Lore: Lions of Kush

Once upon a time, long ago, the Empire of Kush flourished. Fruitful lands produced plentiful harvests, brave warriors returned victorious from every campaign, and people trembled in the shadow of the mighty beastmen. Merchants who took caravans to distant lands said that nowhere in the world had they seen such wealth and power. The Emperor was wise, his subjects idolized him, his enemies feared him. And all tribes, all towns and villages, all nomadic and settled races of Kush lived in peace and harmony.

It was pride that destroyed the Empire. The tribes began to clash, to find out who was stronger, to fight for the land. And the land itself seemed to betray the Kush. The climate changed, crops became poorer every year, droughts became more frequent, the desert went to war on the crops. As if that wasn't enough, on the border of the empire, in the Barony of Styx, people began to offer blood sacrifices to dark entities from the lower worlds. This led to the awakening of the ancient darkness and to the fact that from the Crimson Canyon on the lands of Kush began to climb the evil. And the people themselves, sensing weakness, began to disturb the borders of Kush more and more often. Humans are like beasts at times, and they can smell decay very well.

The Empire had been weakening slowly, for a long time. This is how a once full-flowing river becomes smaller and shallower after centuries, and after a few generations it turns into a thin stream. On the "banks" of the river-empire, other states had time to grow and fall, the Gryphon Empire was created and destroyed, kings and leaders replaced each other. But the decay of Kush inexorably continued. The evil of Styx affected everyone, not only the people who awakened it. Tribes became embittered, began to fight among themselves, shamans turned to forbidden dark magic.

Then came what humans call Cataclysm, and lions call Oru-ti-Iparum - the Night of Destruction. The land of the Kush Empire became poorer, its enemies stronger. Demons, vampires, creatures from the dark worlds became frequent guests not only on the borders, but also deep in the lands of Kush.

The gnolls were the first to fall. No one knows why, but one day they announced that they no longer obeyed the Emperor and withdrew to remote oases. The Emperor was angry, for he was still, nominally, the supreme ruler, but the glory days of the throne were behind him. Small kingdoms and principalities multiplied like desert mice in spring, power became a handful of coppers, and anyone with even a hundred warriors wore a crown. All the Emperor could do was declare the gnolls traitors. The other tribes still stuck together, no one wanted to be alone with the threat of Styx. But a bad example is easily picked up, and soon....

- Enough!

The old lion, who had been reading a scroll out loud by the fire, raised his head and looked through the fire. On the other side sat a group of youths, rowdy heads who never listened to the old men. Lion slowly rolled up the scroll, put it carefully in his belt pouch, stood up and walked closer to the fire.

- Enough of what? Enough history? Enough knowledge that Kush was once a great empire? Enough reminders of how strong our enemies are and how disparate our ranks are? You young people only want sweet tales of great victories and glorious feats, but life is not just about bright and joyous days. We live in dark times, terrible times, and if we do not know our past, we will repeat its mistakes in the future!

The broad-shouldered young lion on the other side of the fire also stood up and approached the fire. On his muzzle the expressions of contempt for the decrepit old man and reverence for the older man changed with surprising speed. Or maybe it was just the glare from the fire. The young lion looked at the old one through the sheaves of sparks, clutched his spear in his paw, and pondered. It went on like that for a few minutes, and then he spoke:

- I'm tired, old man. I'm tired of your stories. History should not be listened to, but acted out. - The lions behind the speaker roared approvingly. - If all we do is listen to the old man's rattling, soon the lousiest gnoll will be able to dictate his terms to us. We need real heroes, not ones who died thousands of years ago!

The young lion finished his short but fiery speech and returned to his seat. The old man sat down too, took out another scroll and began to read, this time to himself. Then he went to sleep, and when he woke up in the morning, he learned that a group of youths led by the bully of yesterday had left the village. The old lion scratched his gray mane, and then returned to the house and began to prepare blank scrolls. Something told him that very soon there would be something to write on them.