Chronicles of Arcania: The Badger

The mages during the revolution had a lot of allies on their side, but few more peculiar than the Der’o Fasciid, who were all dead by quite some time before the revolution ever began. This segment therefore focuses on their perspective on the war, a very different one from most peoples’.

This island was our home. It was our land. It was Akanea.

We floated across the seas when at last the wild things grew too few to keep us. Through mist and rain and lightning, until finally we saw it.

And for a time, it was good. So much food, so much water, so much shelter. We thrived.

Then, we broke, as men do. The child leaves his parents’ home, and so we splintered across our new homeland. The Yo’ka to the North, the Tli’tak Mon to the East, the Beak Riders to the West…we were such glorious diversity for such a small place, spreading to all corners and peaks that would have us.

And, for a time, it was good.

And too soon, it became bad.

At once, things turned against us on the island, on Akanea. Trees fell upon homes, rivers coursed through villages, banks broke and swallowed plains with the might of a once-great lake. The island turned against us. The Beak Riders were the first to fall, crushed and beaten by the birds they thought they had tamed.

Quickly our numbers grew slender, and the island reshaped itself against us. No home was left untouched by the devastation. The Tli’tak Mon hoped to flee, but the island showed its intention with grasping waves, and we lost all sight of them beyond the shores.

Winter arrived, and our numbers began to finally die out. The few of us that remained met atop the highest peak near the most vast lake to discuss our fates.

Millennia passed. The Fasciid clans fell from memory and time. Nature washed away much of our mortal place upon Akanea. Then, finally, a new clan arrived.

The island took its time in judging them, watched their movements closely with us. Tested them. Tried them. And, occasionally, tormented them.

And finally it decided. This clan would stay, this clan would survive. We had failed its trials, but nature can do only so much to uphold its cruel justice. Where tree falls and river banks fail, we do not. Where crashing waves and majestic beasts cannot sunder ambition, we do.

This is our island. And we are the judiciars of its justice.

We are the Der’o Fasciid.

Posted by: Lying

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