Founding of Steinchencröe
Time fades even legend, and history collapses into the dust of obscurity. But the burning brand of virtues favored, when it shines so great as this, it is etched into eternity, so long as man still draws breath to tell of it.
Upon the central plains of Nosgoth lived five brothers great. Lost now are the names given by their mothers, but the names given by their sires still marks sons and daughters. Wirz the Regal, tall and strong, head topped with a flaming mane. Mathusius the Wise, eyes shining with knowledge most arcane. Fahrmann the Swift, laughter brimming like water. Emmerich the Strong, master of stone and mortar. And Alimar the Grim, born black haired and of argent trim. Yet, as the world inevitably turned, and the summers of their lives reached their zenith, strife slunk through their domain, gnawing at the bonds of blood and oath that held five as one. A harsh word. A petty insult. Proud men all, ere their fall. A drawn blade. Friendship spurned. Strife claimed each in their turn.
Yet for all the anger, it could not birth hate, try though it might. Their bonds would never truly break, no matter its bite. And so at last came the day, when each great brother went their way. Four depart, never to see serenity again. With heavy heart, one would remain. With retinues and families in tow, the four left, seeking... what, they did not know. Mathusius northward left, and amidst the frozen peaks found a cleft, the realm he'd name home, within his lofty towers and amongst his many tomes. To the south Fahrmann departed, through the mountains and canyons blazing, til at last the red stone parted, and his family found themselves gazing, upon a great cliff, and beneath, the tranquil sea, stretching outwards into infinity.
But two did not part ways, in those early days. The strong and the grim rode together, for the journey into the west was fraught with peril. The plains were dry, beneath the merciless summer sky. And beyond the great river... none knew what awaited them... No trader spoke news of those lands. Perhaps it had never been touched by mortal hands. The water before them swirled, churned, and raged. And into hearts crept fear, now uncaged. None could truly make this crossing, surely. To try, night or day, would be folly. Some, words could sway, their hearts rekindled, the beast burned away. Yet others, despite their loved ones' tears, could never hope to overcome their fears, and at last the brothers bade them depart. Southward, those would travel, for their own new start.
Dawn and Dusk wrestled twice where birds fly, a loss for each, as time went by. Still yet, none presented a solution, though many did try. And still the waters raged, neath the second night's sky. Yet, at third dawn, all heard a cry. From the forest they came, savage and wild, men and beasts of vicious form, the hunters of the foolhardy... Yet, on hearing their tale, their demeanor's turned mild. With clawed fingers these strange things bid, the brothers under the boughs where once they were hid. And within their hidden lair, stood their mighty queen, with golden eyes and pure midnight hair. A council called, the quest explained. All could see their hidden pain. Their need were clear, their hearts were set. There was no reversing their predicament. And so with sad smile she did plea, but one thing as her fee. A night in their company, before they left the realm beneath the trees, to which the brothers at last agreed.
Night passed, dawn came. Over one was shrouded the pall of shame. Yet it was done, the past to be forgotten, no matter how his actions were misbegotten. The pact was sealed, the call sent out. These strange beings would uphold their end of the deal. The queen guided them to the undergrowth's edge, and at last, they were out. And before them they saw a strange sight, a herd of beasts, all black as night. To the water they strode, and upon their backs rode, the lightest of the queen's own household. Into the current these creatures did plunge... and began to drink, each like a sponge. A moment of doubt, before a cheer. The river drained, their path now clear. Camp was broken, the crowd set out, A final farewell to the queen was given, for all three knew their path was riven. And so past they into western lands fair, the song of departure hanging in the air. The quenching ceased, and with a call the mighty beasts, rose from the river dry they'd drank, waddling back onto the bank, and once more the water flowed. Yet the tread of one was slowed, and for a moment back turned his gaze, eyes peering through the roaring haze, seeking the song that had captivated him so long. Try though he might, though, he saw her not. For upon the shore sat a large black cat with golden eyes, and nothing more. And so he silenced the pain, and resumed his march. Never to see serenity again.
Into the west they set their gaze, but the the air soon clouded with an rolling haze. Upon cloth, arms, and flesh it set, chilled rolling tears of wet. A stumble, a scream, a splash, the group fled away from the hidden cliff in a mad dash. A friend lost, a widow gained. The lake beyond was naught but pain. A monument erected in haste, beneath the rain. A warning given, the message clear, those who saw would do well to fear. For the vast span beyond was fed by mourning tears. And so northward all set their face, seeking solace far from this wretched place. Yet peace and joy were not to be, for those who had forsaken serenity. For as the days turned and grew more dark, these southernborn faced a harsh truth most stark. Far north of their eternal summer-warmed homes of old, the world could be bitter, cruel, and cold. And so again, Fear walked amongst them, growing ever bolder, her gaze more piercing, as the sun grew ever weaker, and the nights ever colder. Yet as they strode betwixt grief and greed, twas no longer merely the cold that fed upon their courage. The stench of Hell had begun to rise from the north.
A beast, some claimed, with poisoned breath. To journey further would be swift and certain death. And soon, a rift, Fear feasting heartily, as many turned east, and cast adrift. For upon the lake, twin isles rose, and now claimed as home by those, who turned away, their fate led astray by pain, never to see serenity again. But time waits not, and those who'd not forgot their journey's meaning passed onwards. Yet, soon enough, a halt the brothers did call, for all across the land like a putrid pall, the stench of brimstone and rot clung, emerging from a blighted vale. Of many brave hearts, only four entered the fetid crevice. Emmerich and Alimar, and their sons, bearing arms and shields as squires in their father's service. Yet delving deep within the vale, they found a cavern, walls most pale. And in their light, 'neath brand's glare, shone radiant crystals, their gleam most fair. Yet deep within, a titan slumbered. Deep within, a titan hungered. And prey had just entered the monster's lair.
First came the stench, thick and harsh, burning their throats as their feet sank into the marsh. Then came the sound, an echoing, dragging slither, growing ever louder, setting flesh a-quiver. And at last, a dreadful visage. A short, thick snout, jutting with teeth, the nose ridged and stout, waving whiskers of skin and muscle, surrounding its fang-filled muzzle. Blank, milky-white eyes, white as the stone beneath its prize. A small crest of horns atop its brow, like a crown of old, brought low now. Vestigial wings, the membrane torn and tattered, once mighty and proud things, now broken and battered. Small, shovel-like arms, dragging its mighty bulk, thick three-clawed paws crushing stone to a pulp. And a thick, serpentine body, bloated from an eternity of sloth and gluttony. A Wyrm. Long had it slumbered. Long had it hungered. Now, at last, it was awake. And its poisoned, heaving breath at last caused iron will to break.
Stumbling from that reeking cave, the youngest son fled like a knave.
Historical Basis
The legend is based upon a much simpler truth, but has been twisted and morphed into a highly stylized version of itself. The primary conflict is the greatest expression of this, as the dragon that was fought in this story did indeed exist, but was not the calamitous, world-ending being it is said to have been, and the shaping of the land was not so drastic as was stated.
There is indeed some evidence, as there are still traces of the skeleton of the dragon, though it has long since withered to a mere fraction of its former self, giving rising to the ideas of its size being so wildly inflated, as no one alive today remembers the true size of a dragon, nor can they accurately ascribe one to the remains based on what is left.
In Art
- City Banners, representing the climactic battle
- The Emmerich Shawl, a massive tapestry within the hall, showing the journey, battle, and founding of the city
Related Ethnicities
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The rhyming is excellent! It'd take me forever to rhyme as much as you did. If I could offer some suggestions: I'd like to see some more visuals, and perhaps something(s) to fill the sidebar (like the 'Historical Basis' and 'In Art' sections?) Really fun read, great work!
I absolutely forgot that this was set to Public! It's not actually finished, trust me. It's taking *me* forever to rhyme this much. I'd love to get some visuals in, but, sadly, neither me nor my BF / co-writer are artists. Thank you for the read, and thank you for the suggestions~ n__n