[center][h3]The Holy, Ever-turning Wheel
The Ouroboros of Steel[/h3]
[u]North of Anatar, the eastern possession of the Dragon Veles[/u][/center]


Another kingdom had fallen.
The Dragon’s tributaries blew their trumpets on their walls, sounding alarm to the distant south.
Their hollow choir resounded far over untamed fields. A score of sound so vast had seldom been heard in this region, and all denizens of these lands knew, and trembled, about a great foe unlike any before had come upon them.

Down from the hyperborean midnight mountain a new people descended for slaughter. They arrived from beyond Anatar, driven by whips and the pounding of thundering wheels.
Their vanguard was a consuming flame, as they came blazing through the green valleys to leave smouldering desolation in their tracks.
Once green and pleasant lands, now its peaceful earth is defiled by the nomad claw --  its radiant settlements rendered smoking ruins.

The landed armies could not stand; as blades of grass the touch of hooves trampled them.
These northern savages -- these hyperborean charioteers were known as the Schayan. And those misfortunate to come into direct contact with them saw them as an ungodly and barbaric race of wicked men. The invasion had been ongoing for less than a week, and already many met a violent end. The local leaders were captured or routed, their wives and children held as hostages and trophies, among them King Makhawon’s family. They took food and cattle, and burned most else. The Schayan savages have no concept knowledge of currency.  They cannot be bribed with gold, and they cannot be battled without external support, without the patronage of the gods, without a fell overlord...

They took what they could, burnt the rest, and mysteriously as the Schayan had come -- they disappeared. They had no interest in the Dragon’s domain, for they merely sought to singe his pride before pushing onward to an eastern horizon. 
Their true aim lay far, far away. Beyond mountains, valleys, forests, dunes and fire. Their patron Sky-father, Dyauphater his name, had promised the Schayan their own Kingdom by the sea in a fertile river delta, in a great valley flanked by impregnable mountains. A land of immortality, a land of gods. The Schayan were wholly convinced that this strange and far-away land they had never even seen is their birthright. And so they cannot dawdle in some fell serpent’s domain.  They answer boldly the call of their great destiny!

The great host was led by a chieftain that the Schayan dubbed ‘the Sky-King’.  His name is Appareimos -- the champion who had united the tribes, and thereafter elected by the chieftains to lead their coalition, before setting them on this great journey. They were drunk on visions of glory, adventure and unknown lands. So drunk that few truly grasped the likelihood that they ride only to their doom. But no doom in Anatar can daunt the Schayan, and they ride to meet their fate manfully. Under the Sky-King’s stalwart leadership the Schayans will pass the trials of Anatar and reach the promised kingdom by the sea. 

Leaving a trail of smoke and defiled fields scarred from a thousand wheels, the host of Appareimos comes upon [u]the Northern Borderlands of Akkylonia…[/u]
It is here, after months of scouring through valley after valley, that the Schayan host sets up their camp, and hold council. King Appareimos summons the elders and chieftains.

[i]‘’We are now at the precipice of the immortal lands of Akkylonia. Tales of their exploits are known the world over. What glory when we show the world that we have surpassed these people in battle! We can become immortal in these lands. ‘’[/i]
These were lines used to commence the meeting in the Sky King’s yurt, uttered by Rival Chieftain Regiokartos. 
The King’s foremost shield bearers and companion confidantes assembled there with him, as their council determines the path the Schayan should trek.

Appareimos grunts, his mind traversing the realm of doubt.
[i]‘’Akkylonia is not our Kingdom by the Sea. We must not lose sight of the true objective, and commit our hearts and minds to that. We can not dawdle or challenge doom prematurely.’’ [/i]

[i]‘’Doom?’’[/i] The chieftain snarls in disdain.
[i]‘’This had best not come across as fear to the follower tribes. Your strength is the reason that brought them together. Do not fail them through cowardice.’’[/i]
[i]‘’Cowardice? I am well beyond that. Do not lecture me on this, you goblin. 
It’s not death that daunts me. Rather the state of the Schayan people’s soul… For the heavens assigned us one great domain as ours in specific -- not just any. We must not deviate from Heaven's Will, doom or no. Whichever path we so choose; doom comes all ways, be sure of that.’’[/i]

On this, Regiokartos proclaims with bellowing voice:
[i]‘’So? SO? Then we shall greet it with blade and fire! As we have always done!’’[/i]

[i]‘’Yes, we shall… Regiokartos.’’[/i] The High King twiddles with strands of his brownish beard as he looks at the rival chieftain with a coy, petulant gaze, and Regiokartos immediately flinches back with mistrust. 
[i]‘’The Schayan people need a doomdriven warlord as yourself to detour into the Kingdom by the Sea through the eastern route, as the bulk of the Host will traverse Akkylonia. Surely the fiercest among the Schayan chieftains can’t be daunted by this.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Daunted? Me? Never.
My chariots will race you to the Sea. We shall arrive there long before you, mark my words, Sky King.’’[/i]

The Sky King beams with pleasure, before dismissing the council from his yurt. Then he calls for his daughter:
[i]‘’Atyloppih! I need you as envoy to the Akkylonian King...’’[/i]