|
 Here can be found four appendices, containing additional information on the Oera'dim and the nature of the Jotun of the West. The first appendix recounts a short history of the Hordim, as told by the Tak Mah Horan. The second is an oration given at the dawn of the Battle of Kal Murda in the year 736, and encompasses the hatred felt by the Jotun for the Men of the South. The third is an account of the history of the emurion'ka, a most important talisman and the subject of this adventure. The fourth is a retelling of an old Jotun folktale, included here purely because it is mentioned in the text and seemed to be a good idea at the time.
Condensed from a lecture given by the Tak Mah Horan in the year of settlement 931
to the Combined Assemblies of the
Synod of the LoreMages' Guild of Kalborea. Hordim translations of certain words are given in brackets.
It is said that the creatures of the Horde were created out of darkness, moulded in the depths of the Earth and given life with the power of EarthMagic. Long are the tales that describe the rising of the Hordim from the Earth, and of their subjugation by ancient Beings known to them as the Trell'sara, and to Men as simply the Trell. Such is the antiquity of these events that there is little that remains of any factual records. Of the stories and sagas of the Hordim (Oera'dim) there is much that is unclear but the history of the Horde is long, and it cannot be disputed that they are our greatest nemesis. Only through an understanding of this enemy can we ever hope to defeat them.
From those records that still remain it is certain that the first of the Hordim were created by the Trell many thousands of years prior to the arrival of Men in the world. At that time the Trell were engaged in a vicious struggle with another race known only as the Forgotten Ones. There is nothing in this world that describes who they were, or how such a conflict arose, but it is sure that the Trell were losing, and in their desperation to turn the tide of the war created the first of the Hordim. These creatures we know today as the Hresh (Hresh'na). Although it is unknown how the Trell were able to harness the powers of EarthMagic to create the Hresh, it is a matter of Hordim legend that they turned the war. Designed as disciplined weapons of warfare the Hresh were totally loyal to their masters, and with the strength of these creatures at their beckoning destroyed the Forgotten Ones and took dominion of Arborell.
The Hresh had proved themselves as potent warriors, but with the fighting done the Trell turned their creatures to new tasks. In their arrogance they put their slave-warriors to work, tending fields, creating the goods needed by their civilisation, and building the great cities and temples whose ruins can be found spread throughout our world. It can be said that in these endeavours the Hresh could not satisfy their masters. They had been created as warriors and that could be their only true calling. The Trell looked instead to new creatures to fulfil their needs and it was then that they created the Morg (Ah'marg).
Used purely as farm workers and manual labourers the Morg were hardy slaves, resistant to all extremes of weather and like their Hresh brethren, completely loyal to their masters. It is believed that a Word of Command held all the Hordim in bondage, and until it was broken by the Jotun (Jotuni) the Trell lived their lives at ease, sure in the knowledge that they were supreme in the world.
There came a time however, when even the need to control their slaves was given over to a new creature of their devising. The Mutan (Ahmutani) were created as slave-masters, controlling all the work done by the Hordim, ensuring the efficient running of all aspects of Trell society. More and more power was concentrated in these creature's hands until eventually it was only the Word of Command that separated the Mutan from their masters. Whilst held in bondage by this most powerful of spells the Trell could not be challenged, and for thousands of years such was the manner of their lives.
It came to pass that in this time two new creatures were created to further the decadence and excesses of the Trell. The first were known as the Vardem (Vardemi). These were the personal household servants of the Trell. All other creatures had proven inadequate to their ever-increasing indolence and it was so that the Vardem served their most basic of needs. It is unknown as to what they looked like, or where they might now be, but of all the Hordim they are the least known, and the most mysterious. The second creatures created in this Golden Age of Excess were the Jotun, and with them the Trell made a fatal error.
Designed as engineers and miners of the deep earth they were given intelligence and strength. Unlike the other Hordim the Jotun were powerful beings, imbued with the knowledge and intellect to serve without need of supervision. What the Trell did not realise was that some of the Jotun were immune to the power of the Word of Command, and as their brethren took their place beside the other Hordim, they worked secretly to bring down their Masters.
It is one of the greatest mysteries of the Jotun as to how they broke the Word of Command, but with its fall came violence and death as the now unrestrained slaves of the Trell rose against their masters and obliterated them from the world. In this time of destruction the Vardem disappeared; some legends say they fled to the east, but by the end of their insurrection the Jotun had control of the world. Arborell was now under the dominion of the Horde.
All should have ended in that manner, except that the Mutan coveted power for themselves. Apart from the Vardem the Mutan had been closest to their old masters, and knew much of their ways. They used this knowledge to harness the powers of the Earth for themselves, and revived the Word of Command to bring all the Hordim under their thrall. To this time it has remained so, the Mutan in command of the Horde, the Hordim once again subjugated to the powers of those who can harness EarthMagic.
There is a question that must be raised however. What happened to the Jotun who were immune to the Word of Command? There is no further mention of them in the sagas of the Horde, and no indication that they have attempted to wrest power from the Mutan as well. If ever there was a possible ally to be found amongst the Hordim it would be these Jotun, but the question remains. Where are they?
This oration is taken from the records of the Jotuni Bruhaj. Given in the year of settlement 736
prior to the disappearance of Aggamem at the battle for Kal Murda.
"Hear me brothers. The darkness gathers to us, and as we wait about our embered fires for the dawn we know what is to come. I stand before you in the quiet of the night, ready for the rising of the suns, and the battle that must be fought this coming day. I stand before you as Chieftain of the Jotuni but my name is unimportant. Where I have come from is of no consequence. How it is that we stand here together is irrelevant. All that matters is why we are here. On this wind-swept plain I stand before you not as a Chief, but as a warrior amongst warriors, bonded by blood and with a heavy task set before us. In the coming dawn we must meet the vehmin of the south, and on this day we must send them to their ancestors. It is a day long in the coming.
Hear me brothers. Can we forget the injustices that have been measured against us? Do we turn our backs on our ancestors, leaving this place without drawing the blood that must be taken? Must we stand another day without taking the revenge that is duly ours to take? I say to you brothers that we breathe, and with every exhalation the doom of our enemies draws nearer. They stand before us, shouting curses and insults in defiance of our honour, and who can deny that we shall not be rid of them until each and everyone lies buried in the ground.
And who amongst us brothers, can say that we are not equal to the task? Was it not we who overcame the slavery and torment of the Fallen Masters? Was it not the blood of the Oera'dim that ran as a tide in the wars of the Forgotten Ones? Was it not the Jotun my brethren, that rose against our masters of old in insurrection and cast them from the world, sending their vile works into ruin?
Alas, such has been our fate and our burden. In bloodshed we found freedom and then had our lands torn from us by the vehmin. Can we forget how they arrived upon our shores and asked for nothing more than a sheltered harbour and the right to hunt? In pity and condolence did we not give it, and were we not then betrayed? Great wars we have fought to take back that which is ours. Generations of our kind have fallen beneath the steel of our nemesis and yet we do not falter. Are we not made of the same essence as the grass of the plains and the stone of the cold mountains? Are we not as strong?
Hear me brothers. Since the first gleaming of our creation we have lived in hardship, tempered by the travail of lives spent in battle and torment. At the first whimpering of our Birthlings do we not mark them with the three tears of our mourning, an eternal reminder of what we have lost? Can we stand another day staring into the reflection of such truth? We are warriors, Jotuni of the Oera'dim, our lives nothing but leaves before the storm until we have purged our lands of these trespassers. Let us rise up against this plague that has taken all that is ours, and colour the ground red with their blood. We are Jotun, and before the strength of our number there is no nemesis that will not falter..."
Taken from an excerpt of the personal records of Shamaril, First Dominus
of the Clavern'sigh and Utterer of the Word of Command.
It is written in the scrolls of our forebears that there was a time in the world when neither beast nor Oera'dim roamed the plains. In this distant age there dwelt in the depths of the southern forests of the Malleron a great Power, a tree of immense size that held dominion over all things that spread leaves as its subjects. It is told that everything that took root or placed seed upon the winds stood within its thrall, and for millennia it lived, taking what it needed from the suns and earth and giving life to the world in return.
Such was the size of this Great Tree that there dawned a day when its roots came into contact with the Shan'duil, the River of Life that holds the power and essence of all Creation. Touched by this power the tree turned instantly to stone, becoming in that moment of change both Sentient and Immortal, a new Power to preside over all that lived in the world. In Arborell the Silvan Tree ruled as both Lord and Mistress, Creator of Life and Guardian of everything precious. In Arborell it was the Great Tree, a conduit of EarthMagic and the Second Power of our World.
In this world of bough and leaf the Silvan Tree gave all its energy and fealty to the River of Life, its focus to the balance of the seasons, and to the welfare of the vast forests that spread within its domain. Beneath the canopy of the forests the world was silent however, its music no more than the rustle of the wind and the creak of swaying boughs. In this First Age of the world it was the trees themselves that held sway, their number uncountable in their multitudes but mute nonetheless, and in that state they remained until the coming of the Forgotten Ones.
Into this time of serene quiet there came new voices and new sounds that broke the silence of the forest. From a place beyond the borders of this existence something new came into the world, and with these Beings, that we know only as the Forgotten Ones, there travelled the first beasts of the plains and birds of the air. It was not long before the Forgotten Ones found the Silvan Tree, and realising its power subjugated themselves to its will. From the Tree the Forgotten Ones gained protection and power. In return they taught the Tree the nature of their being, and an appreciation of the life of those that live to run the wild plains. In time it changed the essence of the world, the Silvan Tree discovering that there was more to existence than earth and wind. In time the Silvan Tree began to create new life of its own.
Soon there was not a corner of the world that did not tremor to the footfalls of beasts in their multitude, or grow dark beneath the melee of birds upon the wing. For the Silvan Tree this new life was a revelation, the voices of the Forgotten Ones a music that resounded from every corner of the world, and it was with the language of this lost people that the Tree found its greatest favour.
In the voices of the Forgotten Ones the Silvan Tree uncovered a voice of its own. In language it gained the power to express EarthMagic in words, and in doing so bound that language to the world as tightly as the mountains are founded to their roots. With the language of Haer'al the Silvan Tree harnessed the life essence of Creation and rather than acting as a conduit for its power became able to use it at will. Life burgeoned within the forests of the world and for an age of time such was the way of existence.
It is said that even the Powers of the world can fall into folly and that such hubris can change the course of time itself. For the Great Tree the world had entered a Golden Age and in its gratitude it wished to give the Forgotten Ones a great boon. It was in a moment of supreme confidence that the Silvan Tree created its most ambitious work, a race of sentient Beings not unlike the Forgotten Ones that it called Trell'sara, or Guardians.
The Trell'sara however, were not as they seemed nor as they had been created. In a world of absolute plenty they could not be satisfied, and in the dark recesses of their minds they plotted and schemed, for it was their intention to take everything for themselves. Too late the Silvan Tree recognised the malevolent nature of their creation, and when they were ready the Trell'sara tore the Great Tree down and severed its power from the world.
What followed was a dark time. By degrees the life of the world diminished, and in the grey of a twilight that could only end in despair the Trell'sara went to war against the Forgotten Ones. In the violence of these times the Forgotten Ones overwhelmed their attackers and forced them into strongholds founded in the high mountains of the west, but without the essence of the Silvan Tree to nurture it the world ebbed into dissolution, its forests failing, its grasslands drying to dust. It could only be a matter of time before the folly of the Trell'sara would take all into oblivion.
But the Silvan Tree was not dead. With its tearing down the Trell'sara wished to remove it from the world and such was the desecration of their act that they could not bear any evidence of the Great Tree to remain. In a fit of malice and shame the broken pieces of the Tree were taken to the edges of the world and thrown into the unfathomable depths of an abyss. For them the Silvan Tree had been removed from their existence, but the Silvan Tree was not dead.
In the depths of the world the Tree found new strength and slowly it began to grow, the life force of the deep earth now its sustenance. As the War of Tree and Leaf raged in the world above its roots tapped the strength of the stone, and through the rifts and crevasses slowly spread its dominion once again.
What it found was a land in disarray. Quickly it re-established order, bringing balance back to the seasons and infusing life back into the earth. Arborell had been saved from the folly of the Trell'sara but the Guardians had not yet finished with their machinations. In the embrace of the earth the Silvan Tree had changed, its essence now more of stone than wood. And in that change the Trell'sara had found a way to access the great power of the Tree. Shards and splinters from the breaking down of the Tree had been collected and stored by the Guardians, and in their transformation to stonewood now provided a connection to the powers of the Tree which we know in these modern times as EarthMagic.
It was not beyond their intellect to discover that possession of the shards of stonewood gave access to the powers of the Tree itself, and in their arrogance and folly they took such powers to themselves, even though the Silvan Tree resisted. It is recorded that many of the Trell'sara died in their battles for mastery of EarthMagic but eventually they overcame the barriers placed before them. The Silvan Tree retreated to its depthless bastion and resigned itself to its role as caretaker of the health of the world. For the Trell'sara it was the beginning of their dominion of Arborell.
With the power of creation at their fingertips it was not long before it was exercised. In a symbolic act a piece of the Silvan Tree was fashioned into the stonewood sword known as the emurion'ka, the Light of the World. With this the Hresh'na were created to defeat the Forgotten Ones, and the remainder of our brethren arose from the need of the Trell'sara for slaves. Such would have been the eternal state of our world if not for the arising of the Jotun and the Great Insurrection that followed their breaking of the Word of Command.
Even as the last of the Trell'sara lay dying at the gates of Nem'haleen did they still have the will to hide their knowledge from their slaves, unwilling to give others the power they had once wielded with such abandon. It is recorded that it was their personal slaves, the Vardem, that betrayed their trust and retrieved the talismans, giving them over to the Jotun for safekeeping. In this manner did the emurion'ka come into the possession of the Oera'dim.
It is a bitter taste that comes with the knowledge that we no longer hold the emurion'ka. Lost at the battle for Kal Murda, this greatest of all talismans has been beyond our reach for too many years. It is the belief of the Clavern'sigh that the vehmin do not understand what they have, and it serves our purposes best that we do not attempt to recover it. In this matter it is deemed that we do nothing to alert these Men of the South to the importance of the sword of stonewood. One day it will be ours again.
A folktale from the lands of the Oldemai Jotun. As told to the author.
Long before the coming of Men there lived in the far south of the world a great Chieftain, known to his people as Braga, or Arm of the Gods. In his way he was a Jotun of great renown, a strong leader and a mighty warrior, a Being whose power grew to encompass all the lands of the Oldemai Jotun. To his people he was a leader, a firm foundation upon which the communities of the Jotun flourished, but in his own home life was in uproar.
Braga ruled his lands but he did not rule his home. Within his Kraal he had eleven sons, all but one of whom would grow in their time to be great warriors. The youngest however, had no ambitions for leadership or the honour that could be found in combat. For him, life was an exercise in indulgence, one where the advice and remonstrations of his father held little weight. He was a Jotun, but he carried himself with the same lack of care or discipline as any of the Fallen Masters. Within the Kraal of his father he was despised by all.
For Braga there was little that could be done. Without discipline and honour a Jotun was nothing but a brute, a creature of the Trell'sara fit for nothing more than digging in the pits of their ancient masters. The Chief knew that he needed to teach his youngest a lesson and after much indecision issued an isdari against his son. For the Oldemai it was the worst of punishments. Banished to the roads and wastelands the youngest son of Braga became a being without name or honour, to be shunned by all for might meet him. His fate that of a traveller without home or heritage, to be given no comfort or succour in the long years that the edict would remain in force. In Braga's mind his youngest would need to learn self-reliance and discipline in the hardest way possible. And so it was that the Jotun that now had no name was thrust out into a harsh world, there to learn for himself the meaning of hardship and discipline.
In this way the years passed, and the Jotun, who became known to latter generations as the Unwary Traveller, walked the long paths of the wastelands, finding food where he could and harbouring a deep hatred for his father and the honour of his ancestors. Such would have been the way of his life but for a chance meeting upon the open road. It would be his doom that on a bitterly cold night he would cross paths with the Maiden of Despair.
Within the blustering winds of an encroaching winter the Unwary Traveller heard the soft sounds of sobbing. In the vast spaces of the grasslands it came to him as a mournful, plaintive call wafting upon the breeze, drawing him to an outcrop of rock and then into a small enclave of stone within. There he found wrapped in moonlight a Maiden, crouching upon the ground beside a small withered tree. Her sobs came as rivers of tears that flowed onto the enclave floor and settled around the dying roots of the plant.
Such was the travail in her eyes that the Unwary Traveller could not resist. He asked her what was wrong and she answered him.
"Sire, I have been banished from my home and find myself here in the dark recesses of this outcrop, without friend or family. How can I live in such a barren place? What is to become of me?"
The Unwary Traveller took pity on the Maiden and gave her the last of his food and water. In gratitude she hugged him and ran from the outcrop into the dark of night. The Jotun followed but found her gone, disappeared into the shadows of the evening. With a shrug he turned back to the enclave and decided that if he was to be hungry he might as well use the shelter of the outcrop to sleep away the night. The Maiden would need it no longer.
With the sounds of a storm growing upon the horizon the Unwary Traveller made himself comfortable to sleep. Outside the storm grew and then overtook the Jotun's shelter. It was a great tempest that lashed the lands around him, but within the protection of the enclave he was safe. For the first time in many months he slept well, sure in the knowledge that the solid walls of the outcrop would protect him.
In the morning he awoke to find a most wondrous boon before him. During the night the withered tree had grown strong and tall, its branches reaching to cover the roof of his shelter. As he stood he noticed also the tree was heavy with fruit, and within the confines of the outcrop it gave off a heady sweet smell that was irresistible. Hungry and without the means to obtain food it was a boon that the Jotun could not ignore. He took one of the fruit and bit hard into its soft flesh. Then he took another and another. Such a feast he had never experienced. Each fruit gave off a different taste and soon his mouth was full of the flavours of meat, cake and more fruits than he had thought existed in the world.
The privations of his life, and the lessons he had learned on the road, were forgotten as the fruits took a hold of him. It was a spell that they weaved, one that kept him within the enclave, feasting on the tree's bounty for many days. The bone and sinew of his hard existence disappeared beneath the effects of his gluttony. Too long deprived of the indolence he so greatly craved he fell back into sloth, eating from the tree and relaxing beneath its spreading branches. The tree was all to happy to provide, but never once did the Jotun think on what was happening. In his mind life owed him an existence and this, he thought, was his repayment for the hardships of his banishment. All too soon he would find that everything has its cost.
The day came when the Unwary Traveller had eaten his fill and could eat no more. Satiated to a point that even the spell woven by the tree could not force him to eat another piece of fruit, he lay upon the ground of the enclave and pondered his good fortune. Today however, would be the day that he would pay the price for his indulgence.
In the darkening hours there came from outside the soft voice of the Maiden. In the lilting tones of her approach the Jotun heard the sorrow and despair that she still felt, and called her to come inside and eat from the fruits of the Tree. For indeed it was in his thoughts that such a feast would make even her black mood falter. But it was not the Maiden that entered the dark enclave. In her place passed the malevolent form of a dweo'gorga, a shape-shifter of the ancient days, its body formed as a Reaver and its appetite one to match. "Do not worry," it said in the same soft voice as the Maiden, "I shall indeed feed upon the bounty of the Tree."
In those morning hours the screams of the Jotun echoed across the plains but there was no-one to hear. The dweo'gorga took its time. It had been waiting for its prey to take its fill of the tree, and now it would enjoy the fruits of its patience. In those hours the son of Braga paid the cost of his gluttony, and was never heard of again.
It is said that for the Jotun this is a cautionary tale, one that reinforces the idea that it is only discipline and honour that keeps a Jotun alive in a harsh world. The son of Braga had chosen to ignore the one rule that governs the lives of the Oera'dim in Arborell, and had paid a high price for that oversight. In a world ruled by magic anything is possible, and it is only discipline and sacrifice that ensures survival. In Arborell you can take nothing for granted.
Contents | Introduction | The Plains of Tor'eth | Sections 1 - 120 | Aftermath
|
This site, and associated books and other documents are the intellectual property of the author, Wayne F Densley, and all rights are reserved by him. Unless otherwise stated all books in this series must be viewed at 1024 x 768 resolution. Any questions regarding the Chronicles of Arborell can be answered by emailing the author at densleyw@shoal.net.au
|
|
