Fantasy Book Teaser 2: The Master Tells the Pupil About the Ethnic Groups in their World.

Follow all the teasers! They will give you an idea about the content of this big fantasy novel that still has no definite title.

Fantasy Book Teaser 2: The Master Tells the Pupil About the Ethnic Groups in their World.

 

Dear pupil,

Most do not know…

 

Most do not know the nature of the races that inhabit the world of Ornaphesa. Just as many of them do not know the shocking evolutionary pathways that lie beyond the first circle of reality, the Zonis Manifestis. So they hold on to their reassuring stereotypes.

 

Have they forgotten the tales of Motom Horvix, who brought war from the far barren lands in the North to the comfortable lands in the South? Those savage beasts from Xortaeron, only remotely human, that trade in the skins of the demonic monstrosities that roam their plains and with which they melt together during their outlandish rites of maturity?

 

To make things worse, the world has turned a blind eye to the whispers of those who deal in horrendous nightmares, a dark cult that is still connected to the ancient ways of Aeran-Mortu Sclepiaczu, who brutally sacrificed so many innocent souls at Veccara. Instead they let themselves be deceived by the colorful costumes and rituals of a religious organization that seems corrupted by worldly obsessions. Do they not fear the truth that remains hidden behind their veils of ignorance, are these Eccarians fooling themselves with those extravagant masks they wear day and night?

 

Then, abstract and moderate they may seem, but the appalling tiny, skinny Zartians use their famed intelligence and tireless endeavors to scheme their little plans, with ambitions far from little. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that no one ever asks how their skins got that silver pigment and how they all lost their hair? Could it have something to do with what may well be the biggest secret known to man, the method by which the legendary Zeljko Stojec had been able to canalize the metaphysical – called magic by the ignorant – into the controllable energy source used by all modern technology?

 

But when one needs to visualize fear, one could easily imagine those that are considered fear-made-flesh. Of them, the Orburironese, it is said that whatever soul they’d got, was lost to them ages ago and what remains are the black, spiky exoskeletal bodies, followed closely by an almost formless, ghostly shadow. Wrong it is to feel secured by the thought that those silent, invisible killers are minding their own icegod-worshiping business behind Furriuk, the construction that seperates the illusion of civilization from insanity. Sure, a great war may have been prevented, but the craftsmanship of Duritasa may yet resurface when we least expect it.

 

Once, the educated genii of Pryosopha might have been able to provide counsel, when they were many, proud of their tanned skins, diligence and artistry. Now, they are few, and have exchanged their shorthaired, well-groomed appearances with dark braids and an arrogant attitude. Perhaps the aristocracy hires such species, not because of their wisdom, but for the mere exclusive fact that they are almost extinct.

 

The unbeatable efficiency and perfection of Covanentumese society does not reflect an equal perfection in her small blonde people. Stubbornly, they refused the inspiration from cultures greater than their’s, thereby missing the final steps to greatness. Not only their geographical unity was split into two weaker nations – the lesser of those being Covanentum Denui – their whole character was sliced into two dependable pieces of helplessness.

 

The gaps these nations – if they deserve such a designation – leave, favor those sagacious plotting aristocrats who, calling themselves “Upeccians”, are masters of subtlety, patience and manipulation. Were it not for their obsession with beauty, vain complicated philosophies and material wastefulness – to which the enigmatic, unseen Azzmirahi form a living testimony – they would surely rule where other races failed to rule. Their artificial pink and purple skin pigment reminds us of their weaknesses, but at the same time masks their true power of influence, an intricate web that cannot be untangled by one single living soul.

 

It is said that the balance could be restored by the only entity that actually understands the reality beyond the scientifically explainable world. Calling themselves Lusors, they had the arrogance to think they could turn the ungraspable into an art form, calling it “Omniscillation”. But whatever their intimidatingly impressionistic Consilium Lectori pretended, it was pride what doomed them. What knowledge remained was soon banished into the realm of the unknown, just as the art itself, though some claim it has never left this world entirely.

 

Should we believe the few unusual voices that claim they met the same fate as the Mayiora, our so-called common ancestors who were once peaceful nomadic hunters and were outcompeted by a modern branch of farming settlers? Where is the evidence of, or any credible reference to the spiritual planes where they went, according to these old, senile, incoherently mumbling windbags?

 

It cannot be ignored that in this chaos lies an opportunity, for the only nation that is still self-conscious enough to take the lead. We, the Oragenese, may once have been called hopeless romanticizing storytellers, with a past that is also rich in woolly superstition, embodied in legends as Purperland and Bentamare. Whatever one chooses to believe, history has shaped us into natural leaders and conscious decision-makers. And the time to act and surpass the others is NOW.

 

Your teacher

Love for writing and people