The Tribes of the Shifting Sands

In the Beginning

The sun, as it did every day since the beginning of time, began its ascent from the western horizon. Warm rays streaked across the landscape of the beautiful world of Felrin. The fresh layer of snow upon the cool peaks of the towering mountains glistened with an awe-inspiring glow as the star around which this world circled fought back the frozen abyss of the heavens. As the waves gently made their way to the coast the beaches sang in a magnitude that lies so far from a mere mortal description of beauty, nor is there any possible manner in which a being so unworthy as a man could ever learn to fully comprehend.

A serene breeze swept through the grasses lying in the vast plains of Felrin, where each blade of grass laid down its will to that of the swaying wind. The trees, too, bowed ever-so-slightly to the calm gusts, yet, with enough thought it was far too simple to see the significance of an aspect of nature that held such a tangible strength and importance to bow in respect to an invisible power that could release its anger at any moment. All the land held an abundance of life in all its elegance. A masterpiece of art by the Mother of all Nature had been so generously given to the canvas of Felrin's landscape. However, as many elements within the human mind art is in the eye of the beholder, and such a philosophy depends on the openness of one's mind to the miracles of beauty.

At one time, all of Felrin had been blessed with such a peaceful miracle of creation, but as many things its existence suddenly fell into the hands of man. Any human alone seems to be of a wise manner with little need to consume and annihilate excessively. However, it is far too evident to ignore the destructive tendencies that man as a whole seems to posses. Thus, the coarse hands of man held onto Felrin greedily with a blood filled lust in their eyes. The fate of the world would never return to its previous state.

War erupted between the tyranny created over every man and those who held faith and hope with leaders free from corruption. Arcane magic from the halls of ancient ruins, locked far from the minds of man where it could be used for any purpose. Unknown to humanity was the terrible reasoning behind the burying of such knowledge, for the understanding that some things should remain hidden was not one they were equipped with. Tearing the very fabric of reality, the followers of this evil wisdom wielded this power in the last of the battles that was to conclude the war to end all bloodshed for eternity on Felrin's landscape. The scorching flames and wails of demonic spirits enveloped the sky in massive vortexes and the endless, seething abyss of black holes was conjured upon the battlefield. Alas, these Warlocks were not isolated to a particular side in this epic struggle. Eventually, after the very material of men's souls were defragmented and absorbed into the arcane dimension swallowing entire armies, the land w as at last still. The war had been ended and tyranny, as most do in their fateful end, was overthrown.

Whispers of arcane abominations within the unnatural mist that was found to be the only remaining essence of the daemonic magic summoned into the dimension of reality continued to wander into men's minds, driving them insane with the illusion of pain if exposed for too long. In anger the last who stood after the onslaught, due more to the cursed magic of a dark dimension than to the tangible strength and steel of another man's weapon, struck down the remaining warlocks. The tablets that contained the unholy texts of this magic were swallowed by the earth, by the shifting sands that were comprised of the only remaining matter of Felrin's landscape. Only then did those who survive and those who had dwelt within the western half of Felrin's only continent notice the abrupt change to the world of Felrin. The Mighty Dunes, the Sea of the Shifting Sands, the Barren Oasis, and the Wasteland of the Dead were only a few of the many names of this new and unfamiliar environment that had risen from the ashes of the greatest war the land had ever seen, and bore the scars to prove it. Yet, even as hope began to dissipate from those simple men who had lived peacefully with their land for innumerable generations, a calm voice carried by the winds from the western shore restored their hope with a truth that held a promise of salvation through faith. So began the division between the people of Old Felrin and those of the new or as they soon began to call themselves, the Qelnari, a name crafted by a language derived from the spirits of nature that had pleaded with man for so long to heed their call but had only gathered their inpatient and short-tempered attention after a war had shattered all hope. They had christened themselves the Tribes of the Shifting Sands. One destiny of Felrin had been exchanged for another.

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