The history of the free republic is shrouded in mystery. In the dark times of cruel dictatorship by the high wizard the old records were all but obleterated. All that remains now are the stories sung to children. Moral tails and epics, filled with impossibility and great feats.
But these bedtime stories, as fanciful as they are all have a grain of truth. The dark powers. The feat of heroics. The great losses and the bitter ending. They are true. They happened. They are this story.
In the misty annals of time, twelve hundred years ago, the tribes of the plane were simple folk. They had spend since time immortal as hunter gatherers moving across the hilled plains, only recently had they settled down to a more agricultural life style. Contact was soon made with the dwarven kingdom of the area. Soon a happy alliance was stuck. The dwarves provided iron and steel tools in exchange for food grown by the human tribes. Life went on for many a year with this arrangement, and it was good.
Then the peace was broken in one fateful day.
From the hilly land to the south a dark force crept. Tiny daemons came, riding in carts bound with metal and powered by tortured flesh and dark magic. They intruded only on the very outermost edge of the lands that humans called their own. Indeed the two races might not have meet if it was not for a group of hunters that saw them and hid. Luckily for the hunters the daemons were as blind children to them and were very easy to avoid, no matter how close the hunters dared creep.
After the daemons turned around, apparently they were only scouting the lay of the land, the hunters reported back to their village the story of the daemons that rode carts powered by evil magic. Soon all the villages of the tribes had heard the stories of the horrors from the south. The seven great chiefs of the tribes gathered for council, the majority opinion was to strike out at the daemons, who with there use of magic and the slavery of spirits all agreed must be evil. A army would have been raised that fortnight was it not for the wise console of Regrad the Red, the greatest of the chiefs and leader of the six tribes of the red hand. On his urging the tribes did not attack immediately, but rather the great chiefs sought the wise words of the dwarven court. The high king of the dwarves, much more aware of the world outside the hilled plains then any of the human leaders, brought forth a proposal. The human chiefs and the dwarven lords would gather a army, for the threat of the daemons was indeed high, they would march to the area the daemons lived and, rather then attack they would only make contact. If the deamons were truly welders of evil magic and beings of evil the forces of good would make war on them. If the stories of the hunters were only hyperbole then perhaps peace and friendship could be made.
The armies were gathered, a host bigger then had ever been seen in the area, the very stones trembled at it’s passing. The seven human armies and the much larger host of dwarven warriors soon came to the area of the daemons. The air was rank with foul stenches and the ground was blasted with soot, ashes, and other less knowable particulates. The very life of the area seem to be lacking as plants struggled to survive the oppression of the dark magic that permeated the very air. Animal life, such as what there was, was a twisted mockery, more dead then alive, even what should have been herbivores had sharp fangs and had to be driven back by force as they attacked the outer columns of the armies, dragging any kills away to be feasted upon.
The armies soon found a host of daemons, quite surprised by the appearance of the humans and dwarves, as they had thought in their arrogance and stupidity that their single short expedition to that direction was more then enough to find any other races living in the area. Soon communication was established and the leader of the daemons agreed to meet with the dwarven lords and the human chiefs.
Soon, on a hill overlooking both the united armies of dwarves and men and the host of daemons the meeting took place. The seven human chiefs and the council of dwarven lords meet with the high dictator of the daemons and his court of dark advisers. The dwarves and men talked frankly with the daemons, telling how their use of evil magics were quite disturbing to the two races and asking why they used such foul powers. The races of good demeaned that if the daemons kept the use of such evil that no friendship would be possible and the daemons would have to stop their advancement towards the lands of men and dwarves. The humans and dwarves lords also offered friendship and free trade to them if they stop their prevision of nature. The daemons conferred for only a short time before the answer came back. ‘Why should the Gnomes cripple ourselves for the friendship of lesser races when we could just as easily destroy them and take their bodies as slaves?’ With that question sending the human and dwarven lords into shock the daemons attacked with a great wave of evil magic. On the spot the dwarven high king was struck dead along with most of the human chiefs and dwarven lords.
The few remaining human and dwarven leaders fled to their armies hearing in horror at first as the daemons laughter filled the air followed by chanting of evil magics. As they reached the bottom of the hill and the relative safety of the armies they saw in horror as the body of the slain high king lurched to it’s feet in a mockery of life, followed by the rest of the slain men and dwarves. At this a great rage fell over the dwarves and the remaining lords ordered the host of dwarves to attack and slay the daemons down to the last one. The human chiefs also ordered the host of men to march. Less as a act of vengeance and more to wipe clean this stain on the earth.
In a battle that some say lasted for half a year the armies of dwarves, daemons, and men fought across miles and miles of ground. The very dirt itself was stained forever red with the blood of the fallen. Thousands died, tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. Despite that fact that each soldier of justice that fell was another body that was added to the ranks of the daemons, the great armies of good and justice slowly slowly won out. In no little part to the underestimation of their foes and their own blind arrogance the daemons were pushed back to their halls under the hills.
In the end every single adult daemon was slain, each of them too rotten and evil to accept the terms of surrender. Still, the hearts of the dwarves and men were not hard enough to bring the blade upon the necks of the remaining women and children, despite how near the end even the smallest of children were included in the charges of the daemons. They were marched from the halls of evil onto a more wholesome land in hopes that some day they would be able to repent their actions and join society.
The first year after the war went very, very poorly. With no undead servants and the daemons refusing to work the land for sustenance famine was commonplace in the daemon villages. With their economies already over taxed by the war the human and dwarven lands were pushed to the limit to support the non working daemons and they knew hunger as well. To combat this troops were sent to the daemons, forcing them to work for their food on pain of starvation and death. Even then the daemons hardly worked at all and starvation was common.
Despite the removal of all dark magics, the daemons showed quite a affinity for evil. One out of fifty of them learned how to tap inborn evil magic and more then a fifth of each generation was eventually killed in attacks on the humans who were in charge of forcing them to make food for themselves. This disorder lead to a head with a daemon named Agustus. He gathered a army of followers and fought their way back to the evil halls of the long abandoned under city of the daemons. There he told most of his followers that the old knowledge was lost, destroyed by the evil human. He set them for what they thought would be yet another suicide defense against the army that was coming from the north to stop the reclamation of the evil lair. But Agustus had other plans. He lead his cabal deep into the darkest pits of the hills and there performed a evil ritual, using as sacrifices the three thousand followers he had left behind. The daemons life force was stripped from their bodies and used to power a horrid transformation. Soon three thousand undead monstrosities meet the armies of dwarves and men. The fighting was intense, for every monster that was destroyed many many lives were lost. But the forces of good knew the price of failure.
For two years the armies clashed, grinding down to dust the evil monsters as Agustus readied another spell. As the forces were breaking into the inner sanctum, in what would be known as Agustus's Charge for the daemon that every solder knew was wanted dead but not alive, the spell of two years making was unleashed. The lands were blasted with great dark magic. All around the plains the dead rose from their graves and attacked the living. Agustus never saw the completion of his revenge however, the powers unleashed were so great they slaughtered him and the armies of right as the city crumbled around them.
The few soldier that survived the great spell retreated, thinking themselves bloodied but triumphant. The exaltation soon turned to horror as they realized a great host of undead were chasing them across the plains. Soon the run was on. The armies ran, not stopping for food or rest for over a week. Many of them simply dropped dead of exhaustion or thirst, only to raise again in minuets to continue the run, this time on the casing side and not the side being chased. They passed though many many abandoned villages, filled with death. At all times a steady stream grew to join the horde chasing them. Soon they found that half a million undead were casing them. Every human or dwarf that had died in the last hundred years for a hundred miles in any direction.
As time went on and the survivors numbers dwindled hope soon fled the survivors, now numbering in the hundreds. Every city. Every town. Every farm house even was abandoned or filled with the dead. Soon hope was almost gone. The dwarves simplely could not go on. Their short legs and city living had betrayed them. The last fifty dwarves gathered around their king and halted. The turned and readied themselves to fight the horde that outnumbered them more thousand to one, and that was only the leading pack.
Regrad the Red pleaded with his friend the dwarven king to keep up the run. To run with him all the way to hell. Failing in this plea he swore that he would stand by the side of the dwarves and die along with them. The dwarven king replied with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips that he would enjoy that. He then knocked Regrad over the head with his mace, sending him to unconsciousness. Telling the humans to take their leader and run he turned and lead the last charge of the dwarves.
It is said on that say over five thousand of the undead terrors died that day. The grand warrior king is said to have slain a over two thousand himself, personally chopping off the head of every dwarf that fell in battle so they may avoid his fate. So great was his sacrifice and powers that even the undead stopped their charge, both so that they could bring their full numbers to bear and to give the warrior that killed ten of their number with every swipe of his axes the proper respect.
I don't know the truth of this tale. If it did indeed happen then he must have brought time for the humans to make it to the sea. There is is said they found the remains of the human tribes and the dwarven kingdom. Only three thousand humans and under two hundred dwarves survived. They managed to build a rag tag fleet of ships and cast off from the shores of that cursed land. It is said they floated, lost at sea for many weeks before they were found by the navy of a kingdom of dwarves and elves. Their they brought the ships to shore and gave land to the humans that had survived. As too the grim remainder of the dwarves, it is said they absorbed them their kingdom.
But the night grows long and the lamp burns low. The rest of the story of the free republic shall have to wait another day. But now you know the story of the south lands and the blighted undead. And perhaps that story can be called even more important to the formation of the free republic then the coming of the wizard king and the creation of the red kings.
But ah, I get ahead of myself. That is as I said a story for another day.
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Topic: Fiefdoms @ War: Fluff Thread (Read 73697 times)