In the fall of 340 F.A. forces gathered at the southern hills of
Nīwulai Valley. Half of them carried silvery shields with a golden sun decorating the center. They were the faithful of the
Temple of Sun, soldiers, warriors and guardians of the believers. The other half were forces gathered by the newly established
High Council, whose hunger for power had only deepened after the first taste.
The tribes of Mutōkei were unknowing and woefully unprepared for the battles ahead. When the army descended the hills in 340 F.A. the first tribe by the edge of the vast forest, left unnamed by all records, fell near instantly. The High Council celebrated a swift victory and a good beginning of their conquest.
The tribe's village became their forward base, and a road was constructed to bring in more fresh supplies from the
capital, for a great challenge awaited the army and its leaders.
Beyond the fertile fields and steady woodland near the hills of Nīwulai the ground quickly grew into a damp marshland. This combined with the untamed undergrowth and the thick trunks of many million trees provided plenty of protection from the invading army. But the sowūhua lived in small tribes all across the region, making them easy to pick out.
A Coastal Danger
Months before the campaign's begin, the Temple of Moon had sent diplomatic envoys to some of the coastal tribes, some of whom had a history of warring with their neighbors. There was little trust between the sweetly talking agents of Nuno and the honest, hardworking people of the forest, yet with enough gifts and quarantees some of them began to question whether their neighbors truly deserved to live in peace and prosperity.
One temple of Moon in a far-flung end of the world has a clay tablet recording the arrival of a single man robed in dark, crimson red robe near the center of Mutōkei. From the look of him the people thought him one of Moon's spies, yet he hurried to correct them. His master was not one of the bright celestials in the sky, but one sleeping deep below the ground. Asleep, but not wholly unaware. His master had heard of their blight and wished to offer them assistance.
What words he whispered to them has been lost to history, but when he departed the war changed. Indeed the people themselves seemed to have become completely unlike they were. An unknown threat loomed over the campaign, hidden from both the sun and the moon.
A Short, Decisive War
In the end, it took the High Council two decades to conquer the region and its people entirely. The sowūhua had come together in an alliance and learned to carve magic into wood to a devastating effect, but it was all too late.
The tribes who helped them became citizens of the nation and gained rights on the level that of a born tīnon citizen. And those who didn't were either allowed to stay as second-class citizens, ruled over by a trusted noble, or killed off as an example to others.
But there were some others whom the holy Temples kept for questioning. Those who wore dark crimson robes and whose cracked skin was gray as ash, and who spoke of tongues never recorded by a living hand. Their own people had locked them away or thrown them into the marshes, but the servants of Moon had found them.
