The History of the Refugees in Istaria
Since the earliest days of the appearance of the Withered Aegis, the peoples of the living lands have fought to maintain some semblance of balance against the terrible tides of darkness besieging the world of Istaria.
The Withered Aegis is the loose confederation of necromancer liches that was led at one point by the nefarious Torrin Macalir, and they are the enemy of all living beings within the realm. The Withered Aegis has existed since the end of the Age of the Sorcerer, and soon thereafter began their conquest of Istaria and their terrible war against the Living Races. The Withered Aegis to this day continues to wage a war on all fronts against the Living Races, though the momentum of the war has ebbed away from them with their sound defeat outside the walls of Tazoon, just a scant ten years ago.
A combined army of the Living Races held them at bay while a Hero of the legendary Protectorate, Ryson Lightbringer, gave his life by detonating a powerful artifact designed to obliterate the undead and the forces of the Realm of Blight. Lightbringer's sacrifice not only destroyed a significant portion of the Undead Horde present, but it is also believed to have brought down the very leader of the Withered Aegis himself. Even with their defeat and the loss of their leader, however, the Withered Aegis still maintains a stranglehold on most of the Frontier of Aradoth, as well as the fallen city-states of Rachival and Feladan.
The Withered Aegis as an organization is not a single entity, but rather several different sects that are united for the purpose of destroying the Living Races. Torrin Macalir's sheer power and force of will was sufficient enough to drive the Aegis toward a single, dominating purpose, but with his final demise the Withered Aegis has begun to splinter across sect lines. Each sect leader, whether they are an original member of Macalir's necromantic cabal or a powerful, sentient being from the Realm of Blight, is currently making their efforts to wrest control of the Withered Aegis fully into their own hands.
Though each sect remains unified in their desire to see the Living Races completely obliterated, they no longer share the resources and control over the entirety of the Undead Horde as they used to. Each sect leader controls their own portion of the Horde from their own seat of power with little regard for their allies (or for anything else). The result of this has been that since the Battle of Tazoon, the Withered Aegis has not gained any territory against the Living Races, and in fact has felt the sting of defeat in the limited number of skirmishes that have taken place since.
It was during the time of the Lightbringer that the Refugees actually came to be. Some ten years hence, on that dark day whence the fate all of Istaria stood in the balance upon the outcome of the battle outside Tazoon. Many living souls fell before the onslaught of the Aegis that day, yet many also stood their ground and fought, inspired by the sacrifice of Ryson Lightbringer himself.
Two such souls were we, my human half-brother Melvin Macklodder and I, upon this day. We stood in awe and wonder at the galantry with which Ryson strode out amongst the crushing undead horde advancing upon Tazoon. And whence the Lightbringer let loose his charge and the magic which he carried with him spewed forth to detonation, the shockwave left all within an arrows flight knocked low, ourselves included. It was with a heavy heart that the living people gathered there upon those fields that day came to realize that Ryson Lightbringer had been lost indeed, his charge delivered, the enemy more than well-met.
And yet, sturdier we were also. For it was not long before the word spread throughout the ramparts and the lines that the magic 'bomb' had worked and laid low the leader of the Undead Hordes bent on our destruction. Gnomish, Sslik, Human, Saris, Elvish, Half-Giant, Fiendish, and Dragon-borne alike stood side-by-side and somehow became emboldened at the news that the enemy had at last been truly hurt. And the tide of the battle turned on this, the defining moment in the war thus far. The living would not be denied this day it seemed.
As the day gave way to night, and the camps within the city walls were alight with the celebration of a truly hard-won victory, it was fitting then that my brother turned to me with tears upon his weathered face. He bade me gather all our company close, both kin and companion, that he might say something to mark the occasion of which we had all been part.
And so it was that at once I called to first our closest allies, beginning with the legendary fiend Nef Chast, of whom the stories are still spread throughout the vast Kirasanct region for his fortitude and tenacity.
Next came Chara, the elvish warrior who embodied the idea of what it meant to eb a tank. Many of the enemy ahd fallen before his prowess during the battle of Tazoon, and many more, we knew, would fall before him before his life was taken. Never a better friend could one hope to find.
Next, I turned my attention to enjoining two of the finest Sslik to ever walk the realms: the cousins, Sslarin Myrdeth, the Battlemage, and then on to Solith Islac, and was much obliged by the fact that they happily agreed to come along with me.
Next I called out to Legorian, our Druidic friend and ally to come and join the company, and to my great delight he did, and brought with him our old Half-Giant friend Dolf Treehugger, he of the northern ways.
Before returning to my brother, I knew also that I must summon our old warrior friend Faril, for he had fought so galantly and with such ferocity this day that to have excluded him would have been a great loss to us all. And as I turned to head back towards our fire, a curious thing indeed happened next...a Paladin, whom I personally had seen fight this very day and lay low some three dozen of the undead horde stepped into my path and bade me stop that he might speak with me a moment.
"You are the Cleric, the one they call Mae'Stro, are you not?" he asked.
"Aye sir, I am indeed. Imajicaan Mae'Stro, once of the proud city of Falathien. Although the Aegis have now destroyed it's famed gates." I responded.
"You healed me more than once today good cleric, and in fact laid healing hands upon so many that I lost count during the battle. Your skill is great Mae'Stro, and I was indeed within your debt this day. For this I must convey my gratitude. Should you ever have need of my skills - my blade, my spells, and my strength shall be at your side. I am Veynard."
How curious this was, I remember thinking to myself. Here I was, gathering those with whom my brother would call a council, those whom we felt we might rely upon as he had put it, and up pops this Paladin claiming that I had somehow saved he and many others during the fight (a fact I would hardly have termed as miraculous as I was simply healing anyone and everyone within my sight as fast as my spells would allow). If the day had taught me nothing else, it had most certainly taught me to take note when Istara deems you worthy enough to cast her smile towards you.
And so it was that I smiled at the Paladin, explained that I was one of a handful of companions about to meet to decide upon a course of action, and that he was most welcome to come along should he so desire. I knew now though, that I must return there to the campfire and tell my brother of all who now stood ready to hear the words that he would say, and so I did.
He turned, his great Elm Staff within his right hand and he gestured that we should sit and so each of us in turn did so. As I looked around the circle, I realized there were others present now as well. Fuzzball of the Saris was amongst these, and glad I was to see her for her skills were great I knew, and many whom I called friend and companion had worn armor made by her hand into the great battle of the day. On more than one occasion I recalled how thankful I had been for some weapon she had crafted for me, or a piece of armor which had saved my skin. She would become a great asset to this company I knew.
Alaticky the Fiendish Cleric too was there, and Xyvester the Ranger. A gathering of souls with great vision and experience indeed it seemed to me. Even a young human warrior named Bret whose acquaintance I had barely made earlier in the day, but whose steel I was glad to have had at my side against the hordes' advance this morning was now sitting, waiting intently for the words of my brother.
And then Macklodder spoke.
"My friends," I can still hear him saying, "This day has brought forth a day unlike any other in the memory of the living races. We have shown the Withered Aegis just what it means to finally lose, as we have lost for far too long now."
Cheers began to stir, and Macklodder simply waved his hand to silence them. He would have no celebration this day it seemed obvious to me suddenly.
"The cost has been grave my brothers and sisters, for the Lightbringer has given up his very life to bring us this respite from the death which the hordes would place upon us all. Would we have let him do this knowing it would bring us victory? I don't know...I don't know..." and all fell silent for a moment.
"The world is what it is this day because for far too long the peoples of the realms have been divided, at odds over petty things such as land and goods. The Lightbringer told me just last night, 'Mac, no matter what may come, the people must see that power is not the answer. Absolute power, merely corrupts, absolutely.' And I did not understand him when he said it. But when he fell today, I think I finally did."
"For how many ages have we fought amongst ourselves? For how many ages have we strived to become that 'uber' thing, that all-knowing, all-powerful thing which could most easily bend the wills of others to our own? Among each of the races you see this, in each land. And I for one will have no more. This way of thinking, this idea of 'uber' is what gave rise to the Necromancers and then ultimately to the Withered Aegis themselves!"
"Look within your hearts...look within your souls, and tell me that you cannot see this to be true..." he paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink into the company before him. And as I looked from face to face, it was readily apparent that the gathering understood him.
"Imajicaan and I will play no further part in becoming that which would destroy us all. Instead, we must find a new way. A better way. A way which will not lead to hate and strife but instead which leads to hope and peace. Some will call us outcasts. Some will simply call us crazy. I care very little what else they may say about us anymore. In the end, we shall simply be what they are not...
Refugees from the ideal that one must subjugate others in order to gain within the world of the living or the dead.
Refugees from the ideal that 'uber' is better, 'uber' is right and 'uber' is the only way. And so it is that we have asked you here...each of you in turn...each of you in your own right is a warrior and a crafter and a being of power, this we know. But can you, will you be something more than this still? Can you be your brothers keeper? Can you suppress your own ego for the betterment of all? From this day forward, Imajicaan and I will simply be what we will be...the Refugees of Istaria..."
and he let his voice trail off into the quiet of the night.
But it had been only scant seconds before our Sslikish friend Sslarin, stood up and simply said "It is my honor to live and die beside my brethren. And while the blood which runs throughout our veins may not be the same, from this day forward I pledge to call all whom rally to our cause and our banner my brothers and sisters indeed. All who would spill their blood beside me, and beside Melvin and Imajicaan, will I call brethren. I am a Refugee from all else from this day forth. My skills are yours Mac, and yours too Imaj. I pray only that Istara herself watch over us and keep us true unto this vision of a better way."
And then it was Solith, the Sslik warrior and tailor, who gathered himself up as if to go, only to turn 'round towards all who had gathered, and then emit a low rumble much akin to a belly-laugh. "You'll not be going anywhere without me you two scoundrels! I look forward to the days ahead! My steel, my arms and my strength are yours."
One by one, they all stood in turn. One by one they all pledged their lives to the war that lay ahead. I wish that I could say to you here now that we all knew just how momentous of a moment it was when everyone ahd finished and their pledges had all been sworn, but alas time robs oneself of any real perception as to the fact that you may be witness to the birth of a dream. All that you think of at the time is what it is you know you must do in order to protect those fine souls gathered with you in the moment.
And as I said at the beginning of this my friends, I am no bard, no minstrel, no teller of tall tales. I am simply an old Elf who is proud to have been there the night my brother put out this call to arms. Some who may read these words in the years to come may in fact call this the end of the story...
As for me... I choose to remember it as the beginning.
History is a funny thing after all. For it is written by the winners of the wars, not the losers, nor the soldiers who have laid down their lives in furthering the fight. The history then of Refugees is one which is still being written, still being shaped, still being fought for...
And so I ask you, what part will YOU play within the story? It is a choice which only you may make my friend. This life it not for everyone, I know. But this much I promise you unconditionally...no matter what you may decide, no matter what tomorrow brings, so long as there is life within the tired old bones of this Cleric, there will always be at least one Refugee within the world. And much like my new-found guildbrother Veynard taught me those now ten years ago...whenever you have need of us...you have but to call...a compatriot in arms will never turn their back towards one in need.
I leave you now with a thought to ponder as you make your way throughout the home of this fine companionship -
"If you walk through life with honor, then come what may you shall die with dignity."
Best Regards,
Imajicaan Mae'Stro
Guild Founder/Sovereign
Refugees
Since the earliest days of the appearance of the Withered Aegis, the peoples of the living lands have fought to maintain some semblance of balance against the terrible tides of darkness besieging the world of Istaria.
The Withered Aegis is the loose confederation of necromancer liches that was led at one point by the nefarious Torrin Macalir, and they are the enemy of all living beings within the realm. The Withered Aegis has existed since the end of the Age of the Sorcerer, and soon thereafter began their conquest of Istaria and their terrible war against the Living Races. The Withered Aegis to this day continues to wage a war on all fronts against the Living Races, though the momentum of the war has ebbed away from them with their sound defeat outside the walls of Tazoon, just a scant ten years ago.
A combined army of the Living Races held them at bay while a Hero of the legendary Protectorate, Ryson Lightbringer, gave his life by detonating a powerful artifact designed to obliterate the undead and the forces of the Realm of Blight. Lightbringer's sacrifice not only destroyed a significant portion of the Undead Horde present, but it is also believed to have brought down the very leader of the Withered Aegis himself. Even with their defeat and the loss of their leader, however, the Withered Aegis still maintains a stranglehold on most of the Frontier of Aradoth, as well as the fallen city-states of Rachival and Feladan.
The Withered Aegis as an organization is not a single entity, but rather several different sects that are united for the purpose of destroying the Living Races. Torrin Macalir's sheer power and force of will was sufficient enough to drive the Aegis toward a single, dominating purpose, but with his final demise the Withered Aegis has begun to splinter across sect lines. Each sect leader, whether they are an original member of Macalir's necromantic cabal or a powerful, sentient being from the Realm of Blight, is currently making their efforts to wrest control of the Withered Aegis fully into their own hands.
Though each sect remains unified in their desire to see the Living Races completely obliterated, they no longer share the resources and control over the entirety of the Undead Horde as they used to. Each sect leader controls their own portion of the Horde from their own seat of power with little regard for their allies (or for anything else). The result of this has been that since the Battle of Tazoon, the Withered Aegis has not gained any territory against the Living Races, and in fact has felt the sting of defeat in the limited number of skirmishes that have taken place since.
It was during the time of the Lightbringer that the Refugees actually came to be. Some ten years hence, on that dark day whence the fate all of Istaria stood in the balance upon the outcome of the battle outside Tazoon. Many living souls fell before the onslaught of the Aegis that day, yet many also stood their ground and fought, inspired by the sacrifice of Ryson Lightbringer himself.
Two such souls were we, my human half-brother Melvin Macklodder and I, upon this day. We stood in awe and wonder at the galantry with which Ryson strode out amongst the crushing undead horde advancing upon Tazoon. And whence the Lightbringer let loose his charge and the magic which he carried with him spewed forth to detonation, the shockwave left all within an arrows flight knocked low, ourselves included. It was with a heavy heart that the living people gathered there upon those fields that day came to realize that Ryson Lightbringer had been lost indeed, his charge delivered, the enemy more than well-met.
And yet, sturdier we were also. For it was not long before the word spread throughout the ramparts and the lines that the magic 'bomb' had worked and laid low the leader of the Undead Hordes bent on our destruction. Gnomish, Sslik, Human, Saris, Elvish, Half-Giant, Fiendish, and Dragon-borne alike stood side-by-side and somehow became emboldened at the news that the enemy had at last been truly hurt. And the tide of the battle turned on this, the defining moment in the war thus far. The living would not be denied this day it seemed.
As the day gave way to night, and the camps within the city walls were alight with the celebration of a truly hard-won victory, it was fitting then that my brother turned to me with tears upon his weathered face. He bade me gather all our company close, both kin and companion, that he might say something to mark the occasion of which we had all been part.
And so it was that at once I called to first our closest allies, beginning with the legendary fiend Nef Chast, of whom the stories are still spread throughout the vast Kirasanct region for his fortitude and tenacity.
Next came Chara, the elvish warrior who embodied the idea of what it meant to eb a tank. Many of the enemy ahd fallen before his prowess during the battle of Tazoon, and many more, we knew, would fall before him before his life was taken. Never a better friend could one hope to find.
Next, I turned my attention to enjoining two of the finest Sslik to ever walk the realms: the cousins, Sslarin Myrdeth, the Battlemage, and then on to Solith Islac, and was much obliged by the fact that they happily agreed to come along with me.
Next I called out to Legorian, our Druidic friend and ally to come and join the company, and to my great delight he did, and brought with him our old Half-Giant friend Dolf Treehugger, he of the northern ways.
Before returning to my brother, I knew also that I must summon our old warrior friend Faril, for he had fought so galantly and with such ferocity this day that to have excluded him would have been a great loss to us all. And as I turned to head back towards our fire, a curious thing indeed happened next...a Paladin, whom I personally had seen fight this very day and lay low some three dozen of the undead horde stepped into my path and bade me stop that he might speak with me a moment.
"You are the Cleric, the one they call Mae'Stro, are you not?" he asked.
"Aye sir, I am indeed. Imajicaan Mae'Stro, once of the proud city of Falathien. Although the Aegis have now destroyed it's famed gates." I responded.
"You healed me more than once today good cleric, and in fact laid healing hands upon so many that I lost count during the battle. Your skill is great Mae'Stro, and I was indeed within your debt this day. For this I must convey my gratitude. Should you ever have need of my skills - my blade, my spells, and my strength shall be at your side. I am Veynard."
How curious this was, I remember thinking to myself. Here I was, gathering those with whom my brother would call a council, those whom we felt we might rely upon as he had put it, and up pops this Paladin claiming that I had somehow saved he and many others during the fight (a fact I would hardly have termed as miraculous as I was simply healing anyone and everyone within my sight as fast as my spells would allow). If the day had taught me nothing else, it had most certainly taught me to take note when Istara deems you worthy enough to cast her smile towards you.
And so it was that I smiled at the Paladin, explained that I was one of a handful of companions about to meet to decide upon a course of action, and that he was most welcome to come along should he so desire. I knew now though, that I must return there to the campfire and tell my brother of all who now stood ready to hear the words that he would say, and so I did.
He turned, his great Elm Staff within his right hand and he gestured that we should sit and so each of us in turn did so. As I looked around the circle, I realized there were others present now as well. Fuzzball of the Saris was amongst these, and glad I was to see her for her skills were great I knew, and many whom I called friend and companion had worn armor made by her hand into the great battle of the day. On more than one occasion I recalled how thankful I had been for some weapon she had crafted for me, or a piece of armor which had saved my skin. She would become a great asset to this company I knew.
Alaticky the Fiendish Cleric too was there, and Xyvester the Ranger. A gathering of souls with great vision and experience indeed it seemed to me. Even a young human warrior named Bret whose acquaintance I had barely made earlier in the day, but whose steel I was glad to have had at my side against the hordes' advance this morning was now sitting, waiting intently for the words of my brother.
And then Macklodder spoke.
"My friends," I can still hear him saying, "This day has brought forth a day unlike any other in the memory of the living races. We have shown the Withered Aegis just what it means to finally lose, as we have lost for far too long now."
Cheers began to stir, and Macklodder simply waved his hand to silence them. He would have no celebration this day it seemed obvious to me suddenly.
"The cost has been grave my brothers and sisters, for the Lightbringer has given up his very life to bring us this respite from the death which the hordes would place upon us all. Would we have let him do this knowing it would bring us victory? I don't know...I don't know..." and all fell silent for a moment.
"The world is what it is this day because for far too long the peoples of the realms have been divided, at odds over petty things such as land and goods. The Lightbringer told me just last night, 'Mac, no matter what may come, the people must see that power is not the answer. Absolute power, merely corrupts, absolutely.' And I did not understand him when he said it. But when he fell today, I think I finally did."
"For how many ages have we fought amongst ourselves? For how many ages have we strived to become that 'uber' thing, that all-knowing, all-powerful thing which could most easily bend the wills of others to our own? Among each of the races you see this, in each land. And I for one will have no more. This way of thinking, this idea of 'uber' is what gave rise to the Necromancers and then ultimately to the Withered Aegis themselves!"
"Look within your hearts...look within your souls, and tell me that you cannot see this to be true..." he paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink into the company before him. And as I looked from face to face, it was readily apparent that the gathering understood him.
"Imajicaan and I will play no further part in becoming that which would destroy us all. Instead, we must find a new way. A better way. A way which will not lead to hate and strife but instead which leads to hope and peace. Some will call us outcasts. Some will simply call us crazy. I care very little what else they may say about us anymore. In the end, we shall simply be what they are not...
Refugees from the ideal that one must subjugate others in order to gain within the world of the living or the dead.
Refugees from the ideal that 'uber' is better, 'uber' is right and 'uber' is the only way. And so it is that we have asked you here...each of you in turn...each of you in your own right is a warrior and a crafter and a being of power, this we know. But can you, will you be something more than this still? Can you be your brothers keeper? Can you suppress your own ego for the betterment of all? From this day forward, Imajicaan and I will simply be what we will be...the Refugees of Istaria..."
and he let his voice trail off into the quiet of the night.
But it had been only scant seconds before our Sslikish friend Sslarin, stood up and simply said "It is my honor to live and die beside my brethren. And while the blood which runs throughout our veins may not be the same, from this day forward I pledge to call all whom rally to our cause and our banner my brothers and sisters indeed. All who would spill their blood beside me, and beside Melvin and Imajicaan, will I call brethren. I am a Refugee from all else from this day forth. My skills are yours Mac, and yours too Imaj. I pray only that Istara herself watch over us and keep us true unto this vision of a better way."
And then it was Solith, the Sslik warrior and tailor, who gathered himself up as if to go, only to turn 'round towards all who had gathered, and then emit a low rumble much akin to a belly-laugh. "You'll not be going anywhere without me you two scoundrels! I look forward to the days ahead! My steel, my arms and my strength are yours."
One by one, they all stood in turn. One by one they all pledged their lives to the war that lay ahead. I wish that I could say to you here now that we all knew just how momentous of a moment it was when everyone ahd finished and their pledges had all been sworn, but alas time robs oneself of any real perception as to the fact that you may be witness to the birth of a dream. All that you think of at the time is what it is you know you must do in order to protect those fine souls gathered with you in the moment.
And as I said at the beginning of this my friends, I am no bard, no minstrel, no teller of tall tales. I am simply an old Elf who is proud to have been there the night my brother put out this call to arms. Some who may read these words in the years to come may in fact call this the end of the story...
As for me... I choose to remember it as the beginning.
History is a funny thing after all. For it is written by the winners of the wars, not the losers, nor the soldiers who have laid down their lives in furthering the fight. The history then of Refugees is one which is still being written, still being shaped, still being fought for...
And so I ask you, what part will YOU play within the story? It is a choice which only you may make my friend. This life it not for everyone, I know. But this much I promise you unconditionally...no matter what you may decide, no matter what tomorrow brings, so long as there is life within the tired old bones of this Cleric, there will always be at least one Refugee within the world. And much like my new-found guildbrother Veynard taught me those now ten years ago...whenever you have need of us...you have but to call...a compatriot in arms will never turn their back towards one in need.
I leave you now with a thought to ponder as you make your way throughout the home of this fine companionship -
"If you walk through life with honor, then come what may you shall die with dignity."
Best Regards,
Imajicaan Mae'Stro
Guild Founder/Sovereign
Refugees
I'm not great at SC but love it anyway 
