"The Breaking?" Erol asked quietly.
Mazhar nodded. "Civil wars and conflicts with other races scarred the will of even the strongest, but it was not until the sea rose to swallow the Mordebi and Ahgramun Empires that they were truly tested. Earthquakes ripped through the lands, tearing the earth apart. Homelands were split asunder and dragged into the dark water as giant waves reached out from the sea, snatching the very life from all they touched.
"The entire face of Qalia was dramatically altered and much land was lost. On the western coast, the rising water and sinking land resulted in the disappearance of pristine white beaches forever. The dense wilderness now met with the sea, forming a nearly impenetrable wall.
"In a violent earthen shift, the plains in the east plunged hundreds of feet below water. The lush northlands, home to the human empires were perhaps hit the hardest. No amount of force could have saved the humans from the massive waves that swept across their lands." The boy listened intently as Mazhar continued. "The initial waves claimed every living thing from the coast to the desert and in the earthquakes that followed, more continued to smash the fertile land until it eroded entirely, leaving only desert scrublands to border the sea.
"The human empires were devastated. What few survivors remained had no homes, no food and no hope. With nowhere else to go, remnants of the Mordebi and Qaliathari empires took to the wastes to the south. They formed small clans and wandered constantly through the desolate lands, frequently warring with other clans for food and water."
"Why couldn't they just farm?" Erol asked.
"They tried." Mazhar replied. "They tried very hard. But the land was barren and the damage caused from the Breaking would take years to heal. Gradually, a number of modest settlements began to form. Some did eventually take to farming, though their crops were meager. Other settlements served merely as resting points between raids. What little ruins remained of the old Ahgramun capital were hit constantly for supplies."
The boy started to say something, but stopped himself short. The old man looked down at Erol. "What is it?" he asked kindly.
The boy shook his head. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I don't mean to interrupt again, but why didn't they just build the old city back up instead?"
"Never apologize for asking questions," Mazhar said with a grin. "That's how you learn. And some did try to rebuild the city that was lost, but the unfortunate truth is that there were too many others determined to work against them for reasons only they will ever know." He stopped, noting the somewhat disappointed look on Erol's face. "However," the old man continued, "after many years of failed attempts, several groups of Mordebi nomads forged an alliance and began to construct a permanent settlement in the tumultuous Gahren Plains."
Mazhar paused for a moment as the boy brightened up, then continued. "For several years, it looked as if they might actually succeed. But one day a violent earthquake shook the city and dragged in back down beneath the earth. The distraught Mordebi clans took this as a sign that they had angered the Gods and returned to their nomadic lifestyles."
"What do you think, Mahzar?" the boy asked, grinning.
The old man returned the grin. "I think," he began, "that perhaps the Mordebi were a bit too superstitious. Quakes such as the one that struck them were not entirely uncommon in the century following the Breaking."
"Why is that?"
Mazhar leaned back in his fair, a contemplative look on his face. "Well," he began, "imagine that you drop a large rock into the river. What happens?"
"It makes a splash," the boy answered confidently.
"Indeed it does," the old man nodded, "but after that splash, does the water not continue to ripple for a time afterwards?"
Erol frowned and thought for a moment. "I understand what you are saying now," he said finally. "The earth was still healing."
A smile spread across Mazhar's lips. "Very good," he said. "And in the years that followed, the human tribes were once again plunged into perpetual war with one another. Thousands died as the clans raided rival settlements.
"It was during one such raid that a young Mordebi boy named Bahman Fendir witnessed his father, the clan's chief, and three of his uncles brutally slain at the hands of Qaliathari invaders. The boy was badly wounded, but despite the loss of his left hand, he managed to stay alive. For many weeks, he lay sick and feverish in a makeshift tent while those around him made a meager attempt to rebuild what had been destroyed. Gradually, he regained his strength until finally... he emerged from his tent as the new chief of the clan."
"Then did he get revenge?" the boy asked, rocking back and forth on the floor.
"At first, that was all he wanted," Mazhar answered. "He swore he would avenge the death of his father and uncles, and that those who had a hand in their killing would pay dearly. His clan was weakened though, and in no shape for another war. Instead, Bahman decided to rebuild their village, and wait... for raiders would come again."
"And they did, didn't they?"
"The young chief proved to be right," the old man said, nodding. "It took only a few short years for a group of marauders to sweep into the village. In those years, Bahman had grown into a large, powerful man and his clan had become strong. This time, they were ready and they fought back. When all was finished, not a single raider was left alive. Convinced that his tribe was strong enough, the chief decided it was time to repay those who had slain his father all those years ago.
"They started with wandering raiding parties, attacking during the night while many were asleep and killing them to the man. In their wake, they left a trail of devastation."
Mazhar, much to the delight of Erol, went on to describe many of the fierce battles, making special note to not say anything too disturbing to the young boy. "For several months," he said, "this continued. Even with only one hand, the Bahman was a fearsome warrior. He continued to gain power as rival after rival fell to his attacks.
"Then, one night while planning a raid, one of Chief Fendir's scouts returned to him with news. He had located a village several of the defeated raiding parties had originated from. With their warriors all dead, the village was defenseless."
The excited look began to fade somewhat from the young boy's face. "What did they do?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
"The decision was not a hard one for Bahman to make, and plans were quickly made to attack the village."
"Attack the village?" Erol said, taken aback. "Why? I thought you said they were defenseless?"
"They were, and you said it yourself young Erol: Fendir wanted revenge. The following night," Mazhar continued as the boy took on a look of disgust, "the chief and his clan swept into the village. The ensuing battle was short and one sided, and very violent. As the sun rose, Bahman walked through the broken wreckage of the village, searching for anyone left alive. In one small hut, he found a young boy huddled frightened in a corner."
Now Erol looked angry. He said nothing, but sat firmly planted on the floor in front of the old man, a deep frown creasing his brow. Mazhar continued.
"The boy grasped a small blade tightly in his shaking hand as Bahman drew his sword and approached. As the fearsome chief drew nearer, he closed his eyes and looked away, seemingly resigning himself to his fate. He hoped for a quick death-."
"-I don't like this story anymore," Erol said bitterly.
The old man gave the young boy a reassuring smile. "You didn't let me finish," he chided gently. "The boy wished for a quick death...but it never came."
Erol perked up a bit at that. "Oh?"
"Instead, the boy heard a soft thud in the sand next to him. He opened his eyes to see the chief's weapon lying on the ground. Bahman looked down at the boy, deathly pale as he realized what he was about to do. He had become what it was he had set out to destroy."
"No fair!" Erol exclaimed."You knew that was going to happen."
Mazhar grinned and continued the story. "He left the hut with the boy in his arms and his sword still on the ground. From that point on Bahman had a new goal. Rather than conquer, he would unify. You will like this part, young Erol-the chief established a permanent settlement in the ruins of the old Qaliathari capitol and named it Ahgram, in honor of the ancient city that had once stood there."
"Did it last this time?"
The old man nodded. "Indeed, it did. He offered protection to all of those who sought it, and established a trained militia to defend it against raiders and marauders. Before long, Ahgram had begun to resemble a small city. Trade between it and the surrounding settlements began to flourish, even with the presence of bandits and rogue groups who would take years to dig out. But by the time Bahman Fendir died, Ahgram was clearly the seat of human power."
"What happened after he died?" the boy asked.
"The chief never had never married, nor had he ever fathered a child - but he did leave an heir who would become the first king of the new city."
Erol scratched his head, confused. "How is that possible?"
Mazhar flashed a quick, wily grin. "I'll leave you to figure that one out."
Submitted by
Nocte
Date
6/3/05
Source
Vanguard: Saga of Heroes Web Lore
Notes
Qualia Lore. Story updated.
