I Own CowsHere's some lore for ya, fresh out of the oven. A possible place for people to go, perhaps? I dunno, use it or lose it, I just enjoy writing for fun.
Amokan... oh, my dear Amokan.
Once a land of lush greenery, of wealth and prosperity. Technological and magical might were once yours; philosophy and religious freedom the driving force of your greatness. Your armies visited each corner of the globe in centuries past; all races paid homage to your unopposed might.
Democracy ruled the day. Men and women of all races stood equal in the eyes of your righteous crusade of enlightenment. Trade was your greatest weapon, and the rare Amokan Ore drove your dominance in the market. Riches were yours, and your people grew fat and happy for many a century. It seemed that the Empire of Amokan would last for a thousand years, but alas.
But alas.
But alas, your drive for power and enlightenment was your undoing. Too many passionate individuals held too much power, and their ideals conflicted into a state of permanent hostility. Brother fought brother, and sister fought sister. A decade of war erupted, as the greatest technological and magically gifted minds fought against each other, until they undid the Empire in a single day of the utmost savagery.
At least, this is what the elders say. Whether they speak truth, or mere fiction, none can say. Though anyone can see for themselves the ancient ruins dotting our marred landscape, and there can only be one conclusion: a very powerful and gifted people once dwelt here.
Now a collection of warlords, bandits and desperate villagers vie for control over what remains. Sand and blood. It has been this way for a century, and not one individual has achieved the strength necessary to gain total victory over his or her peers.
Until now.
Word has reached the far corners of the world of a King, a man named as Sadim Shakalash, who has proclaimed himself the rightful ruler of the Amokan Desert Realm. From the city of Fereklar, he commands an army of thousands, and uses this great advantage to subvert his rivals. But not all is well in the King's camp, as each day his enemies grow in number, and some bards even whisper of the return of an ancient evil that stalks the countryside.
Nevertheless, King Sadim Shakalash has sent word to all who will answer his call: Gold for blood.
Yes, it would seem that this upstart Warrior King is requesting mercenaries of every shape and size to assist him in his war of conquest. He is wealthy, certainly, and his word is said to be good.
But how many heroes would seek to dirty themselves fighting in some gods forsaken sun hole, fighting and dying in the unforgiving heat for a King who holds no real nobility, and whose cause is as murky as a bucket of pond water?
Time will tell, and time is a giving mistress.
Amokan... oh, my dear Amokan.
Once a land of lush greenery, of wealth and prosperity. Technological and magical might were once yours; philosophy and religious freedom the driving force of your greatness. Your armies visited each corner of the globe in centuries past; all races paid homage to your unopposed might.
Democracy ruled the day. Men and women of all races stood equal in the eyes of your righteous crusade of enlightenment. Trade was your greatest weapon, and the rare Amokan Ore drove your dominance in the market. Riches were yours, and your people grew fat and happy for many a century. It seemed that the Empire of Amokan would last for a thousand years, but alas.
But alas.
But alas, your drive for power and enlightenment was your undoing. Too many passionate individuals held too much power, and their ideals conflicted into a state of permanent hostility. Brother fought brother, and sister fought sister. A decade of war erupted, as the greatest technological and magically gifted minds fought against each other, until they undid the Empire in a single day of the utmost savagery.
At least, this is what the elders say. Whether they speak truth, or mere fiction, none can say. Though anyone can see for themselves the ancient ruins dotting our marred landscape, and there can only be one conclusion: a very powerful and gifted people once dwelt here.
Now a collection of warlords, bandits and desperate villagers vie for control over what remains. Sand and blood. It has been this way for a century, and not one individual has achieved the strength necessary to gain total victory over his or her peers.
Until now.
Word has reached the far corners of the world of a King, a man named as Sadim Shakalash, who has proclaimed himself the rightful ruler of the Amokan Desert Realm. From the city of Fereklar, he commands an army of thousands, and uses this great advantage to subvert his rivals. But not all is well in the King's camp, as each day his enemies grow in number, and some bards even whisper of the return of an ancient evil that stalks the countryside.
Nevertheless, King Sadim Shakalash has sent word to all who will answer his call: Gold for blood.
Yes, it would seem that this upstart Warrior King is requesting mercenaries of every shape and size to assist him in his war of conquest. He is wealthy, certainly, and his word is said to be good.
But how many heroes would seek to dirty themselves fighting in some gods forsaken sun hole, fighting and dying in the unforgiving heat for a King who holds no real nobility, and whose cause is as murky as a bucket of pond water?
Time will tell, and time is a giving mistress.
