Server Lore | The Village of Leikell

[Syndraell]

Once we were lost. Ages ago, our Ancestors wandered around the great lands; seeking a home to call our own. We sent scouts out to look for a place that could be ours. We grew tired of travelling and the Elders of our clans were getting too frail for the journey. We were distraught, devoid of hope and starving. After many years, still travelling, we had joyous news reach out from the grapevine. A thriving, welcoming Community had been found by our scouts a weeks travel North from where we were camped. We sought salvation in this Community, even though we were at the brink of existence; hungry, cold, scared... but determined and filled with hope. We tread across mountain range, across desert, and even through a battlefield where the discarded remains of shattered weaponry cut our bare feet, allowing infection and disease to set in. We pressed on, the healthy aiding the weak and injured - for we had nothing left but hope. I was only a Child when we arrived the settlement. It was abandoned; it's houses set ablaze, its fields empty. We met some scouts who got here before us. They told us about their Leader, who feared a Demonic Army coming to destroy them. My Father asked the Scouts who had seen the people leaving what they told us to do. That Scout saluted him and said "Run Leikell". From what we could scavenge; we prepared ourselves for this demon army. We planted what seeds we could find in the fields, took whatever we could find to eat and used anything we could find to fashion as weapons. The Demon Army never came. The Elders decided we were to try and make the settlement work, under our control. Soon other tribes found us and joined, but we always asked about the illustrious Demonic Army. Not one of the tribes would answer - until one day a boy a few years younger than me he hid behind his Mother, his little face riddled with distress. I curiously asked the child what he was so afraid of and he told them... "You look like demons...". It dawned on all of us - we were the Demonic Army. Men who're strong, yet looked like they were the shambling corpses of the dead; clothes ragged with their feet leaving trails of their victims and disease behind us. (Or so the stories go...) If only we did not frighten them away. We could have learned much from them. Instead, we learn from what scraps we can find. Eventually, we learned how to read, write, and other things that have made us into a strong settlement. Even In my old age, I remember the struggle. I remember the pain we all felt. And now I feel the weight of the sands of time bearing down on me... I fear I will not be in this world much longer. For this reason, I have written down what I can to help the future generations. I can only hope that those who fled us "Demons" will return to us one day, to where we can apologize for scaring them so. I leave the settlement in the hands of thine successors. ~ Avendel, Son of Petraemul

*Behold the next page of this old faded tome, a list of names that are dated roughly 400 years old...*

The final name in the book is one "Arthur Petrimol"

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