The Bastion of Barakon

"So, Traveler, you wish to learn why we celebrate the ghosts of our failures?
Well… first, tell me—what brings you to this backwater, anyway? These highways have been seldom used since before the time of my grandmother’s grandmother.
Bah, never mind. I will not pry. You paid for your drink and did not threaten anyone—so you must not be a Dresnid.
We celebrate those ruins outside, the ones overlooking the coast. That, Traveler, is Akrainus—a city and a fortress that stood in defiance of all who would claim this land as their own. They say its walls were built in layers, a novel invention of the Seleutine Kings. Thanks to those walls, Akrainus shielded the people of this land for centuries.
When the Ghiskans were here they added mighty bastion towers, arming them with catapults and ballistae to rebuff invaders. The city became so secure that it earned the name The Bastion of Barakon.
But the city's shining moment came at its darkest hour, when the Dresnids invaded this land.
They swept through villages and towns, burning everything in their wake. Then, they gazed upon the mightiest city they had ever seen. Some say they were insulted by its grandeur—its defiance an affront to their pride. Others say they saw it as a challenge. I think they simply wanted to break something beautiful.
The Dresnids were masters of the open plains, but shipbuilding had long eluded them. They had plundered the interior of Barakon with ease, yet now, Akrainus barred their way. If they wished to continue their conquests, they had two choices: spend years building roads and bridges over the rivers of Lake Ube—or lay siege to the Bastion.
And to a Dresnid, conquest was always the easier path.
Yet this siege was no simple matter, for they could not surround Akrainus completely. The city’s northern port remained open, and messengers were sent by sea to every power that would listen. And many did. They say warriors came from as far as the Makans in the west and the Salkans in the north, all to aid the city’s meager garrison.
By day, the defenders rained arrows upon their besiegers and sent out swift raiding parties to burn their catapults. By night, they feasted on rich supplies brought in by ships from across Kronis. I can only imagine the stories those great warriors told each other, the friendships forged in the fires of battle. To feast after a day of fighting—it is all a man could ask for.
The Dresnids, frustrated, tried their hand at the seas, building crude rafts in an attempt to strike the port. But their efforts were doomed to failure. The Ghiskan and Alexian ship captains turned the act of sinking those rafts into a game, competing to see who could destroy them the fastest. It was said the sport of ram racing was born from those deadly games.
Even so, it seemed the Dresnids would not need to master the seas, for their gods favored them in the end.
After eight long years of siege, Akrainus made a fatal mistake. In one of their usual sorties, a group of Ismian warriors left a side gate wide open. The Dresnids wasted no time. Their cavalry rushed through the breach, and within hours, the city had fallen.
No mercy was given. The Bastion of Barakon was reduced to rubble in just three days.
And yet… we still celebrate.
We drink to the dead—not to mourn them, but to honor them.
For it was Akrainus that kept the Dresnids from conquering the world. Their empire crumbled not long after, you know. Five whole armies they spent on this siege—more than a million of their warriors perished here.
And now you know the tale, Traveler. It is all we have left. The ruins, the echoes of our pride, the ghosts of our failures.
But tell me…
If a city that stood so tall can be forgotten, what hope is there for the rest of us?"
— Innkeep Isabela Zamra

Medium

Oral Tradition / Word of Mouth