The Saga Of Gwithrain

The Saga Of Gwithrain is a collection of epic poems written and interpreted by renowned bards in Dragovere from the Imperial Age and Early Feudal Era. Spanning seven poems, it tells the tale of the rise of the Dragics into their peak of power with The Founding of the Kingdom of Gwithrain in 778 BWT. There is much debate regarding the legitimacy of the historical narrative woven throughout these poems.

"AGE OF SHADOWS" By Friedrich Stormheart

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In the age of shadows, when darkness reigned,
The ancient lands of Gwithrain sustained
Life forms unknown, mysterious and old,
Where primal magics and fires untold
Flourished amidst the realms of night,
In the darkest age, their ancient light.

From southern caves, where secrets lay,
Stone tools emerged, a glimpse of the way
Of those who came before, beings profound,
Not like the ones in the modern day found.
Primitive in form, yet powers they wielded,
Harnessing fire, warmth in dark realms shielded.

Two species prevailed, in Apo's embrace,
The Excellius Luminous, their radiant grace,
And the Regalis Luminous, a rival breed,
Both vying for dominance, their hunger to feed.
As time unfolded, war cast its grim shade,
Genocide waged by the Excellius blade.

For fifteen thousand years, the battle ensued,
Rivals driven to extinction, power subdued.
Fossils uncovered, a testament to the strife,
forgotten warfare, extinguishing life.
The Excellius stood as victors supreme,
The last remnants of a forgotten dream.

In the final days of the darkened dawn,
Across Bethoried, their presence was drawn.
With farming and tools, their skills refined,
Mysticism intertwined, wisdom enshrined.
From humble beginnings, they evolved and grew,
Transformed into the Luminoids we now knew.

For centuries they thrived, in realms of yore,
Mastering their crafts, seeking even more.
But the shadows loomed, as darkness spread,
A new era awaited, filled with dread.
Yet their legacy endured, tales whispered and told,
Of the ancient Excellius, mighty and bold.

In the depths of time, their secrets lie,
Shrouded in darkness, beneath the sky.
From shadow's flame to daylight's might,
The Excellius' journey, a haunting sight.
In the annals of Dragovere's history profound,
Their enigmatic legacy forever renowned.

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"The Gwithrics" By Helga Von Eichenbaum

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In the ancient realm of Gwithrain's land,
Where Luminoids dwelled, a nomadic band,
The Gwithrics they were, a fierce breed,
Roaming the earth, fulfilling their creed.

But among them arose a distinct clan,
Known as the Dellesare, a chosen plan,
Spiritual and wise, their shamans guided,
Tapping nature's magic, their souls provided.

Through centuries of wandering, they did roam,
Seeking a place to call their own home,
On Mount Yolwe's hills, prosperity bloomed,
Permanent settlements, their dreams consumed.

The Dellesare tribe flourished and thrived,
Splitting into smaller tribes, as they derived,
The Wyro, The Drag, The Kirn, and more,
Forming the Dragic peoples, their lore.

To the east of Ram's Mountains tall,
The Dragic tribes stood proud and tall,
Hunting the Scantibeasts, mighty and grand,
Their mighty bones, weapons in their hand.

With superior arms, their power grew,
Tribe upon tribe, conquest they drew,
The Wyro and The Din clashed in strife,
Disputes over hunting grounds, igniting life.

In those ancient lands, dark times unfurled,
The Age of Skulls, a foreboding world,
Borders were contested, wars did rise,
As tribal clashes painted crimson skies.

Blood soaked the earth, the drums of war,
The Dragic tribes, in conflict they bore,
Their ancestral kin, the Gwithrics near,
A turbulent era, filled with fear.

The Age of Skulls cast its somber spell,
Warriors clashed, in a fierce farewell,
Yet through the darkness, hope did remain,
For a brighter future, they would attain.

In this age of shadows, their spirit burned,
For from the ashes, new lessons they learned,
Unified they stood, with strength and might,
To shape their destiny, to reclaim their light.

The Dragic tribes of Gwithrain's domain,
A history marked by struggle and pain,
But their resilience, like embers, would glow,
Guiding them forward, as legends they sow.

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"Rise Of Faith" by Wilhelm Himmelsang

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In the Age of Skulls, when conflicts did arise,
Among the Dragic Tribes, disputes did crystallize.
No longer just over hunting grounds or ancient feuds,
A new cause was born, stirring hearts with fiery moods.

The oracles and druids in Southern Gwithrain's domain,
In places like Sharristra and Dharz, a new faith did gain.
Idolic religions gripped warriors with zealous might,
And Holy Wars erupted, consuming day and night.

Amidst this turmoil, the Wyro held a seat of power,
Residing in Beccamad Grove, where spirits would tower.
Under Bantro's banner, their tribe expanded far and wide,
From Dragic Fields to Ardian marshes, their influence did abide.

Their lands stretched along the Mountains of Ram,
A natural border like the Drags on the western exam.
But the Wyro's dominion could not endure forever,
Yet their imprint remained, spreading faith's endeavor.

Gwithrain now divided by three distinct beliefs,
The Idolic Pantheon, Craftsman Faith, and Druidic wreaths.
The Druids, stalwart and enduring, weathered the storm,
But against Drag and Wyro, their defense was worn.

Retreating south into Ardia, they sought solace anew,
While Drag and Wyro converged, unaware of what was due.
The Wyro, a formidable force, ravaged tribal holds with might,
Drums thundered, chants echoed, spreading terror through the night.

The Wyro warriors stormed, pillaging rival idolic domains,
Destroying those who resisted, leaving little room for remains.
Some converted to Bantro's faith, seeking survival's path,
But the Drag Tribe was different, unyielding in their wrath.

Offering trade, the Drag played their cards sly,
While the Wyro plotted, preparing to strike, they'd try.
In the spring of the final century, the Wyro invaded,
Kyyunor fell, devastation and destruction pervaded.

Through Drag holds, the Wyro crusaded, leaving naught but ash,
Burning, pillaging, sowing chaos with their brutal clash.
The Drag, caught off guard, began a strategic retreat,
Burning their homes and supplies, making the Wyro's progress fleet.

Summer came, and in the final days, their final battle commenced,
The Horsdel Pass witnessed bloodshed, a fight immense.
Thousands fell, lives lost in the fray,
But the Drag stood tall, triumphant that day.

With the demise of the Wyro, the Drag tribe swelled,
Their faith, that of the Craftsmen, across Gwithrain compelled.
Their ranks grew stronger, their influence spread,
In Western Gwithrain, the Craftsmen's creed would embed.

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"The Paladin's Whisper" By Ingrid Winterdichter

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In the age of myths and rising faith,
Where conflict reigned and wars found their place,
The Drags emerged from their mountain's might,
To reclaim the lands in a holy fight.

The Mythic Era, filled with mystic lore,
Witnessed the birth of gods, their followers more.
The Drags, once isolated, now arose,
To challenge the Idolic gods' imposing throes.

The Order of the Sweeping Wind, they stood,
Champions of the Craftsmen, their brotherhood.
Through Wyro lands, their campaigns unfurled,
Sending a message across the eastern world.

The Holy Blazes, their fervent crusades,
Spread the Craftsmen's faith through Wyro's shades.
Yet their order waned, reforms took hold,
Creating opportunities for Kug Bands bold.

Celpis, Hornblowers, and Andronst strong,
They undid the Sweeping Wind's righteous song.
The Sons of Dalamaro, a new hope emerged,
Leading the Drags with faith, honor surged.

With suicidal frenzy, they fought on,
Dealing blows to Celpis, their strength shone.
But their time was short, as they fought and fell,
Yet inspiring new orders, more stories to tell.

Amidst the Paladonic Wars' chaotic sway,
The Kugs invaded, their lands in disarray.
The Sisters of Inferno, fierce and devout,
Battled Andronst, dispelling their doubt.

Led by Kephilia, a mighty force,
They scattered Andronst, their might endorsed.
Settling in the Westlands, they stood tall,
Guarding the lands, ready to give their all.

And in the final days, Knights of War Thunder came,
Led by Erik Stormstepper, their path aflame.
Purging the Hallowlands, with victories grand,
They pushed the Kugs back, reclaiming the land.

Inspiring others, new factions emerged,
As the Paladonic War slowly submerged.
Though skirmishes persisted, the Kugs were defeated,
Marking the end of the Mythic Age, it was completed.

So remember the Drags, their tales of might,
The rise of Paladonic Orders, shining light.
In the age of myths, where faith held sway,
Legends were born, shaping Gwithrain's way.

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"The Song Of The War Thunder" By Heinrich Sturmlied

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In the twilight of the Mythic Age's reign,
The Drags unveiled their city, a majestic domain.
Thundras, the city of honor and might,
Named for the Knights of War Thunder's light.

Erik Stormstepper, their commander renowned,
Declined leadership, a wise choice he found.
Drugow, the chief, chosen to guide,
Thundras prospered, its influence wide.

Sister cities, Albeya and Renementas,
Joined the triumvirate, a trinity of promise.
Dragga, the city-state, emerged in grandeur,
Expanding eastward, its power to ensure.

But fleeting was their peak, a fate unkind,
Famine struck, weakening Dragga's bind.
Renementas besieged by the Yestiri's might,
A two-year struggle, a brutal fight.

To the rescue came Komstagg, leader bold,
With War Thunder's knights, valiant and bold.
A siege commenced, their spirits high,
Yet a swarm of rats brought the enemy nigh.

Disease spread, the Yestiri fell,
But news arrived, a foreboding knell.
Ruinic warships sailed with intent,
To reclaim their ancestral land, unbent.

From the northern shores, the Ruinics came,
Craftsmen worshipers, reclaiming their name.
Sharristra, their target, Dragga's foe,
Komstagg saw disaster, a dangerous blow.

Petitioning Illudra, high chieftess revered,
Komstagg sought action, the enemy to be cleared.
But hesitation gripped, council delayed,
Frustrated, Komstagg sought the seer's aid.

The seer's words, a dire warning proclaimed,
Yet Komstagg's resolve, it remained untamed.
"To hell with seers and council's cry,
With my Paladins, I shall defy."

On Harvest's day, in the year of fate,
Komstagg assembled, Paladins great.
War Thunder intercepted the Ruinic raid,
Dispelling their forces, victory displayed.

Marching to Akeruth, a fortress besieged,
War Thunder broke the siege, the enemy squeezed.
Harkharranon's stronghold, the final test,
The siege began, as winter did rest.

With the new year, the fortress stormed,
Ruinic Raiders battled, valiantly performed.
Though Komstagg fell, mortally wounded in strife,
His actions shortening the war's dreadful life.

Dragga sent reinforcements, occupation secured,
Western and Central Sharristra, Ruinics subdued.
The war waged on for a mere two years,
Ruinics retreated, quelled by Dragga's spears.

Rebuilding from famine and war's cruel plight,
Dragga flourished, new cities took flight.
In the shimmering hours, the Great City of Warden,
A watchtower grand, their northern borders hardened.

A new era dawned, progress unfurled,
Cities vied for influence, politics swirled.
Art and culture bloomed in Dragics' hearts,
As Gwithrain embraced its new era's start.

Technological marvels, civic progress abounds,
Gwithrain's legacy, the world astounds.
From the ashes of war and famine's sting,
A new chapter emerged, a triumphant spring.

So let the bards sing of Dragga's might,
Of Komstagg's valor, a shining light.
In the annals of Gwithrain's history grand,
The echoes of their triumph forever shall stand.

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"The Dragic Stand" By Greta Nebelhain

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In the realm of Dragga, where cities rose tall,
Trade flowed as a lifeline, embracing all.
The modern holds of Dragovere took shape,
Each centered around a city, its essence draped.

Ram, Lumineer, and Warden, provinces held tight,
With Thundras, the heartland beyond the mountain's height.
Brightburn in Lumineer, a bridge between the lands,
Connecting capitals with trade's skilled hands.

To the east, Sharristra, where Dragga's presence thrived,
Governed by tribes, their pride kept alive.
Warrick, the seat of power, guarding faraway domains,
Patrolling the lands with resolute reins.

South of Sharristra, Dharz's land unfurled,
Fertile fields turning rocky, storms hurled.
A harsh realm ruled by fierce and mighty kin,
Warriors and hunters, traditions steeped in sin.

Dark magic, ritualistic training, and infanticide,
Dharz's ancient ways, its power testified.
Yet lack of organization plagued their might,
A warrior culture's strength, infrastructure's blight.

Colmgrow, west of Dharz, south of Warden's hold,
Peaceful tribes resided, prosperity untold.
Tyric, Southern, and Wyron Dragics unite,
A bustling hub of trade, Colmgrow's delight.

Centurion, the final province to speak,
Renementas, retaken, a fixture unique.
Dragga, a cultural hotbed, expanding its reach,
Interactions beyond their land, new horizons breach.

Emissaries journeyed to Illuminia's shore,
Trade negotiations attempted, tensions tore.
Dragic Humans and Maltaran Elves in strife,
Substantial trade eluded, a troubled life.

Dellesarian cousins, Rallwyn, they met,
Praetoriou Variants, with conflict beset.
The Rallwyn, mighty, Dragics held in awe,
A bond forged strong, admiration's draw.

Peace and prosperity reigned supreme,
Occasional wars disturbed the serene.
A war in the dark, Dragga against Dharz,
Losses endured, victory marked at Unnsteag's scars.

In the lands of the south, Ardian neighbors appeared,
Since the Age of Skulls, their presence revered.
Ardia, a force with military might,
King Brandt Bellamy, Gwithrain's gleaming light.

Their golden age waned, technology enhanced,
Druidic roots and desert trades advanced.
Powerful in Gwithrain, they stood proud,
Influencing far and wide, their presence loud.

In the land of Dragga, a tapestry unfurled,
Withholds and conflicts, a complex world.
From trade's lifeline to wars that tore,
Dragics endured, their legacy to adore.

For two thousand years, a decline took hold,
Once-mighty powers weakened, stories untold.
Economies crumbled, forces diminished,
As time passed, their strength diminished.

By the flickering light, shadows they became,
A mere echo of their past, a fading flame.
Yet, in history's tapestry, their mark imprinted,
Dragga's tale, a legacy undaunted.

In early fall, the days of shriveled leaves,
King Brandt and Chief Julmoore met, you see.
In Metrova, Ardian Fortress stood,
A utopian metropolis, its splendor could.

But tensions grew between these leaders bold,
Resentment built, their words untold.
King Brandt's comments, Julmoore's threats,
A clash of worlds, a clash of mindsets.

Restrained, Julmoore escaped the fate,
Back to Thundras, he returned, not late.
King Brandt's forces, Renementas they sought,
Overran the land, a cornerstone lost, distraught.

Ardia claimed Dragga's territory as their own,
Launching campaigns, leaving Dragga alone.
Summoning their Paladonic orders, Dragga fought,
Against the advances, valiantly they sought.

Messengers sent, pleas for aid,
But the Dragic holds, their help delayed.
Two years into war, Julmoore met his end,
Siege of Thundras, despair did descend.

Vandoss, Julmoore's son, took up the reins,
A formidable warrior, battling the pains.
But Draggan forces dwindled, hope seemed lost,
Desperation led Vandoss to seek mercenaries' cost.

The Northern Watchmen, a mysterious band,
Veterans, criminals, vagabonds at hand.
Led by Hror The Darkblade, their founder true,
Met the Ardian siege, their courage grew.

Joined by Draggan army, they repelled the foe,
Thundras was safe, a victory to show.
Hror and his Watchmen, honored they stood,
As Sons of Apo, worshippers understood.

Religion shifted, Adarlad worship prevailed,
Idolic practices embraced, their faith unveiled.
Vandoss rallied the Dragic holds, united they stood,
Promises of gold and religious freedom, they would.

Rallied once more, all Dragic peoples, bar Dharz,
Joined the war, defenses raised their bars.
United, they launched a campaign, fierce and grand,
Against Ardia's might, taking a stand.

Years of conflict in Centurion's embrace,
But Ardia suffered a blow, a misfortune they'd face.
The Dwarves invaded, Metrova they sacked,
King Brandt fell, their forces attacked.

Ardian front faltered, Dragic people pushed back,
Liberating their lands, reclaiming the track.
Promised payment made, alliances sought,
But conflicts in negotiations, battles were fought.

Chief Addren of Colgrow demanded more,
Parts of Centurion, a settlement to score.
No alliance established, tensions grew,
Wars amongst the tribes, their unity askew.

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"A Hero Is Born" By Otto Stein

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For two thousand years, they fought amongst their kin,
Struggling for scraps, lands they couldn't win.
Decline befell the Dragic people, powers waned,
Economies crumbled, their strength strained.

As the darkest dawns set, nothing was changed,
A mere echo of their past, a flickering flame.
Weakened forces, technology left behind,
Dragga's legacy diminished, history's bind.

But in the land of Gwithrain, where legends unfold,
A hero emerged, courageous and bold.
Yolwe, the chosen, blessed by divine hand,
To lead the Dragic people, united and grand.

In the throes of death, a dark hour came,
As the Ruinics invaded, spreading fear and flame.
Thundras fell, a city ravaged and slain,
But from its ashes, Yolwe would rise to reclaim.

Through battles and bloodshed, Yolwe led the way,
Defying the odds, turning night into day.
With a force of warriors, his resolve unwavering,
He set forth to conquer, his people's hope saving.

Brightburn, the shining city, posed a mighty test,
But Yolwe devised a plan, an audacious quest.
Sailing the Ruinic ships, through waters they flew,
Crashing upon the pier, his warriors surged through.

Brightburn was reclaimed, the Ruinic forces fell,
Yolwe sent a raven, his triumph he would tell.
Reinforcements arrived, the city held fast,
Yolwe pressed forward, his destiny steadfast.

Farwatch Keep awaited, a fortress so stout,
Yolwe laid siege, his warriors devout.
Through hidden tunnels, their path unseen,
The Ruinics were expelled, their forces wiped clean.

City by city, Yolwe's alliance grew,
Lumineer, Colgrow, and Dharz too.
With each victory, his legend did rise,
As Yolwe led his people, a kingdom in his eyes.

Sharristra and Centurion, reclaimed with might,
Ram remained, the final fight in sight.
Rallwyn and Billowmen joined the grand quest,
Through Horsdel Pass, they surged with unrest.

Ram was seized, the Ruinics pushed away,
Their lands liberated, their rule held at bay.
Yolwe's naval force, a thunderous tide,
Crashed upon Highpoint, their capital's pride.

After 13 long years, the Ruinics did yield,
Yolwe stood victorious on their battlefield.
With riches and honor, he returned to his land,
The Kingdom of Gwithrain, united under his command.

In the halls of Warden, leaders pledged their loyalty,
To King Yolwe the Great, the epitome of royalty.
With Dragovere united, and Ruinics subdued,
The Kingdom of Gwithrain prospered and grew.

So raise your voices, in tales of Yolwe's might,
A hero of Gwithrain, a beacon shining bright.
In epic poems, his legend shall forever stand,
Yolwe the Great, ruler of the Dragic land.

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