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« on: June 26, 2010, 07:27:42 pm »
Note from the Author: This is the last installment of the original histories I wrote. The other races are based on other people's writing, so I will not be posting them. As with the other stories I wrote, these are not official histories, nor ever will be, so should not be referenced in any official GM events or game quests. I give these to the players of PS to read and enjoy. What you do with them unofficially in your roleplays is up to you.
Xacha Homeworld and its Last Days
Original Scribed in 422 AY by Eduxa Xant-Areth
Copied for public use in 750AY
As the time of the Forgetting draws ever closer, I write my last history. It is the most familiar and close to my heart, for it is that of the Xacha, my people.
Though I was born a generation after the passing, the history of our race is strong, and the stories of our once great civilization filled my childhood. My people never saw the things the other races called 'stars', as our world drifted in a cloud of violet-hued gas held in a ring about our suns. This plunged our world into an eternal twilight. I regret with all my being that I never saw the twin dim suns of red and blue that drifted across the violet sky in the day, merging and parting as they circled each other, or the violet streaks that danced in the whole of the sky at night. I have seen artists' renditions of the sight, but it will never replace the feeling of actually being there. For many of the other races, Xachan may have seemed like a dim world of perpetual gloom, but to my people, it was paradise.
The foliage of the land was glossy black and gave some small amount of fruit, but the main source of food was the plentiful fish of the deep and calm waters of our many seas. The abundant food and consistently mild weather let the Xacha population expand beyond that of any other race that I know of, reaching into the billions. In truth, no other race besides the Lemur had a concept for such a large number. No part of the Xacha homeworld was untouched or uninhabited by some small part of the massive population. Procreating laws were strictly enforced to prevent overcrowding. Ease of life and few children per family brought about a culture devoted to the study of science and knowledge. Vast libraries and Academias dominated the landscape of every city.
The story of my people's downfall is neither long, nor complex. A terrible plague struck, marching through the lands. The sickness was insidious, spreading before any symptoms began to show. Even when the signs became apparent, the people did not yet know they were marked for death. The first thing noticed was bones becoming very fragile over the course of several weeks. The hospitals soon filled to capacity with the victims of fractured bones. The next stage of the disease is almost too cruel to speak of. Digestion ceased to function, and the infected slowly starved to death. Though food was never in shortage, famine and death spread like a dark wind across the lands. My ancestors could not trace where the mysterious ailment originated, nor how to stop it. Even the knowledge and science of the best minds could find no cure. Desperation took hold of the people. Fighting broke out as they tried to wall themselves off from each other, only to find the plague had infected them already. Cities became mass tombs.
Only one small city is known to have escaped the horror, located on a remote peninsula in one of the far seas. The only way to reach the town by land was a long, rocky trail though rough hills. When word of the plague came to them by carrier bird, they collapsed bridges and caused rocks to fall on the path. A year passed, and no word came from the outside world, though many carrier birds should have been left in the aviaries. They dared not send anyone to investigate. After countless centuries of grasping for knowledge in all forms and attempting to discover the very secrets of existence, the last of my once great people huddled behind the walls of their own city, trapped by this one unknown. There they would have perished, had another mystery not suddenly revealed itself. A magical force opened in the center of the city. The portal did not seem to hold any danger, and curiosity quickly overcame fear. The people had never experienced magic before, so did not know what it could be. They eventually came to the conclusion that it was a hole to another world, and perhaps safe haven. The last 3,643 survivors of the Xacha race gathered up all the food and every book they could carry, and went through. Unknown to them, one person had become infected, and the plague came with them. The sorrowful and miraculous events taking place after the crossing shall be covered in another volume.
Given what I have learned from the history of the other races, I have come to a new understanding of my own people's past and perhaps a greater meaning for all of us. Every race I have written of has suffered catastrophe beyond endurance. This is the one thread, the one commonality shared by all our people. Our worlds died. By fire, ice, rot and madness, plague and invasion, death walking, arcane wrath; we have witnessed all of these as the very land that gave us life was forced to cast us out. There is something fearful in that knowledge. Was it mere coincidence that our worlds all ended near the same time, or was a greater force at work? Did something change in the vastness of existence? Did other worlds suffer as ours have? How many other peoples were not blessed with the gift of the Portals? These are questions that may never find an answer. By the will of the gods, I hope I am wrong.