Post by phoenix on Nov 19, 2021 23:15:33 GMT
The giants and elves have been at war for centuries, since the disappearance of the creator god Irian and the devastating environmental disasters that followed. Generations of these two races have bled and died across Ferran under the pretense that the other was responsible for their god’s sudden departure; the war has long since evolved past that into a species-wide grudge match, blood for blood. Many ruins now dot the lands previously fortified by one race or the other all lost to time’s privations. Of these ruins there is one that is famous enough to be a landmark, it has seen so much fighting and bloodshed that it is naught but the remains of an ancient watchtower whose base is littered with fallen chunks of squared stone. This is Beloran’s Line, a place sung of by giants and only grudgingly acknowledged by elves.
Located at the crossroads where the Sulphur Plains meet the Meitus Desert and the Nares Plateau Beloran’s Line was once long long ago a Giant fort made up of the darkened basalt stone native to the Sulphur Plains with a prodigiously sized watch-tower affording its inhabitants a view across three biomes. Originally named Fort Elegrad for its first commander it survived many assaults during its watch along the Calida River, however this was not to last. After a century of being undefeated by beast or elf, a small but grand host from Irinid began its march across the Nares Plateau bearing the wealth of that kingdom in hand with the finest weapons born by the most skilled elven warriors of the time. The elvish commander brought with him some of the first magically enhanced siege weapons to demolish fort Elegrad down to its component stones and he nearly did but for one of the fort’s defenders. The following account is written by a beast-kin observer present at the time inside the fort on trade business:
“The day began rightly enough, the sky was the same cerulean blue it usually was and there were no portents from our seer in regard to the devastation to later arise. We went about our business with the other caravanners until about mid-day and were beginning to make preparations for lunch when there was a sudden ringing from the watch-tower, an alarm signal of some sort I believe as it sent the garrison of about thirty or so giants bustling about. We were not told why but all the caravanners and the travelers were told to abandon the fort for the hill yonder without our goods if we desired not to be slaughtered wholesale. By whom the soldier did not say, but his expression said much so we did as we were bid. Once retired to the hill in clumps of twos and threes it became immediately apparent as to why we were removed with such haste; an elven force of about three hundred had arrived on the other side of the river with a number of what appeared to be normal catapults. In those days if one were caught dealing with one side or another you could and likely would be put to death, thus it was a kindness for the giants to have removed us from their fort even at such a loss as our caravans…”
“When the first of the projectiles from the elven weapons struck the wall we were all sent stumbling about even as afar as we were with the thunderous cracking noise made sending parts of Elegrad’s Wall crumbling to the ground. Shocked as we were, we all could not stop our enthralled watch as the elven advance began; their armor was magnificent and it seemed to absorb the enervating rays of the sun to produce a tangible glow about each warrior. The giants inside the fort were not idle however, their own dwarf made ballistae atop the tower began to return fire; bolts for boulders as the walls around them crumbled under the withering crash of the elven weapons. It went on like that for maybe an hour or two--it was quite difficult to tell given the circumstances, nonetheless at about that junction the entire eastern wall of Elegrad had been smashed in and it seemed from our view that near half the defenders lay dead either by boulders or the arrow fire from the elves on the battlements. The ballistae sold themselves dearly, for all but one of the enemy’s siege weapons were destroyed by their accurate fire before the top of the tower was blown away and with it the last clang of the alarm bell as it struck the ground inside the walls. With that noise seemingly counting as a signal the elves charged forth at last and the last catapult ceased throwing its earth-shattering projectiles. Once they cleared the remains of the eastern wall the clash of swords began and we lost our view of the battle on the hill…”
“I had just relocated so that I might get a better view from a different and altogether somewhat smaller hill nearer to the fort when I heard it. It was a tremendous bellowing which at the time seemed to me an admixture of the cry of a great sand wyrm and Lutran bear. The noise carried over even the other dozen war-cries and seemed to be coming from one of the defenders, massive even by giant standards the warrior bore a cleaving broadsword as tall as a tree and seemed to be making progress against the first wave of elven infantry. Those giants still standing gathered around him as few as about him like cubs to a mother bear as they stood in a circle at the breach with elven spears surrounding them like a spring-trap. The ground near the hole in the wall as well as the battlements above it were littered with corpses of massive size indicating that the defense was on its last legs with the tower behind the fighters having taken an ill-bearing lean to its once stately figure. Gradually I watched as the giant I finally recalled as Beloran Scarbrant led his last baker's dozen of giants forwards into the wave of gleaming warriors pouring through the hole in the wall all the while bellowing his ululating cry which was echoed by his followers. Arrows pierced his great mail and dragged down the last of the defenders as they managed to somehow force the elven cohorts back --giant martial prowess evident even in such a lopsided scenario…”
“As the last of Beloran’s valiant defenders fell behind him in the whorl of bodies and he began to resemble a magnificent porcupine made up of gleaming spikes there was a great flapping of wings and the sun was momentarily blotted out by some massive form. In that moment there was silence on the field not enjoyed since before the first boulder was launched, all looked up to this incoming figure to watch including Beloran himself. It was a gigantic manticore flown down from one of the nests in the Calida Volcano and as it flew down towards the battlefield it gave out a roar that eerily resembled the one Beloran gave and had been giving since the start of the battle. The creature crashed into the rear of the elvish formation with a tremendous fountain of blood spraying into the air as Beloran renewed his attacks amidst the sea of bodies, first issuing a booming guffaw and then cleaving his greatsword into the sand afore him and shouting ‘This line and no further!’ Working in concert giant and manticore reaved the remaining elves in twain on each side of that declared line in the sand.."
“After the battle and with the small remainder of elves in retreat Beloran finally gave a great sigh and fell to one knee atop the great gouge he had made in the sand and he stuck his massive weapon into the ground there as though he was planting a tree. The manticore eyed him warily and having glutted itself on the blood of the elves it departed to tend the wounds it had received. When we approached Beloran’s position and more closely examined the field I can say with certainty that I have never seen ground change color in such drastic fashion. There was more viscera and armor than bare earth in that place and when we at last arrived at Beloran he was as still as a statue with a pool of crimson as its base--stone dead but truly a hero of his people…”
The sand in which Beloran carved his line has long since been blown away and fort Elegrad’s walls have erstwhile been dispersed after being torn asunder by later assaults, but his sword still remains there plunged deep in the ground and stands like a monument to his final stand. Among the giants there are a group of hardened warriors who bear the emblem of a manticore gnashing elvish spears, dubbed Beloran’s Reavers in his memory. They travel south in pilgrimage to that blood-soaked ruin and to do battle with the desert elves who travel northward to fight their kind.