by S. G. Night
It so happened that the fallen ones on Talkrilia did grow enraged, and they sought to use their magic (which they did retain) to free Golzar and their fellows from the nameless plane, to no avail. Also, at that time, they saw that the mortal Goblins and the Arkûl were in a state of weakness, apostasy, and barbarity. And so the Demons did assert themselves above their brother races that they might rule over them and all of Oltamn.
And those few Goblins who retained their civility and their faith in the Father did reject the fallen ones, and fled. They sailed forth from Oltamn, headed eastward for brighter prospects.
And so ends this account of the fall of the Arelim and the corruption of the mortal Goblin and the Arkûl. Verily, I, Rinn, the second augur of the Father, have nothing more to add, for at this time the Father has removed the visions from my eyes. And at this time, all our knowledge concerning the affairs of Oltamn cease. Amen.
***
Oron shut taj Libris Io for a second time. The pages closed with a heavy, hollow thump, like the boom of a gavel.
Racath stared at the older Majiski. He tried to speak and found his mouth was dry as dusty paper. He paused, swallowed hard, and tried again. “So the Demons…” he asked. “They were like us once?”
His teacher nodded gravely. “A long time ago, yes. But they are very, very different now. The Demons aren’t even a race anymore, really.”
“How so?” Racath inquired.
“Well, think about it,” Oron answered, setting taj Libris Io aside and leaning back in his armchair. “From what you’ve seen of them, what makes them different from the other races?”
Racath pondered for a moment. “Well…” he hedged. “There’s this one guy. The Genshwin Archivist, Virgil Tarem. He’s been trying to study the nature of the Demons for a long time. Investigating any information he can get from any one of us who’s ever encountered one. He doesn’t have a lot to go on, but he’s got this theory about the Demons’ physical forms. He thinks that the unique form of each individual Demon can be categorized into nineteen or twenty archetypes.”
“I’ve heard about Virgil Tarem,” Oron said, weaving his hands together over his lap. “Mrak mentioned him once — I asked for a copy of his research in the library, actually. Interesting stuff. And that, that right there, is the primary difference: Demons don’t have any kind of defined, universal anatomy. Each cursed body is unique in some way. No two are exactly similar. This is because the Demons aren’t entirely made up of fallen Arelim.”
Racath furrowed his eyebrows. “They’re not?”
Oron shook his head. “No. Demonism is not a race, ethnicity, or anything else like that. It is a state of being — the state of being that a person of any race enters if he commits the sin of perdition. The process of doing so, of falling from the grace of God, warps and corrupts a person, severing their soul from God. The resulting being is, what we call, a Demon.
“And the Arelim do not have a monopoly on the sin of perdition. Their fall was the Perdition, but individuals of other races have committed their own acts of perdition since then and become Demons. I have no idea how it’s done, and I imagine that it can’t be a pleasant process, but the only way that the Demons can…reproduce, after a fashion, is to corrupt and drag down other mortals. Anyone can fall and become like them: Human, Elf, Goblin, Arkûl, even Majiski.”
Racath bit his lip thoughtfully. “But wait. If the Arelim became the Demons in the First Age…then what have they been doing since then? Before they came to Io, I mean. Why did they come here? And what took them so long to get here?” He paused, thinking further. “Hell, why are we even here? I thought you said that the first three races were placed on some continent called Athair, across the sea. How did we get to Io?”
The older Majiski smirked and chuckled once. “An astute question. And a good transition into the next thing I wanted to go over today: the Ages that followed the Perdition.” He picked up the other book from the floor.
“What is that?” Racath asked, nodding at the book.
“The Summaries, by Primus,” Oron answered. “The greatest High Scholar of the Third Age. It’s a comprehensive summary of each of the Ages.”
“Ah.”
“So,” Oron said, opening the tome. “Are you ready?”
Racath nodded without hesitation.
“Then let’s begin.” He started flipping pages, holding the book so Racath could see too. “We left off at the end of the fifth century of the First Age — the Age of Neophany and Perdition. Not much had happened up to that point besides the procreation of the races and the Perdition itself.
“But around Year 620 of the First Age, the Roten civilization came into the picture. Roten was the society that was born when the Elves, Humans, and Majiski began to interact. For a long time, they lived in prosperous harmony. The language they spoke — the same Rotenic language that you have learned — was the language that God Himself spoke, and they developed a complex written form of it.
“The Roten, however, grew strong and proud. Very slowly, they began to discard the idea of God in favor of their own self-written mythos. They became sinful and apostate, and those few who remained faithful to Gospodar were greatly persecuted. The Jedan augurs warned the Roten that if they did not recant their wicked ways, God would smite them with catastrophe, but the Roten decided to ignore them.”
“Bad idea?” Racath assumed.
“Bad idea,” Oron confirmed, flipping further into the Summaries. He paused to read to himself for a moment, and then continued. “A cataclysm did indeed came, somewhere around the 2032nd year of the First Age. History isn’t clear on exactly what kind of cataclysm it was, but it scattered the three races to their old homelands.”
Oron held up the book so Racath could see the page he was looking at. It was a map of a large landmass that dimly resembled a backwards-upside-down letter L: an oblong blob of land stretched from east to west, intersecting an equally large north-to-south region at a right angle at the westernmost end. Dotted lines partitioned the continent into three areas.
“This is Athair,” Oron told him, then pointed at the north-to-south region. “After the cataclysm, the Humans returned to the land of their birth in this area. They — along with the faithful Jedans, who remained mostly unaffected by the disaster — preserved the Rotenic language. Their domain would eventually become the Kingdom of Okkarheim.”
Oron then tapped the region where the two perpendicular subcontinents intersected. “The Elves resettled here, in the mountainous region that they called Domhan. As the centuries past, they would develop their own language: Elven.”
“And the Majiski?” Racath asked.
Oron indicated the east-to-west region. “They would return to the forests of this part of the continent. Majiskura. Majiskura, at first, was just a collection of towns, tribes, and clans. But by Year 2300 of the First Age, the Majiski had built eight great City-States around a large canyon formed by a massive river.
“On one side of the river, there was Adonna — the capital — and Aenon, Tarsus, Myna, and Ardus. On the other, there was Tyre, Nain, and Tabor. These cities allied to become the Majiskuran Enclave. Each City-State was independent, but they all owed fealty to the capital. As time went by, the Enclave developed the Skuran language — the language we speak now. Slowly, Skuran became the language of trade. An international standard.
“And as the Majiskurans were developing, so was a new religion. The people of Athair called it Majerian. In this new religion, there were three pantheons of extra-planar gods — one pantheon for each Athairian race. Each of the three countries worshiped their respective pantheon.”
Racath made a face. “I bet I can guess where this is going.”
“As with all pagan deities,” Oron explained. “The Majerian gods could best be described as petty children. The three pantheons were constantly squabbling. And that led to war.”
“I think I actually saw a reference to this earlier this morning,” Racath interjected. “The Ma
jerian Wars?”
“The First Majerian War,” Oron corrected. “There were many to follow, large and small. Whenever the gods were supposedly bickering, the three races went to war. And all the while, the few remaining Jedans — people from all three races — ducked their heads and tried to stay out of it. But that proved difficult. The three Majerian countries hated the Jedans almost as much as they hated each other. Athair became unsafe for the people of God.
“So they left. In the 2464th Year of the First Age, a few thousand Jedans built a fleet of ships on the southern coast of Athair. And, under the direction of the augur of the time, set sail southward, looking for a promised land.”
Racath raised his eyebrows. “What did they find?”
“This,” Oron said, making an expansive gesture with his hands. “They found this land, an island continent which they called Eldur.”
“So this is when Io was founded,” Racath said.
Oron shook his head. “Not quite. You see, the island of Eldur is split into three major pieces. In the north, there is a large mass of land with many regions. In the far south, there is a vast, empty wasteland. These two areas are connected only by a neck of land about three hundred miles wide and five hundred miles long called the Midlands.
“The immigrants landed in the large, northern piece of Eldur. Their arrival marked the end of the First Age. And in the First Year of the Second Age of Ataxia, they founded the Kingdom of Calisto. Calisto developed and expanded to cover the whole of the Eldur’s northern region by Year 110.
“Meanwhile, civil war broke out in Majiskura, the Humans of Okkarheim were locked in a power struggle, and everyone was generally pissed at each other. And, of course, the Majerians were at each other’s throats during those years, too.
“But once the dust settled in Athair, Calisto sent diplomatic vessels back to the continent and, eventually, overseas trade markets opened up. Over the next few centuries, Calisto prospered and became the world’s prime naval power. In Year 412, the records of God’s augurs, starting with the Neophany as transcribed by Damian, were compiled into taj Libris Io. But…”
Oron turned a page or two, scanned the text, and continued. “…But, over the centuries, the Jedan Church of Calisto became more and more corrupt. Eventually, it was no longer recognizable as God’s church. By Year 672, it had become the Holy Jederic Church, which took control of the country.
“Calisto became a theocracy, and the Jederic Church began to impose its crazed zealotry on the people. The doctrine became perverse. The Elves and Majiski were stripped of many of their rights and privileges. Humanity became the master race; only Humans could hold positions of power, serve in the military, receive higher education, etcetera. A laundry list of activities were labeled as heretical and blasphemous, including any form of magic. The remainder of the Jedan devout became an underground cult, and anyone found in violation of the Church’s edicts was executed without mercy.
“And then the Jederic Church discovered that the region south of Calisto, the Midlands, was rich and plentiful in resources. But,” Oron held up a finger. “To their chagrin, they met resistance when they tried to seize the region. Could you hazard a guess as to what they found?”
Racath frowned, shrugged. “Enlighten me.”
“Goblins,” Oron told him. “Indeed, the same Goblins who sailed east from Oltamn to escape the Demons in the First Age. They called themselves Grey Goblins, and they had a semi-developed civilization in the Midlands.”
“So what did Calisto do?” Racath asked.
“They sent several invasion forces,” Oron responded. “But their military was entirely Human. Weak. They failed. The Jederics tried again nearly a dozen times over the years, but were never successful.
“And so things went until the Year 1240 of the Second Age. There had been a Second Majiskuran Civil War in Athair by that point, plus a few more Majerian Wars. But in that year 1240th, the remnants of the Jedan faith gathered for another exodus. They were led by a woman whose name was Io — she was the augur at the time. Under her guidance, the Jedans fled from Calisto, to the Midlands.”
Racath frowned. “I notice the Jedans have a habit of running away.”
“There is a pattern of migration in the history of our religion, yes,” Oron conceded. “But this was the last time. So, as I was saying, the Jedans fled past the southern borders of Calisto and established settlements in the northern Midlands — about where Mount Eranil is today. There were a few thousand of them: Elves, Humans, and Majiski. And they lived in harmony and balance the way God intended.
“They tried to reach out to the Grey Goblins, but their attempts at diplomacy failed. So, in Year 1241, God directed Io that the settlers should take the Midlands by force. Io delegated that task to the strongest Majiski of her flock: a young man named Tarek.
Racath raised his eyebrows. “I know that name.”
Oron’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “Tarek was brilliant; he organized a strong military out of the Majiski, and went to battle against the Grey Goblins. This was called the Migration Wars, and it lasted until the Year 1264 of the Second Age, when the last of the Greys were defeated and driven into Valcan Forest. In the year following, the Jedan settlers officially founded the Commonwealth of Io, named for their beloved augur. So ended the Second Age of Ataxia.
“Then followed the Third Age of Prosperity. At the beginning, the Ioans established their great constitution. The document laid out the basis of the Ioan government and enumerated how it would maintain the balance of power. It also described the rights of every individual citizen.”
That caught Racath’s attention and he held up a hand to stop Oron. “How exactly did the balance of power work? I understand some of it, but I’ve never heard it described in detail.”
Oron shot him a sage smile. “Good question. While the constitution afforded the citizens the right to worship whatever god they pleased, the High Laws were still built upon the principles of the Jedan doctrine.
“The country was split up into duchies, and the duchies into smaller segments. The gentry was entirely Human, and the highest of the nobles formed the Parliament, which would meet once a year for four weeks to discuss legislation. The city guards and the military would be entirely formed of Majiski — these became the High Paladins, trained in martial warfare and War-Magicks. The Elves were given control of the Courts and the judicial systems. They served as advisors to the Parliament and the military. They were also the only race permitted to practice High-Magicks, and so became the High Scholars of Io.
“And the heads of these three divisions were given executive authority, so that each race had equal voice in the primary government. The High King — a title originally granted to the first Human Duke of Litoras and then passed down hereditarily — the Majiski High General, and the Elven High Adjudicator. In addition to these, the Church also had an equal voice in government through the augur, who could be from any of the three races. In those first years, the High King was named Aris Demarken. The High General was Tarek — Tarek I. The High Adjudicator was an Elf called Remin. And the augur was Io, the founder — it’s unclear as to what race she was.”
Racath nodded excitedly, biting his lip as he inhaled the information. “Alright, I got it. Go on.”
“Over the next century,” Oron lectured. “The Commonwealth of Io built up its first four great cities: the capital of Litoras, Milonok, Oblakgrad, and Dírorth. The Jedan Church flourished, and the temple was built in the capital. We discovered great deposits of precious metals in our mountains. We found minerals that — as far as we know — are unique to this region: Eranil ore, which is used to create the potent Ioan steel alloys; and Shaeyul iron, which can be refined into magic-conductive Shaeyéd steel.
“In Litoras, we built the Litoran University, which became the world’s center for knowledge and advanced education. There, we taught the sciences, mathematics, history, literature, magic, rotendry. We trained Majiski in the arts of war to become High Paladins. An
d nearby, we built the High Library — the sanctum of the Elven High Scholars, where they spent their days using High-Magicks to unravel the secrets of the universe. Their research led to a golden age of technological and academic prosperity for Io.
“During the second century, their efforts were put to use when we constructed the port city of Dor’mon. Using rotendry, mage-engineering, and other arcane methods, we constructed the city wall that stretches out to sea. The wall was designed to allow water to flow in, but to reject salt. This created an enclosed, freshwater bay for fishing. Gates would allow ships to pass through the wall to the ocean.
“When Dor’mon was finished, it became the launching platform for diplomatic missions. We sent ambassadors to the nations of Athair and established peaceful trade between Io and the continent. Calisto, however, was a different story.
“Border skirmishes with our northern neighbor led to the construction of Krvistata, a Majiski fortress carved out of one of the Spikes in the north, in the late fourth century. By Year 513, the fortress was finished. In Year 520, the Jederic Church of Calisto officially declared Io to be an unholy abomination. So began the First Jederic War.
“Calisto launched a surprise invasion and seized control of the Duchy of Eranil near the border. However, our military was stronger, and we held them there for five years. The Second Jederic War began in Year 530, when they attempted to push farther into Io. But we were ready this time. We thwarted them, pushed them back, retook the Duchy of Eranil, and pushed the border back northward. More skirmishes and conflicts continued over the next century, but nothing noteworthy.
“And it was during the Third Age that we had a revolution of culture and art. Isaachar Basti wrote his twelve great works. Caiphus Eldrich’s research into esoteric Roten legends brought about his Mythos Compilation. There was music, painting, plays, books, trade, wealth, prosperity…everything. It was a beautiful time.”
Oron trailed off. His eyes were distant, reminiscent. Despondent.