Tragedy of Adom-Shai
The Tragedy of Adom-Shai is a Khemite legend that relates the sad tale of a desert tribe's chieftain who promised his firstborn son the Rusati after one saved Adom-Shai's life, however he eventually renegs on his vow, unable to bear the thought of losing his son. When the Rusati arrive to claim what they are owed, Adom-Shai attacks them. As a result of Rusati magic summoning a sandstorm to obscure the battlefield, Adom-Shai mistakenly slays his own son in the battle. Overcome with grief over what he had done, Adom-Shai kills himself with the same magical spear that killed his son. A legend of some antiquity, it remains a favorite tale of many a wandering rhapsode who travel throughout Aerisca Borealis.
Summary
Hark, and lend thine ear to a tale of woe, spun from the threads of yore, when the nations of Men were young and some held sway o'er the sands. In the dawning of the Fourth Age, amidst the ashes of a monstrous war, did a hardy tribe rise from the dust, the Ma'abari, their hearts of fire and souls of steel. With cunning hand and fiery forge, they rekindled the forgotten art of metal, forging a nation that glittered like a desert jewel. Yet, their path was not paved with peace, for upon their southern border lurked the Ruhak, a bestial horde of Cynocephali, their eyes burning with envy and fangs dripping with gore.
Among the Ma'abari strode a champion, Adom-Shai, lord of Tel Jumrah, a mountain fortress that pierced the sky like a warrior's spear. His blade sang a song of death on countless battlefields, a bulwark against the Ruhak onslaught. But even the mightiest oak doth crumble in the storm, and so it befell Adom-Shai. Upon the crimson sands, pierced by a serpent's kiss of a Cynocephali arrow, he lay, his lifeblood ebbing like the tide. Then, from the swirling dust, emerged a vision, a Rusati wanderer, her eyes like pools of starlight, her touch a balm to his wounds. Ain, she named herself, and with whispered incantations, she drew him back from the precipice of death. Adom-Shai, his heart overflowing with gratitude, swore a vow upon the sands: should a son be born to him, he would be offered to the Rusati, a pledge of peace and a token of his debt.
Time, like a cunning serpent, slithered by. Adom-Shai ascended to the throne, his union with the fair Anta blessed with a son, Oshe, strong and noble as a lion. But the Rusati, those dwellers of hidden oases, had memories long and hearts unforgiving. Upon Oshe's fifteenth sun, a delegation arrived, led by the ageless Ain, her eyes burning with the fires of prophecy. Adom-Shai's blood turned to ice as the weight of his oath pressed down upon him. Fear gnawed at his soul, but the Ma'abari code of honor, unyielding as the desert heat, forbade him from breaking his word. With a heavy heart, he masked his treachery, feigning acceptance and bidding the Rusati return to their oases.
Yet, cunning breeds cunning. The Rusati, with their whispered secrets and visions of the future, had foreseen his deceit. As Oshe approached his sixteenth summer, Adom-Shai, his conscience a viper in his gut, devised a desperate plan. He dispatched his best warriors, bidding them spirit Oshe away to the distant lands of the Ksiya, where he would be safe from the Rusati's wrath. But alas, fate, like a desert wind, shifted the sands. The Rusati, swifter than a hawk, intercepted his caravan in the heart of the Senu Desert. With a final chance to fulfill his oath, Adom-Shai stood before them, his heart a drum of fear. But cowardice, like a serpent's venom, poisoned his resolve, and he ordered his men to attack.
The Rusati, their eyes blazing with righteous fury, unleashed a tempest of sand and fury. The desert, their ancient ally, rose in a whirlwind of stinging grit, blinding and maddening the Ma'abari. Blinded by the storm, they turned their blades upon one another, a dance of death within the sandstorm. When the storm subsided, the silence was broken only by the mournful cry of the wind. The Rusati were gone, vanished like ghosts into the dunes. And to Adom-Shai's horror, his son, Oshe, lay lifeless, slain by his father's own spear, the cursed Neudjat, its orichalcum tip glinting like a tear in the dying light.
Consumed by grief and madness, Adom-Shai plunged the very spear that had slain his son into his own breast. Afterwhich, beneath the shadow of Tel Jumrah, he lay entombed with Oshe and their fallen warriors, eight obelisks rising like silent sentinels to warn away all who would disturb their slumber. The Ma'abar nation, weakened by its king's folly, would crumble two centuries later, swept away by the Ruhak's relentless tide. Yet, their legacy lingered in the whispers of the wind, in the crumbling stone temples and hilltop fortresses, a testament to a people who once danced with danger and tasted the bitter ashes of betrayal.
