Heiligurm

Underneath the eyes of our Mother Moon our singers have long sung the tales of our world of Heiligurm. They sing of our Mother Moon sending her sons the primal gods of the land to drag the continents from the ocean depths. How their war shaped the sharp mountains that separate our people from the endless wilds of the east. How that terrible war gave birth to the crown of the world with its snow and frost, its fingers that tried to steal our lands with its thousand of islands off our northern coast. They sing of our Mother Moon sending her daughter to us, to take us from the mud and dirt of the world and raise us to be her children.   Our singers tell of our Mother Moon's granddaughter who crafted the first spear and conquered an empire. We sing loud and proud of the first Empress, blessed granddaughter of our Mother Moon. We sing how she took a land of clans and tribes and made a kingdom of marble and jewels that came close to equaling the beauty of the kingdom of our Mother Moon that dwells above our heads. We all sing how she one day left us, how she went back to her grandmothers side and left us.   We sing how that empire was devoured, was torn and its flesh left to the carrion birds of jealous usurpers. I have heard the songs of the dark eons that followed those blood soaked lands that were born from our fair empress leaving us.   Now emperors and kings sing. Now princes and lords sing. Our singers have been made mute by the dark call of these men who claim to be the heirs of the moon. The massive Heiliges Sturmgeborenes Reich in the east claws at the squabbling kingdoms of the west. The Samen des Mondes cling mysteriously to the endless river that dominates that desert continent separated from us by the Shallow Sea. The Clans of the northern crown have grown hungry, have becoming starving wolves and see our realms as feasts!   I sing, I am the last of those that can. I am not bound to some oath to a king or emperor. I have not had my tongue cut, and so I must sing loud! The mortal dangers may claw at our walls, hunger for entry into our realms but we must remember that those things! Those terrible things that have been forgotten are on the march! Their drums are thunder, their war cries are the crashing of waves and they come our way!