The Commonwealth: A Primer

Millennia ago, three rulers led their peoples out among the stars to escape a great evil that had corrupted their homeworld. After they departed, this world, Argos, birthplace of the human race, became sealed off from the rest of the multiverse.

Enders the Great built a city in the empty reaches between the stars and named it Corregidor. His people prospered and reached out to other worlds. This was the birth of the community of worlds that was to become the Commonwealth.

Agripios the Red settled his followers on Varanger, a hospitable planet among the Antediluvian Stars. Here they built a great civilization that eventually fell under the sway of dark powers. When their world was consumed by an Old One, the survivors retreated into the vacuum, led by the cult known as Ordo Ultima Thule.

Assani the Wise led her people deep into the hinterverse. Where she settled is not known, but in the ages that have passed since the exodus, stories of encounters with people claiming to come from the world settled by the lost ships have become part of sailor lore. This world has become known as Magh Meall, a reference to an idealised mythical world of ancient Argosian lore.

The Voyage of RAS Talôn

Storyteller's note: The following article was published in the The Correspondent, No. 47, in YE 1042.

Correspondents,The following letter was submitted by The Hon'ble Rev. Dr. Thaddeus Potley COGD, Gardener to His Majesty King Rowar II of Pendrell, regarding his service on the gun-sloop RAS Talôn's journey to Thule. As you are no doubt aware, in Tertius YE 1041, Commodore Sir Jonah  A. P. Peregrine CA KCOGD was gazetted by the Council to find a passable passage to Øksfjord in Thule, and was considered lost until recently. You are no doubt also now aware that the northern OUT colony is powerful enough to claim the troposphere.

Fragments of Truth and Fiction II

"I'm told we won the Battle of Radhof, but how anyone could call what happened on that field a victory I cannot understand. We fight for truth and humanity, they tell us. I saw neither that day. What I saw was fear and terror, hatred and rage, suffering and death. But they tell us we won, and I guess that's better than the alternative."

"Lord Rector, the factories are at full capacity, and I'm informed that the new student-regiment has performed better than expected. I believe we are ready to teach His Majesty the Emperor a lesson quite soon now."

Again the alarm sounded. Falangist Arham rushed to his post, a shallow trench in the grey and lifeless soil west of the settlement. They were drilling harder than ever, and rumours had it that the witchmasters of the Pius Cabal could appear any day now. They had been told that the dogs would be able to detect the warlocks in advance, and Arham could only hope that was true -- he had heard stories.

Beloved Catherine,
I do not know when or if you will receive this letter, but still I write to you each week. Since we arrived on Argos, we've been training and exercising almost each day. We hear little from the outside, but they tell us that soon now we will see some action. I hope that is the case, Catherine, for I've grown weary from the long months of waiting. I think of you each day, and I dream of seeing you again.

With love,

Richard

"Aeons ago, when a great and terrible darkness seemed to smother all the lands, and the Enemy appeared to be undefeatable, three great kings led their people to new worlds. They left their homes behind, and sailed across the vast and empty spaces between the stars. At long last they arrived at strange and virgin shores, and there they settled. This, my son, was how our forefathers left Argos, our home."




[Picture source: 1, 3 & 4 unknown; 2 Jeffrey M. de Guzman; 5 Svet Mateev]

Orbis Hermetica

Chapter I
The Dawn of Time and the First Age

Long before the human race crawled from the dust of creation, the first of the Great Trees bore fruit deep in the Primordial woods of the virgin world of Argos. From these fruits came the first elves; tall, slender, star-eyed, and with the moon's silver in their hair. Under the Great Tree, they sang the first songs, and they danced with the rays of the sun and the beams of the moon.

In those days, long before the reckoning of time, the Eldren walked between the stars. These marshals of creation watched the darkness that lay behind the light, and stood watch over that which the Pantocrator had brought into being. All was good and true, and life blossomed in the worlds.

Aeons passed like water down a stream, and slowly the lands drifted apart; ancient races walked the hills and valleys, and passed into the mists of time forgotten. All this was guarded by the elves, for even then, evil seeped into Creation. It was also in this age that the Pantocrator vanished. Whereto, or whyfore is not known to any of the created, but for the first time since the First Word Its voice could not be heard.

Thus began what the Older Races call The Cold.

It was in this age that Man built the first hut, tamed the first beast, and tilled the first field. This was the beginning of the First Age of Man. While these young human tribes struggled against the wind and the wild, the elves and the Eldren watched over them and guided them.

Then the foul star, Maleastra, the Great Exarch Cthulhu, fell through the tapestry of Creation and onto the world of Argos, and innocence died. The star struck the First Great Tree, splitting it asunder and sinking its lands deep into the sea.

It drove a madness deep into the soul of those elves who had sprung from it, and their souls became so warped that their bodies could not contain it. Thus the Black Blood, the Orc, this hideous blasphemy, came into Creation.

Corruption and hatred seeped from the fallen Thing That Must Not Be, and as this darkness grew, it became stronger. The elves, guardians of this world, marched to war, doing battle with their fallen kin. But so great was this enemy that all seemed lost. Even the mighty Eldren, coming from the stars in their vast ships, could not prevail.

Man, the youngest of the races, had built the first cities when the First Great War began. Their greatest heroes, and with them the gods of Man, went to fight beside the elves and the Eldren - their guardians - but still the darkness grew. Many were those who perished, and many were those who fell into the Deep.

One man, thrice named, born of a line of heroes, saw that the world was coming to an end. He also saw that the Eldren no longer believed in the Creation, and that in their war on the Exarch they were destroying the very fabric of that which they should protect. This one man, once named Ertuil, set out to seek the Fire of the Gods.

He travelled deep into the cold lands of eternal winter, braving countless dangers and facing unspeakable horrors. Many are the tales of the journey of this man, twice named Jarabathon, but at long last he came to the Tower of the North.

Though the Eldren knew of him, they did not see him when he climbed the stairs of the Tower, for they did not know his name. And so it was that he, thrice named Hermes Primomagistos, reached Olympos and stole the Fire of the Gods.

Thus armed he returned to the his people, and he shared his secret with them. With this fire, a glimmer of light was again brought into the world, and the tide was slowly turned. Still the Great War lasted for many generations, until finally the army of gods and men and elves drove the Exarch into the Abyss.

Here at last the first of the gods, Dis Invictus, drove his spear through its heart. Yet that is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.

And so it was that the First Age came to an end.

[Picture source: Magic Words]

The Legend of Trond

Source: Holy Nation of Odin

In the younger days, Trond Garmenbane, first son of Arkon, was the greatest of all warriors. Fair and just was he, and in battle he was feared even by the foul things that dwelled beyond the end of the world. He bore the sword Dwimmerbane, and carried the Horn of Mittelgrūn, his steed the mighty Fjalir Fenirfare.


He stood taller than any of his kin, and his yellow hair and beard could outshine even the sun in summer. In his hall hung many trophies, his women carried heavy rings, and many were the songs to his honour. Some say that of his thirteen sons, Arkon loved him the most.


When the Black Stone fell from the heavens, the gods of Aethelingagard argued over who should ride out to destroy it. All the sons of Arkon claimed the honour, but in the end it fell to Trond Firstborn. Alone he rode from the hall of his father.


He rode across the vast lands, over mountains and through forests, he crossed mighty rivers and deep valleys, until at last he came to the Bridge of Lōkarfall. There upon the bridge he met Gudmund Nidfare, his brother. Gudmund told Trond that the Three Sisters had said to him that he who stood before the Black Stone would fall unless he bore a certain rune.


It was widely known that of all of the brood of Arkon, Gudmund Gandmane knew the most about runes and hexes. And so he gave his brother a rune-stone and bade him carry it where he went. Then the brothers parted with a kiss.


At last Trond Honourhold came to the Farthest Point. There, like a broken arrow, protuding from the flesh of the world, he saw the Black Stone. The oceans beyond the land thrashed and screamed in pain and rage. From that point he could see afar, and he saw a great people destroyed by that which had come upon the world.


There Trond also saw the great dragon Nefrangap, friend to his father, doing battle with the foul Shard of Goran. He drew Dwimmerbane, his sword, and blew a mighty note from the Horn of Mittelgrūn, and thus he charged forth to do battle.


Nefrangap then smote the Black Stone with all his might, shattering the dark pillar. From it a long shard flew, and pierced through the heart of Trond Fairmane. He fell to the ground and there he died.


Gudmund Brotherbane, in his cloak of raven's feathers, had stolen after his brother, for he had given him a fell rune that would cause the death of he who bore it. When he saw that Trond Ironhand fell he was glad, for he was jealous of the love their father gave to his oldest son, and long had he awaited this moment.


He then flew on dark wings to his father's hall with the ill tidings of death. Gudmund Blackheart told his father that the wyrm Nefrangap had been poisoned by the Black Stone. He told that when Trond Whiteshield had struck the foul pillar Nefrangap had gone mad, and that it was the dragon who had slain his brother.


Upon hearing these ill and terrible news, Arkon roared in anger and grief. He donned his mail and took Fengir, his spear, and in all haste he rode to avenge the death of his dearest son.


When he came to the field of the battle he found the noble Nefrangap standing over the cold body of his son. Then Arkon became blind and deaf from the pain in his heart and he attacked his friend with furious anger.


Nefrangap had seen the the malrune, and knew what had passed, for he knew all the runes and every spell. He called to his friend Arkon, but naught did it avail, and so the greatest of all dragons was driven into the dark hole where the Shard of Goran had stood.


Arkon then closed the entrance and placed many great seals on it and forbade his kin to ever open it. To Trond Silverheart he built a tall barrow and placed him in it. Many great and precious gifts did he lay down with his most beloved heir, and he cried over the grave for seven nights and seven more.


Of Gudmund Silvertongue there are many tales, but none tell of his death.

Sigurd Dragedreper

Hosted by: VG.no

This is a Norwegian movie from 1989, about the young earl-son Sigurd, named after the old mythic hero Sigurd Fåvnesbane. It is a true Coming of Age story set in a fictive Norway sometime around 1000 CE, give or take a hundred years.

It's quite a neat film, even if it focuses a lot more on the message than on either the legend or the history. There are a few reasons why I put this one up. One is that I remember I thought it was kinda good, although severely politically correct, even back then. Another is that a lot of the movie also dovetails quite neatly with certain parts of the Argos mythology, although just not that social-romantic.

Anyway, I have no idea if any foreigners will be able to stream it from the NRK servers. Also, the movie is in Norwegian, no subtitles, so there you go.


LINK

The Legend of Brōdar

This is the story of how Arkon's son, Brōdar, lost control over his anger. The legend is told by Reigald.


Brōdar Stormrider was the strongest of Arkon's sons. He loved nothing so much as a good fight, and often he rode across the heavens on great storms looking for anyone who dared challenge him. He was also deeply loved by his brothers, for he was the youngest of them. Brōdar was also famous for his anger. When he lost his temper, even the giants tried to get out of his way, so violent was his rage. The only one who could calm him when his blood was up was Aeilìn, his wife.


One day the giant Râgor Liesmith came to Aethelingagard disguised as a handsome young warrior. He introduced himself to Aeilìn and swore himself to her service, as was often the custom of young heroes in those days. Aeilìn was beutiful beyond words, and it is said that not among men, elves or gods could a maid more fair be found, then or after.


For a long time Râgor kept his secret. He served Aeilìn faithfully and well, and thus he gained her trust. He was given great gifts as rewards for his loyalty, and he even stood guard outside Aeilìns bedchamber when Brōdar was away.


Then one day Râgor left Aetelingagard and returned to his own kingdom. Here he sat on his throne in the mountain and boasted of how he had slipped between the thighs of Brōdar's fair wife. His disguise he hung behind his seat so that all who visited his great hall could see how he had made a cuckold of the mighty Stormrider.


It did not take long before the word reached Aethelingagard. Brōdar flew into a rage such as the world has never seen, neither before, nor in the ages that has followed. He bellowed and roared so that even his brothers hid from him. He called up a storm so great that the very earth shook as it passed above. Thus he came to the kingdom of Râgor. He roared for the giant to come out of his mountain and meet him, but Râgor had fled when he heard him coming. In his anger, Brōdar smote the mountain asunder, scattering the rocks far away (the rocks formed what you today call the Stormcrow Mountains).


Brōdar searched for Râgor for many days, but the cunning and deceitful giant had hidden well. In his search Brōdar's anger only grew. He split open mountains and tore lands asunder, killing anyone who crossed his path. Finally Aeilìn came to her husband. She sang soothing songs to calm him and stroked his hair and cheek, but so dark was the anger crafted by the Liesmith that Brōdar could not see the truth. Blinded by the lies, seeing only the leering giant between his wife's legs, he slew his beloved Aeilìn.


When Aeilìn fell to the ground Brōdar saw what he had done, and the veil of deceit and rage fell from his eyes. He reached into his soul and ripped his anger out of his flesh and cast it from him. This is how Bolgen came into the world.


Brōdar journeyed then to the realm of the dead to beg the release of his beloved. Alas he was denied, for the regret of the living has never been enough to allow someone to leave the Ashen Lands. The King of the Dead saw how beutiful Aeilìn was, and he became enraged by her murder. He sentenced Brōdar to wander the lands of the living until he was the last man in the world. Then, and only then would he be allowed to die.


Since then, Brōdar has been wandering the world, cast out by his father, Arkon, and shunned by his brothers, for they all loved Aeilìn dearly.

Swordgaunts

Another article from The Correspondent, this one from YE 1017.

~ And Dark Knights fell upon the Heirs ~

~ Correspondent XXIV ~

The origin of the seven Swordgaunts are lost in myth, but the three most reliable sources are Kalshan and bar Mahhout, both scolars of the First Century of Enlightenment, and the Xantuul-fragments of the early Second Age.

Kalshan writes:
"The Swordgaunt is a tall, gaunt figure clad in black full plate mail with a long cape made out of darkness and shadows. His face is pale, with a wax-like shine. His lifeless hair flows like strings of coagulated tar, and his eyes glow like the cold winter sun. On his head he wears a crown wrought of a dozen sharp blades. He wields the sword Kawnshuagh and a Nightmare serves as his steed."

Here Kalshan is believed to speak of the witch-king Hanamog who held the city of Mulwar thrall around 450 BC.  According to Kalshan, this feind were slain by the hero Abbanzar when he freed the city. It is this correspondent's believef that Kalshan mistakenly thought that the witch-king and the Swordgaunts were of the same ilk. This conclusion builds on an Orcish legend discovered in my journeys on the Dark Continent in the last days of the Old Colonies. The witch-king is also mentioned in the Bolianor, see below.

Bar Mahout writes:
"The Swordgaunts, seven, once great heroes. Their armours, empty shells; their faces, forgotten memories. The seven, once heroes, now hollow men. Not blood but empty darkness in their veins. Not love but cold hunger in their hearts."


Both these sources clearly points towards a nature of soullessness, and as such unnatural to this world.

The oldest source that mentions the Seven is the Xantuul-fragments, pieces of three Second Age tablets, bearing the eulogy of King Humarrahim of the Illai.

The Illai was a great tribe in the First Age, and Humarrahim was their captain in the Great War. The fragments tell of seven great warriors who set out to destroy the Dark Queen of Gerem Faït, said to be a master of the elven art of naming. (Note that the Dark Queen is believed to be the same entity the Orc now worship as Mother) They were never seen again alive, but over the following Generation (here: Generation of the Exalted -- a period of time roughly four hundred years long) seven armoured warriors hunted the royal line of the Illai. Humarrahim was the last of his house, but the parts of the Xantuul-tablets that speaks of his fate are long lost (the fragments we have were lost earlier this year in an unexplained explosion that destroyed the Abbey of Nerwalt).

Various lesser sources claim that as many as five of the Swordgaunts may have been slain over the ages, but this cannot be held for certain. Keep in mind that the Erian Republic-era epic poem, the Bolianor, has Irendar slay the witch-king of Gerenfall already as early as in the sixth or seventh century BC.

The Swordgaunts appear here and there in tales and legends, but they seem to be bound primarily to the Dark Continent, with only brief and allegorical mentions of them in Erian culture. I write of these now so that if they too should reappear in this Dark Age, they be known to those they fall upon. Remember that in every myth there is a shard of truth, and that whatever has happened before shall happen again.