Apophian
Civilization and Culture
Major Organizations
History
Hark! Lend thine ears to a tale of the bygone eras, whispered on the desolate winds that scour the Senu Desert. The sages record that in the Third Age, lush verdure cloaked the land of Aerisca Borealis and mighty rivers carved their paths through verdant valleys. There rose a serpent-folk of cunning and might; Yclept the Apophians by the wise men, for their true name is lost to time. These cunning and ancient beings, their scales glinting like emeralds in the sun, did forge a grand empire known as Djeti, its spires reaching for the heavens from the heart of what is now naught but an endless expanse of ochre dunes.
Alas, the serpent-kind knew not eternal peace, for a bitter foe did crawl from the shadows to contest their dominion. The Myrmex, a race of industrious ant-men, their carapaces black as night and their mandibles sharp as needles, coveted the fertile lands of central and northern Aerisca. And so began a conflict that spanned millennia, a venomous dance of claw and fang across the verdant tapestry of the land.
For three hundred thousand sunrises and three hundred thousand moonfalls, the sands ran red with the ichor of serpent and ant. The Apophians, with their potent magicks and their sinuous grace, matched the Myrmex's tireless hordes and biting blades. Battles raged across emerald plains, echoing through sun-dappled jungles, and staining the crystal rivers with the crimson tide of war.
But alas, even the mightiest empires crumble under the relentless hand of time. The serpent-folk, their numbers dwindling, their magic waning, were at last pushed back by the ever-growing Myrmex legions. The once-verdant heart of Aerisca withered under the blight of endless conflict, its lifeblood stolen by the insatiable thirst for war.
And in the final throes of this epic struggle, both victor and vanquished met their doom. A cataclysm, birthed from the very arcane forces unleashed by their millennia-long war, swallowed the land whole. Lush jungles turned to barren waste, fertile valleys to wind-scoured canyons. The Senu Desert, a monument to forgotten ambition, now stands as a silent tomb for both Apophian and Myrmex, their bones bleaching beneath the unforgiving sun.
Thus ends the tale of the serpent-folk and their doomed empire, a cautionary whisper carried on the desert wind. A reminder that even the grandest of civilizations can crumble to dust, and that the price of eternal conflict is often oblivion itself. So let the sands of time serve as a mirror to our own ambitions, and may we learn from the follies of those who came before, lest we too fall victim to the serpent's curse of endless war.
Remember, that even in the starkest desolation, stories bloom. For the echoes of the past, though faint, still hold the power to teach us, to inspire us, and to remind us of the fleeting nature of all things. So heed the whispers of the desert, and let them guide thee on thine own journey through the ever-shifting sands of time.
