Khalee’Sri

You say, “Hail, Keenora Fadan”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “An outsider within our midst. It is not unheard of, but it is remarkable. And with it, brings an opportunity I welcome.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “What opportunity would that be?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “To converse! When one sees the same faces day in and day out, it does not provide the necessary sustenance for diversity of conversation.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “Oh! I do have some questions for you then.”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “By all means, ask them.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “Your appearance is unlike any other elves I have known. Why is that?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “Interesting. I was unaware that our appearance had grown noticeably different from other elves, but I guess it could have been related to our long seclusion from others, within an arid land.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “The land changed you?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “It is more accurate to say we adapted to the land. What had been a forested land of tremendous growth became arid. The trees that had provided shade found little water within the parched land. They thinned and eventually died, leaving few, scraggly copses across the land.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “That’s what made the Desert of Ro.”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “You speak of the ancient Elddar forest, the cradle of elven-kind. Something similar occurred there within the Age of Blood, but that is not the forest I speak of. Our ancestors were elves of the Elddar forest who migrated when they had taken note of the slowly dying woodlands. They took to ships and landed on the shores of a faraway forested land. There, they established the colony of Khalee’Sri.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “Your people experienced two different dying forests?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “Such was the will of the Mother of All. She was presenting us with yet another aspect of nature. The desert may not look like it, but it is teeming with life! Though we remembered the forests of old, and many of us honor them to this day in our shroud patterns, we began to embrace the desert, and no longer ran from a life in the sun.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “You found Growth in the desert?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “Our ancestors were not believers at first, either. They had to have their eyes opened by another, just as I can open your eyes.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “What do you mean?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “There is a desolate region south of here. They call it Grunt’s Pass. If you are determined, you will find at least three different examples of tenacious growth within the inhospitable landscape.”
You say to Keenora Fadan, “I’ll take your challenge.”

Kunark History /u/RpTheHotrod

 

 

A Meeting with Mayong Mistmoore

Khasra Vei’Ras laughs, Zavo is NOT in league with Trakanon, I assure you. She serves the ring of scale most faithfully.. a pity.

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘Yes, Mistmoore. It has, but not quite the pleasure you see it as.’

Mayong Mistmoore turns a stern, cold glance to the priest. Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘I shall decide whether or not she is of any use to me or not, your grace.’

Dorvias N`Keth says, ‘Of course…. Lord Mistmoore.’

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘I… thank you, Zavo`Zatanov, for your aid…’

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘It is good to see even the Arch Priest of Innoruuk in his place.’

Mayong Mistmoore makes a faint motion with his hand and gentle nod toward Khalor. Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘However…’

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘How have I aided you?’

Mayong Mistmoore turns his glance to all gathered.

Dorvias N`Keth raises an eybrow.

Khasra Vei`Ras says, ‘Cease your disrespect, Lenyfix, or I shall deal with you most harshly’

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘How naive would you all be to not know that the Ring of Scale would not already know of your actions? If they would wish to keep the Staff safe, they will do so. After all, your grace…’ Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘Was it not you who was within the lands of Kunark mere hours ago, searching for the staff through one of Sathir’s agents?’

Dorvias N`Keth hesitates.

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘Yes, Dorvias, we know much of what goes on in Norrath. Even more so in Kunark.’

Khasra Vei`Ras says, ‘Do not insult my maste’

Dorvias N`Keth says, ‘I only wished to… bolster our efforts towrds halting Lanys’

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘Can you not control, your whelp, Mayong?’

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘Allow Lanys her unveiled self-inflicted torments. The Gem shall not fall into her hands so long as it is within my possession…’

Zavo`Zatanov points at Khasra.

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘Of that, I assure all of you.’ Mayong Mistmoore Raises a brow lightly.

Khasra Vei`Ras says, ‘You are brash, Dorvias. You speak without thinking too often.’

Dorvias N`Keth glares at Khasra, hiding behind her Master.

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘This is all the aid I shall give to this quest — and know that I and my minions are in no way allied to the Crimson Triad… or anyone else, for that matter.’

Khasra Vei`Ras says, ‘You go too far, Arch Priest.’

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘So long as Lanys does not gain the staff, I care not as to what happens between the Teir`Dal, Innoruuk, and their fallen little child.’

Khasra Vei`Ras says, ‘I hide from no one!’

Dorvias N`Keth says, ‘Perhaps… perhaps I do not go far enough. That is not for you to determine.’

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘And the Ring of Scale is in no way allied to the Crimson Triad or Mistmoore. We keep to ourself, though we know much.’

Ashteth T`Dral says, ‘Calm yourself Dorvias, they seek only to help. Innoruuk does not wish conflict today.’

Mayong Mistmoore turns a glance to Khasra, holding out his hand lightly in invitation for her to take it.

Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘Come, my dear. We shall depart for the time being. ‘ Mayong Mistmoore returns his glance to the arch priest. Mayong Mistmoore says, ‘And your grace… I suggest a little modesty and tact — it would suit you a bit better.’

Dorvias N`Keth says, ‘I bid you both farewell, I look forward to returning to Kunark.’

Khasra Vei`Ras turns to Mayong and takes his hand,’Master.’ Khasra Vei`Ras beams a smile at Mayong Mistmoore.

Zavo`Zatanov says, ‘Farewell, Mayong. Know that the Ring shall keep an eye on your actions.’

Ashteth T`Dral says, ‘Thank you for your assistance Lord Mistmoore’ Ashteth T`Dral bows before Khasra Vei`Ras.

Khasra Vei`Ras says, ‘And know this, Zavo’Za.. I have my eye on you as well.. for my own reasons’ Khasra Vei`Ras glares.

Mayong Mistmoore briefly makes a graceful motion with his hand, and immediately he and his minion are envolped in shadow and disappear from sight.

Emperor Vekin

I see that a few of you are curious about the mighty ruler of the last iksar empire, sometimes referred to as the Cabilisian Empire. This great warlord was none other than Emperor Vekin, an iksar that was both feared and revered. His tale may be discovered soon enough, but for those that cannot wait, here is a bit of lore.

Who is he?
VH: Emperor Vekin was the first ruler of the Cabilisian Empire. He resurrected the iksar nation after the End Days.
What caste does he belong to?
VH: Emperor Vekin was a born warrior. He used his superior martial skills to unite the small bands of iksar that were scattered around Kunark during the Age of Turmoil.
Where did he come from?
VH: He hailed from a warrior tribe. It is rumored that this tribe descended from the elite soldiers of the Army of Ik. The particular military unit that his tribe spawned from was said to be very sadistic and they were known for gruesome acts of torture.
Was he the one to retake Cabilis and found New Sebilis, or has the new Empire had more than one Emperor so far?
VH: Cabilis, a former iksar city, was captured by Emperor Vekin’s legion and declared the capital of the Cabilisian Empire. He resided within Vekin Palace, a grand structure within Cabilis. This palace was like no other. Inside one could not only find the opulent chambers of the Emperor, but also a vast underground dungeon. Vekin enjoyed the art of torture and made it a part of his everyday life.
Is he at all connected to the Sathir line, of which the last one we knew was Chottal?
VH: Vekin has no Sathir blood flowing in his veins.
What is his attitude towards the world outside Cabilis, and what are his plans for Kunark?
VH: Emperor Vekin wanted the iksar to return to glory. Building his legions and claiming Cabilis were his first big steps. What came after that has yet to be discovered.
How does he regard Venril Sathir?
VH: Emperor Vekin does not look favorably upon the resurrected Venril Sathir. He and many other iksar saw Venril’s return as a threat to the rise of a new empire. The new armies being formed by Venril were not merely iksar soldiers, but also of a supernatural and often undead nature. The Cabilisian Empire and Venril Sathir would be destined to come in direct conflict. What came after that conflict cannot be known until you set foot upon the rediscovered continent of Kunark in the Age of Destiny.

http://forums.station.sony.com/eq2/posts/list.m?topic_id=376958

The Unclaimed Eye

The Unclaimed Eye
A Gorowyn Sarnak Creation Story

When the gods first came together to make the races of Norrath, they organized rows of many colored round stones before them. They divided these stones up, and when one of the gods would finish molding a new race, they would place the stones near the top of the head, giving the new race sight and life. In this way each of the races were made and placed upon the earth.

When it came time to create the Iksar, Cazic-Thule spent many long hours boasting that he had finally found the perfect design. This new race would be faster, smarter, and more versatile than any he had ever created, and leagues ahead of anything the other gods had designed – of this, Cazic-Thule was certain.

He locked himself away and worked and worked at the first Iksar, destroying them time and time again as they came up imperfect.

Finally, he found what he believed to be the final design, and set about giving it life. When he went to retrieve the stones for the Iksar, he found that one of them was missing. Howling in rage, he tore apart the Plane of Fear looking for it, uprooting trees and taking buildings apart stone by stone so that he left a wake of rubble and plant matter. But the stone was nowhere to be found.

Little did he know that the stone had fallen from his workbench and rolled and rolled until it fell straight into Norrath, landing deep in the jungles of Kunark.

Cazic-Thule was furious, but he grudgingly completed the process of creating the Iksar. He had invested far too much into these creatures to simply let them go. He took the remaining stone intended for the Iksar and split it in two, creating a finished, but imperfect, race.

By virtue of Cazic-Thule’s brilliant design, the Iksar were still a formidable people, but they were not what he had set out to accomplish, and for that, he would never forgive them.

Centuries later, the imperfect Iksar set about to create a slave race; these slaves would come to be known as the Sarnak. Blending their own life with that of the dragon, they inadvertently created something greater than themselves, and in time, these children would come to betray and overthrow them. However, these Sarnak will still imperfect beings, as they were the progeny of Cazic-Thule’s blundered creation, and spent many years in slavery. Though they may have been greater than the Iksar, they were still not the champions Cazic-Thule had foreseen.

Just as the unfinished Iksar had sought to create something better than themselves, so eventually did these imperfect Sarnak. It was their fortune that in a deeply secluded place, they came across the long lost stone of Cazic-Thule. They did not know exactly what they had in their hands, but they did know that it was powerful indeed.

They began to work at creating a new slave race; never realizing that with this power, their creations would be capable of casting off their rule even more easily than they had thwarted the Iksar.

And so it was that this new race was made more completely than either the Iksar or the original Sarnak. They were not quite to Cazic-Thule’s original design because of the dragon blend, but they were still great.
The Sarnak knew they had found perfection, and quickly destroyed the original group, sensing their ability to rise up and overcome them. Had they been wise, they would have abandoned the effort, but in their arrogance, they believed that with careful and rigorous manipulation, they could raise a second group of these new Sarnak to follow their orders.

They were wrong.

A hero, who we now know only as Gorowyn, rose from among these perfect ones and led us in revolution. Unfortunately, all were destroyed in this first effort, and the world lost the perfect ones for a time. The original Sarnak, knowing they could no longer call themselves true Sarnak, began to call themselves Di’Zok.

Later, beings even less worthy than the Di’Zok came and found the secrets of our creation. They recreated the perfect ones, and in trying to subjugate us, found their demise. Now we were free, and ready to claim our destiny.

At first, we knew nothing of where we had come from, but in time, we found documentation of what had come before. We learned of our hero Gorowyn, and how he led our people against our creator captors, and of the magic that made us superior to all who had come before.

We came to know ourselves as the chosen of Norrath. After all, hadn’t we killed our own gods, our own creators?

Knowing that we had nothing to fear from the lesser denizens of Norrath, we raised a city and established our presence on the world that would be ours one day. We named it Gorowyn; in honor of he who had shown us our destiny and led us to cast off the reigns of imperfect beings. None can challenge us, for we are Sarnak, the final embodiment of Cazic-Thule’s perfect design, and finally we have the life he wished to give us so long ago.

The Tragic Tale of Brother Balatin

by Brother Nusad, Clan Historian
Of all the honored members of the Whistling Fists Clan, few tales are more heartbreaking than that of Brother Balatin. This great monk was beset by tragedy and treachery, and worst of all he blamed himself for the events that transpired.

Brother Balatin journeyed to the lands of Kunark during the Age of Turmoil, where he was observing the progress of the Swifttail Caste. He carried with him an artifact that was priceless to the Whistling Fists Clan: the ancient flute that the order’s founder, Zan Fi, had played as he mastered the ways of the bard. To be entrusted with carrying the flute of Zan Fi was a great honor that Brother Balatin took very seriously.

Two initiates of the Court of Pain, the Vistrei twins, showed a particular interest in the flute. They spoke to Brother Balatin at length, and the monk was impressed by the knowledge they showed regarding the history of his order. The twins told him that they had been exploring the abandoned Combine outpost in the Lost Valley and discovered some relics of Zan Fi. Brother Balatin was elated at the prospect of recovering more of the great master’s history, and asked that the Vistrei show him what they had found.

But the twins had deceived the honored monk. Upon arriving at the outpost, the Vistrei sprung a trap and ambushed Brother Balatin. Rendering their target unconscious, the iksar stole the flute of Zan Fi and fled the outpost.

Upon regaining consciousness, Brother Balatin was heartbroken. He blamed himself for being so foolish as to be lured into such deception. He swore an oath to all the gods that he would not rest until he had recovered the sacred flute.

The other monks of the Whistling Fists Clan did not blame Brother Balatin for what occurred. They bid him return to the monastery at Mara while they continued the search. The burden, he said, must be his alone. Though his fellow monks pleaded with him, he would not abandon his oath.

Brother Balatin stayed in Kunark for the rest of his days, but he never found the Vistrei again. Every lead he followed ended in disappointment. At long last the aged monk died, atop a monument where it was said that Zan Fi had practiced the Whistling Fists style he created. His last words were a plea to his master’s spirit to forgive him for his failure.

But even in death, Brother Balatin was true to his vow. His bones remained, though his tormented soul was trapped in madness. Other members of the Whistling Fists Clan carried on the search in hopes of finding the flute and finally bringing peace to Balatin’s soul.

Decades later, an aspiring initiate, whose name was lost in the mists of time, found that the sacred flute had been broken into two pieces which were held in the depths of Kunark. This honorable monk recovered the fragments and returned them to the remains of Brother Balatin, finding some way to soothe his maddened spirit and make it lucid again. Overjoyed at this discovery, Balatin blessed the monk with his own robe, hidden away and carefully preserved during his lifetime.

Before his spirit departed the mortal realm, Brother Balatin’s ghost spirited the fragments back to the monastery where the sacred flute could be restored. Balatin proved to be one of the most dedicated monks the Whistling Fists Clan had ever seen, for even in death he fulfilled his sacred promise.

(Author’s note: If any who read this know the name of the young monk who recovered the pieces of Zan Fi’s flute, please send word to me. It would be a great honor to write the story of this monk’s life and heroic deeds.)

The Tale of Alexander Simond

The Tale of Alexander Simond

The tale of the alchemist, Alexander Simond, is one of pain, suffering and irreparable corruption. After the death of his young wife, Yasinia, Alexander became obsessed with disease and its origins. He began to study more magical properties of death and decay and soon became a warlock of disturbing talents. After the “accidental” death of a young research assistant, Alexander Simond fled Everling for parts unknown. Later stories of several farms and small villages being devastated by a particularly malicious illness start to trickle into the village. Crops are found completely withered while livestock lay rotting in fields. A squadron of Everling militiamen are sent out into the countryside to investigate, though only one man returns.

Despite being in a state of complete panic as his insides are slowly melting, he speaks of encountering a single man whose mere touch caused any living thing to whither and die. His pale skin was in stark contrast to the flowing black robe that covered his body. In his hand he held a wicked dagger that caused flesh to sear and turn to ash when it hit its mark. Effortlessly, he slew the militiamen by raining swarms of locusts upon them to first break their ranks, and then blasted them with a sickening poison that caused them to collapse into convulsive fits before finally succumbing to death. With the village on the verge of panic, the town’s mayor declared a large bounty for the death of this harbinger of plagues.

Several leave, none return. Tales of death and decay are erratic though one day they finally stop. A week goes by and nothing is heard. Then one day, a man named Ritter Shortshank returns with an urn full of ashes and the hilt of a broken dagger. He claims to have slain the warlock and destroyed the flesh-searing dagger. Not wanting to be infected, Ritter states that he chose to burn the body of the warlock and gathered up the ashes and the hilt of the dagger. Many disputed this claim, stating that despite the hilt of the dagger, there was still insufficient evidence that Ritter had actually killed the warlock.

However, as weeks went on with no new reports of any plague or poisonings, skeptics finally relent and declare Ritter Shortshank a hero, rewarding him the village’s bounty. Mr. Shortshank, content with his new fame, chose to buy an inn where he served drinks and brags about his accomplishments to anyone who will stick around long enough to listen. In truth, the “hero” never did anything. After realizing that the warlock had probably moved on or been killed, he crafted a story of how he tracked down the mad warlock and killed him.

Ritter took the ashes from a camp fire and bought an ornate dagger hilt from a traveling weaponsmith and presented the two items to Everling’s Mayor. Knowing that the only person to have seen the dagger was dead, everyone assumed that the dagger hilt belonged to the warlock. Ritter maintained his deceit of the entire town for some time and eventually married the mayor’s daughter. One day however, the mayor returned home to find his residence stripped of all its valuable possessions.

Soon it was revealed that the Shortshank residence also appeared to have been robbed, as was the bar which Ritter owned thought he himself was nowhere to be found. Not knowing whether Ritter was to blame or was in fact a victim of the apparent crime spree, the town set out to discover Ritter’s fate. Unfortunately for the townsfolk, Ritter was never found and after several years his memory was forgotten along with his controversial legend.

Though this is not the end of the story for Alexander Simond…

According to Bloodsaber legend, it is said that Alexander was visited by a shadowy figure, surrounded by a swarm of flying insects one night. The figure promises the widower immense power and access to the Demiplane of Pestilence where he could continue his research without the fear of persecution. However, to be allowed such a thing, Alexander would need to recover an artifact stolen by none other than the God of Plunder, Derris Zek. That artifact, known as Death’s Grip, had been given to another warlock by Kyrtoxxulous, ruler of the Demiplane of Pestilence, entrusting him to use it to accomplish some fiendish deed.

That warlock, though immensely powerful in his own right, failed in his task and was stabbed in the back by the very dagger that he had been entrusted with. Alexander, who now called himself Gherzhas, began his search, starting first across Antonica, then eventually to Kunark where he enlisted the aid of an Iksar scholar named Toshiki to track the blade down. Whether or not Gherzhas was successful is not known though Bloodsaber agents often make claims that they themselves now possess Death’s Grip.

Legend also speaks of a man in dark robes seen standing at the grave of Yasinia Simond near Nektropos Castle every Deepice, the month of her death. Could this man be Gherzhas come to pay his respects to his deceased wife? No one quite knows for sure.

The Lore of Fauna: The Behemoth

The Lore of Fauna: The Behemoth
By Prof. Romiak Jusathorn
Planar Influence: Mana Sub Races: Unknown Frequency: Extinct Size: Titanic Region: Global Habitat: Land and Sea

Long before any creature dominated Norrath, there came into existence beasts of legendary nature. Many of these creatures came and left before the deities spread their children across the surface of Norrath. One of these legendary beast types is known as the Gargantile Cheldridea, or Behemoth.

The Behemoths were a race of immense reptile like beasts of gargantuan proportions. They were easily some 180 meters in length with a very broad ribcage. Their limbs were long and powerful, perfect for striking down the greatest of prey.

The tails of these beasts accounted for one quarter of their total length. They often employed the tail in battle with larger beasts of their era. The swipe from such a tail could kill a wurm. They walked upon all fours, but fossils have indicated that they most likely rose upon their hind legs during battles.

The behemoths were placed upon Norrath by entities unknown. I believe that their existence is a gift of nature, possibly a beast sprung from necessity. The Behemoth acted more as a force of nature than an intelligent beast of warlike destruction. They would slumber for centuries at a time and only awaken to destroy budding ancient communities of the few ancient societies of the era.

The behemoths were eventually destroyed, possibly by the major deities who played a stake in the population of Norrath’s prime races. Their immense fossilized bones can be in various hard to reach locations of Norrath. The fossils are quite a find, but never intact.

One Behemoth is rumored to still be in existence and was last recorded in an ancient dragonkind scroll to have been lumbering upon the frozen steppes of the Frigid Plain. This same scroll indicates a fear of these beasts among dragonkind, one of the first races to inhabit Norrath.

It is my theory that some of the early dragon communities could have been laid to waste by a single Behemoth. Evidence has shown that these gigantic beasts often lived a solitary life. For the dragons, it is a blessing that these creatures did not roam in herds.

In early ages, sea captains also reported to have seen the beasts in the deep oceans. There was once an ancient water beast that terrorized much of the Coldwind Coastline of Antonica. From evidence acquired, I believe this water beast to be a Behemoth. That beast is said to have been destroyed by the greatest warship ever built, the Q.S.S. Eradicator. Both the beast and the ship are said to lie in the deep abyss of the Ocean of Tears.

My studies continue and I have found many remains I believe to belong to these thunderous creatures. The greatest behemoth fossils I discovered came from such places as the community of Oggok, the Dreadlands of Kunark and the valley Dragonscale Hills of Faydwer.

Scholars of the Academy of Arcane Science dispute my findings. But I have speculated that the modern day ocean wurm is a distant relative to the Behemoths. They may have merely adapted to the water through means of biological evolution that I have theorized, Jusathorn’s Theory of Bioevolution. This theory explains that mana is the true creator of these beasts.

Mana creates out of necessity. The vessel of mana called Norrath requires bioevolution for survival. The behemoths acted as cleansers or exterminators to the world, mother Norrath’s ultimate guardians, not the children of deities. The behemoths, no doubt, had special innate magical resistances due to their mana nature.

This made them more than a match for any of the ancient races, including those of dragonkind. I believe there to be a quasi plane sprung off the plane of growth where many of these beasts will always lumber. It is on this quasi plane that I shall continue my research.

For further information please reference: “Behemoth, A Force of Nature” by Romiak Jusathorn and “The Theory of Bioevolution” by Romiak Jusathorn.

The Journal of Yasva V’Alear

The Journal of Yasva V’Alear
This tattered and torn book appears to have belonged to the priestess Yasva V’Alear.

The Penitent’s Absolution continues to lead me to many great victories. I wish I understood more about the power it holds… so that I could use it to even greater ends. As it is, there are few on this world who can stand before me, and I suppose I am content with that.

I’ve come to the land of Kunark to put my power up against the Sathirian Empire. I doubt that even they, in the reaches of their power, have the might to stop me. I have truly become unstoppable with this weapon.

Though I loathe to admit it, I have gone into hiding. The Sathirians have sent legions after me and the Absolution. They know what power I hold, and they are willing to allow me to slaughter scores of their iksar to take it from me. I will never let them take it, thought.

They are too close. Thought I may die at their hands, I will never allow them to have the Absolution. I have disassembled it and scattered its parts. The hilt I hid here in this same land in which I will die, among savage beasts who hoard their treasure fiercely. The flail heads and crown I hid among their greatest enemies, the sarnak and the drolvarg, who will certainly fight to keep the pieces from them. The pommel I gave to the hands of a savage race of subterraneans who will certainly burrow it far down in the ground, away from them.

I know only of a family of iksar weaponsmiths in Freeport who have the necessary knowledge to repair the physical body of my weapon. But even if they manage to reassemble it, its blessings are gone. They will have to earn the blessings of Malevolence if they truly wish to restore it, and that is no easy task. The power of the Penitent’s Absolution dies with me, and that thought will carry me peacefully into death.

Paying Homage to the Past

Untold ages ago, the Faceless One, Cazic-Thule, placed us upon the lands of Kunark. Scattered and unlearned, we were enslaved by the terrible snake-like Shissar with their curses and wicked enchantments! At last one day the skies opened up and the sacred Green Mist delivered us from our enemies. Unaffected by the mist, we watched as our captors melted away. In the midst of a cacophony of screams of terror and anguish the iksar were freed. Today we remember the destruction of our oppressors by desecrating an article of their creation.

Over the centuries, many tribal states were established as we spread across Kunark. It was one iksar, Venril Sathir, whose knowledge of battle and necromancy allowed him to conquer and annex all the tribe-states. Using the might of the united tribes and the slaves of conquered lesser races, the mighty fortress of Sebilis was built. Imposing and beautiful, Sebilis was a place of learning and lore where for many long years we honed our skills and thrived. Under Sathir’s rule as the first King of Sebilis, he established the great Sebilisian Empire. The jealous dragons, however, saw our greatness and knew we posed a threat to them.

The meddling dragon known as Trakanon was not content to leave us alone. Through his treachery, he turned our servants against us and led a group of his kind to Sebilis and destroyed it! Many iksar were slain then and we honor them by lighting a funeral pyre from the remains of iksar slain in these times.

During the time of the Rending our beloved Kunark was beset by terrible earthquakes and the Lake of Ill Omen flooded the city of Cabilis. It was during these times that a large sailing vessel carrying many of our kind to lands far away was smashed by a massive wave. Many survived this tragedy by swimming to the shores of a nearby island.

For nearly a year the survivors lived on that island until the Overlord caught wind of their presence. After a series of fierce battles he captured the survivors, brought them back to Freeport and tried to enslave them! Years passed, but despite the Overlord’s best efforts, he could not break their spirits.

As the Rallosian army spread across all of Norrath, the Overlord knew he could not repel these aggressors without our help. In exchange for our freedom, we fought valiantly alongside Freeport’s own army and crushed the Rallosians with the help of the same Green Mist that had killed our former oppressors, the Shissar! Today we remember our brief captivity and toss the Overlord’s tools of oppression to the bottom of the sea, where they can never be used to hinder the mighty iksar.