Post by Vizier Malik Al-Zahhak on Aug 26, 2013 8:11:06 GMT
Tales which originate from the once humble desert of Asahara have never circulated far from whence they came. Once, this place was believed to only hold the ever constant state of several sons of the sands and mountains in perpetual disagreement with one another; rather it be for unity or war. However, one thing is certain in this day and age. No one would expect unity between these ever bickering warlords and noblemen to come from the hands of man who's intention appeared far beyond benign. Grand Vizier Malik al-Zannak is not a man one, at first glance, would consider a face to which comfort could be found in so simply. Yet, the perch he sits upon will soon hold one who is destined for greatness in this vastly barren land of tribes and nomads. How is it such a 'creature' came to this? Perhaps seeing past the 'creature' and into the 'man' himself poses more relevance in the answer...
The sands of Asahara and cliffs of Il-Kahn hold tribes and clans of many notable humans and dwarves who hold just as much lineage as the next noble. Although, a small section of these rolling dunes contains an unlikely house of elves which only dwell in this very desert; and have for several generations within their own seclusion. The Mohrad-Zahhak, as these mystics call themselves, have very little legible history pertaining to their origin or even why their ancestors chose the harsh arid climates over the shaded forests their cousins prefer. Instead, this curious matriarchal society comprised of only women bares it's foundation from the legends passed down their lines over many lifetimes. These legends speak of a goddess which bared the terrible face of many chromatic serpents came to the Zahhaki elves. Promising them that, should they decide to take on her patronage as their deity and mother, they would be endowed with her blessing in which only she could provide. Ecstatic, the elves agreed and set on a great pilgrimage that lead them into the blistering desert where most of their kind feared to venture. Cut off from their familiar ties with nature and life all around them, only to gaze heavily upon a sea of rolling fire and death; and yet, they survived. Desolation became their new breath, and abandon became their ecstasy. The blessing of their serpent mother did as she promised and made her loyal subjects accustomed to the sands over the towering woods, giving them ample opportunity to cherish and delve into the power that their goddess held. However, such change to a handful of highborn into a new land and patronage came with a price. Their goddess brought favor only to that of her own gender, and males in their clan would not come into the world through them for several generations. Should one happen to be born once those few hundred years, a particular destiny would befall the newborn as he is sired by the children of the chromatic goddess.
As a boy, Malik knew only two things as he grew up: his love for the great many faced serpent, and his assured destiny bestowed to him by her alone. Due to this the boy took a deep interest in the mysteries of the grand chromatic mistress as well as the grand powers she wielded. Devoting his life and soul to her practices he made his tribe proud in being among one of the first of his people to tap genuinely within the blood of the dragon. This was indeed the very essence the goddess bestowed upon the Zahhaki Elves. With this sorcery at his fingertips, there was little the boy could not hope to achieve in his ever flourishing ambition. Years scaled on, as did his atonement with his newly harnessed bloodline that made all those whose ancestors before him proud beyond their lingered imagination. Repetitively Malik was promised he was destined for greater things, that the desert was but a fraction of what could be held in his own grand scheme in life. Very kingdoms could fall to his might should he find the means to acquire such power. As the boy achieved manhood, it became apparent that power did not only come from the brindled strength of sorcery. An iron fist can only make a dent in the wall that was this kingdom, but a well sharpened quill with time and patience could chisel and chip away far more than a fist ever could. If the sorcerer was to grab hold of his destiny he would need to do so with not only magic but the ever spanning influence of politics. Unfortunately such things would not be properly gained remaining with his beloved tribe. To this day, it seemed he was fated to leave his people with the promises that their legacy will be assured and their goddess' might expressed through the courses of expanding empire.
What better way to begin this subtle conquest than to bring peace where it is most needed?
The sands of Asahara and cliffs of Il-Kahn hold tribes and clans of many notable humans and dwarves who hold just as much lineage as the next noble. Although, a small section of these rolling dunes contains an unlikely house of elves which only dwell in this very desert; and have for several generations within their own seclusion. The Mohrad-Zahhak, as these mystics call themselves, have very little legible history pertaining to their origin or even why their ancestors chose the harsh arid climates over the shaded forests their cousins prefer. Instead, this curious matriarchal society comprised of only women bares it's foundation from the legends passed down their lines over many lifetimes. These legends speak of a goddess which bared the terrible face of many chromatic serpents came to the Zahhaki elves. Promising them that, should they decide to take on her patronage as their deity and mother, they would be endowed with her blessing in which only she could provide. Ecstatic, the elves agreed and set on a great pilgrimage that lead them into the blistering desert where most of their kind feared to venture. Cut off from their familiar ties with nature and life all around them, only to gaze heavily upon a sea of rolling fire and death; and yet, they survived. Desolation became their new breath, and abandon became their ecstasy. The blessing of their serpent mother did as she promised and made her loyal subjects accustomed to the sands over the towering woods, giving them ample opportunity to cherish and delve into the power that their goddess held. However, such change to a handful of highborn into a new land and patronage came with a price. Their goddess brought favor only to that of her own gender, and males in their clan would not come into the world through them for several generations. Should one happen to be born once those few hundred years, a particular destiny would befall the newborn as he is sired by the children of the chromatic goddess.
As a boy, Malik knew only two things as he grew up: his love for the great many faced serpent, and his assured destiny bestowed to him by her alone. Due to this the boy took a deep interest in the mysteries of the grand chromatic mistress as well as the grand powers she wielded. Devoting his life and soul to her practices he made his tribe proud in being among one of the first of his people to tap genuinely within the blood of the dragon. This was indeed the very essence the goddess bestowed upon the Zahhaki Elves. With this sorcery at his fingertips, there was little the boy could not hope to achieve in his ever flourishing ambition. Years scaled on, as did his atonement with his newly harnessed bloodline that made all those whose ancestors before him proud beyond their lingered imagination. Repetitively Malik was promised he was destined for greater things, that the desert was but a fraction of what could be held in his own grand scheme in life. Very kingdoms could fall to his might should he find the means to acquire such power. As the boy achieved manhood, it became apparent that power did not only come from the brindled strength of sorcery. An iron fist can only make a dent in the wall that was this kingdom, but a well sharpened quill with time and patience could chisel and chip away far more than a fist ever could. If the sorcerer was to grab hold of his destiny he would need to do so with not only magic but the ever spanning influence of politics. Unfortunately such things would not be properly gained remaining with his beloved tribe. To this day, it seemed he was fated to leave his people with the promises that their legacy will be assured and their goddess' might expressed through the courses of expanding empire.
What better way to begin this subtle conquest than to bring peace where it is most needed?