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Lotaria’s Timeline
Year 1: The city of Aron is born upon the plains. The king, Aron Terumpian, rules justly and serves the people.
Year 29: Aron begins northern expansion, spearheading the exploration are a group of elite warriors.
Year 31: Aron forces run headlong into heavy resistance, as they enter a neighboring country known as Atore, which is governed by King Malcom Tierce III.
Year 33: Fighting escalates and is pushed closer and closer to Atore’s capital city by the same name.
Year 40: The war, known in later years as The War Of The Steps, boils down to a spark and fighting is mutually given up, until both country’s forces can stand further combat.
Year 50: Aron ends Northern Expansion and signs peace treaty with Atore, the countries turn from good enemies to good friends. Trading begins with the two countries, the goods furnished by the lands between the two kingdoms.
Year 210: Civil unrest, due to a food shortage and the overall disgust of the nobility, ends with the execution of King Aron III. Aron falls into a state of anarchy.
Year 211: King Malcom Tierce V invades the now fractures lands of Aron and meets with minimal resistance. However King Malcom soon realizes that the people will not suffer a foreign ruler and so it is declared that any and all acts malice against the crown will be punished with the immediate sentencing of a life of hard labor in the Mines, Fields and Forests.
Year 230: The unwilling workers in the Mines, Fields and Forests revolt and slay their captors. They begin the slow and agonizing act of rebellion.
Year 235: Atore’s army meets with a heavily armed and armored freed slaves and is routed in what came to be called the Battle of Athos. King Anthony Borelias retreats northward with his personal guards and those forces left behind and too weak to stop the hordes of angry Aronians.
Year 238: Aron is liberated.
Year 250: King Anthony Borelias of Atore is murdered in his bedchambers, without a trace.
Year 251: Atore demands retribution.
Year 253: The Plague Of Men
Year 260: Civilization crumbles under the destructive power of the Plague. The clustered humanity inside the walls of the city of Aron leave the city too late, for they all are infected with The Plague of Men. They make their way south along a river which was named, The River of Sorrows.
Year 261: History is lost.
Year 380: Plague slackens, leaving billions dead and many sick.
Year 400: Aron begins to rebuild.
Year 426: Aron fully rebuilds, only by pressing women and children into labor.
Year 430: The plague gone and the middle land, between the cities of Atore and Aron, begins to rebuild on its own. The leaders of the scattered tribes convene at the spot that will soon be known to the world as Halien. The land is rich with the bounties of the earth and the country flourishes.
Year 450: Atore is fully rebuilt aswell and begins to muster it’s armies and plan it’s conquest of the southern reaches.
Year 451: Atore marches and unexpectedly meets the Halien armies in a tremendous clash of arms. This battle would be known as The Battle of Regret.
Year 453: Aron, Atore and Halien meet in the Gulf of Aron and discuss terms for a treaty. All parties sign and so began the Age of Peace.
Year 704: Age of Peace ends with the sudden fire attack on the city of Garrison, by an elite group of Aronian soldiers. The attack is pinned on Halien, apparently Aron is looking to grab the vast natural resources of the reigon.
Year 705: Total War.
Year 707: A possible treaty is overturned on the high seas and a vast sea battle ensues.
Year 710: Aron loses its king, George Huitariat II and is left, easy prey for the unstoppable might of the Atoreian navy.
Year 712: Fighting draws to a stalemate, as the rebellious men of Aron continually make life difficult for the occupation, as the might of the Halien Cavalry keep their country free.
Year 715: Unofficial end to violence is called, as Halien caravans are allowed onto Aronian and Atoreian soil.
Present Day
Myths and Legends
The Seven stones of angus the Just
The war between Atore and Aron had been raging for many a year, when the mighty armies of Atore swept into Aron and began their orgy of pillage. The occupiers began with the organized looting of the Aronian capital city. Aronian bodies piled high in the streets, men, women and children stayed in their poverty stricken homes and died of starvation, before they would face the hordes of Atoreian soldiers outside their doors. The sheer evil of the acts committed in those years of occupation will forever be seared into the hearts, minds and souls of the human beings who survived the long years of occupation. The vileness of it seared into the very city itself.
During the occupation and beautiful woman, one with a husband and daughter, was forced to leave her home. Her husband had came down with the sickness and she had no choice but to find food and water for her daughter, while they watched their benefactor helplessly die. Tears streamed down the woman’s face and she wept openly, as she navigated the narrow streets of Aron, piled high with the stinking bodies of the foreign oppression.
On this same day and looting party had went out from Castle Aron with the express purpose of bringing back blood. They found the beautiful, mourning woman and they took her. The looting patrol Took her back to Castle Aron and away from the bosom of her family. None know how long the woman was forced to live in the castle, but it was some time before she was thrown, unconscious over the high walls and into the moat surrounding Castle Aron.
Angus the Just, a retired magesmith, had lived in the filth and squalor of Aron since the beginning of the occupation. He had a valuable skill, but since the death of his wife, Eliane, he had refused all work and was now hungry, tired and angry to his very soul. Angus the just found the body of the beautiful woman, beaten, bloodied and marred and he could not let her drown in the moat, instead he pulled her out and took her away to his home.
He cared for her there for many weeks, giving her all the food she needed and going without himself. It took the beautiful woman two weeks to wake from her coma and in that time something had snapped deep inside of her and she was mad.
Seeing this, Angus the Just could not help but cry, as the woman told of her savage attacks, rapes and trespasses. The just man was angered to his very soul for the poor wretch that now lay on his bed, too gone to think, but too alive to stop spouting out her encounters.
With her words burning brightly in his mind, as if they were seared into his very soul, Angus the just went to his smithy and fired up the magic laid within. He retrieved seven plain stones from the ground and over seven days he worked them all. In the seven days he worked, the woman upon his bed began to come back to herself, but only enough to begin eating and drinking on her own. She still could not stop her mind from reciting all the injustices committed upon her once beautiful, but now scarred and ugly features.
In seven days, the talented magesmith poured all of his heart and soul into the seven plain stones. His tears wetted them and his blood quenched them, his sweat forged them and his mind merged them.
Honor
Justice
Strength
Sanity
Vengeance
Will
Cunning
With these gifts, the woman received her justice.
Now, these items of great power are lost, scattered throughout Lotaria upon the fore winds. To this day it is still said that the spirit of the woman wanders the streets of Aron and that she gives these gifts only to the woman she finds deserve them.
The death of a legend
Upon the hell that was the battlefield, a monstrously large man stomped about, smiting the weak Aronians. He stood ten feet high and his skin was as hard as the lving granite of the mountains. In his arms he held a great sword, large enough to run through a fully grown battle steed and sharp enough to cut through glass.
Free aronian men scattered before his overwhelming might, all but one. The leader of the rebellion stood his ground, a mighty sword of his own grasped in his hands.
“I am Telarian, son of Hithadrel, I will be the death of you giant.” His voice bellowed over the roar and clatter of intense combat.
“I will decorate the inside of my tent with your skin, worm.” The giant’s voice was so great that the battle stopped completely, as the two heroes met in a terrible struggle.
The duel raged, for hours. The sky above crackled with the unleashed fury of all the gods and the rain began to pelt down in unrelenting sheets, thick enough to drown in. Yet the heroes continued their titanic struggle. Like two mastodons of old, the pair crashed together again and again. Their swords flashed in wide arks and sparks flew from the enchanted blades as they met in a storm of witch fire.
It was then, that Telarian, son of Hithadrel fell under a crushing blow. The human frame of the Aronian champion was crushed, but before the eyes of all who watched and great blue light immediately issued forth from the fallen hero and attacked the Atoreian invader’s very minds.
The intense sounds of pain beyond all measure came forth from the throngs of atoreians, as the very mind of Telarian spewed forth from the physical realm and shredded through their very souls. The sound for retreat came from the horn of a Atoreian and the great armies of Atore fell under the swords, arrows and magic of the Aronians, but at the cost of many deaths.
Including, the death of a legend.
The swords of great might
During the Plague of Man, the great stone and magesmith Gonorian retreated deep into the Range of the gods, from the mighty Atoreian capital, which was already becoming foul with the stench of thousands of corpses.
The smith travelled for many days, until he came upon a small opening in the ground. Curious and hopeful, the man went inside to find a great forge standing in the midst of a pool of molten lava. The magical forge simply glowed red hot, beckoning the smith and, loving his trade more then all else, he could not resist the temptation.
Taking a sword from a nearby rack, the smith went to work on it. He would do this much in the next month.
In a turn of the moon, the smith had created ten mighty swords, fit for any kings and crafted to perfection. Each held a great magical potency that was enough to stop an entire rushing army with a single bolt, dead in their tracks.
The smith was pleased with his work, so much so that he was giddy with it. Until a great evil voice emanated from deep within his forge “I am pleased with your work for me.”
With mounting anger, the blacksmith stood to his full height and yelled out into his forge “I built these blades for me and none other!”
Just as the last word from his came from his mouth and terrible roar came from deep within the earth and a great red and black arm shot out of the very lava itself and latched onto the front of the smith’s tunic.
The smithy screamed and begged for mercy from the gods, as the great arm pulled him closer and closer to his fiery doom. He called upon all he had ever been taught, upon mercy, upon justice and he appealed to the very earth itself to stop this evil from being perpetrated upon him, but greed had motivated the smithy and the gods did not complain as the great red and black arm pulled the smithy into the heart of hell itself.
Those ten swords of great might now wander the countryside. They have minds of their own and when they decide, they leave their current owners. These blades were touched by the devil himself and corrupted from instruments to stop evil, into a cruel mockery of it. They hold great power, but only to those with no qualms for dealing with the great devil himself.
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