> Dame

>

> Dah−meh

>

> Type: Noun

>

> Meaning: A sovereign title denoting control over land, sea, sky, and the ley lines that weave the fabric of the world. "Dame" refers to the feminine form, while "Rame" is the masculine equivalent.

>

> Usage: This title is used for individuals who, beyond mere rulership, possess the ability to influence and harmonize the ley lines — the currents that maintain the world's balance. Both "Dame" and "Rame" carry the responsibility of protecting and overseeing the natural and arcane forces within their domain.

The nine moons still hung low in the night sky, casting shadows over the meandering Meerio River. Five horses thundered against the hard-packed earth, heading toward Keblurg's capital, which grew clearer on the horizon. As they approached, they could see the two colossal Guardians' Statues of Keblurg looming, silent sentinels of stone observing their advance.

The five black-robed riders finally reached the castle gates as dawn broke. A sentry, startled awake by the clamour, hurriedly cranked the wheel that lifted the portcullis. The iron bars rose with a rusty creak, and Yeso didn't wait for formalities.

Urging his horse forward, he led his entourage into the castle courtyard, where the cobblestones seemed to echo their arrival. The horses' hooves slowed to a trot, then a walk, as they made their way through the arches and into the stone embrace of the castle. Servants and guards alike paused in their morning chores, casting curious and sometimes suspicious glances at the newcomers. After all, they weren't humans. They were Menschen.

Dismounting, Yeso handed his horse's reins to a stable boy who scurried forward, his eyes wide with awe. "See to them," he said curtly. "They've earned their rest."

The boy nodded vigorously, leading the horses away to stalls lined with fresh hay and buckets of water.

Yeso turned his attention to his disciples, each dismounting and stretching cramped muscles, their faces etched with the strain of a ride that had pushed the boundaries of endurance.

"We've made it finally, but we're not done. Not by a long shot." he finally said, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. “And remember, there will be no sword, only words!”

The group didn't utter a word, but it was clear who agreed and who did not. His gaze swept across the faces of his Magis, lingering on each for a moment.

Redfred, the eldest of their group, had been a silent presence throughout the journey, yet his silence spoke volumes. His disapproval of negotiating with humans was an open secret, one that was both respected and quietly challenged within their ranks.

With his mane-like black hair and sharp features, Redfred looked every bit the archetypal Magi from an era long past—a time when the Menschen held undisputed dominion over other beings, a notion he clearly still clung to. His face was an austere mask, suggesting a severity that perhaps outstripped the reality of the man beneath it. But, severe or not, Redfred was a force to be reckoned with, and Yeso knew his presence here was both a strength and a complication.

Jear's red skin contrasted sharply with his flowing black hair. The prominent Tiefling horns that curved from his forehead gave him an air of otherworldly menace, yet those who looked closely might detect a softness in his blue eyes.

Though he lacked the appearance of a typical Menschen, no one could deny the blue blood running through his veins. His bloodline was as blue as they came, a paradox that often placed him at the intersection of admiration and prejudice. But Menschen were not a race. They were a blood. Blood made of raw magic.

Then there was Muru, a rather young Menschen. His beard had barely popped out, but strands of dark red hair were half-braided in accordance with old traditions—a nod to his upbringing and beliefs. Muru was not as outspoken as Redfred, but Yeso knew that the young mage shared some of the elder's sentiments regarding Menschen's fake superiority.

It concerned Yeso. While Redfred was set in his ways, a product of his time, Muru was still at an impressionable age. He was like clay waiting to be shaped, and Yeso wondered what form that clay would ultimately take. Would it harden into a vessel of entrenched beliefs or soften and expand to hold a more nuanced understanding of the world?

Mediah was half-Menschen, half-human, marking him as a living embodiment of the confluence of two worlds—neither fully one nor the other, yet wholly himself. His hazel hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Unlike Muru, whose fledgling beard marked his young face, Mediah's charm was only accentuated by the absence of facial hair.

Finally gathering his cloak around him, Yeso headed toward the castle's main entrance. The massive doors swung open before him, pushed by guards who recognized their robes, if not his intent. As they all stepped into the light of the grand hall, Yeso couldn't help but feel that he was crossing a threshold far greater than the one beneath his feet.

They reached the grandiose throne room, where the air felt thick, and each step echoed on the stone as if it were a drumbeat signalling an impending political duel. King Ieagan Kaspian sat on his throne, his skeletal frame swallowed by lavish garments—his tunic embroidered with gold and a red and white fox-fur mantle that looked heavier than the man wearing it. His eyes, piercing and unyielding, seemed to bore into each of them as if sifting through their intentions and their worth.

The herald ran in front of the Magis to announce each one of them but faltered through the introductions, clearly unnerved by the absence of surnames for some. "Your Highness, this is Magi Yeso Sternacht, Magi Redfred Dagurstea, Magi Muru Ann, Magi Jear... huh, no surname and Mediah... no, no… I mean Magi Mediah..." he stammered and continued with the rest before pausing.

It was clear he expected some sort of traditional gesture—perhaps a bow or a kneel. But the Magis remained still, the room marinating in an uncomfortable silence.

Yeso had long run out of patience for such courtly games, no matter if they were played by humans, elves, or Menschen. But he also knew how much the courts revelled in spectacle and grandeur, and if they wanted drama, he was willing to deliver, though not in the way they expected.

With a deliberate movement, Yeso pulled back the sleeves of his robe, letting them slide above his shoulders. His wings unfurled majestically, spreading outward in a dramatic arc that seemed to fill the entire room. Each wing was massive, nearly the height of two men and three times as wide—a statement that could not be ignored.

"I see your kind doesn't know protocols," the king sneered, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the insolent display.

Yeso offered a subdued smile, keeping his gaze lowered momentarily before locking eyes with Jear. Raising his head to meet the king's gaze, he replied, "And yours loves to create new ones."

The room seemed to hold its breath. The two opposing forces—King and Magi, tradition and rebellion—stood their ground, sizing each other up.

"Speak Blue-One! What do you want?"

Yeso resisted the urge to react to the king's derogatory term 'Blue-One.' There were bigger matters at hand, and if anything, the name only underlined the urgency of their cause.

Stolen story; please report.

"I came on behalf of the Centaurs concerning Moonbay," Yeso declared.

"What about it? It is Kaspian's territory. We own the Centaurs," King Ieagan replied, as though discussing a piece of property rather than living, sentient beings.

Yeso began to pace slowly, his wings folding like a translucid royal mantle, spilling down his back and onto the floor behind him while still emanating a quiet strength. "The King of Keblurg must understand that Centaurs are not merely chattel. They are like humans, elves, faeries, orcs, dwarfs, and even dragons. They are Fae, and they demand to be treated as such. Did you know they bleed red blood? The blood they bleed is the blood you own!"

"And what's your point, Blue-One? Even cows have red blood. Should I be concerned about their civic rights as well?" The king's tone dripped with condescension.

"Well, it would be nice," Mediah muttered under his breath, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. An awkward moment passed, but Yeso broke it by taking control of the conversation.

"I've spoken to the King of Spiyles. If you agree to declare Moonbay an independent state, they will not intervene. Moonbay is where the Centaurs mate and where they build their families. They can't create a nest in any other place in Mir-Grande-Carta, or the Great Continent, as humans call it."

Yeso stopped and locked his eyes on the human king. "The Centaurs have agreed that once their land is free, they can be contracted to the highest bidder, be it Keblurg or Spiyles."

Moonbay had never been the true point of contention between Spiyles and Keblurg; it was always about the Centaurs. As military assets, the Centaurs were invaluable—strong, agile, and capable of decimating legions within moments. Yet, the incessant conflict between the two nations over this piece of land had begun to jeopardize the Centaurs' very ability to procreate. Yeso was here to halt their slide toward extinction. But he also had an altered intention in the matter, one that surpassed the quarrels between two make-believe kings.

Ieagan Kaspian's eyes narrowed, calculating the implications. For a moment, the entire room felt suspended in a palpable silence. Finally, the king spoke, his voice tinged with a begrudging respect, "Very well, Blue-One. You expect me to consider your proposal?"

Yeso stopped his pacing, contemplating the weight of his next moves. If he couldn't forge a bridge of understanding and tolerance between the humans and the other races, the consequences would be dire. The Herbstdame—known to humans as the Fallqueen—would have no choice but to isolate Ormburg from the rest of the world. With the mass exodus of the Menschen to their homeland, magic would evaporate from the Great Continent.

In such circumstances, every creature, regardless of their magical lineage or lack thereof, would find themselves severed from their source of power. This would be true for those with mortal, red blood as well as those with more colourful bloodlines — blue, green, stone, and others imbued with magic. Each would experience a disconnection from the energies that they had once tapped into.

And that was something Yeso could not let happen; he believed magic was a gift that belonged to all, not just a select few. Therefore, it was vital for his negotiation to be successful, so he had evidence that he could present to his Dame that humans could live with Menschen.

As he stood there, he was vividly aware that thousands of Menschen settlements were counting on him, stretching from Faewood to Spiyles and then to Keblurg. They were communities on the edge of oblivion, waiting for their Dame to sever ties with a world that had failed to understand them. The Fallqueen was prepared to make that cataclysmic decision. Her hand stayed only by Yeso's persistent appeals for more time, for one more chance to mend what was broken.

He had always told her that compassion was possible—that humans could learn to see the sacredness in all life, that they could learn the humility to share the magic of the world. But she had grown weary, sceptical of his idealistic views. "Humans have eyes, but they do not see. They have ears, but they do not hear," she would often say. And, standing in King Ieagan Kaspian's throne room, Yeso couldn't help but feel that he was losing his argument.

Maybe it was destined for humans to lose out on magic, to never fully comprehend its depths and intricacies. Maybe he was fighting against the tide of destiny itself, a lone voice crying out in a wilderness that had long since given up listening.

But as he looked over at his companions—Jear, who was more hopeful than him, Redfred steeped in old-school beliefs, Muru still finding his way in the world, and Mediah, a living testament to the blending of races—Yeso found a flicker of hope. These were his people, diverse yet united, each one a complex tapestry of beliefs, cultures, and magical abilities.

Yeso cleared his throat. He didn't know what to say. He felt defeated.

"Father!" a young voice shouted at the end of the room.

Yeso and the others turned their head to find the source. A young boy, scarcely older than Muru and Mediah, sprinted toward them. His clothes were simple, almost unassuming. His hair was wet, and his skin was sweaty. Had he not called the king "Father," Yeso would never have pegged this short, chubby child as the heir to Keblurg's throne.

"What do you want, Xendrix? Can't you see I'm in an important meeting?" King Ieagan Kaspian snarled without sparing a glance for his son.

"I might have a solution. For everyone!" The boy panted, clearly winded from his sprint across the throne room. Yeso noticed some red stains on the young boy’s sleeve. He found it strange but didn’t delve into it.

"A solution? From you?" The king scoffed. "Oh-oh, this should be entertaining. Go ahead, boy, share your stroke of genius."

"Father, listen. You want power—that's why you want the centaurs. But the Menschen want to avoid exodus because magic will leave with them," Xendrix blurted, his words stumbling over each other in their haste to escape.

"What good is magic if we can't use it, you fool?" The king was nearing the end of his patience.

"It's not true that we can't use it! We just have to touch it. That's why it's so elusive. But there's a way—it's called alchemy, right?" The young prince turned to Yeso for validation. "Alchemy is real, isn't it?"

"It is," Yeso affirmed, intrigued by where the young boy was heading with this, though still hesitant about the potential repercussions.

"We can learn alchemy! It’s magic through tools and objects. Things we can touch! It will give us magic—for-for-for healing, for agriculture, even for-for-for warfare. Just like the elves, orcs, and dwarfs, we won't be at a disadvantage!"

"And who would learn this alchemy? You? You can't even multiply numbers right, and you still think the sun rotates around the world! And you think, little brat, you can grasp the essence of magic?"

"I can learn, Father! They're Magi—they can teach me! All I'm asking is for time. Don't make any decisions yet. Let me learn, and if I can harness magic, then we won't need the centaurs."

"You're filling the room with foolish ideas," the king dismissed.

Xendrix locked eyes with his father, a new passion flickering in his gaze. "If the 'Blue-Ones' leave, so will the centaurs, the dwarfs, and anyone else with magic. Ormburg will become a power vacuum. What's stopping the Fallqueen from returning later when we have no chance?"

For the first time, King Ieagan looked rattled. The room held its collective breath; every eye turned toward him.

"He’s right," mumbled Mediah, once more attracting attention to himself. "Sorry... I’ll be quiet now."

Yeso sensed the tides shifting, a delicate balance teetering on the edge. He looked at Xendrix and nodded subtly as if to say, "You're on the right track, young one." Though teaching humans the delicate craft of alchemy was a risky gambit, it also offered a middle ground—a chance for coexistence, for the magic to stay and bless the lives of all the realm's inhabitants.

For the first time, a glint of cautious hope ignited in Yeso's eyes. He gazed at Xendrix, whose face was a kaleidoscope of energy and youthful optimism—unshaped clay waiting to be moulded. But that look was tempered by something else—a shadow that seemed to cross the young prince's features. It was as if an unspoken forewarning lurked in the room, settling over him like a dark shroud.

Glancing over his shoulder, Yeso caught sight of the Howling Night and the Dreamer Mouse at the entrance of the room. It was as if they were witnessing a pivotal moment, a fulcrum upon which futures would tip, a fragile hinge between new beginnings and looming ends.

Returning his attention to the boy, then back to the king, Yeso felt a tightening knot in his stomach, a wave of nausea spiralling his throat, but he held still. This fragile moment carried immense weight, and the consequences would ripple across realms and races.

"Your son speaks wisdom beyond his years, King Ieagan," Yeso finally broke the silence. "Perhaps we should listen. The world is changing, and those who cannot adapt will be swept away. Alchemy could be a bridge between our peoples, a way to share the magic that belongs to all."

King Ieagan looked from his son to Yeso, then back to his son. The room held its breath as if waiting for a spell to be cast—or broken.

> "One can't overlook the Exodus as a particularly agonizing chapter for the Menschen—The Blue-Ones. As a people bound by both the arcane and the tangible, our selective gatekeeping of magical knowledge cast long shadows over that migration—shadows that persist today. It begs to question: What if magic had been democratized, spread not just among the elite few but the many—humans? Would the Exodus have taken a different, less sorrowful path? Would the world we now inhabit be fundamentally altered? These are not mere speculations; they are questions that gnaw at the core of our historical understanding. Personally, it carries an added weight: Had magic been a communal heritage rather than a hoarded treasure, perhaps I would have grown up in the embrace of my mother and the pride of my father, unravelling life under their shared guidance, their love perhaps."—Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune