The evergreen The True Heirs of Chavas Umregacta

The True Heirs of Chavas Umregacta

Population Migration / Travel


Quythomul Umregacta had fallen, chewed up, and withered away by its enemies. A mighty star swallowed whole by the avarice of false kings. It lands bloodied by war and paranoia. Maybe it'd spread itself too thin? The nobles gobbled up too many? But in truth, did it ever really matter? For on that day, the black throne lay empty. Its gnarled corpse, brimming full of authority. A sweet aroma, calling out to wretched ravens dressed wholly in the rotten skin of desiccated men.  

"Ord̬e mieger d̬ûa ìnige"
Here falls the crown

Quythomul Umregacta gal Ashcamenilr had fallen, blown away by its enemies, and swallowed whole by the greed of false kings. What good is a crown, sullied by paranoia? A throne marred by decadence and bloody war? Maybe, it'd spread itself too thin? Had they gobbled up too many? It didn't matter, the black throne lies empty, and Chaveìa's withered corpse was picked and clawed over by its enemies. The people could see the tides changing, the debased blood drowning their kin.   Amarídeus? They were no hallowed rulers, just bloody savages in the satin of royals. When the Geuls came, who was it that let the crimson fields burn? Their minds, tainted by the naelle blood. Cries of their peasantry, so, lost on deaf ears.   The Morhíms? They were fools. Souls touched by avarice, eyes blinded by Ueghos (magic) worship. It was Morhím teachings leaving the people cheated of gold and lost in spirit.   And the peoples of Dainèll and Ochèvairra? Those fiends dared call themselves liberators, and yet whose blood graces their lips! They would cannibalize their own, dare drink royal and baseborn veins dry! Had the gilded blood of Ynellian fallen so low?   No!   None of them were true Chavs. That much was clear. Imperials, priests, nobles, heretics, and traitors. They'd hollowed out Umregacta. Stained Chaveìa's blessed legacy. Sure, they, too, carried the blood of the first and second empires. Soare bless them! But what of it!? Had it done them any good? Unified their kin?   No.   No, they blocked out the rest, sat fat and slovenly on their ancestors' glory. The people were sure, the merchants, the peasants, the farmers, and the bloodserfs. They could see it.   Quythomul Umregacta, it was gone. Them? They would not die with it. Sacrifice themselves for blind, broken sovereigns. Eiuhna had ended this age, but not Her people! Not Her "true" Chavians.  

"It was said. That as twilight fell, and white stars speckled the endless night. The lesser ones, the abandoned peoples of Quythomul Umregacta, cast away their names to the sands of Cea Mharru, the Black Sea. For, they cried and bayed oaths to Iastreal, to Nélledi. As the light of dawn rose to the west, they'd fled the crimson plains of Deirkoniei."
  A new people had appeared along the black sands of Cea Mharru, wanderers, vagabonds known as the Nuabil Vertheas, "the green nobles." And they would wander the mainland for many ages. The age was 6112 b.a.

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