On the Subject of The War of the Drågons
It should be understood that none of the quotes that follow are first-hand accounts, but the work of much study, archeological and historical research, and educated supposition by the Covenant’s archival prefects and their most accomplished apostles. Additionally, the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren’t transcribed as they were thought to be spoken. They’ve been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original Ångëlįc to common.
Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.
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Selected Verses from the Afua Maisha: The Holy Book of the Covenant
The Goddess’ Holy Book; the Afua Maisha
The Queen Aamina Translation
The Second Book of Lumå’įl – Chapter 13 – Verse 1
(I.) Åmbrosįå stretched out Her hands before all present; her elegant fingers painting invisible patterns in the air. So graceful was She, that Her movements were akin to a dance. A dance so sad that the heartbreak it conveyed was almost palpable. Lumå’įl stood before Her, Their daughter at His side, defiant as ever; rebellious onto the very end. To look into His eyes was to see that he believed that He had done no wrong.
(II.) His actions couldn’t have been wrong. Could they?
(III.) Regardless of His reservations, His followers knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that both He and they were on the upright side of the conflict. They felt the sharp pain of inconsequentiality in the eyes of the All-Mother…or they believed they felt it.
(IV.) They believed Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ to be true; right and square. And no matter what the punishment imposed by the Goddess, their followers, despite their sadness over the loss of life during the uprising, would continue to shine proudly.
(V.) “Your actions against your family and against the halls of the Dįvįnë Realm,” She stated aloud as She continued to trace patterns in Her variant of what the sprites ages later would use for their handspeak,“is a great disappointment to me. It breaks my heart in ways I’ll never be able to mend. While I can empathize with your perceived slights, I’ve done all I can to assure you that such perceptions were illusionary. Never have I desired to hurt you or any of our Ǻngëls.
(VI.) “This was an unforgivable lapse in judgment. The gravest of betrayals!”
(VII.) Så’Ħdënåħ attempted to speak in defense of her Lord, against the Goddess’ Dįvįnë fury. “You don’t understand mother.”
(VIII.) “Silence child!” The Goddess’ deep black eyes blazed with anger; the dark purple flakes within them glowing with an otherworldly light. A terrible light known only to the heavens.
The Goddess’ Holy Book; the Afua Maisha
The Queen Aamina Translation
The Second Book of Lumå’įl – Chapter 14 – Verse 2
(II.) All fell into silence as the Goddess’ dark body was engulfed in a powerful updraft of heka. A series of halos formed of purple fire which portrayed the symbols of the twelve elements of Dįvįnįtÿ, blessings and Ångëlic runes blazed angrily behind Her head as She crossed over. Six perfect wings of a white so pure that they seemed to faintly luminesce appeared behind Her back; stretching high and wide to catch the air. Bleeding vapor-like traces of mulberry atmosphere as they lifted her gracefully off of the ground.
(III.) The skies grew dark and red as sister Symbols of Dįvįnįtÿ from Her halo suddenly appeared in a circular pattern underneath Her; burned into the soil. Thunder and lightning tore across the horizon as her glorious dreadlocks ignited into a Dįvįnë fire beneath the linked plates of the crinet-like headdress which freely encapsulated Her hair in seperate sheathes with a mind all of its own.
(IV.) Its heatless indigo flames bursting forth from between the cracks of Her battle diadem which was formed in the shape of a great golden eagle whose wings fell into the afore mentioned silver-ish coloured metal offshoots that wrapped each of Her individual locs to their tips in a protective sleeve of articulated Ångëlic metal.
(V.) Ever moving phrases and blessings written in the language of the Dįvonësë wrapped and crisscrossed themselves all about Her physique without actually touching Her; floating about Her like intangible ribbons.
(VI.) “We, as well as those who follow us, are of you my Lady.” Lumå’įl spoke. “We’re immortal. I’m immortal. Our deeds, regardless of how insufficient to obtain our goals, are eternal. And you CAN’T deny us forever!”
(VII.) The Goddess ceased Her hand magicks. Time seemed to grind to a halt. The winds died. Lightning froze in the distance. And the Lady of Light gazed out over the thousands of Ǻngëls who stood behind Lumå’įl and His second. “Never were You denied by me. But You refuse to acknowledge this simple truth. Now, Your influence damns not only You, but all who follow You. And while Your life may be un-ending by my will, and Your deeds may last throughout the memory of time, You and Your ilk will no longer know that passage of time here.”
(VIII.) “We’ll return.”
(IX.) “No.” She responded sadly. “You’ll not.”
(X.) Åmbrosįå’s very essence was suddenly and violently expelled through Her perfect spell craft and the energy of it blasted outward with all of the vengeance of a vast and terrible storm from Her mighty wings.
(XI.) “My judgment…to you…”
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4000 A.F. – 2300 A.G.G. (2333 Years Ago)
The Fifth Age to the Third Epoch, The Living World of Mundus
World Wide
After the Great Exile, Åmbrosįå came to the sad realization that She couldn’t truly see what was in Lumå’įl’s heart. Nor Så’Ħdënåħ’s.
“There was once a time He was so open to me that all He was, and all He ever would be, was lain bare before my eyes.” She once said. “I had to but pluck a thread of the weave of Creation, and I could see all of our possibilities together. We were once of a single heart. But now? Now I know not how long He’s been lost to me. I don’t know what the moment was where I failed Him. I don’t know what the moment was where I failed our daughter.
“Maybe I erred when I created Him of mine own flesh. Maybe we should not have had Så’Ħdënåħ together. Too much of a kind we all are. And because of that, it begs the question if I ever truly knew them at all.
“Maybe it was always a betrayal that was destined to be. Fate can be a cruel mistress, after all.”
But the extent of His, and Their daughter’s actions couldn’t be ignored. And the depths of the two’s resolve couldn’t be underestimated. By Mįssħåël’s final blows were their souls cut off from every route back to the Kingdom, and by Åmbrosįå’s decree was it the same for their followers; save for Her lover and their child’s natural link through the Tree of Life, which supplied the world with Åmbrosįå’s life-giving essence and which physically existed in both Ëmpÿrë and the living world.
It's a link Mįssħåël would have gladly severed if only he could. But, if he had, all life on Mundus would have been doomed to slowly die; cut off from Her power. And the damage it could have possibly done to the old God and Sin, as Så’Ħdënåħ was widely monikered after her fall, even She didn’t know. And theirs were lives She was not prepared to take.
So as it stood, it was an avenue to the Kingdom left open for exploitation. And there was little doubt in the Goddess’ mind that Lumå’įl would use the beings of the world They created together as an army to wrest control of it when He decided to move again. There, He could but place his hand upon the tree and the doorway back home would open wide at His command.
To control the Tree was to control the only physical bridge between worlds. And to control the bridge was to control the fate of Ëmpÿrë.
In the years that followed the Great Rebellion, Ångëls of all statuses from across the holy lands argued for the removal of both Lumå’il and Sin’s desires for conflict with them and the Goddess. But She was loathe to fully withdraw the free-will of any being, regardless of the reasons. Compounding the topic was the promise She wished to honour which She’d made to Her daughter to let them and their ilk live. So destroying them outright without further provocation was also rendered a nonissue.
She did agree however that Lumå’įl’s gifts, much like Hers, were a continued danger to the world if left unchecked. To that extent, with the blessing of Her Choirs did She see fit to use Her will and essence to bind all of existence to what Mundus’ faithful came to call the “Dįvonësë Mandate”.
These laws, as it were, demanded that neither Lord nor Lady, namely Lumå’įl, Sin, nor the Goddess Herself, could directly use their talents to alter the course of conflicts through first hand intervention, nor could they confront each other or anyone else with ethereal manipulation of any kind. Lumå’įl was known to have lent His gifts but in part to several incursions during the rebellion. And even the fraction of His influence that was invoked during those times was…most devastating.
Especially during the happening referred to by the Dįvonësë as the Downing.
If used in concert with Åmbrosįå’s at any great magnitude, Mundus, not to mention the Dįvįnë or Dæmönic Realms, could be in genuine danger of being harmed irrevocably through the Flow, if not completely lain to ruin.
It was also mandated that Dįvįnë beings other than those of warrior Orders who have no place on the field of Dįvįnë war such as muses and the like were not to be involved in any confrontations, as the loss of things such as inspiration in the world of Mundus would be truly regrettable.
Despite these commandments, there was still the overlying fear among the Choirs that the violation of these newly created “natural” laws could still happen. As at their core, they were merely strong suggestions. And by Her own admission, Åmbrosįå knew not what Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ were truly capable of as they were not bound by any Dįvįnëlÿ predetermined paths, just as She. And they’d already circumvented Her hekas once before. He was of Her flesh and bone, and the girl was of their loins. And because of that, they were, to a certain extent, unknowable.
And the Queen of Queens would have been remiss if She didn’t admit that continued contrair behaviour on their part could do untold damage to the fragile balance that kept all things within the Great Expanse “moving” so-to-speak.
So, in order to maintain the equilibrium of existence in the event of such an occurrence, into the Creation Magicks that constituted the fabric of all existence did She weave one final delicate binding that could result in a period of repression of the gifts of either Lumå’įl or Sin should either of them use much more than hekas of protection in open conflict. A law that She didn’t hold even Herself above.
A small period of “healing” on a celestial scale. Although, for how long this punitive effect was to last, it’s unknown if even She Herself was totally aware. For regardless of the magnitudes of Her gifts, it would appear that creation itself, ostensibly, can only be affected so much; even if it was by She who’s believed to have conjured it.
Fate holds no counsel but its own.
It didn’t take long after this was done for the belief to come to Åmbrosįå that a new protective power would need to be created in the universe. A new God to aid Åmbrosįå in Her ruling.
As to the outcome of this particular train-of-thought, some philosophers believed that the Goddess lacked sufficient trust in Her Ǻngëls after Lumå’įl’s betrayal to simply appoint one of them to rule at Her side. One of Her strongest and most capable. One such as Mįssħåël, for example.
But others know differently.
Åmbrosįå, fearing for the safety of Her Ǻngëlic subjects, didn’t distrust Ǻngëls the likes of Missheal or doubt their abilities or control over the Flow. But that alone wouldn’t be enough to hold back the flood of darkness that could befall them if Lumå’įl chose to exorcise His power en lieu of the natural laws. Especially so soon after an already devastating uprising. Truly, She wasn’t certain that the entirety of Her remaining Ǻngëls would be enough.
But unlike when She created the now-disgraced Lumå’įl, She’d not take a piece of Her own body and soul to craft this God-being. Her intentions were of a different shade than they were in those early ages.
In magickal acts, the intent behind a weave is just as important as the weaving itself. She wasn’t looking for another consort or a lover as She was before; She was looking for a partner. Nothing more. She didn’t want someone who felt that they were “tied” to Her as Lumå’įl did.
And so the Goddess, being careful to take Her time to choose between the red-on-yellow and golden apples-like of the White Tree, reached up and pulled one of the pure honey coloured life-giving fruitlets from its branches. She then dipped this sweet orb, this “seed”, into the waters that flowed around her seat of power as She spoke the Heka of Creation into it; anointing it ever so lightly with myrrh and essences of both cassia and calamus as She did whenever She created life, while binding it directly to the raw energies of the Flow as opposed to Her own spirit.
And so was born Sånįgron. The first Drågon. The new God. A being of a stature and power that rivaled the Goddess Herself.
And, by the will of the two of them was the entirety of the Drågon race birthed. Beings who made their homes between both worlds to safeguard the Great Tree alongside their counterparts, the Pårålu. Save for twenty and one of the strongest who would make their homes solely in the Dįvįnë Realms where they were selected to be the ambassadors of both the principal domains and the Ǻngëlic Orders by Sånįgron.
Almost a thousand of Mundus’ years later, the sunset elves, the first of the Mer races created long ago by Åmbrosįå and Lumå’įl, were starting to gain true consciousness and an understanding of their place in the world. A beautiful dark skinned people who were the very image of Åmbrosįå’s lost daughter with their kinky metallic-looking steel coloured hair, svelte builds, full lips, long ears and large, dark eyes.
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It’s believed among the theologians that the world walking Drågons were the reason for this. Possibly because they became lonely on Mundus as the only company they had to keep here was with themselves. And they craved conversation and companionship; as do all beings under the suns. Regardless, they supposedly gifted early speech and reason to the eluvian, which birthed this awareness. An awareness that would later spread throughout all mortals.
It’s also believed that this closeness eventually led to many other…interactions between Drågons and their naturally beautiful charges. Not the least of which was that, as Drågons had the ability to alter their physical appearance at will, it was a thing of ease for many of them to blend in with, mate with and even marry among the sunset peoples, and by eventual extension, all of their kin-races; their unions leading to the first known generations of Magi; mortals born with the gift of heka.
Regardless of the origins of intelligence, speech or magickal inclination, it’s true that the Drågons took very well to, whom in their eyes were, their short-lived neighbors. As a matter of fact it seemed that, by their very nature, they deeply loved these beings that were bequeathed to the world. Through their co-existence they eventually taught their prodigy how to use their newfound magickal gifts of healing and nature-based fertility to make better the sick and ailing, mend the broken and wounded and commune with nature.
And while Drågons shared all manner of knowledge freely, out of love with and for all peoples, it wasn’t quite so with the eluvian they’d bonded with, who collectively by this time had taken to referring to themselves as the First Races. This difference in ideology was most present specifically among the sunrise elves.
Probably feeling a bit more entitled than they should have, the golden-tinted people seemed to have thought that most of the younger non-eluvian races appeared to be as little more than children receiving gifts and knowledge of Dįvįnįtÿ for which they were not fully prepared. Least deserving of all being the youngest race of Man.
The eluvian however, never wishing to stand between their beloved Drågons and their dreams of an awakened world, did with reluctance aid their Dįvįnë benefactors in teaching the outside races. Or at least the ones they found worthy. But more out of some kind of twisted self-imposed responsibility than affection. To that end, since they had little choice, they took it upon themselves as the world’s first born and as the Drågons’ first chosen, to treat the younger races almost as parental figures over the following millennium.
As condescending as that may have felt to those they interacted with.
With the inception of the Drågonian race, and their closeness with the living world, the door to what Lumå’įl believed to be His providence, the Great Tree, was closed to Him. He hadn’t the power or the numbers to oppose the combined strength of both the Drågons, the eluvian, the fae and the Ǻngëls. And the power of Creation wasn’t His to utilize without the Great Queen.
But as the wheel of time continued to turn, and Drågons numbers naturally lessened in the world, the line of Ëmpÿrįån knowledge from the heavens, which was passed down from the Drågons to the elves, and from the elves to the fledgling peoples they were supposed to guide, slowly began to fade from concrete fact into the realm of speculation and fiction.
And from there they became the subject of myth and legend.
Inevitably, they began to take on the aspects of religion and worship with heka. And with that worship came an entirely new problem which served only to split the world and make it far more susceptible to Lumå’įl’s influence…religious division.
A separation that quickly began to work in the Dark King’s favor (relatively speaking). The arise of the Drågonkįn being the most unforeseen and helpful to His cause.
This was something He could use.
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On the Subject of the Division of the Religions and the rise of the Drågoons
In their early days, religions seemed to spring up by the score behind every other tartufe’s personal interpretation of the mystical. Self-proclaimed prophets were everywhere. Yet there were only a very few faiths that truly took root hence that have equaled the impact that the Covenant has had on the world.
Or its subsequent division.
While the Covenant and all of its abbey-going patrons devoted themselves to the Goddess and God in union, a divide eventually began to form between them.
One concerning the nature of heka.
It was always evident that inborn Magickal talent was far more common among the First Races than any others. Not surprising as the eluvian weren’t known to as often mate outside of their own ethnic group as other peoples were. And as a result, Magickal education among the younger races waned as Magi birth gaps widened. A gulf that continued to broaden more and more with each passing decade, and one that was exasperated by isolationist cultures.
Heka inclination was so prevalent among the eluvian and the fae that one could be forgiven for thinking that they were all born as such. And while the hekan divide between them and such peoples as the faunish and the sprites were negligible at best…estimated to be roughly one to every ten score born to the elves, beyond that, numbers seemed to drop dramatically.
By the end of the Golden Age of Magick, those with an inclination towards heka being born to races such as humans and dwarves were being brought into the world a meager one to every three thousand born to the fauns and their ilk. And human and dwarven Magi offspring, in turn, came to outpace that of races such as the centaur and the ma’jong by nearly an equivalent proportion.
Some within the abbey started to see heka as a blessing from the Goddess; that anyone born outside of the elder races with the gift had to have been Dįvįnëlÿ touched by the hand of Åmbrosįå Herself. Believing that this power could only flow from Her directly into Her chosen.
Since this was not a belief held by the Covenant at large, those who felt differently saw fit to distance themselves from the purists’ beliefs. The Great Drågon Sånįgron and His ilk may have been the bestowers of heka to the world, but through their offspring was it a gift for all, not for the eluvian and the fae alone. And over time the mantras and devotions of this splinter faith found themselves focusing almost solely on aspects of nature as mortal-kind’s only true physical link to facets of Her power; each one praised by a different name and given a different idolic form. Giving rise to the pagan faith.
Time then, of course, brought with it yet another change.
Under growing societal pressure (likely brought on by a mix of jealousy and fear of those blessed with Magickal ability from the non-gifted), a new faith took hold among the people; some who were already religious, and some who weren’t.
Those of the younger races who were born hearing the music of the Flow, feeling the growing and discomforting strain of oversight of their very existence, by governments driven largely by Covenant ideologists who, like the eluvian, believed that only the First Races and the Goddess were meant to govern the realms of heka, pushed back against the unjust societal systems constructed of hatred and slanderous lies that were conjured against their kind as best they could; those who feared not punishment for their disobedience. A battle they fought through peaceful protests, boycotts and miles-long marches. But as all that failed, and continued to fail again, pagans began to self-alienate from civilization. Secure in their belief that being born with the Goddess’ “Dįvįnë Spark” burning within them wasn’t wrong.
It wasn’t a sacrilege to exist.
Heka, in the eyes of this offshoot of paganism, belonged to all of the mortal races by birthright. They’re gifts were naturally fueled by the energies of the world. They could feel it in the changing of the seasons as the differing climes lent their strength to their weaves. Why else would nature work this way if it weren’t meant to work as such?
These downtrodden weavers began to adapt their own variant of their former pagan beliefs and rituals; choosing to practice heka as a form of worship far more so than as a means of personal convenience or as a tool for a society that would just as soon put them to the stake as abominations as praise them for their contributions to civilization.
Hence were birthed pagan sages.
Completely divorcing themselves from society at large in order to exist as they chose and not as others would have them, they removed themselves to a series of previously uninhabited isles that separated the Open and Closed Seas between Khanas, Assami and Zachary. And these sages carved out a nation that was truly unlike any other in the world. A new home for any Magi that sought a place to call their own. A land that became known as the Link; a place free from persecution for study, contemplation and meaningful Magickal experimentation.
Through the Link’s progressive studies, many of Mundus’ greatest hekan wonders came to be. The Magickal construction of the way-overs; gargantuan stone land bridges over two hundred feet wide that reach to the very floor of the oceans and span the impossible lengths between islands…or between entire continents.
Then there were the conveyance nexuses which allowed for people and objects to be absorbed into bolts of pure energy and instantaneously shifted between two connected points regardless of distance.
And does one even need to be reminded of the reputed glory of the levitating buildings of the Link itself?
Yet for all their power, as fearsome as the combined talents of the sages were, it paled in comparison to the eventual rise of the afore mentioned Drågonkįn; a small group of monastic Magi who became widely known, despite their wishes, for those among them who’d decided to dedicate their lives to learning to wield the craft at a martial capacity. A group of battle-focused Magi referred to as abyssinians; those for whom the Great Lighthouses of Mundus were constructed that they might revere the birth of the Drågon God in their worship. Towers whose heka-born fires blaze eternal; even within those which now lie in ruin on long sunken isles beneath the sea.
The pagan sages and the Drågonkįn eventually became synonymous with each other in the eyes of the common man. But while all Drågonkįn were sages at some level, not all sages were Drågonkįn. In truth, the sages themselves as a whole didn’t condone Drågonkįn, nor did they recognize their eventual position of authority in the religious pantheon. Despite this however, the practices of the monastic order granted them nearly unfathomable power, respect, and even moderate worship from many...especially those who ascended.
The Drågonkįn lived with the belief that, while Drågons within themselves were immortal and beyond worldly beings in many ways, they could, under certain circumstances, willfully grant their spirit to a mortal through the Ċwjv Bwhvő. Roughly translated from the Drågonese tongue; the “life given”. An act that came to be known colloquially as the “transference of the soul”.
From wince this knowledge came is a matter of some debate. Regardless, it followed that after this soul transfer, the recipient was fundamentally changed into the closest thing to a Dįvįnë being that a mortal can become.
A Drågoon.
And through this rite, with a number of newly born (speaking comparatively to the aspect of time) Drågoons among their numbers, the Drågonkįn collectively achieved immortality and a religious authority that was nearly unparalleled in spite of the positively minute size of their order…estimated by some to be no more than forty and five thousand in total.
Known to live within cloistered monasteries, not terribly dissimilar to the pagan sages that they were descended from, the oddly reclusive Drågonkįn kept themselves far away from the eyes of others; away from the eyes of outsiders. Exchanging a life of freedom for a life of servitude to their deities. A life of mental, physical and spiritual preparation in the hopes of being bestowed the blessing of all blessings.
Such secrecy lent itself to much wild speculation among the awe-struck masses. Drågonkįn were said to have been chosen by Sånįgron Himself to aid in the protection of the Dįvįnë Kingdom; even that they had the ability to transform themselves into the powerful winged beings they worshiped.
Others however, specifically among the pagan sages, saw it as an egregious affront. Blasphemous. Sacrilegious. Not only was it an apparent slight to the real Dįvįnë; claiming such power without right, but it was also seen as an attempt by the group to seize partisan power through wild and fantastical claims.
Meanwhile, the Covenant purists and pagan sages, in all of their hypocrisy, were doing just that. They wished to pull sway, both political and religious, away from the Drågonkįn for themselves. But it was useless, as the Drågonkįn and their Drågoons had already won the hearts and imagination of the masses...
Åmbrosįå had never been an overt deity. She was always subtle in her machinations and Her Ångëls exorcised Her will blatantly only in the rarest of circumstances. Lumå’įl, Sin and their Fallen however, lacked such restraint. Such was the nature of things.
Because of this, especially during such a time of unrest among Her worldly children, the lack of a physical presence by their benevolent deities and an absence of perceived “miracles” or “answered prayers” caused Her followers to lose first-hand knowledge of Her blessings and turn to a need for belief in Faith alone. And all the while, Lumå’įl worked His will upon the world of men, mer and fae. Further eroding these beliefs; morphing them nearly into wives’ tales and flights of fancy.
During this period of religious doubt and uncertainty arose the Oratory of the One God, under the perceived teachings of the one whom its followers held was the true Lord of Creation. Lumå’įl. It’s unknown from whence it came or who its forbearers were, but the Oratory held that the fallen Lord was right in His belief that beside His daughter, He could rule all things under the stars better than Åmbrosįå. They believed as He that the Goddess had created life for servitude and worship, not for true free-will. And they longed to see the day when the Goddess was outed for Her lies and Her abbeys were thrown to ruin. The day when all served Him.
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While the swiftness by which the oratory grew pleased Him, in the midst of all the religious confusion on Mundus, Lumå’įl knew that as they were, there was little that He or Sin could do with these faithful masses that would aid them in their desire to return home. As they were, they were collectively little more than sand to be washed away under the waves of Åmbrosįå’s Ångëls. And He knew that there were none within His sphere of influence that would ever be willingly accepted by one of the all-powerful Drågons to be gifted a soul to even the scales.
But then again, as Så’Ħdënåħ is said to have pointed out to Him, there was no cosmic law that said that they had to be willing.
And after much debate among the Choruses, the decision was reached that Brŭmal would have to make war with the Drågon race directly, but methodically, and with much meticulousness if they ever hoped to take back their place.
So the Lord and Lady of the Fallen allowed centuries in the living world to pass without exercising their vengeance, in order to permit time to take its toll on the foundations of mortal beliefs.
Regardless of what some may have thought of them due to some of their actions during the Great Rebellion, the two were nothing if not patient. After all, the further the division among the people, the greater the means they’d have for exploitation during their war.
And true to form…that’s precisely what happened.
The coming of the abbey had signaled a destabilizing turn in the world. While its foundations may have been built with the best of intentions…to bring Lumå’įl the love He and His daughter were so long denied in their eyes…those intentions had long since been rendered immaterial. As theirs was a path that led them to believe that for the world to continue to follow any other religious path was an affront to Sin and her Father.
An offence that could only be purged either through acceptance of their beliefs and laws, or by fire. There was no in-between. And with nearly sixty percent of the world being estimated to fall under either the oratory or the abbey at the heights of their influences, it’s not hard to guess who they tended to butt heads with the most.
So it was with tenacious ferocity that the Oratory eventually came to call for a total of ten and two bloody crusades over the course of nearly two hundred years; cutting a crimson swath across nearly every continent of Mundus against every other major religious power, with the Covenant bearing the brunt.
Blood that the oratory spilled in an effort to supposedly reclaim a veritable plethora of hallowed cities and sites in the names of Lumå’įl and Sin, spurred on by the scriptures of the Vade Mecum; their religious texts. Cities to which every other major religion already had claim to in one fashion or another in accordance with their respective histories and holy manuscripts.
But few were those who wholeheartedly believed this to be the reason for these woeful conflicts.
Were the constant holy wars meant to convert non-believers and make the whole of the world followers of the One God? To crush religious opposition and spread their influence? Were they undertaken for power, dominance and wealth? Were the crusades called as an excuse to cleanse the world of as many Magi who refused to join the oratory as possible?
Or maybe they just wanted to see the world burn.
Regardless, despite their most dire efforts, polytheism wasn’t completely abolished during these crusades. A failing of the oratory’s brought about by the might of the Drågons; painting a picture of the utter failure Lumå’įl knew He’d face if He were to assault the tree without further support.
The gargantuan beings stood steadfastly at the side of the abbey during the years of religious conflict alongside the unshakable and ever faithful Drågonkįn. And as a result, both Drågons and Drågonkįn alike became a particularly violent focus for the Oratory’s oratories, and they were ordered to be brought to death upon sight by any and all means by the final ending of the crusades.
It was an endeavor that failed spectacularly of course, but it nonetheless presented an opportunity unparalleled for Lumå’įl and Sin. It was here that Tįlåtħ and Dåÿvįåd started making more overt moves by their Lord and Lady’s command, capturing elder Drågons and Drågonlings at great cost; signaling the start of the War of the Drågons at the dawn of the Third Epoch.
Combined, these battles, skirmishes and shadow conflicts sprinkled themselves across a span of nearly three hundred more of the world’s years and taxed both Drågon and Drågoon numbers greatly.
Over five centuries of attacks from the oratory on one side and Lumå’įl’s Fallen on the other left the abbey worn thin. And the monotheistic views of the Oratory of the One God eventually gained significant ground in their conquests.
But necessity has always ever been the mother of invention. And it’s widely believed that it was out of these conflicts that the first sparks of the Technological Revolution were lit; fueled heavily by the overly ambitious swalii in concert with the dwarves and the technologically adept malani.
The warfare innovations introduced by the trio of peoples aided the Drågoons immensely in not only decisively ending nearly every campaign during the crusades, but also in ushering in an end to the War of the Drågons. Leaving the abbey and its subsects mostly intact in the aftermath.
Yet despite the glad tidings of a ceasing to the chain of wars that marked the end of one epoch and the beginning of another, the damage had already been done. And unbeknownst to most, the seeds for what would be remembered as the worst conflict in Mundus’ history had already been sewn.
Many Drågons had been successfully taken by Lumå’įl, not to be seen again.
Means were devised to torture the Dįvįnë beings into submission, making them more suitable for use by the Fallen. They were grotesquely studied in an effort to understand how to best subjugate them and, if called for, how to best destroy them. They were examined, experimented on and sadly discarded. Many were forced to copulate within breeding farms, only to have their Drågonlings ripped from their mothers while still in their infancy.
All the while, others still were subjected to an even worse fate; having their immortal souls torn from their bodies through blood hekas and gifted to Lumå’įl’s most capable Fallen, as well as the most faithful of His mortal followers, through the Ċwjv Dgfvő…a twisted incarnation of soul transference. “Life taken”.
A practice that, much to the dismay of the Fallen themselves, continued far beyond these conflicts and lent itself greatly to the strength of the Oratory’s darkly rendition of the Drågonkįn; the even lesser known Sages of Įl who flaunted their own hardened War-Casters as an answer to the Drågonkįn’s Battle-Magi, the Fulani. Powerful masters of hekan war who prayed for the gift of being one of the few tasked to be the tip of Lumå’įl’s spear as a fearful mirror countenance of the abbey’s respected Drågoons...
And it’s at this point that the inevitable…became our sorrowful history.