Oh, The land Nirvana, how vast is your domain, how diverse is your terrain. Oh, Etna, burning lion, eternal empire, how lucky you are. Heading south from the hills of Cavaus, crossing the tranquil Serenus Sea, extending to the ancient and mysterious Desert of Flamma. To the west, across the raging Strait of Luceda to the fog-covered Insula Nebula. To the north, through the threatening Wolf Howl Pass, deep into the Graywood where volcanic ash lingers all year round. To the southeast, reclaiming the Margolita Bridge that once made the ancestors stumble. To the northeast, erecting signal towers on the towering Sawtooth Crown.
Oh, Etna-Flamma, if Nirvana were a fig tree, in your most glorious years, the most fruitful branches and the most delicious fruits would be all yours. In your youthful prime, the flame of civilization left an indelible mark on the vast and boundless land, so that when you reveal your old age, even the unworthy descendants who attempt to divide the family property, though lacking in your dignity, are still eager to inherit your traditions and manners.
In the declining years of the empire, military commanders holding power rose to prominence on the borderlands, beyond the reach of Cavaus's whip. Usurpers in the Graywood of the north built independent provinces, self-proclaimed principalities, kingdoms, and even an "empire" equal to Etna. And in the northeast, the many chiefs of Sawtooth Crown who once submitted broke free from the invaders' control. First it was Acdepin, then Avalanşă... The signal towers guarding the mountains went out one by one, and half the east fell into turmoil and darkness.
Living bare-handed and barefoot, digging stones in the crevices of rocks, to the civilized people of Etna, it was dirty, violent, and savage, but their disdain was somewhat tinged with fear. After all, no one had ever heard from the veterans about their experiences facing the "wolf people": two armies confronted each other, the sight before them was the forest of fang-like falx blades; the army flag, shaped like a wolf head with a snake body, swayed in the wind, and the howling of the wind from the wolf's mouth sent shivers down people's spines; in close combat, the legion stabbed the enemies' wolf-skin cloaks with their daggers, only to find that the opponents were wearing heavy scale armors underneath...
Although many of the Empire's neighbors always sneered at its prejudice, the "Devorans" had no complaints about it. After all, "Devora" (meaning "descendants of wolves") would rather convey an impression of unconquerable stubborn strength. They should have been the most powerful competitors of the Etna people, but they were conquered by the latter several times and became vassals of the Empire, because the shattered terrain gave the wolf people shattered hearts.
The Devorans did not always live a life of raiding border villages like a pack of wolves. On the contrary, the barren land once instilled them with a strong personality and noble character. While the Etnans crossed the calm sea to seek divine fire, the first Devoran king appeared on the Sawtooth Crown - Sebastos ("Dignity King") Demnitate. With outstanding energy, charisma, and decisive command, the Dignity King brought the clans on various mountain tops under his banner. Later, he even defeated the nearby Àilean people and drove them all the way to the distant western island of Insula Nebula (the war wolves left behind by his army still occupied the Wolf Howl Pass and brought ominous signs to the Etna army heading north to Graywood).
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Under his leadership, the Devorans became a new force that could not be ignored, and with the equally young and energetic Etna-Flamma, it seemed that an inevitable war of fate was about to break out. However, fate played a huge joke on the mountain people, causing the destinies of the two countries to diverge. Sebastos Demnitate was assassinated before the battle, and his subordinates began to accuse each other of being the Etnans' insider. The Devoran Kingdom, which had lost its pillar, was in imminent danger, and no one could stop the Empire's advance.
The death of the Sabestos had yet to settle, and the cunning Etna people took advantage of the opportunity to infiltrate and systematically destroy the fragmented aristocracies. The imposing watch towers were erected on the mountaintops, women were taken captive as concubines, and men maintained their belief in the dwindling wolf god in dark mountain caves. For hundreds of years, they survived in darkness, with the only source of light being the flickering dim firelight on the rock wall. The wolf's proud nature is no longer seen in their pale bodies in the darkness, leaving only cruelty and malice in their jet-black hair. Even so, they still dreamed from generation to generation of returning to the high hill under the moonlight - to the ridge of the Sawtooth Crown that was stolen by the foreign race.
Over the centuries, the wolf faith gradually corrupted along with its followers' hearts. The Devora people began to hunt wolves on moonless nights and absorb the power of the god who did not bless them by eating wolf meat, smearing themselves with wolf blood, and wearing wolf skins during full moons. The Etna people and the half-breeds had been too comfortable under the protection of the watch towers for too long. Most of them had forgotten their expelled enemies and disappeared compatriots. Therefore, when the "berserkers" wearing wolf skins and masks appeared from underground and launched a revenge of killing and rape, almost defenseless residents of the empire were attacked like sheep suddenly attacked by a pack of wolves.
As a result, the Etna people's power was rejected at the foot of the mountain, and the Devora people regained independence on the burning mountaintops and crumbling beacons - independence, but still divided. Even though the warriors were no longer covered in wolf blood, the berserker in their hearts could not be erased, and the dignified warriors no longer existed. How can people without dignity love their compatriots as if they were their brothers and sisters? So the mountains still suspect each other, ready to devour each other at any time. Oh, Devora, cursed for devouring the gods. Those with talent bear cursed children, those with virtue face assassination, and in the end, only those with cunning can survive on the blood-stained mountain range.
And the House of Acdepin is among the best of them.