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Kaom's canoe struck this sand with the force of destiny. At his back, the greatest war host in Karui history tamed the wild sea, their canoes coupling with the land, one by one.

Lioneye's Gemlings met us with shining metal and bold words. Hyrri's arrows withered their pride. Kaom's axes silenced their despair. Marceus Lioneye fought bravely, to the last. Kaom honoured him with a place on his belt.

Kaom has shown Wraeclast our Karui strength. Kaom will teach Wraeclast the Karui Way.


Kaom has removed the Eternal stain from this coast. The Empire's citizens decorate our meeting houses with their heads. Our warriors build homes for our families. Our families till the earth, fish the waters, fill the air with song.

The Karui Way is yet a seedling here, but it grows, gains in pride and power every day. Kaom has kept his promise. The time of the Karui has come.


Black storms descend on us from the North. Unnatural tempests of rage and hatred, lashing our backs, tearing at our houses. The rain is shot with shadow. It withers our crops, sickens our livestock.

And the wind... the wind carries with it a restless spirit that breeds melancholy and madness. A spirit that creeps through our dreams, weaves tales of misdeed around our resting minds. We try not to listen. We try to remember ourselves. Some of us forget.

Brothers fight. Brothers die. Kaom punishes those that quarrel, that steal, that murder. Yet still the nightmares goad us into malefaction.

We Karui are banished from sleep.


The earth of Wraeclast rejects the dead. The black spirit of storm and dream now reaches into the ground and raises up our slain imperial foes. It leads the fallen from their graves and drives them to fight us beyond the end, rotted tooth and jagged nail.

Our own Remembered have joined their cursed ranks. No longer may we give our beloved to the birds, messengers of spirit to the sky, conveyors of flesh to the earth. Kaom has commanded us to destroy our Remembered with axe and fire. Kaom is the bravest of us, willing to bear the ire of the Ancestors for the survival of his people.


The black spirit infects living flesh and bone. The animals suffered first. Their bodies changed. Their eyes filled with a hatred of mankind that is beyond instinct.

Now it is we who must bend and bow like saplings before the seaborn gale. The firstborn of the Kingdom of Kaom greeted us this day. The firstborn of the Kingdom of Kaom was buried this day. Even our children are not spared the black spirit's touch.

What have we done to enrage Wraeclast? We look to Kaom. Our King will lay the spirit of this land at peace.


Kaom stands before us and looks out to the raging sea. He sings, calls, screams to our Ancestors to come to our aid. He offers them the Gifts of Old, a feast of heart and mind, muscle and marrow, cooked in the fire and rock of this angry land.

We have not practiced these ways in so many years. Only in the darkest of times, most desperate of times, do we perform these oldest of rituals. Only here and now may we sacrifice and consume our own. Only in our King can we trust this return to our ancient selves.


Kaom is gone. Our King has taken our finest five hundred warriors and descended into the depths of Wraeclast. He spoke to us of a vision, a gift from the ancestors. Kaom has been deceived. The vision was a gift from the black spirit. It has conquered Kaom. The black spirit has conquered the Karui Way.

Hyrri has made ready her canoes. We will take those that are left, five hundred forgotten families, and carry them back to their true homes. Back to Ngamakanui.

Kaom's promises have led us into nightmare. Hyrri will lead us back to the dawn.


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