash, fouling the fluid and deterring creatures from drinking. He had seen some beast simple pass from this world instead of drinking the acrid filth. 

Tongue snakes out between his teeth and wets his cracked lips. Even his saliva is drying up, which only adds to the pale creature’s discomfort. 

‘Life sucks.’ 

I agree. But we must find the source of these fires or many more will be added to list of dead. 

As much as he detests helping others (without getting something in return) he cannot stop this feeling that lingers in his breast. He feels horrible that so many had perished, men, women, children, all gone in the blink of an eye. And for what? There was no war, no reason for such bloodshed. 

At least, not yet. 

Thoughts fall back to Sarmina and her task. She wished to stir the pot and he was her tool. Of course he was going to do it, the only question is would he survive. The brute loves life. Well, he loves to be alive and he would do everything within his power to stay above the ground for as long as possible. 

Shaking his head, he dispels the musings, turning his full attention to the matter at hand. There is a certain feeling when one feels they are being watched. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, goosebumps raise on your arms and a chill races down your spine. Ntwadulmela feels all those sensations at this moment. Every instinct tells him to crouch down, take a defensive stance and be ready for anything. 

But that is not what Ntwa does. 

No, instead he continues to walk out in the great wide open, not caring who or what sees him. 

‘Let the ones who started the fires find us. Smart. If you want to die.’ 

Oh, shut up. You’re just upset because I thought of it first. 

‘I hate you.’ 

Us. You hate us. 

Silence is his answer as he struts through the grass, making a huge target to all those who cared to see.
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