The old man scratched his long white beard as the fire crackled before him. His old eyes gazing around the  circle of eager faces, awaiting his tale. So many different generations come before him now. They always gather as they have done so before, on a full moon to hear his stories. The children gather around his feet, the elders sit on stones and stumps.

" I remember a time," he began, his voice old and thick. " A time when we lived, not as one, but as three separate races from all over the world. The Aquilonians, Cimmerians, and Stygians." He looked into the eyes of all that sat before him. Some of them, you couldn't tell anymore what race they came from. The others, it was easy to tell a Stygian from a Cimmerian. The old man took a sip of ale to wet his throat before he began his tale again.

"The Stygians were an ancient, decadent race, masters of the occult and diabolic lore. They worshiped the serpent God, Set and cared not for what happened outside their land. They favored cunning, intelligence and agility over brute strength. They learned long ago that true power lies in knowledge and in pacts with dark powers. Powers older then the cosmos. They were tall, dark haired, sometimes light haired and displayed noble features. They were a proud race. Even though they were divided into 3 hereditary castes, they all served the same purpose."

A little girl with dark hair and bright yellow eyes beamed up at him. He gently patted her braided hair.

"The Cimmerians, barbarous people, living under a constant shroud of doom, waiting for The End. They lived hand to mouth in their hostile realm. King Conan I was in fact Cimmerian, though he was not a typical example of his people. They acknowledged Crom as their god, but did not worship him. They believed that Crom, sitting high on his mountain throne, gave you strength at the time of birth, after that, you were on your own. They value physical strength, providing for oneself over all other. This dark haired, fair skinned race took no time for the simple pleasures of life. Theirs was a hard life, ruled by weapons and blood, skill and cunning. Never relying on the arcane mysteries that blacken the souls of men. Barbaric they may be, but they have hearts, hearts for their land and bloodline."

A couple of men standing behind the sitting Elders playfully shoved one another, laughing while doing so. The old man smiled at this.

"The Aqilonians, people of the world's greatest kingdom, cultured and educated, had epic troubles. They were divided behind a front of unity and threatened behind a show of dominance. The fighters were disciplined and tough, They valued marital skill, free thinking and Independence. These fair haired ones admired any who stood against their nations enemies. They worshiped Mitra and although sorcery was shunned as the pursuit of evil of men, the priests were highly respected, practicing their own magic in the light of the true God. Quality of life is truly important to Aquilonians."

A man placed a hand on the shoulder of a women sitting before him, while a babe suckled her breast. She smiled up at him.

"But this story is not about individuality, its about unity. All of us woke up on the white sands of Tortage, shackles on our wrists. No memory of why or how we got there. We met other slaves from different races, all walks of life, we banded together. We fought and bled together, uniting under a symbol. For on that day we awoke on the sands of the  Barachan Isles, we bought our lives with our deaths. We rose out of the ashes of death to life, we became: The Insurrection.

Copyright © 2009 Kelli Newbry “Anuste Moon” Guild Lore-The Insurrection

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