Difference between revisions of "Tzolkin"

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THE TZOLKIN GUILD
[[Category:Former Guilds]]
           
"This is your first blood sown into the roots. We all start on the same path - with the same kill -
but now your purpose diverges."


                        [GUILD LEADERS]
For when a cultist swears their oaths, they sow but a drop of their blood into the roots of a
              Arbiter of Blood: Kanthari
sapling, binding themselves to the Black Grove. As the years pass and the roots churn, a tree rises
                  Secretaries: Ahkan, Katalina, and Rowynn
from the earth. It becomes old-growth, ancient; a symbol unto the Khandava: our sword and shield.
          Council Affiliation: Khandava
But when their time comes to pass and the glory of their youth has long faded, the Dryad splits the
            Guild Professions: Deathknight, Defiler, and Wytch
bark to devour the heartwood, and burns its dead flesh to ash.


It was in the year 667 that a great meeting was held between the leaders of the
A successor rises. They plant a seed in the ash of a dead era and water it in new blood. Another
Wytchen and the Limorasi. After nearly two centuries of hostilities, an accord
tree shall grow in its stead. Life begins anew.
was met - the perpetuation of shamanism and the preservation of the demonic arts
set above all else. In this, the Tzolkin forged a path which their forefathers
would never have dared tread, renouncing the spirits that had once set them to
their brethren's throats in a ritual of death and battle of fearless will. No
more would these shamans be but pawns in the Netherworld's endless war.


When machinations of this ritual were heard, the Dryad and the Hanged Man rose
All of Khandava feels the pull of the Leechwood tree. It is the pulsing of roots beneath the soil,  
to lend fuel to the fire of a mortal rebellion, sending whisperings to the ears
and the stale wind whispering amidst infested trees. It is the spore, the sap, and the heartwood of  
of those who would listen that they could offer purpose and glory - the glory of
the Council. When a Khandavan child is born, they are blessed by the blight's offerings. When a
demonic councils and cities awoken to the world through the guidance of blood.  
Khandavan falls, we seed them into the roots to begin anew. Death is nothing but a force that begets
In those quiet tendrils of whisper, the Tzolkin arose to direct that life and
life. And when that cycle is broken, it is a power that rests within our hands. Blood follows blood.
will its true potential into a sole purpose: the perpetuation and power of their
homeland.


Lending reverence to the Dryad and the Hanged Man, the Tzolkin exist to direct
Within the gloaming bowers of the Black Grove, we pay homage to the Leechwood, whose boughs we sow
demonic spirits, holding their wards with honor while unleashing them upon
our blood. Seeded anew each time an oath is taken, a cultist's tree is razed to ashes when their  
Aetherius with malintent. To cross a shaman of the Tzolkin is to suffer the  
time has passed. This is what binds the Grove to the Council. This is what binds us, one to another.
wrath of these spirits, with practitioners bringing curses, shamanism, and the  
That is what the heartwood whispers to the Tzolkin beneath the low autumn moon, amidst the dead and  
very magicks of the earth through runelore, to swiftly and decisively direct the
dying leaves. This is the sound of the roots, churning beneath the blackened soil. "You are us,"
flow of blood - the flow of life.
they seethe, burrowing down into the Pit.


==See Also==
We are the Tzolkin. The Tzolkin are Khandava.
* [[Guilds]]
* [[Nation States|Cities & Councils]]
* [[Main Page]]
 
[[Category:Guilds]]

Latest revision as of 14:25, 17 October 2017


"This is your first blood sown into the roots. We all start on the same path - with the same kill - but now your purpose diverges."

For when a cultist swears their oaths, they sow but a drop of their blood into the roots of a sapling, binding themselves to the Black Grove. As the years pass and the roots churn, a tree rises from the earth. It becomes old-growth, ancient; a symbol unto the Khandava: our sword and shield. But when their time comes to pass and the glory of their youth has long faded, the Dryad splits the bark to devour the heartwood, and burns its dead flesh to ash.

A successor rises. They plant a seed in the ash of a dead era and water it in new blood. Another tree shall grow in its stead. Life begins anew.

All of Khandava feels the pull of the Leechwood tree. It is the pulsing of roots beneath the soil, and the stale wind whispering amidst infested trees. It is the spore, the sap, and the heartwood of the Council. When a Khandavan child is born, they are blessed by the blight's offerings. When a Khandavan falls, we seed them into the roots to begin anew. Death is nothing but a force that begets life. And when that cycle is broken, it is a power that rests within our hands. Blood follows blood.

Within the gloaming bowers of the Black Grove, we pay homage to the Leechwood, whose boughs we sow our blood. Seeded anew each time an oath is taken, a cultist's tree is razed to ashes when their time has passed. This is what binds the Grove to the Council. This is what binds us, one to another. That is what the heartwood whispers to the Tzolkin beneath the low autumn moon, amidst the dead and dying leaves. This is the sound of the roots, churning beneath the blackened soil. "You are us," they seethe, burrowing down into the Pit.

We are the Tzolkin. The Tzolkin are Khandava.

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