Listen to the story, narrated by Touba himself
The orcs were the first foreign race that I had come in contact with. In order to further investigate them, I had to disguise myself as one of them to infiltrate their war-mongering culture.
Many would argue that Orcs do not possess Common Sense. I would argue that those who say such things don’t truly know what Orcs are like. They are every bit as gifted as humans. They have developed their own culture, language, gods, and myths. One could even say that what they do with the bodies of their victims can be considered art.
What makes an Orc different, however, is that he lives and dies by his sword. Everything surrounding the life of an Orc is centered around war and combat. The most respected among them are their strongest warriors. Children play fight since their early days, and the only achievements worth celebrating for these Orcs are those accomplished on the battlefield.
Contrary to popular beliefs, however, Orcs are empathetic. But it seems as only toward other Orcs. I once saw one of them give his life to get some time while his fellows ran from a dragon. They also take great care of their elderly. Unlike humans, they don’t age. It appears as if their brute muscles keep growing until their bodies start shattering under their own weight. It looks rather painful, but these Orcs suffer it in silence.
I did share the opinion that they should be eradicated once, hunted down to extinction. But now that I’ve seen them up close, I have mixed feelings. The love they share between them is exceptional, but the devastation they bring to other races is even greater. It is clear to me that one day, Orcs will either rule the world or disappear.
These are the cards that have been unfortunately dealt for this green-colored brutish race.
It wasn’t necessary to disguise myself to visit this race as it was with the Orcs.
The Elves come in many subraces. The one that I had come in contact with lived in the trees, using the forest as their territory and building fancy houses between the branches of the Cha’Gar, the great trees. For them, every other race was beneath them. They looked at me with nothing but disdain and seemed truly astounded that I was able to read and write in their language. I think this brought me a little respect, otherwise, they wouldn’t have taken the time to tell me their stories.
Elves can live for thousands of solar years. Their younglings are as old as our grandparents, and their elderly have lived the stories that we hear about in our legends. Perhaps their timelessness is the cause of their feeling of superiority. For them, we are all ephemeros, much like flowers that bloom in spring and die in winter. It’s pretty to watch but insignificant in the grand scheme of history.
Their innate agility makes the finest human acrobat look clumsy, and their knowledge of magic was truly remarkable.
As my time with the Elves ended, I understood why the peace treaty between them and the leaf people was so significant. It must have taken an extraordinary effort to make them talk with a human, let alone sign a peace treaty with our species.
According to the ancient legends, there was a time where all the animals were gifted with Common Sense. Beastos, the great god of animals had fallen in love with three of his creations: a wolf, with his fur so grey that it made the moon look bland; an eagle, which could fly so high that he had brought us the fire from the sun itself to throw onto his prey; and a great ape, which was so keen and amusing that he had befriended the god of games, Djichno.
However, Reham, Beastos’ wife, had discovered his forbidden love. Blinded by her fury, she threw a curse on all of the animals, stealing their Common Sense and turning them all into senseless beings. The wolf, the eagle, and the ape, however, had already made two babies each, a female and a male. Those babies retained their Common Sense, and they are the ancestors of today’s Beastmen.
The only Beastmen that I visited on this journey were the Louvas, descendants of the Wolf. They granted me passage through their territories but had forbidden me from talking to any of their kind. They looked kind, but suspicious… I wonder why.
No one thought I would return from my visit to the Moutas. In all honesty, not even I thought I could return alive.
Undead, senseless beasts. Wicked, ferocious killers. But they were so wrong. Never in a thousand years would I have thought I could understand how the Moutas think.
When I first arrived at the gates of their city, I quickly realized there was no way I could resist that putrid smell. I had to use a spell to mask it or else I wouldn’t be able to continue my research. It smelled like death itself had decided to spend vacation inside of these walls;
I prepared my pencil, ready to fight, and run as fast as I could. But then, the city gates opened and two guards appeared. They then made a hand sign for me to approach them, which I nervously did. I found myself shocked that they were actually able to speak the Human language. Their voices were barely intelligible, but it was certainly our tongue. Those were the words of the northern Icemen, one of the many I speak fluently.
I stayed with them for two weeks at the royal palace, as they offered me rather pleasant hospitality. There, their king explained their story to me. Where they come from, why they speak the Human language, and how all of this was possible thanks to Rea’s great sacrifice.
I believe that most people are not ready to hear such a story. I think that they may even harm me or take me for a crazy man if I were to tell it. But here is one thing I’d like for you to know: The Moutas have the Common Sense; they are good beings. Simply leave them alone and they will never harm you.
It’s common knowledge that there are four types of Elementals: There are those of Fire, those of Ice, Earth, and Wind.
When the great king Atlas the Second had his first son, the legend says that he had asked one favor from the gods: “May he be as brave as a Fire Elemental, as wise as an Ice Elemental, as resolved as an Earth Elemental, and as free as a Wind Elemental.” I believe this prayer represents fairly well the Elemental People.
This race does not speak any Common Language, but they do have Common Sense. During the time I spent among them, they made sure that I felt like I was home, as they were one of the most welcoming people I have ever seen.
Their warriors are among the bravest, but they do not wish harm on nearly anyone, at least as long as their current king stays alive. They do, however, detest the Old Ones. Their hatred for these people is so great that every Elemental I had met transformed completely when we started talking about Old Ones.
I believe this has to do with the story of their creation, which is another subject that might become a threat in the future in their quest for life. Elementals do not age as humans do. They live as long as they do not fall ill or get severely injured. They cannot bear children either. If they continue like that, one day or the other the last one of them will expire and they will disappear.
This idea seems to haunt each and every one of them.
In order to find Djinns, I had to travel all the way toward the top of the great Yuki’we volcano. It proved to be quite a challenge, as it was not only a long journey, but it was also a dangerous one. I nearly fell from the mountain’s edge a bunch of times, and the heat was otherworldly.
The Djinn mostly resemble children, only caring about the present. For them, leaving the problems of tomorrow to tomorrow is their way of life.
It was also the first time that I had seen a flying being with the Common Sense.
They prefer to live mostly in inaccessible, remote regions. In fact, this was one of the easiest Djinn communities in the known world to access, and I had to climb an entire volcano to find them. It is, unfortunately, necessary. Otherwise, adventurers, or as I prefer to put it, greedy characters from all other races would surely hunt them down to extinction, due to the myth that states that killing a Djinn would grant you a wish.
This is also the reason that they have become formidable combatants. Their weapons are beautiful things kissed by fire magic, which is something that I had never seen beforehand
I felt rather sad for them. They have the Common Sense, but their constant fixation with the present and only the present was stopping them from putting it to good use. And their constant fear of being hunted has, in its turn, stopped them from enjoying the moment.
The Old Ones
What can I say about the Old Ones?
They didn’t harm me, and I believe that they didn’t try to fool me. However, during all of the time that I was among them, I felt an unfamiliar energy. It was as if something somewhere planned on harming me.
The Old Ones call themselves Kehena. They are masters in all of the arts of magic. Their Great Library of Magical Studies is undoubtedly amongst the most magnificent buildings I have ever seen.
Ironically, despite their name, the Old Ones don’t live not even as far as Humans do. Their elderly population is around thirty solar years.
Everyone calls them Old Ones because they don’t appear in any other legends. It’s like they just came into existence, somehow. I tried asking them about their origins, their stories, and myths, where they came from, and what their stories say about all of this.
Their answer intrigued me: Their wise scholars told me that what has already happened is not of their concern, but the future is where their eyes are at. They look forward to tomorrow, and strive only to create a harmonious world. A world where no wars exist and no blood is shed.
A world where aging is just another illness we can cure with magic.
In the eyes of many, the angels are nothing besides a myth. By the end of my journey, I was also convinced that they do not exist.
While climbing down from Yuki’we, however, I tripped, as the road is harsh and difficult, and found myself in the air heading to certain death, fumbling around my things to get my pencil and use an armor spell.
Before I inevitably hit the ground, however, something grabbed me in the air by my shoulders. They then brought me back to safety, gently putting me on the ground.
As I turned around to see my savior, I saw that there were two of them. Just like in the stories, they were made of something that I’m yet to find enough words in all of the languages I speak to describe. I don’t even know if I should call them things or beings. “Next time, be more careful,” I heard a powerful, strong voice saying, but didn’t see their mouths move not one bit. And with that, they flapped their majestic white wings, and with the blink of an eye…
They were gone.