Transience

Starless

@rivaanYou are right, but everybody has their own mythology for a reason. ;)

Starless

@rivaan I have my plans! Though I would imagine that news like the revival of a legendary hero will spread like wildfire. We are going to be the talk of the Kingdom!

Starless

@rivaanI would have thought so, unless you can find a legitimate reason to have it otherwise.

Starless

@Blackbeard Sure! Yours and my character seem to have come from a time much prior to everyone else's. Thought I suppose a lot of whether a character knows of another or not also has a lot to do with location.

Starless

@ravenDivinity Only if you wanted, of course! It was just a suggestion, but they do look pretty similar. There is quite some time between the two characters, though, so do you think Altim's family would have remembered and revered the descent of their bloodline? Or would it be relatively unknown?

Starless

@Invisible I was actually surprised that a lot of people opted for recent heroes. I would have thought the lull of ancient heroics was why people joined! :P But sure, polish away. let me know of any updates you do unless it is just a grammatical correction.

@ravenDivinity Yes, shoot. Linked families? Bloodlines? What did you have in mind?

Starless

C H A P T E R I

☬

A I M L E S S

There was little more than a blinding light and a searing pain as Ansur gave himself to the central pyre. This is where his journey would come to an end, after a hundred years leading the last people through the trecherous Northern Passages and fending off all manner of horrors: a construct of wood and tinder. It seemed poetically fitting that the world could not bring him to his knees so he gave himself willingly to the embrace of death. He dared not look back upon the faces that had gathered to bear witness to his final moments, as he could not stand to see them shed tears on his behalf. He knew they would be happy in this new land; happy and safe, and under the guidance of all the Gods that had promised him safety for his kin.
The flame was roaring, burning hot, crackling in its intensity, yet somehow lacking. It was an empty fire at the centre of a grand hall of polished marble and columns of pearl, an empty fire that hungered for the soul of a hero to be complete. The presence of the fire would ensure that this new land would not suffer the same fate as the last, a warding light to fend off the end.
Ansur smiled as he often did. He had done his part. Mankind was safe, and no longer had to flee. He looked down at his hands as they began to flay and bubble. His furs had already turned to ash around him. Despite the violently bright flame engulfing Ansur, his vision grew dark and narrow, before he could see nothing at all, and could only faintly feel the burning anymore. He dropped to the ground, his legs unable to support his weight; he just lay there for a moment in silence... waiting for the pain to end.

Ansur did not notice the transition from life to death. To him, it seemed as though it were simply an extension of his rest. One moment he could feel his body crumbling, and the next he felt whole once more. All he could do was lay there, engulfed in shadows, unable to move. His eyes cracked open after some struggle, and he could just make out the night sky, framed by the great rings that hung in the heavens. He watched for some time, not knowing what this realm beyond life would bring. He watched for years or for hours –he could not tell which– counting the stars that shone in the otherwordly void. He could see some shine brightly, but some simply faded into obscurity, and, curiously, some simply vanished. It was as though something were extinguishing the stars themselves. And then he felt cold, as though somebody had extinguished a nearby campfire, leaving him to shiver in the darkness. Then there was a voice... a presence. A whispering. An endless lament that felt like fire in his mind, madness given form. It was speaking to him. Speaking. Speaking without hesistation or end. It was such an empty and hollow voice that he knew despair now reigned in whatever realm he had come to. It spoke with such anguish and despair and fury and anger all mixed together that Ansur knew this place was now Godless.

His eyes snapped open, only to sting as if sand had been rubbed into them. He gasped for air but only got a lungful of ash. He jolted upwards, coughing violently, splashing up clouds of ghostly white powder. He rubbed his burning eyes and took a moment to catch his breath. He squinted. What was this place? A great hall of crumbled marble and columns of faded pearl? Vines grew over the dilapidated ceiling, and mould and moss crept up the walls to meet it. It was vast and empty, but somewhat familiar to him. He looked at his legs and hands to find them buried in a great mound of ash, as though a fire had been raging in his very place for thousands of years if not longer.
Asnur forced himself upright, dusting off the ash and stepping onto the uneven tile surface. He looked up and he looked around, the familiarity with this place burrowing deep into his head, bugging him like a relentless insect.

There was a window on the far side of the chamber, not a decorative one by any means, but an apeture through which a thin sunlight filtered through. Without it, the chamber would have surely been pitch black. The place could have definitely used a fire or two, he thought to himself.
He hurried over to the window to catch a glimpse of the outside world to get his bearings. It took him a good few minutes to reach the far side of the hall. As he stepped up to the window he could not disregard the inscriptions lining it, though they were faded and difficult to read, he could make out the words:

'This chamber, dedicated to Asnur, the founder of Ansus, stands eternal in his memory. May we all strive to be like he.'

Ansur frowned. Surely this could not be?
He leaned to glipse out of the window. From his vantage point high above the surrounding plains, he could see two suns beggining to set, and great rings of light stretching across the zenith of the sky.

He was back?

"Halt!" Shouted a stern figure from the other side of the room. The voice was strong enough to shake the foundations of the chamber and surely stop any lesser man in their tracks. "You are in violation of the highest law of Ansus, in the name of our father Ansur, you have trespassed upon holy ground. You will submit or you will be killed!" it screamed.

Ansur turned to see a string of heavily clad soldiers filter in through doorways on the far side of the hall, all adorned in gold and silver, encrusted with jewels of the most beautiful incarnadine red. Each soldier bore a cloak gilded with goldleaf thread and a blade forged to the highest quality. But admire them as he may, it was only a mere moment before they surrounded Ansur, blades pointed in his direction, all stern and poised to kill at a moment's notice.

"Ansur?" he asked.

"Do not speak the name of our forefather in vain, you rat. Tell us how you got in here past the guards." one demanded.

"Tell us or we are authorised to use lethal force upon you," another added.

"Tresspassing upon the Bastion of Light is a crime punishable by death!" yet another noted.

The Bastion of Light. His own design. The place he created for his sons and daughters to guide them through the darkest of nights. He was in Ansus, and had awoken in the specific place he had given himself to death. But the fire was... out? It did not even glow with embers or show the afterglow of a flame. It was stone cold and dry, out for some time. Ansur had awoken in a mound of his own ashes to an end he did not understand. Why was he back? How was he back?

"Speak!" demanded one of the soldiers, thrusting his blade forward, coming dangerously close to Asnur.

"I died here," he said softly.

There was a brief reprieve from the scrutiny as Ansur's answer took them off guard. They lowered their weapons for a second before raising them back.

"He's fuckin' with us," said one of the guards as he lunged forward with his blade, raising it overhead in an attempt to bring it down on Asnur's skull. Ansur sidestepped away with grace and elegance, leaving the blade to clash with the crumbled floor tiles, sending a mightly resounding echo through the hall.

"My name is Ansur, and I died here." he repeated again and again, each time becoming more frustrated with the ignorance of the soldiers. Every time he said so it seemed to strengthen their resolve to kill him, though try as they might, they just could not lay their blades upon him.

"My name is Ansur!" he shouted one last time after dodging another stroke of steel. "I am the Forefather!"

He latched onto the blade of one of the assailants, gripping the sharp of the weapon with bare hands, and yanked it from the grasp of the soldier. There was no blood, no scratch, nor any visible marks on his skin from disarming the soldier. He masterfully weaved the blade above his head, using it to slap away the incoming strikes before stabbing it into the hard floor tiles with such force that the blade would stand on its own, trapped there between the rock. A mighty shockwave followed the peircing of the tiles, sending each soldier's blade spiralling to the walls of the chamber and knocking each man to their knees.
It looked like they were bowing to him, and no man dared to stand up once more. So they knelt.
From their vantage, the soldiers could clearly see the artwork on the chamber ceiling through the thick overgrowth: an illustration of Ansur in his glory, furs adorned, hair as wild as ever; a spitting image of the man who had just brought them low. Could it be...?

"Ansur...?" One of the soldiers asked, tears brewing in this eyes.

"Stand, you are not in danger here." Ansur replied.

And the soldiers did, one by one, raise themselves to their feet. They kept their heads bowed and did not say a word.

He looked back, and then once more at the soldiers.

"Why is the Great Fire extinguished?"

Starless

@Jack Travidi No problem, brain farts happen on occasion and they smell!

Starless

A n s u r T h e F o r e f a t h e r

M y t h o l o g y

Ansus has not always been. One quick jaunt through any of the historical colleges in the Heartlands and the scholars will remind you that Human-kind is not native to Ansus, rather they came from the Southern Continents after fleeing some unknown disaster.
It is here that the interpretations of Ansus' ancient history somewhat diverges. Some scholars are adamant that the current royal family is directly linked by blood to those who led the first men to the expansive land of Ansus; some are sure that the movement was pioneered by a group of tribal leaders from the Southern Continents. However, the most prevalent tale by all accounts is the 'Tale of Ansur, the Forefather.'

It is said that he was the bastard child of a Southern Queen and a rogue God, and his conception was heralded by a host of sullen angels. He is said to have emerged from the womb following the impact of a falling star from the Heavens, and he emerged with wings like tendrils of blinding light. Obviously such a story can only be the work of fiction, but it is well established that Ansur was an otherwordly child by all accounts; mastering archery and sword-fighting at an age that some say simply is not possible, and quickly rising to leadership amongst his people.
Whether Ansur was formally recognised in a state of Kinghood or not is a fact that has been lost to the winds of time, but it is well recorded that he acted as a guide and mentor to the expansive cult that formed around him, a following with such great numbers that it became a faux-nation all of it own. It is a generally accepted theory that the world before Ansur was godless and hedonistic, and that he alone brought order and fear of the Gods into his fellow Men. Some credit Ansur with the advent of civilised life; a proud accolade indeed.

However, in his thirtieth year, the land that he knew as home supposedly fell to an event that is not properly recorded. This is where the Tale of Ansur truly begins: he rallied men and women from across the land and led them through the Northern Passages, sailing through expanses of storm marred seas, trekking through hellish swamplands and battling through infestations of barbaric sub-men who guarded their lands with fury and zeal. There are countless tales and fables that stem from this period, stories of epic heroism and incredible acts of valour. It is said that the long journey through the Northern Passes took over a hundred years, many of his followers succumbing to the ravages of time, and many others bringing new disciples into the world to follow Ansur to the lands in which they could begin anew; yet Ansur himself was unphased by time, and remained youthful for the entire century that he was at the helm of the Great Journey.

And so it was that at the end of the one hundred and first winter, a new land grew upon the horizon. Ansur's followers decided that it would be named after their leader in his honour, and to immortalise him for his undying effort to bring new hope to mankind. Ansur and his followers travelled deep into the heartlands of the newly founded Ansus, and toiled to build the Bastion of Light, a great fortress dedicated to the Gods which Ansur claimed to owe his success.

From there, the solidity of the story falters. There is little scripture detailing what became of Ansur after the creation of the Bastion of Light, but some say that he gave himself to ashes to light the Great Fire at the heart of the fortress, and there are some who beleive that his spirit still resides in those holy walls, ready to return and guide the people once more.

A p p e a r a n c e

"Ansur is not a giant, but his presence is felt by all. His corse is lean and strong, and his eyes pierce the very soul with naught but a glaze. The people look to him f'r strength and guidance, and he responds with valour and fortitude. He adorns himself not in gold and steel, but rather leathers and furs that he procur'd during the time he spent in his homeland; his face is ragg'd yet welcoming, and he hath the hands of a man who hath work'd his due at the forge."

- Arcillius the Scribe, year unknown.

There are many accounts of what Ansur looked like, and many of them differ tremendously. Some writings claim he was over nine feet tall and wielded a sword of holy fire, whilst others claim he was a short, stocky, stout man who was rounder than other legends would admit. While nobody can know for sure the true nature of Ansur's appearance, he is never depicted as wearing any suit of metal armour, and never adorns himself with jewels or other sightly embellishments. He is also normally depicted as hiding his face under a hood of furs, while a great hawk sits at his side. Some illustrations show him wearing a crown of dulled iron, and others with a rugged, unsightly mess of facial hair during the Great Journey.

A b i l i t i e s A n d E q u i p m e n t

Ansur is said to be like a God striding amongst mere mortal peers, a trait that some attribute to his apparent paternal figure being of divine origin. He was supposedly stronger than a Dragon (he is said to have barehandedly wrestled three such magnificent beasts to their death during the Long Journey), faster than the most mighty Jungle Stalker, and wiser than all of the Gods combined. His skill with a blade was world reknowned (So incredible was his skill, in fact, that three sword-figthing styles are presently named after him) and his accuracy with a bow was as if the arrows themselves were extensions of his very being.

Some retellings of his story state that magical assaults simply did not effect him, and there are other accounts that tell of him splitting a titanic ice sheet by summoning a great, piercing flame from the sky.

Surely such tales cannot be true, but who can really know? He is a long dead man who is sure to never return to the land of his design...

A g e O f L e g e n d

Ansur's mythology is one of, if not the oldest in the known world. He was extant an approximate 60,000 years prior to the present day.

Starless

Who needs technology when you can magic, right?