The Sumarized Overview to the Third Zarosian Empire

[Thorlah]

In this public summation, I hope to shed light on any basic information one could need to use as a reference.
In blessed thanks I submit my works to the public, and to the eyes of Saint Azzanadra himself.
Andreus Agatho- Pontifex Maximus IV

1. Kingdom Name: The Third Kingdom of Zaros (so named due to the First <Year One, 2nd Age- Battle of Senntisten, Date Unknown, 3rd Age> and the Resurgent "Kingdom Without" (founded in the Fifth Age, disbanded in the first day of the current Seventh Age)>
2. Capital: Land of the World Gate
3. Ruler(s): (King)Neil Allenby* & The Council of the Forgotten <defer to the de facto/de jure leader, and are elected> [Note: Neil does not wish to be refered to as the King, but rather be called Council Leader, per his ordained role.]
4. Census Demographics: Humans comprise 87% of the populous, with Demons, Gnomes, and Elves comprising the remaining 13% by the following percentages: 4%,4%,5% respectively.
5. Governmental Style: Semi-Constitutional Monarchy, in transition to full Constitutional Monarchy.

Summarized History:
The loss of the ancestral home of our predecessors destroyed any living ally of their forces that ever knew the highest ranking souls.
Indeed, this loss would have spelled the end of our way, were it not for the incredible efforts of Saint Azzanadra and his kith and kin, all willing to pour their very essence into the writing of the stories of their lives.
These scrolls, books, and various other implements of notation were stored in the ancient land of Senntisten, former capital of the First Kingdom of Zaros, and also formerly part of the Kingdom of Misthalin.
By sheer luck, our predecessors found this safe haven, and took refuge for three years, easily finding the lost knowledge and histories of this order.
But, all good things can come to an end, as this time in safety did.
Year Four of the Seventh Age saw the very last adherents to Zaros forced from their homes, in lieu of their extermination by the most zealous of our own (soforth referred to as the War of the Inward Blade), and a separation, between those that felt Zaros had doomed all life to eternal suffering, and those of us that felt there was hope in this world.
It was then that our people fled west, towards the Veil of Worlds.
The long chronicled histories spoke of a way to traverse the worlds, called many names in the varying eras. It was described as stead fast, yet as ethereal as a veil, and welcoming to any seeking asylum.
First they would need safe lands to recover in, and Ardougne was perfect and open to their people.
Had they found safety, just as the Mahjarrat once had in Lord Zaros'and the Shepherd's service?
Unfortunately, our predecessors were not so lucky.
They had arrived to the shore south of Elven King Baxtorian's Falls, and found their path impeded by strenuous combat.
The war had found them, and it was a sure sign that they were to go no further, especially with no military might to speak of.
Would they risk the journey north, into the lands of the Fremennik, known for fierce strength of mind and body? Would they embrace demise and return to the east, where all Zarosians names were taboo and listed as due for death? Or what of Ardougne to the south? Would they be able to survive the conflicts? Even so, what would they find once there?
What of the west?
The question was posed by a small child, no older than eight, and it stunned the hardened adults into silence.
How did they not see the obvious in front of them?
Rather than be embarrassed, the adults decided this was proof that even in the furor of anxiety and certain death, there was hope for the future.
So they heeded the advice of the young child, and ventured west, following the retreating elves.
It was here our ancestors found a home. The Veil, revealed to be a Gate, stood silent, as if it merely awaited the right conditions to return to life. Since that time, we have served as protectors of the gate, in the hopes that someday, perhaps our salvation would be waiting on the other side.
Oh, and about the child that guided them to safety?
The child that guided them was Peter von Varrock (originally named Peter Hindenburg), the third Pontifex Maximus, and my teacher.

Pax Vobiscum
-Pontifex Maximus Andreus

[Thorlah]

Here are the canonization years for each Saint. Following this, Lord Neil and I will detail specific Saints titles, and offer information about them.

Saint Azzanadra the Pontifex Infinium
Saint Wahisietel the Wise
Saint Hannibus the Resolute
Saint Nex the Caedite
Saint Akthanakos the Ugthanki King
Saint Torva the Protector
Saint Virtus the Virtuous
Saint Pernix the Swift
Saint Esterion the Prepared

Original nine Saints, referred to as the Nine Adjutants of Fate, were canonized Year One of the Seventh Age, and officially recognized Year Twenty of the Seventh Age <upon our city's establishment of the Cathedral>.

---

Saint Ayanetka the Unyielding
Saint Trindine the Unseen

Canonization of Saint Ayanetka and Saint Trindine occurred on the Twenty-Eighth Year of the Seventh Age.

---

Saint Guthix the Guardian (unofficially canonized in the Sixth Age upon death, official approval accomplished in Year Thirty-Three of the Seventh Age)
Saint Iridian the Intriguing (Originally excommunicated under the Zamorak Act, documents recovered in the Seventh Age affirm Saint Iridian's innocence and loyalty, and henceforth canonized and revered, as documented in Year Forty-Five of the Seventh Age.)
Saint Seres the Unifying (Canonized upon the successful request by the Demonic Magistrates in Year Fifty of the Seventh Age.)
Saint Jhallan the Cold (Unofficially canonized in Year Forty-Eight of the Sixth Age, officially recognized in the Seventy-Fifth Year of the Seventh Age)
Saint Mizzarch the Unsightly (Unofficially and officially canonized in the Seventy-Sixth Year of the Seventh Age.)
Saint Seren, Lady of the Crystals* (Currently nominated for official reverence <on par with Lord Zaros>. Nominated for sainthood in Year 129 in the Second Age, and affirmed as a saint in Year Ninety-Three of the Seventh Age.)

---

Saint Sliske the Iscariot** (Will be covered in his own subject information.)

[Thorlah]

Saint Azzanadra the Pontifex Infinium

To even start describing Saint Azzanadra is nearly impossible to do without highlighting his honourable nature, his immense intellect, and, if I must say, his fathomless humility.

Indeed, he is the author of the majority of the historical texts we have access to, and he does not shy away from detailed reports of his own doings, careful to avoid ascribing opinions and personal feelings to his actions, so as to maintain a detached, and reliable witness and writer.

Saint Azzanadra was born to a pair of prominent Mahjarrat mages, both of whom were deceased when the Mahjarrat came to our world. Our own investigations report a strong possibility of him being blood kin, or perhaps even a brother of Zamorak, the god of Chaos and Change. This connection seems to have driven both to beyond any limits their population had once had to abide by and cemented their places in history.

On the subject of Saint Azzanadra, he makes constant mentions of his mentor, or perhaps a proto-friendship with, the one called Temekel. Temekel was incredibly powerful, even by the immensely high standards of the Mahjarrat, and was likely a leader of their population, along with three others scant mentioned otherwise.

Other than the short mention of departure, led by Temekel and Saint Azzanadra himself, nothing is noted further on the life he led in their homeworld. The greatest tragedy, is that we cannot look to the stars and see, even if for a moment, a glimpse of their world.

Of prominence is the next section, whereupon Saint Azzanadra details the lives of the Mahjarrat serving under the Desert god, commonly referred to in our society as the Shepherd. In these documents, he is called "Icthlarin", and seems to be fondly remembered by Saint Azzanadra.

Day 59-
Lord Icthlarin offered a select few of us a rare privilege: to witness him administer the sacred burial rites.
Though all of us chosen will respect his wishes, it is highly likely Sliske will try to catch a glimpse as well.
To my joy, Lord Icthlarin seemed to sense this concern within me, and met with me, one on one, to gauge my opinions on matters both familiar to me and foreign.
The very fact he shows me this respect makes me feel a strange sense of loyalty to him, unlike most of my fellows that are eager to face more combat like we did our first day on this world.
I...do not share that desire. I may be one of the few that feels this way, but I believe we can cooperate with the races here, and we can make things better, rather than rending them apart. Our forms may be made for warfare, but it is our minds, our souls, that dictate what we do.

Saint Azzanadra found his answers, and his way in life, when the fateful day came, and when Saint Azzanadra's First of Three Tragedies occurred.

---

I...I need some time to mentally prepare for the next section on Saint Azzanadra. I will mark the section accordingly when I have the chance, but until then, I will add in the information for the others.

In Fide Scientiam
-Pontifex Maximus Andreus Agatho

[Thorlah]

This document, unlike the others, was hand delivered to me, rather than submitted through the Church. When I asked Andreus, he did confirm he sent the information via courier to me, so he could continue Saint Azzanadra’s section. Still…the circumstances make this quite peculiar.

-Neil Allenby

(I will also note that due to this information, I will be posting a very heavy subject matter on the discussion of our predecessors and their dealings with other factions.)

<Posting as Andreus due to this being his writing>

---

Saint Sliske the Iscariot is the most polarizing figure, by far, within the Church, and throughout his storied existence, has raised numerous questions about him, and his history. For every tale of his cunning saving countless lives, there are just as many detailing his callous, and underhanded methods of gathering wights, more akin to a shopper seeking the finest cutlet of meat at a butcher. His contradictory history makes the very subject of his presence as a revered person within the Church a difficult subject to navigate.

On the subject of his canonization in particular, so controversial was he that his nomination date was as far back as Year 11 of the Seventh Age, yet he was only narrowly, and hesitatingly canonized this past Wintumber.

Highlighting this is his title, the easiest of his existence to explain. “The Iscariot” refers to a prominent human homeworld legend of a traitor so impactful, his surname survived the move to this world. Even after ages passed and the name nearly faded, the surname returned during the Sixth Age, with Arthen Iscariot, former Grand Secretariat of the Treasury, and Councilman, our most prominent and recent example. His tenure was marred upon his peculiar insanity, which was followed by his declaration to ‘watch with intent eyes the downfall of all that cling to even the coattails of the gods’, only to be killed by local beasts instead.

Sliske’s history, as debatable as it is, has had its fair share of dark moments, none darker than his actions that sparked the Sixth Age. Indeed, even the majority of the Nine First Saints, further corroborated by the disenfranchised Guthixians, mentioned in immense detail his seemingly contrary actions.

To the surprise of many (myself included), one of the most prominent parts of his life (his birth), is in fact detailed by Sliske himself, breaking his tradition of secrecy, and is detailed in his journal entry bellow.

This is quite unusual, especially for one such as myself. Why spoil the intrigue, the mystery of my own life? Usually, I agree. But, this one particular portion of my life is quite important to share, to prove a point that I am the only living person to espouse.

I was born in an era of sacrifice, where our once immense numbers were needlessly culled, all to satiate a Creator long since indolent.

My parents, and my older sibling were tossed out as offerings to our ‘almighty’ creator. No sooner than the moment of my birth were my parents torn from me, and scattered to the wind. I don’t recall the memory itself, but the sensation is forever fresh, forever available for me to recall at a moment’s notice.
Next my sibling, of whom I know nothing of, was tossed into the maw, and was likewise ripped apart, down to the very anima.
Next I suppose you assume I sprinkle some facts of optimism, or perhaps bury any silver linings with falsehoods?
Fun fact: there is no word for “optimism” or “hope” in the native Mahjarrat tongue.
So I grew up, alone and apart, for who would bond with an obvious next pick for sacrifice come the next round of Sacrifice Round Up?
Who would I be otherwise? I don’t know. No one that says they do is telling the truth.
Then again, am I?
Am I telling the truth? Do I know what I would have been like had I not been subjected to such a series of lessons?
Or perhaps I am lying about this time as well?
I will tell you this, plainly, clearly, and simply. This is the truth. As true as Guthix’s pained face as I blasted the lightning into his throat, and my words echo with necessity, just as his screams of agony echoed in the cavern, drawing the World Guardian to him.
I can gladly confirm that I am a master of speaking truths as lies, and lies as truths. It is how I came to be who I am, after all. No one would pay any mind to me in my youngest days due to what they knew? I would begin to weave a fabricated tale, a life never lived, and slowly seed their minds with the notions that I was of that life, and not of my own.
It took very little time to pull off, though the real lengthy part was how long it took for the tribe in general to actually realize that wholly trusting me is a foolish pursuit.
But I suppose what you really want to know is

The rest has been rendered illegible, though his origins do offer a clear indication that he was held up as separate from everything and everyone he was connected to. Zarosians, and Sliske.
Sliske and his wights.
Sliske.

Undoubtedly, he is a paradox, mystifying any that attempt to get whole answers. Not even a culmination of many half-answers leads nowhere useful, and muddies the waters even further.

[Thorlah]

I suppose an explanation is in order.
As my old friend Neil explained, I did have this section of Saint Azzanadra's life complete, but due to the nasty weather we had back then, I lost the documentation.

Starting from the scratch was taking awhile.

But back to the explanation.

Many know of my mother's side of the family, and how they were from the Desert Bandits of old. The ones that worshiped Saint Azzanadra? That'd be them.

But what of my father?

To the public, he was Paetra Agatho, Third Registrar of the Council. He lived near the gate, joined the army when they arrived, and wed my mother then.

This, however...is not the case.

My father was indeed Paetra Agatho...or Peter Agatho, son of sheep herder, Farmer Brumty.

Said farmer was known for his sheep, rumoured to have been the source of the Plague, during the Placid Age. He carried tremendous guilt over it, and took that depression to his grave.

My father, whose name was translated into an older language so as to release him from that connection, sought to make right what went wrong, and to discover whether his father could have prevented the deaths, or if his sheep were even the cause.

The answer went with him as well, however.

The rest of his history is as he always said, but he never associated with his parents. Not for his sake, considering my middle name, always bizarre to me, is in fact Brumty. No, he felt as if he failed them, to not give his parents peace was tantamount to driving a stake in to their hearts.

So it was my turn to delve into the fray.

I first sought out the remnant government of Ardougne, and found Sir Edgar Muntz.

Depressingly, he had no record of my family, and did not know them. He did, however, make mention of the lands to the east being my best bet...though he seemed uneasy about me going without a warning about them.

I had to go.

So after much consideration, I went to the Carnilliean Lands and hoped to find my answers.

What I found has led to more questions, but has absolved my grandfather.

Ladies and gentlemen...The Placid Age's Plague...was false.

The documents the leaders allowed me to keep were extensively detailed. In them, it spoke of information that most assuredly needs to be verified, but the leaders confirmed the Plague's nature, and my grandfather's innocence.

I will add in my redone section about Saint Azzanadra and his fellows' departure from Icthlarin and the Desert Pantheon before I leave to tell my mother, who lives here in this region.

May your future be peaceful.

---

The time came for the Mahjarrat to make a choice.

Sliske, heavily incensed by Icthlarin's release of the souls of his wights, came to lose any and all interest in remaining anywhere near his side.

This rare look into the forces of Zaros before the Mahjarrat joined, is written by Lector Ulsrech. I apologize for the horrid spelling, it is the best guess I can make of an approximation by himself in writing <he noted his 'human name' was decidedly bizarre to spell, and his demon name was unspellable, so he chose this name instead.

7th Guttering of the Maw

Duke Ceres told us to halt third watch, which is odd, considering our current location places us deep in unfriendly territory. The recent conquests seem to stay in line, though there is definitely the scent of dissension in the village. We've been told to not devour any of the locals, and true to our binding word, we have not. Perhaps this emotion taints their flesh. Matters not to me, however.
I'm far more repulsed by what I was witness to tonight.
No food will calm the enraged bile in me.
It doesn't taste right.
Not after...he came.
He strolled up to the gate, completely unconcerned with the siege weapons pointed in his direction, and the legionaires on duty. In fact, he seemed almost amused by their vigilance, and walked right up to the gate's slide-compartment to speak with the head guard on duty, Kutanoth.
Kutanoth is usually a statue, unemotive in anything he does. Rumour has it he devoured an Infernal, and that his transformation came from that. He just laughs at any inquiries, though his laughter is obviously devoid of emotion, as oxymoronic as it sounds.

This was different.

His fear was able to be smelled from my tent in the central area of the encampment. It stirred me from a rather peaceful slumber, and I was not too excited to be awoken by the strong sense.

That is when I saw him.

The gate had been raised, unannounced, and quite unusual. Meeting my gaze was the visitor, and his yellow eyes seemed to ooze with a sadistic joy at the rotting aura he exuded. He was most certainly the cause of the fearful stench, but the source caught me off guard.

Kutanoth himself fell to his knees, so utterly shaken by the visitor that he was no longer aware of his emotions, or of himself. This left the visitor and I as the only ones nearby, and left me with a revolting, nauseating scent that burned my sinuses and eyes.

This was an unheard of event. Yes, the pungent smell of avarice, lust, and so forth did produce similar reactions, but this...this was beyond any of those combined. He was not drenched in the sins that tainted those I had encountered before, but whatever he held behind his eyes was intolerable.

"Something not sitting well in your stomach, demon?" he said in a sneer, reveling in my ailment. I had resigned myself to my probable doom, when one of the hirelings, Gram, emerged from his tent. He seemed in awe of the visitor, and made me feel quite ashamed of my ill state in comparison. Instead, Gram seemed to babble excitedly, as if he was greeting his hero, and began to walk with the stranger. Curiously, the stranger didn't mind the praise, and answered his questions vaguely.

Once they were out of sight, sound and mind, I was allowed to release my brewing bile.

I could not stomach my food, no matter how plain it was.

I would have blamed it on the human insistence of eating plants for no good reason at all, but I had come to tolerate their strange food as my time here grew. This intolerance was solely because of the stranger.

From there, he met with the Duke, who allowed Gram to remain amongst them, and the trio spoke of betrayal, and deceit. It seems the stranger is in fact, a Stern Judge called Sliske, and he has become embittered by Icthlarin's wiping out of his 'toys' (the term the Duke said as if accusing him of thinking of mortal souls as such).

The Duke mulls over some silent demands by Sliske, and kneels down.

I cannot believe it.

He's calling the Grand Arbiter himself.

With a deft cut of Gram's arm, the blood sigil is made from a small amount of blood.

There, just a short distance away, appeared the Contract Maker, the Grand Arbiter: Lord Zaros.

He was magnificent in his appearance, and was mystifying in the odd sensation I could feel emanating from him. A subtlety of sorts, as if it was pushing his presence from my conscious mind, making me ignore his arrival, but to still think of him.

I eagerly ignored the impulse to forget his presence, and watched as he extended his hand to Sliske. Sliske eagerly grasped it, and said loud enough for me to hear, "May the shepherd fear the wolf he raised amongst his sheep."

Sliske left with a flashy teleportation, just as Lord Zaros did.

The lingering moment that did not have Sliske present came when I caught Duke Ceres staying behind, alone. He seemed to spot his arm and hand trembling, and with force, slammed his hand against a war machine to try and cease its fearful fit.

The next day, Sliske purportedly told his brothers and sisters of the offer on the table: Abandon Icthlarin, and join Zaros, and in doing so regain the glory they were meant to have in the first place.

The majority gladly accepted, with the weaker of their numbers being the most vocal to jump out of their deal.

On the other hand, the strongest of their number seemed to hesitate, which was a nagging regret for Saint Azzanadra.

His private notes are as follows:

Sliske came to us with the offer, and the majority accepted without question of what we would have to do to fulfill this deal. I...did not.

I've struggled with this decision for many centuries, and still a clear answer does not come forward.

Lord Icthlarin had treated us tremendously well, as if we were his loyal followers from inception. He and I had similar interests, and constantly spoke of our opinions freely.

Yet...

Lord Zaros seemed to call upon us, not just as factors of intimidation (though that function was abundantly obvious in the summary of the deal), but as if he knew we were better than we had become here.

Here, the majority of us grew bored, fat (metaphorically) on the ease of our labours, and regressed into a facsimile of drunken barbarians, only seeking the next thrill.

Was it worth betraying the trust of our helping hand, was it worth turning our backs on he that gave us asylum from Freneskae and from the Mother...?

I looked to my close comrade Temekel for guidance, who in turn looked to Wahisietel.

Wahisietel seemed to think deeply about it in a matter of moments, and unlike our kin, seemed to actually consider it all in the short time frame, rather than pretending for the sake of being able to claim the metaphorical high road. He stood up from his chair, and placed the finely crafted helm Lord Icthlarin made for him on the window sill.

It was a clear sign that he was going to leave as well, and not take from Icthlarin, so as to convey his regret on the situation.

My own helm, made by him as well, was at the nearby station to the west, near the river, so I could not leave it behind in person.

But when I closed my eyes, and cleared it of errant thoughts and emotions, it became clear.

I would go to join Lord Zaros.

Saint Azzanadra joined most of his fellow Mahjarrat in the departure, and his gesture of goodwill, while not unnoticed, came to feel like a hollow gesture in comparison to the flood of cruel actions by his fellows.

This brings us to the matter of the Desert Pantheon.

As many are aware, my mother is descended from the bandits of the Old Shore, guarding Saint Azzanadra's Prison from enemy forces, and awaited a friendly force to come and free him.

They could not have survived the ages without the mercy of the Pantheon and its people.

I know for a fact that our supposed foes of old, such as the Saradominists, Pantheon followers and the scattered others, were supposedly thirsty for our extermination, and indeed, had committed atrocities of their own.

But so have we.

In the time it counted most, they let us live in peace.

I often wonder if the old enemies of the first God Wars are still out there, and if perhaps something can be done to show that we are not blind to their goodwill if they do indeed survive as we have.

They deserve a chance to survive, just as they gave us a chance to.