The Beginning of the Armagen
Many years ago (for humans, at least), the Armagen started in their more traditional, less modern form. They were a species of wolf-looking hybrids, standing on two legs and having four fingers (one of which an opposable thumb) on each hand. They mostly kept to their own, living in calm, temperate regions and thriving on their own. That's how it kept going, too. For hundreds of years they lived in solace, peace, and prosperity, as that's how these stories always begin. There wasn't much to comment on, either. They formed their society, making forms of money, government, power, and industrialization. They were quite witty, too.
The Armagen were born forgers and blacksmiths, able to think of what they wanted to make while they were already pounding down on the metal. Their brains were quick to develop, analyzing their surroundings and gaining measurements from them to use in other locations. Their feudal society, while not perfect, was certainly better than most, as above all Armagens knew honor and respect to one another. Of course, this did not quell out crime or hostility, as there was plenty of that, but it helped.
Quickly, the Armagens began to figure out how to plow things. Where water flowed, which channels to grow crops around. The River Thrusi was unpredictable, flooding frequently around the summer, but the adaptive Armagen began to predict when it would flood, and to some avail this worked. Farmers worked around the clock when flooding was suspected, quickly harvesting their yield and waiting to plant more until after the rush of water destroyed the ground. It was nice after the floods came, however, as the Armagen gathered around the floods and collected water in leather sacks, and since the refreshing liquid had run through the elements, it was mostly purified already.
After the rapid flooding, the waters settled, and although the channel did move a few miles in any direction it chose, the rich, fertile soil it left behind was worth the extra work. Farmers quickly planted their seeds into the ground, running their plows through the dirt and covering plants with beautiful soil. This improved the growth yield greatly, and the Armagen harnessed this, able to feed their population easily, even if it doubled instantly. They had the ability to feed them.
From farming families quickly rose to other jobs, as many wanted to branch out and support themselves in other ways. They couldn't keep living in homes that felt like they'd fall apart if a rock hit them, so when farmers had children, those children commonly became architects, studying how gravity worked and what would be stable if you placed something on top of a certain structure. Others became constructionists, making materials to make sure the buildings the architects built could actually stay together. From this society began to form for the Armagen, and money was soon created. People would hire others to build things for them, being paid in a, at the time, very rare metal of bronze. A banking system was soon created, too, for some to store their money into very select areas that could be kept safe.
After the discovery of iron, blacksmithing became the new craze in the job industry for Armagen. From the early 500BCE until the present day, Armagen have been natural born blacksmiths, forgers, and weapons experts. This period marks the beginning of innovation, as the Armagen found rich veins of iron and copper below their home, and they never stopped swinging their pickaxes nor their hammers. The moment iron was placed on the anvil, Armagen began making more durable plows, better and stronger pickaxes, sharper axes, shovels that could dig deeper and for longer, and, most importantly, armor. Large, heavy armor that protected their form and all sorts of weapons that they could arm themselves with.
They soon became a strong, stable civilization that advanced quite quickly for the time that they were in.
However, as with all growing, successful societies, there is a fall.
A new threat emerged from the low valleys surrounding Mount Ilian. A low roar covered the lands, and the wildlife quickly began to die. Trees, crops, and plant life soon left the Armagen homes and fields. Their livestock too was gone, and search parties were soon sent out to discover what was going on. This wasn't normal, none of this was normal. The more religious of the race began to believe that someone had done wrong, that Black Magic (a common phrase which almost all languages knew of) had been summoned. While the Armagen were never religious in general, only boasting about a 2% religious following and belief throughout the entire race, more began to believe them.
And, certainly, a form of Black Magic was upon them.
Out of the shadows of the Dead Forest walked an Armagen. Many began to approach her, Nemeia, as she was the leader of the scout party sent to discover the horrid happenings of late.
She wasn't herself.
Her body was rotting, and the stench soon met everyone's nostrils. When light hit her corpse, people saw that it was being animated. Red, black, and purple colored tendrils emerged from her body, boasting spikes. It pushed through every crevice imaginable. They were coming from her ears, nose, holes in her body from an unknown attacker, and the largest coming from her mouth, which had replaced her tongue. One of her eyes had a tendril coming out of it, and the remaining eye was looking at her fellow Armagen, crying. While she couldn't talk, many knew of what she wanted; death. She was alive, this… thing taking control of her body, and she didn't want to feel the pain of it digging into her bones and organs anymore.
They gave her relief, but it wasn't swift. It wasn't merciful, and it wasn't easy. The threat that they face had seen combat before, dispatching a many number Armagen before someone finally got the killing blow. The tendrils screeched in a language they had never heard, dubbed as "Black Speech," and forced its way out of Nemeia's body, shuffling against the dead grass. Many ran towards it to kill the creature, and with enough time and plenty of broken weapons, the organism fell silent.
Nemeia looked up at her friends and family, quickly dying after the beast had left her. It seems that it was also supplying her with nutrients and the ability to live, as the Armagen weren't able to extract a word out of her. Now they just had a corpse and a lot of questions. The universal conclusion is that they were not safe, and if there was just Nemeia's body coming, then that means that their scout teams, which was a total of thirty Armagen, would be coming soon. They couldn't deal with that type of threat, because just from Nemeia's body alone this demon had killed seven others and injured another ten. It wasn't worth staying here.
They decided to leave, to undergo their Great Migration. They packed what they could carry and left, abandoning their home of Armenia. Castles and walls stood against the test of time, and to put more salt in the wound, in two thousand year's time, they would be remembered as another part of the Roman Empire. Just another capitol and civilization that was taken by humans. The Romans had taken Armenia alright, but because it was already there.
The Armagen walk north, and as far as they could. If these demons came from the volcanic regions of Mount Ilian, then they would move somewhere colder, somewhere that the Beast couldn't follow them. The climates and ecosystems around them changed, from great oaks and endless plains, to large spruce trees and rocky paths. They even encountered a few humans, those of the old who would become the Russian Empire. While suspicious and somewhat hostile, they were still able to be bartered with, and the Armagens traded their valuables for much needed food, water, and supplies. The Russians left them with a parting gift of protection, a ward which sat on a necklace. It was said back in older times that wards could protect you from many things: the elements, starvation, dehydration, and even darker forces which might not be able to be fought against.
It is still up for debate about what this ward was for, but the Armagen took it steadfast and continued their journey. They continued past the Russians, heading towards the arctic lands above known to all only as the Highlands. None had ever inhabited it before, as the mountains were too steep and the land was hardly suitable for crops. The Russians saw where they were going, as they had a nice view of the Highlands, if distant, and simply laughed at the hybrids as they walked by, calling them idiots and fools for daring to even brave the mountains, much less the cold.
Yet the Russians knew not of the perseverance the Armagen brought with them. They solidified that night with the corpse of Nemeia that they would best the challenge of anything they came across; if it blistering heat, freezing cold, or the inevitability of death, then so be it, they would continue. They would prefer anything over the reanimation of their own bodies, no matter the cost. That was their largest dishonor and embarrassment among their own people. It was not only looked down upon in Armagen society, but it was also devastating, as now the Armagen, usually family members, by chance, had to kill their own loved ones as they were possessed by demons that tortured them back to life.
They entered the Highlands, and immediately were slapped with blunt, freezing winds. It seemed that Mother Nature had forsaken this place, as even though the wind gust was going past them and the mountains should have stopped these lashing blows, they continued regardless. Some too weak to continue fell down in the snow instantly, with their friends picking them up and braving the weight of their bodies as the race continued to climb up into the peaks.
The journey itself was devastating for the Armagen. Many were left at the base of the mountain to, at the very least, try and grow food and gather materials to climb the rock faces. Others, the more able-bodied men and women, began to climb, using whatever they could to make new gear and scale these high walls of stone and diabase. Many who dared these climbs were never seen again, as the thickness of the snowy clouds most often separated groups into individuals and forced them to wait until the storm passed. Almost always, there was one missing, who had thought they heard something different. They were hardly ever found, but when they were, they were hunched over, in the fetal position, arms crossed across their chest. They were begging for warmth in their final moments, and the fear in their frozen eyes struck terror into the ones still alive.
Many began to wonder if this was the right choice, but they had no other. The Demon was following them, they simply knew that it would not leave them alone.
They had to top those peaks.
With months of hard effort and pure determination, along with the corpses of over seventy Armagen lost to the cold, they found exactly what they were looking for; suitable land to live in. There weren't trees around to build homes, but they had already accumulated enough resources to make ways to lift their logs and supplies over the mountaintops and into the land below. They made foundations of rock and makeshift homes; simply anything worked to remove them from the cold.
This is where the Armagen began to find ways of growing plants inside. They made early forms of greenhouses, simply without windows as glass was a rarity without sand to make it. Soon enough they were growing corn, pumpkins, and all sorts of vegetables and provide nutrients to the weak and sick. They made broths and soups, mainly, and though there wasn't much meat the plants they grew were enough for the time being.
The Armagen got back on their feet, slowly but surely. These freezing mountains weren't the most optimal, but it was surely the safest; with their thick coats and large, puffy manes, they were already set for the temperatures anyway. With two areas where they currently lived, the mountain ranges above and the soft, fertile land below, two terms were commonly used to separate the two: the Highlands, and the Lowlands. These were purely literal and descriptors of what altitude they were set at, however slowly, over tens of years and much societal development, the Lowlands became the place where the somewhat poorer class go to, however the Highlands were surely not safe from this either. Armagens tried to keep everything equal between themselves.
That didn't work out too much.
The Armagen Civil War
The prior years were in the early, early times, before there were four digits on our calendars. And, to be frank, as we approach the early 900's, there isn't too much important development to note. Civilizations are built from hard stone and solid, strong spruce logs, weapons and armors are created with big, heavy plates and strong iron blades, large enough to pierce the more durable Armagen armor. For if they could pierce armor meant for their own bodies, surely they could defeat enemies that were not of their own. They mined into their mountains, extracting important metals and rare ores from the thick rock which took many hours to crack. They didn't know that they were just scratching the surface of how many ores the Highlands had to offer.
Along with this, architects began to get more daring and elaborate with their designs. Soon there were large stone monuments, giving praise to the people that came before them. Homes began to get way, way larger, with steel beams supporting their structures and allowing many floors to be built on top of one another. To make these steel beams, Armagen used the massive veins of coal in the mountains to burn and create steam engines, which, while very immature and prone to failure, they worked for what they needed to do. These engines helped with the heavier tasks that required many Armagen to do, which cut the need for the weightlifting in half. More muscle to be focused in other areas, such as mining, refining, or forging.
In the background of their heard-worked endeavors, the current King of the Armagen, Fulrich Herrin, was being a bit too greedy and dipping his hand too far into the Armagen funds. He was stealing more than taxing, and even then the base taxes were already too high. He'd send his Royal Guard to raid homes and taverns, collecting more money than they owed. It was a classic in this time period, and an act many 'a king did in the 800's. Greed is not only subject to humans, as it quickly takes a hold of other races. When presented with unfathomable riches and the possibility to have as much as you'll ever need of anything, not many people could resist.
The Armagens, however, and most especially the Noble bloodlines, who were for the equality of people and royals, did not agree with anything that the King was doing. They were even getting a share of the funds stolen from the people, yet the Royals (mostly) declined the King's blood-stained coins.
The largest advocate against the King was the Amaranth Bloodline, who's current head of house was Yhalin Amaranth. A warrior, fighter, and comrade to many good men and women who were commonfolk. People loved Yhalin; he was simply very charismatic, and he knew how to get people to focus on the right things. A strong sense of leadership. He and his family declined a single coin given to them by the King, and fights broke out between the Herrins and Amaranths frequently. They were scuffles, no real blood spilt, but it showed the tensions between the two houses.
Behind the Amaranths were the Jurians. They focused heavily on education; recording information, remembering events, and safekeeping the history of everything they had ever researched. In fact, most of the information you read now, viewer, would not have been preserved had it been for the works of Helena Jurian, who was head-of-house. She and her family helped the Amaranths with intel on what Herrin was doing, where he was planning to attack, and how he'd do it. With their intel and the Amaranth's strategic and combat abilities, these two houses of royal purple and navy blue alone were enough.
However, more joined, and some to dismay. The Malcor family actually accepted much of the King's bribery, and used it to their own benefit. They had a good reason, too. The Malcor family suffered greatly at the expeditions into the Highlands, with many seeing the flaming red manes frozen in the mountains. And before then the Xytherian almost had a grudge against them, destroying most of their lineage and physical possessions. Most understood, but not many agreed. Regardless, they joined the effort, acting as a sort of double agent with the Jurians. Kelin Malcor, head-of-house, was the one to meet regularly with the King and feed him false information. Later on in Armagen history, the Malcor family would repay the Armagen for what they had took, restoring them to Royalty.
Lastly to join the fray was the Terich line. They mostly kept to themselves, which is why it took so long for them to side with the other three noble houses, however when the King was knocking on Cerin Terich's door asking for help, they quickly declined, shut the door in his face, and joined the uprising. Their forces were sizeable, which drew the King's attention, and for good reason. The Terichs were good at overwhelming something, no matter the job. You have a forest that needs to be cut down? They'll get it done in a week or two. An army at your doorstep? The Terichs have numbers to combat them, 10 to 1. They had so many connections through trading, bartering, and buying from other nations it was almost unbelievable. When you saw a deep green wave of manes, you could take a sigh of relief.
The King, having none of this, dispatched his Royal Guard to deal with the Noble houses. When they came back, it was usually their troops being battered, injured, and bloody. He, and everyone else, knew what this meant.
It was war.
The Amaranths, being the frontrunners of this entire liberation, stormed on the King with fury and might. They let not one Royal Guardsman return without an injury, and better a killing blow. It was similar to the German blitzkrieg, where they stormed the battlefield with swiftness and offensive might. This helped with the knowledge of the Jurians and the pure numbers of the Terichs. While they fought the King's armies, the Malcors got people to safety. They believed that while this fight did concern the people, none of their citizens must die for this. The protests were the people's job; the Noble's job was to get their hands dirty.
And so they did. When the Malcors came under attack, the Terichs sent in reinforcements. When the Jurians lost information, the Malcors found some. When the Terichs needed more strength, the Amaranths came to help. It was four against one with troop numbers rising to three on one. An unfair fight for the King.
But he had a plan up his sleeve. He wanted to see how long they could last in a war of attrition. After two years of frontline fighting and heavy losses, the King decided to barricade his inner walls and keep his massive food and water reserves to himself. This worked, as soon after the Castle walls were slammed shut and beams put in place to stop them from advancing, the war came to a stalemate. It's known to the Armagen as The Coward's Last Stand, as he didn't ultimately win the war of attrition. While he surely could have, it wasn't the food or the defensive capabilities that he had. For every castle had its weakness, and the Jurians found it. Well, more so invented it.
The Jurians and Terichs invented a weapon to try and defeat the King Herrin, which took many weeks and even months to prepare and use successfully. It's known as the Fire Spitter, a primitive flamethrower that used a highly flammable liquid found in the mountains known as heris as fuel and a simple flame. This device, with the heris fuel, was able to melt stone efficiently after a few hours. At the time, however, they didn't have hours to wait. The winter was coming, and while the Nobles had food stockpiles of their own they were also feeding the citizens who were affected by the rampage of King Herrin.
The Amaranths, especially Yhalin, took this weapon and amped it up. They created a hotter flame, known today as an Ignis contraption, one of many flame devices the Armagen commonly use. The newly crafted flamethrower from the Amaranths spit a purple flame, and when tested against stone it was able to melt through it in simply one hour. A high improvement over the Jurian and Terich design, and one that they kept improving upon in later years.
On a freezing cold night, the Noble families, clad in armor, burned a massive opening through the castle in multiple areas. They were going to pincer the Royal forces, defeat them all at the same time. It was the quickest way to end this war, as the Nobles didn't want it to keep going on and risk the Royal Guard attacking the civilians, as they were most certainly ordered to do by the King. The Amaranths made a beeline for the King's Chambers, while the Terichs held off most of the Royal Guard through overwhelming numbers. Many Amaranths actually stayed behind, helping the Terichs defeat as many Guardsmen as possible (or capturing them, should they not wish to die in combat for their King). They were taken to the dungeons, which were easily under the control of the Terichs after the wardens were subdued.
Once at the King's chambers, Yhalin Amaranth, Helena Jurian, Kelin Malcor, and Cerin Terich all surrounded the lonely King Herrin. He did not go down without a fight, however, as to be King of a race who was determined on fighting for their survival, you have to have known good combat skills. He grabbed his longsword and jumped at the Nobles, with swords clashing and parried blades flinging into the air.
Speaking of blades, King Herrin underestimated his foes, for they all had different weapons. The strong Yhalin held a Zweihander sword, a design he saw in another kingdom to the Southwest. He liked the three meter long blade and decided to use it himself and upsize it for his race. Now, at five meters long, it was much heavier, but its punch was incomparable to other weapons. It simply outclassed them when it came to brute damage. It was hard for Herrin to parry Yhalin's blade, but when he did Yhalin was usually sent back. Yet every time Herrin went in for the kill, Helena flung her iron whip at him and made the King ricochet backwards.
She was good at ranged attacks, so if Herrin got close to her then it'd simply be one easy strike across the chest. It wasn't that simple though, as the fierce Kelin would strike at him with his daggers (essentially short-swords for normal folk). Herrin couldn't get close to her if he was around, and the quick, nimble Kelin would always draw Herrin's attention to Celin, who had a Morningstar and shield. Herrin had no chance of even approaching Cerin from short range, and he didn't really have the ability to call in archers when they were dead or surrendering. He couldn't break through any of their defenses; he was one man with a broadsword fighting a strategic brute, a ranged wasp, a nimble assassin, and a stalwart wall.
He claimed defeat, blood dripping from slashes across his chest, legs, and arms. His fur was matted and colored red, with streaks of bodily fluid painting his body. He looked up at the group of Nobles, wondering why he wasn't being killed. It was easy; he was defenseless, on his hands and knees, getting his breath.
Seems that he had forgotten about the honor the Armagens hold.
Yhalin picked up Fulrich by the mane and carried him outside, past the groups of angry and vexed citizens, out towards the white lands of the mountain ranges. He dropped Fulrich down on the snow and looked back at the Nobles and citizens. The overwhelming shouting conveyed the message that they wanted to see the blood fall, that the kingdom wanted to see the snow red. Yhalin, however, did not listen to the angered citizens and the annoyed Nobles. Instead he dropped a bear-skin canteen full of water and a small ration pack beside the dethroned king.
"I, as a Noble head-of-house and righteous servant of the Armagen Kingdom, hereby sentence you, Fulrich Herrin, to exile from the Highlands."
Fulrich looked up at Yhalin with desperation in his eyes, yet Yhalin was having none of his deceiving. After Fulrich grabbed the items Yhalin had dropped for him and tried to pick himself up, snapping around to Yhalin, the angered Armagen grabbed his arm before it could meet his face. With one kick he sent Fulrich tumbling down the steep mountainside, casting him away and into the barren wastelands below. Fulrich survived, thanks to his strong build and durable gilded armor, yet his nutrition was another story.
It isn't known exactly what happened to Fulrich Herrin after his exile. Some say that he still lives, feasting simply on raw meat and a desperation for survival. Others think he died on impact, a sharp rock going through his skull. The most popular belief, and what is written down in history, is that he died to the elements, like many Armagen before him who made the dangerous journey to find this new home of theirs.
The Reconstruction / The Golden Age
After the exile of King Herrin, the four Noble houses quickly dishonored his bloodline as well, rendering them exile by proxy. The Herrins were wiped from Armagen records after the Civil War, with the rest of Herrin's family leaving the Highlands and taking solace in the Russian kingdoms. The citizens of the Armagen Kingdom rejoiced and praised the Noble bloodlines, and the four built a new hierarchy, one based on the agreement (whether that be unanimous or partial) of all houses. They were quickly labeled Royalty, with the Amaranth Bloodline being the top of most people's choices for who to follow. None of the other houses disagreed either; the Amaranths were upfront, dealing with the people and helping them through their hardships. The others were either trying to rebuild, like the Malcors, or off doing their own things, like the Terichs or Jurians.
Yhalin Amaranth was crowned King, and under his leadership the Armagen began to rebuild from their hardships under Herrin. The first issue he was quick to solve was trade between other kingdoms, mainly the Russians. If they were going to be able to survive, they had to know how to deal with others. The Russians had a lot of things that the Armagen needed, too. The most important of which was meat. In their current state, the Armagen had to rebuild a few years before they could efficiently send out hunting parties to bring back food. So, with their vast majority of metals, they could trade with the Russians to get stockpiles of meat. They already knew how to preserve it for longer periods of time, it was just the matter of getting it.
In a few months time, with Yhalin sending down messengers, the Russians were accepting of their trades. The iron, tin, and gold the Armagens were sitting on proved very desirable to the humans. With two more months the messengers returned, bringing herds of cows and animals into the Highlands through newly developed (while still slightly primitive) elevators. They relied heavily on pulley systems that were operated by other Armagen, but the Terichs were already testing designs using a form of burning. They had found a black liquid in their mountains, which would come to be known as oil. The Terichs theorized about possibly using this to power their complex machines, and it worked!
With highly nutrient-rich meat and the Terichs spearheading the industrial sector, Yhalin decided that he'd try a gambit. He knew the Xytherian was still chasing after them, however he knew that the Xytherian was sentient. It wasn't a mindless monster, it was a hivemind.
If there was a hivemind, then there was a Broodmother or a similar form of leadership. Something to sit on top of its own food chain.
With a small army Yhalin took to Mount Ilian, where Nemeia and her scout team perished thousands of years ago. Yhalin and his forces marched on the volcanic mountain, and he ordered those around him to remain outside. As he entered the blazing caverns, he was slapped with the scent of rotting flesh and carcasses. It was a repulsive, disgusting stench that almost made him throw up the lunch he ate not long ago. His mission took more priority, however, and as he walked past the convulsing and pulsating meaty tendrils, he stepped into a massive, gargantuan hole in the volcano.
This was the Xytherian Hive Mind; the Broodmother. She was quite interested at the fact that an Armagen would dare intrude on her domain.
My my, this is unexpected! The royal and acclaimed Yhalin Amaranth, standing before me in my own home. What brings you here, a place that could kill you in one swift blow?
The Current Age
[TO BE WORKED ON FURTHER]
Specific Codex Entries
SPECIFIC CODEX ENTRY: Atlas Amaranth
Atlas Amaranth is a member of the Amaranth Royal Family, the current head of the Armagen race. There are three other families who also help contribute to the kingdom, that being the Jurian, Malcor, and Terich families. Atlas is a descendant of Yhalin Amaranth, a ruler from a distant time that managed to strike a deal with the Xytherian for a mutual peace that lasted centuries. He denies that he has the same capabilities, that he is simply a descendant and nothing more, but others believe the opposite. Time will tell.
Atlas himself stands at 7 feet 4 inches, somewhat taller than average for his race, which is 6 feet 7 inches for males and 6 foot 2 inches for females. He is the current Lieutenant General of the Armagen Armed Forces at 24 years old (that's Armagen years, by the way. One Armagen year is seventeen human years), the youngest in Armagen history, and leads many of his comrades into battle against the Xytherian or any other race in which needs to be battled against. He himself, in his free time away from work, likes to interact with his people, as it's his biggest concern to protect and safeguard them. He cares greatly for his people, and loves every second of enjoying time with them, as they reciprocate that same feeling.
Atlas has also lost many of his friends to the Xytherian. He has great trauma about having to kill his own kin, listening to their cries and moans for help, for release from the torture they found themselves in. Since the old-age, many people have shifted their views on being corrupted, as now it is simply a devastating knowledge to hear that your brother, sister, husband, wife, or so forth was corrupted and reanimated after death. He tries to make that pain as little as possible, as Atlas is one of the most efficient killers the Armagen has ever known.
He carries four strong Barvarium blades, also having much of his body cybernetically enhanced the same way (mainly through bone replacements). Atlas was born with a condition rarely seen in Armagen where his muscles were "far too strong for his own bones," whereas in reality they were growing out of control and too prematurely. So in hind sight… yeah, his muscles were crushing him. At the young age of 2 he was under the lamp, being cut into and having implants pushed into his body to make sure he can keep living.
Eventually, as he grew and formed around these implants, he eventually had to rely on them, to the point where nowadays, if these implants somehow broke (extremely rare, but it has happened before), his muscles and flesh would collapse in on itself and cause the affected area to essentially fight against itself. Not fun, and not easy to fix.
His health aside, Atlas also has somewhat of the same charisma that his precursor Yhalin had. He has gained many relations between multiple nations for trade and supply routes, as the Highlands is almost stocked full of rare and rich metals, ores, and stones. They use these to trade for food, supplies, and certain things they cannot find in the Highlands. He's a good talker too, usually getting prices down and able to keep them low due to the Armagen economy being so wealthy (as in the value of their "dollar," not the average person).
Along with establishing these routes, Atlas sees many things while in other nations and kingdoms, mainly their people. He is, quite frankly, astonished at how some places do not give any attention to their people or care for their citizens, as it's the only way their nations will stand strong when the eventual hardship will come. When possible, and away from work, he will join the people or organizations of these nations and try to help them. News of this, of course, reaches the Highlands, and a lot of people don't agree with his actions. Not because they think it is wrong, but because they think it is unsavable. While Atlas has this thought in the back of his mind as well, he pays it no mind. If people need help, he will try what he can.
This can go many ways, whether it be financially,1 militaristically,2 and through humanitarian aid.3
SPECIFIC CODEX ENTRY: Saffrón "Spitz" Malcor
Saffron Malcor, commonly known among his comrades as Spitz due to his snappy and snarky attitude, is a descendant of the Malcor Royal Bloodline. As a child, Saffron was a very well known troublemaker, commonly going around and getting himself into problems that never needed to arise in the first place. He'd consistently throw rocks at windows, laughing and running away when a picture frame was broken or the sounds of shattered materials hit the floor. The best part for him was hearing the angered roars of the Armagen who was affected, commonly running outside to try and deal with Saffron. As he received his implants and grew into the military, he met Atlas, another Royal. Soon enough, seeing his performance scaled with Atlas', he gained an inferiority complex and wanted to best Atlas at anything he could.
They commonly were engaged in duels and small scuffles, with neither of them really getting a chance to best the other. Mainly because the Armagen Commandant, Galivand Kilia, would catch the two and have them both apologize and go exercise together, supervised, for an undetermined amount of time. The both of them would be exhausted, but when Saffron saw Atlas he could tell that Atlas still had a bit of fight left in him, whereas Saffron was completely spent and could hardly keep himself out of the cold snow. He slapped away the Amaranth's hand, yelling insults at him in various manners while having tears come from his eyes.
This type of behavior would continue throughout his life. He wanted to be better than absolutely everyone, and mainly his one rival, Atlas. He'd constantly try to one-up him at any chance he got, and even better if it was during important moments. Most importantly for Saffron's attempts was during a funeral for one of Atlas' lost friends. At only ten Atlas had a close friend reanimated by the Xytherian, and had to watch as his father, Fenrick Amaranth, drove a sword through the child's chest and burned the remains. While at the ceremony, Saffron stormed in, yelling at Atlas to fight him again. Before the young Armagen could react, Saffron was already at his face, throwing a punch and landing.
It didn't end well for Saffron. Atlas was absolutely furious, along with his father, mother, and two sisters. Safe to say that Saffron had single-handedly brought down the wrath of the entire Amaranth Household on himself.
He was walking out bruised and battered, shouting at Atlas of how he had help from his family and how it wasn't fair.
Saffron's father, Domicus "Deri" Malcor, quickly rushed over after finding his tattered son. He listened to his cries and looked over at the Amaranth bloodline, with Atlas storming outside. Not only did Saffron punch Atlas while at his friend's funeral, Atlas had also undergone surgieries a few days prior, rendering his face fragile until the metal settled. He was crying from pain and anger, rushing over at Saffron to try and beat him up more. His father stopped him, and the two bloodlines quickly apologized to the other for what happened, the Malcor's more so for Saffron's actions.
To this day, with Saffron at the age of 22, standing half a foot shorter than his rival, and second heir to the Malcor throne (behind his older brother Yeris), he tries to show everyone and himself that he is better than Atlas. While his activities have dimmed down in amount due to his life becoming complicated (and needing to focus on his job, among many other things), the intensity of such events has not. Saffron keeps looking for Atlas whenever he can, making sure that the purple Armagen never forgot the one who was always trying to be better.
SPECIFIC CODEX ENTRY: Donna Tchote
Always mysterious and obtuse, Donna is mostly an unknown figure, even in her circles. A simple commoner and single heir of a long bloodline of similarly common Armagen, she would have lived an unremarkable life—if it wasn't for a single trait that took that away from her. If you were to ask her, it was the worst thing to happen to her.
Her mane is considered one-of-a-kind in Armagen society, a wonderful, almost shining shade of gray, not seen in Armagen culture for centuries. Of course, this has infiltrated most aspects of her life.
For example, since birth, she and her parents have had contact with many people of the royal familiies, especially the Amaranths, with them being treated especially well by the older folk. She even suspects her parents are getting more out of her than she is.
This special treatment, alongside her extraordinarily rare mane, has garnered all sorts of reactions from her peers. Interest, shock, and even jealousy. This, of course, only furthered her isolation. Interactions frequently were surface-level and quick, and almost always friendly. She's grateful for that much. But, as if with anything in repeat, it got quickly old. She had developed a script for whenever she met someone new: "Oh, you have a silver mane! That's cool!" "I know, right? We're really rare; even I am surprised!" and a quick giggle from both parties.
This is not to say that she doesn't have friends. A friend from middle school, who, while of course surprised by her mane, decided to stick around and talk to her about interests they share. A friendly cashier who never even mentioned her mane. Her biology teacher, who was always genuinely happy to help her with her rather poor studies at the time. Nowadays, she's deeply grateful for them; it made her realize what she really wants in life: to understand every little working, every little aspect of living things.
Being a decently renowed biologist in the Highlands, she has recently provided Armagen society many discoveries about their own bodies, revealing many routes for possible aprimoration of Armagen and curing of disease. Not that it has manifested yet, though. Biology is a lot of work for slow results.
What she is most interested in, however, is the biology of other animals, or even other races—especially the brain. Despite not understanding greatly the manifestation of the brain's processes, she has a deep fascination for the chemical reactions that come before and how every race has almost the exact same organ. No one race of sapient bipeds is more advanced than the rest; they all share the same "base." The chemicals are the same, the same neurons, the same shade of pinkish gray. She admires this. She's on her porch, feeling the quiet rumble of old car engines and lawnmowers from the other side of the mountains, over the buzz of the pristine city below. She sighs.
In terms of personality, she appears very amiable despite having trouble warming up to people. She's very objective-minded. She hates not getting something done efficiently. She has trouble letting herself have fun, missing out on college parties because she'd rather sleep. She often doesn't know what to say. Prefers text to voice; she likes the time to think. Constantly stuck in her own pinkish gray matter. Stares too much into others' eyes when talking to them, wondering what chemical reactions are going on behind them.
She forgot to mention- out of all of the Amaranths, she knows Atlas the best, from the first meet-up their parents had. They weren't exactly friends, but not quite simple acquaitances, too. Being from the same generation, they were more like distant cousins to each other. They both shared the bond that they were incredibly unique in Armagen society, one just knew what to do, she thinks. Or maybe she was too stupid to know what to do. She thinks.