The Thirteen
The Thirteen is an elite group of Avariel warriors made up of men and women who, amongst their kind and beyond, are the embodiment of heroes of legend. At all times there are thirteen members of the Company - no more and no less. As an elite squadron they are often regarded as separate to the general legions the Avariel's possess. Due to this their missions are often far deadlier, require more skill, or they are used as the first probing force against a new enemy so that they might report back their findings and formulate plans. In the histories of old whole wars have been won just by these elite warriors, saving endless Avariel lives.
The Thirteen have their own separate barracks from the rest of the Legion in Thyasari allowing them the privacy to practise with their magically imbued artefacts against the only other Avariels who stand a chance of going toe to toe with them - other members of the Company. Despite this, The Thirteen are often found in the main barracks spending time with their fellow soldiers and even hold their own classes for general soldiers, sharing parts of the wealth of knowledge the artefacts impart.
This elite company are often known on site by their striking armour. Unlike the silver that the standard Legion wear, The Thirteen's armour is golden and the Company's insignia is emblazoned on their chests. Often, members of the Thirteen will also add the insignia of their artefact to their armour in some way too. The method behind this is twofold; one, so that those fighting by their sides might mark them and draw courage from their presence, and two to attract the strongest amongst their enemies who might think them important but perhaps unskilled opponents.
During the Great Closing that saw the Avariel withdraw from the world, it was The Thirteen who were tasked with wiping the memory of themselves from the world.
Members & Structure
The Thirteen report directly to the Elder who represents The Military faction of the Avariel society. Currently, that position is held by Nevarth Ruinë. Beyond that the Thirteen work out their own system of rule. There are always and only ever thirteen members who make up this elite unit of fighters and they go by the following:
Gifts from the Dead
Each of the Thirteen possess a powerful tool crafted by the Avariels long time allies the Aeraesarians. Forged from steel and the precious Shorai itself, these weapons were engineered by some of the Aerai's best metalworkers to honour the fallen warriors who had died protecting the Aerai people. These artefacts have the ability to amplify the naturally limited magical gifts the Avariels possess, but the main boon of possessing one of these items is the storage of memories.
Passed on through the generations, each time a previous wielder of the guardian dies their memories are stored inside the artefacts. Future bearers are able to tap into this wealth of knowledge covering history, magic, strategy and manoeuvres. At times these memories play out like a scene in their mind and other times the wielder simply knows those memories as if they were their own. Some members report the feeling that during battles the artefacts themselves appear to move of their own accord to defend and attack. Others complain of a feeling of past members of the Thirteen inhabiting their bodies and - even - of the past members speaking wisdom directly to them.
It is forbidden for the Thirteen to talk about the exact breadth of their gifts with anyone outside the Company and their direct commander.
The drawbacks to these artefacts is that a wielder can find themselves unable to remember which is their own memory and which is a memory from a past self. Sometimes, if a wielder has been in the Company for a long time and plunged into the resource of memories often, they can even find themselves truly believing they are one of the past members of the Thirteen.
Passed on through the generations, each time a previous wielder of the guardian dies their memories are stored inside the artefacts. Future bearers are able to tap into this wealth of knowledge covering history, magic, strategy and manoeuvres. At times these memories play out like a scene in their mind and other times the wielder simply knows those memories as if they were their own. Some members report the feeling that during battles the artefacts themselves appear to move of their own accord to defend and attack. Others complain of a feeling of past members of the Thirteen inhabiting their bodies and - even - of the past members speaking wisdom directly to them.
It is forbidden for the Thirteen to talk about the exact breadth of their gifts with anyone outside the Company and their direct commander.
The drawbacks to these artefacts is that a wielder can find themselves unable to remember which is their own memory and which is a memory from a past self. Sometimes, if a wielder has been in the Company for a long time and plunged into the resource of memories often, they can even find themselves truly believing they are one of the past members of the Thirteen.
Appointments
The Avariels are a meritocratic society meaning every Avariel who rises to a prominent rank - whether that be in the military, government or simple day to day jobs - it is because they have earned that position through hard work and dedication. It is no different for The Thirteen. If anything the standard for those wishing to join The Thirteen is far beyond the call of even a General in the Avariel ranks. To be trusted with one of the artefacts, the Avariels are keen each individual is one of their best.
As a military company, The Thirteen are always drawn from the Military Sector of their society. This means each wielder will already be physically fit and skilled in a wide range of different weapons. What sets an Avariel apart is their proficiency in weapons, battle tactics and intelligence. They are usually always the best leaders from their squadrons and those who prove to be brave and fearless.
Once selected to be a potential for The Thirteen, the candidate is given three trials. These always differ so a candidate cannot prepare or study. If successful, the candidate is then introduced to one of the artefacts. If there is more than one available, a candidate is allowed to choose which one they feel drawn to the most. The artefact must then accept the candidate who wishes to wield it. Not even with the rest of the Company do members tend to discuss what happens during this fourth unspoken trial.
Once accepted the artefacts unique insignia - an insignia that is branded into each weapon - burns itself into the wielders skin like a brand.
As a military company, The Thirteen are always drawn from the Military Sector of their society. This means each wielder will already be physically fit and skilled in a wide range of different weapons. What sets an Avariel apart is their proficiency in weapons, battle tactics and intelligence. They are usually always the best leaders from their squadrons and those who prove to be brave and fearless.
Once selected to be a potential for The Thirteen, the candidate is given three trials. These always differ so a candidate cannot prepare or study. If successful, the candidate is then introduced to one of the artefacts. If there is more than one available, a candidate is allowed to choose which one they feel drawn to the most. The artefact must then accept the candidate who wishes to wield it. Not even with the rest of the Company do members tend to discuss what happens during this fourth unspoken trial.
Once accepted the artefacts unique insignia - an insignia that is branded into each weapon - burns itself into the wielders skin like a brand.
Lore
The Battle of Brethilian
The Army of the Gothrog gathered outside the city of Brethilian on the seventh day of Yávië. The Legions of Thyasari were still a weeks flight away having been caught up by Gothrogs wyvern and dread witch Legions, and the armies of the Shyridian still a hard days march away. Yet the battlelines had been drawn in the Meadow outside the city and the bone drums sounded the army of Nightmares approach. Through the great gates strode the city's only defence; a small Company of Avariels who had been sent ahead to warn the army of the Legion's delay. They had never intended to fight alone but when the drums summoned them, they had not balked.
"We hold the line," Orion said. He, their leader, had not asked for them to join him as he had left the safety of the walls, but they had. His loyal Thirteen. He drew his blade to the song of battle and his Companions did the same. There was the mighty Morningstar, the deadly archer with her golden Arrows; the always cautious Hammer and the true might of the group, their strategist, wearing her gleaming Helm. It was she who had outlined the only chance they had at survival.
It was a plan of madness, but it was the only plan they had.
The drums grew louder and the army of Gothrog finally appeared from the treeline. Those dark monstrosities loped, ran and capered across the meadow to form up their ranks at the crack of a whip, wielded by their masters. They knew they would feast and feast soon when all they beheld was the Thirteen that stood between them and a city of innocents. The drumming stopped. Silence filled that meadow and in the silence came a voice; "Throw down your arms now and we shall let you fly away! This is not your battle, winged folk. It is not you who our master wishes to devour." Beyond the city walls the citizens cried and held their loved ones close. They would not blame those warriors for fleeing when the odds were so great in their enemies favour. But Orion did not balk. He stepped forward in his gleaming armour of gold and with his sword pointed down he drew a line in the sweet meadow field.
"We hold the line," he said again and his Company nodded, faces fierce. He turned towards the army assembled before them and his sister, Clio, raised a horn to her mouth and blew. Three long notes. A challenge. The army of Gothrog laughed as their drums answered the call.
There was no meadow left by the time the Shyridian Order arrived.
Orion stood over his sisters corpse, her lifeless eyes staring up towards a sky she would never see again. The Hammer to his left, the Morningstar to his right was all that remained of The Thirteen. It was the latter that wept when the horns of the Shyridian blew and their cavalry swept down into the exposed flank of Gothrog's army. The rest of the battle was sweet and swift, but by the time the Generals had reached those valiant warriors it was only Orion who was left, kneeling before his Company of dead.
"We held the line."
The Army of the Gothrog gathered outside the city of Brethilian on the seventh day of Yávië. The Legions of Thyasari were still a weeks flight away having been caught up by Gothrogs wyvern and dread witch Legions, and the armies of the Shyridian still a hard days march away. Yet the battlelines had been drawn in the Meadow outside the city and the bone drums sounded the army of Nightmares approach. Through the great gates strode the city's only defence; a small Company of Avariels who had been sent ahead to warn the army of the Legion's delay. They had never intended to fight alone but when the drums summoned them, they had not balked.
"We hold the line," Orion said. He, their leader, had not asked for them to join him as he had left the safety of the walls, but they had. His loyal Thirteen. He drew his blade to the song of battle and his Companions did the same. There was the mighty Morningstar, the deadly archer with her golden Arrows; the always cautious Hammer and the true might of the group, their strategist, wearing her gleaming Helm. It was she who had outlined the only chance they had at survival.
It was a plan of madness, but it was the only plan they had.
The drums grew louder and the army of Gothrog finally appeared from the treeline. Those dark monstrosities loped, ran and capered across the meadow to form up their ranks at the crack of a whip, wielded by their masters. They knew they would feast and feast soon when all they beheld was the Thirteen that stood between them and a city of innocents. The drumming stopped. Silence filled that meadow and in the silence came a voice; "Throw down your arms now and we shall let you fly away! This is not your battle, winged folk. It is not you who our master wishes to devour." Beyond the city walls the citizens cried and held their loved ones close. They would not blame those warriors for fleeing when the odds were so great in their enemies favour. But Orion did not balk. He stepped forward in his gleaming armour of gold and with his sword pointed down he drew a line in the sweet meadow field.
"We hold the line," he said again and his Company nodded, faces fierce. He turned towards the army assembled before them and his sister, Clio, raised a horn to her mouth and blew. Three long notes. A challenge. The army of Gothrog laughed as their drums answered the call.
There was no meadow left by the time the Shyridian Order arrived.
Orion stood over his sisters corpse, her lifeless eyes staring up towards a sky she would never see again. The Hammer to his left, the Morningstar to his right was all that remained of The Thirteen. It was the latter that wept when the horns of the Shyridian blew and their cavalry swept down into the exposed flank of Gothrog's army. The rest of the battle was sweet and swift, but by the time the Generals had reached those valiant warriors it was only Orion who was left, kneeling before his Company of dead.
"We held the line."
- From The Chronicles of Thyasari, recorded by Chronicler Zacyriah
References
- https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/nobody-ever-looks-up.5965/
- https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/in-the-moonless-night.5474/
- https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/a-light-in-the-looming-shadow.5383/
- https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/campfire-tales-a-friendly-bet.5479/
- https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/deaths-bitter-symphony.5913/
- https://chroniclesrp.net/threads/campfire-tales-whisky-worries.5480/
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