Ancient
Jawarl Avignon
by
Sage Wastrich Tychris
of Port Toli
Two thousand years ago, born on the coast of the Azure Sea, was a rapidly growing human civilization started with the dream of a great man. He was a soldier by trade, but his passion was philosophy and he sought to free humanity from the bondage of tyranny and elevate all good people above the squabbling petty lords and stupid kings with the power of ideology. His name was Memnox and he grew up in the central hub of civilization now known as Keoland in Greyhawk. He was always a student and though he grew up the son of a farmer, he realized early in life that farmers had no time for study. What he did see was the local Patriarch's soldiers lounging about drinking wine in shady glens on a daily basis. It was not that he saw the value in daily celebrations. He recognized the value of free time. He enlisted as a soldier as soon as his age allowed.
Memnox's father felt he had lost his son to the attraction of soft and sinful living, but Memnox assured his parents that he was aware of the trap of luxury. He was interested in learning a marketable skill, keeping his body in exquisite shape and finally searching for a way to free his family and friends from their circumstances. So he went and trained as a common soldier.
He spent two hard years in a military camp learning how to fight with short sword, spear, javelin, and shield. The instruction was grueling and many other students died from disease and harsh treatment. Memnox was an absolutely average warrior. He could strike and defend competently, but he had no flair for individual combat and could easily be beaten down. In group combat simulations, he was always the one to bring his group together to plan a strategic approach. When combat was joined, though, he was always the last one on the scene. His trainers punished him regularly for this. He was not to play the role of captain; he was supposed to fight hard or die. Memnox never defended this. He knew he would never meet the satisfaction of his instructors.
At night in camp he would tell stories and share ideas with the other students. It was his favorite time of day and for many of his comrades it was theirs too. His team stuck together well and in time they were known as the most clever unit in the camp. First, they used flanking maneuvers. Then when that was expected, they used unflanking, then deflanking, and finally reflanking strategies. The other teams were generally never prepared for what came next. Credit can't only be given to Memnox, though, for the cunning of the group, but it could be claimed that he is the one who invited the others to do more than just charge head-long into battle and to think and organize to achieve victory.
Near the end of his training, Memnox was becoming distracted by his thoughts and opinions. He was bored with learning the skills of war and he was starting to make mistakes. There was no time for study or personal growth, and he was beginning to think that this lengthy and arduous training was the reason that paid soldiers spent much of their time relaxing in shady glens quaffing wine. He was ready to move on.
Finally, a local Patriarch wished to enlist a new batch of soldiers as constant skirmishes with neighboring Patriarchs had depleted his own guards' numbers. The instructors suggested Memnox's group would serve very well, but that he should discharge Memnox as he was a coward who generally thought too much to be a loyal soldier. His unit, all members equally eager to begin their careers, threatened to leave and begin employment with a Patriarch who would not divide them based on the trainers' claims. Most Patriarchs would have balked at this display of willfulness and disrespect, but Xentarchus, a powerful man in his own right, sensed talent behind the words of these men. He had some particularly risky jobs for skilled mercenaries to complete, and if they never returned he wouldn't have to pay them. If they did return, then everybody wins.
The next five years serving Xentarchus consisted of trial after terrible trial. They went into old temples, shrines, and caves facing hostile inhabitants and strange and dangerous beasts to retrieve magical artifacts and information. They went deep into enemy territories to kill officials or loot treasuries. The group was strong and consistently impressed Xentarchus each time they returned successfully and Xentarchus was always pleased to pay them very well. For the most part they were happy, but this was not what Memnox wanted. When he became a soldier he wanted to make a decent wage and to have time to study in order to explore possibilities for the future. The money he made in the first six months matched the salary of a regular soldier paid for lounging in a shady glen for five years. He was wealthy beyond his imaginings. But he wanted time. Xentarchus would send them on these epic missions lasting from two weeks to three months of hard travel, hard fighting, and last minute escape by the skin of their teeth sometimes with one or two less members than they started with. The group would return and literally rest for one or two weeks and then Xentarchus would send them off again. Memnox began to understand why soldiers wanted to recline in shady glens drinking wine all of the time.
In all of his writings, Memnox never seems to understand that his ambition and intelligence were the very things that made him and his group attractive to Xentarchus and successful in their journeys. Average flunky soldiers would never have been chosen by Xentarchus to go on these missions. Memnox was not the average soldier. He was not stupid and lazy and this was his first lesson of how those with intelligence and motivation inevitably become the teachers, the planners, the skilled professionals, but also the rulers.
Eventually, Xentarchus took another look at his little squad of hardened warriors and he realized that they had become highly skilled warriors of notable merit. He cast a detect magic spell and found that they had taken quite a few magic items during their missions to aid them in their travels. He spoke with them a bit. He asked them to tell him some of their stories and he discovered that they had adapted well beyond their military training and could use some of their potent magic items. Memnox and his friends would have been more confused and wary of this line of questioning had they not been dead on their feet. Memnox writes how he vaguely remembers this moment. They had just returned from the fortress of Malabensus—a rival Patriarch known for his love of archery and the use of archers. They were sent to steal some choice loot from the treasury and were discovered on the way out. Each of them had from two to five arrowheads embedded in their flesh and feathery shafts sticking out of their armor and shields in all directions. They stood in a line before Xentarchus and he was asking them to tell him stories.
After a few minutes, Tragape, the unit leader, passed out and fell face forward to the floor with a clatter. Xentarchus then realized he might be imposing. For the first time the court physician was sent to visit them in their barracks to aid them in their attempts to remove the arrow tips from each other.
In the following weeks, Xentarchus tried to get to know his men. At first he tried to impress them by casting magic at a whim magically filling cups or serving food or creating illusory scenes before them as he spoke. At the very best they were bored and at worst disdainful. To say the least they were not impressed.
He began, instead, to ask them questions and listen carefully to what they had to say. He realized that they had experienced much more of the world than he had at this point. His little magical tricks paled to what they had already experienced and he listened for many hours as they told stories and laughed and mourned their lost friends. He then began questioning each one about their desires and dreams and such. Many had decided in the past few years that they wanted more than a fighter's life. They wanted to do other things. Some wanted to start families, some wanted to join a priesthood, many wanted to learn a trade. Only one had higher ambitions: mild little Memnox. From then on Xentarchus dined with his captains and they planned all future forays together. Memnox was not shy in telling Xentarchus that quite a few of their missions were completely unnecessary requiring only a bit of skilled diplomacy and that was the Patriarch's job. This ruffled Xentarchus' feathers—but in time he learned to appreciate the honesty. Future missions became less strenuous.
As time became more plentiful Memnox and his friends began to diversify their interests. Memnox was allowed to a section of Xentarchus' library to read philosophy and politics. Xentarchus would often invite Memnox to the garden to play chess and they would often get into conversations about what Memnox had read that morning. Xentarchus usually gave Memnox a dose of perspective about the author and the ideas. He said that Memnox was in his realm of politics and rulership now and that no treatise would prepare him for the reality of it, just like no story told by his best warriors would prepare him for a clandestine mission into enemy territory.
After a year of this life with the magician, Memnox decided he wanted to begin his project. He was nearly thirty, fairly young as the leader of a people, but he wanted to start early while he still had the strength of a young body. Xentarchus asked where he planned to build his town. Memnox said he knew of a place that was fairly remote along the coast where he would build a small fort and let the town spread all around to greatness.
Xentarchus said he had a parting gift for Memnox that he might find fabulously useful. It was a short sword, known as a gladius, that would be sharp enough to cut through anything as long as it was within five miles of the sea. Memnox was struck with overwhelming gratitude at this gift and gave Xentarchus in turn an open invitation to come to his city of the future. They embraced, said their farewells, and Memnox began his long journey back home.
When he arrived at his village, he found it suffering more than when he left. Many homes were abandoned and many of the fields were no longer maintained. His parents were so much older and only two of his younger brothers remained. His parents told him that the Patriarch, who was neither a fair nor good man before, though still a strong ruler, had drifted into instability in recent years. His rage was released upon young women and one by one women above the age of fifteen were taken to the Patriarch's hall, including Memnox's three sisters. Anyone who opposed this was killed immediately including two of Memnox's brothers. Memnox had seen much in his travels and had read much history and political theory. He knew that this little territory was rotten at its core and the rot would spoil everything from the inside out. He guessed that the only thing that kept the command structure operational was fear. He did not need to go to the hall to see the state of the seat of rulership. The insanity created by such power led to horrible atrocity. He would not save his sisters from it. But he also knew that he had come at a volatile time in the estate's future and that any action would be unopposed.
He told his family it was time to leave and instructed them to collect everything they would need to continue their life in a new land. He went about the village and gave the same message to all of the villagers. When he returned to his parents' cottage he found that they had hastily put together a few sacks of personal things and were ready to go. Shaking his head he said, "No, no, I meant everything. Get the cow and the farm tools. Get the wagon and carts and fill them with furniture. If we could take the house, we would. We're not escaping secretly. We're leaving openly and we're taking everything."
All of the villagers met at the exit road of the village, and sitting astride his horse, he led the wagon train out singing loudly one of the work songs he grew up singing. Hesitant at first, in time everyone joined him in the song.
About an hour after they had departed, a small group of soldiers met them on the road. Memnox advanced alone on his horse. The Captain, a notably cruel man, was about to speak when Memnox answered him first. "We're leaving. And I'm inviting you all to do the same. I know things have gotten bad here. I know that much of what you have done lately weighs on your souls. You have proven your loyalty to your lord, but his madness now contests even the Gods. I know many of you turn away from the things going on in the hall and wish you had not been a part of it. Well, let me tell you now. Your lord will not find peace in his diversions and his rage will turn on you in time. You know this too. If you've been looking for a time to leave but have been afraid, now is the time."
The captain raised his sword and advanced. The soldiers behind him dragged him to the ground and butchered him on the road. The soldiers offered their swords to Memnox. He had them put in one of the carts.
On the road he reassured everyone that their new life would be incredible. He spoke to the group and told stories of who he had become and what he had done since he had gone. In early evening the group would gather for boxing matches and archery competitions. It gave the villagers an opportunity to beat on their former oppressors—the guardsmen—and gave everyone something to talk about for the evening and the next day. The guards eventually revealed what insanity had developed in the Patriarch's hall and confessed what involvement they had. They did not go into great detail, but they had nothing hopeful to say about the fate of the kidnapped girls. They begged forgiveness.
As they continued their journey, Memnox began to befriend the guards more. At night he would challenge them in conversation as he did his chums in school. He got to know them better personally. He found they all wanted to leave behind their warrior training and seek atonement for what it had brought them to. They wanted to be more than soldiers, something their former employer never allowed for. Memnox promised them all more.
It was mid-morning as the refugees pushed their wagon along a wooded escarpment overlooking the sea when Memnox drew his gladius and chopped a tree down with a single blow. His writings tell us he was as surprised to see it as everyone else, not that he did not trust Xentarchus, but it's just a shocking thing to see. He contained his wonder, however, and went back to the group. "Let's build here." There was now a great confusion of what to feel—amazement at the tree thing, relief and joy of the journey being at an end, overwhelmed by the work ahead to make a home there. But Memnox proclaimed that the first order of business was a celebration. They cleared an area and had a great feast under the stars surrounded by forest smells and salty air and a restful feeling.
The next day Memnox marked off an area for his citadel. One of the guards made mention that it was a bit small for the fortress of a ruler. Memnox said it was just right for a leader though. After the area for the citadel was set aside they began building homes for the people around the citadel. This was also unusual because the leaders household was not being built first. Memnox just explained, "What you propose makes no sense. Stonework is difficult and time consuming. We could have several wooden buildings constructed in a day. Our homes should go up before our citadel. All I ask is that I can stay with someone in the interim." People began to understand what he was about and were grateful.
The village went up quickly and then the citadel was constructed rapidly but skillfully. Memnox did not allow the guards to lounge in shady glens. He told them that they did it out of habit, that now they had too much to do to lounge and that success was far more rewarding than relaxation. In time they agreed. When the small fort was finished it had low curtain walls, one tower, a courtyard, and a nasty entrance corridor. There were no gates. Memnox wanted everyone to have free access to his home. Well trained guards would be the barrier to unfriendly visitors. He also describes in his writings the process of digging tunnels beneath the fortress. Because even the stone was sandy and generally hard to keep stable, initially it provided a challenge until a skilled stoneworker was brought to brace the walls as the flags were put in. When construction of the small citadel had been completed Memnox looked out over his small village of people liberated from tyranny, and he called it Jawarl Avignon.
In time, more people came to Jawarl Avignon to live and work. Skilled craftsmen who wanted to work in peace came and produced great artworks. Other people came to visit Jawarl Avignon to see this growing seaside community. Merchants worked Jawarl Avignon into their routes.
A few years after Jawarl Avignon was built, elves from the area came out of the forest and introduced themselves. To his surprise Memnox discovered that a very large community of elves was quite close. The elves then began coming to Jawarl Avignon regularly introducing new foods and supplies and sharing their ideas. In ten years one third of Jawarl Avignon's citizens were high elven.
Memnox enjoyed his role as a leader, but he was never comfortable being considered the Patriarch of the town. He had the people elect a council of representatives who would be the governing body of Jawarl Avignon. They would elect a military general who would reside at the citadel and be responsible for training soldiers and protecting the town. The people loved it. They quickly chose their elected officials and, of course, chose Memnox as the military specialist. After two meetings of the council they invited Memnox to sit in meetings as they all agreed that military had to have representation there. Instead he found they just wanted him to make all of the decisions. His input was always asked for and never opposed. On issues he refused to comment on, nothing ever got accomplished. So in the end, he became, for all intents and purposes, the ruling executive.
About this time Memnox married and his wife bore several children. The town grew every year. Visiting dignitaries would come and marvel at its simplistic and effective nature, or they would be offended by its success. Xentarchus too would come on occasion. He was responsible for the suggestion to dig the water storage tank in the courtyard and have it replenished with a priest's magic. Memnox's old adventuring friends came to visit him too. They were pleased at his success. Eventually, Xentarchus in his age became addled and was dangerous, especially as a Patriarch. He was brought to Jawarl Avignon to retire and live with Memnox's family in an environment where he would be loved and cared for. His land was now governed by Memnox's old comrades.
Jawarl Avignon became the jewel of the coast. Carefully tended gardens and sculptures of iron and bronze adorned the streets. There was a library, a theater, a great marketplace, and every house was the home of a skilled worker who brought wealth and personality to the city. Merchants brought trade from all parts of the world. Jawarl Avignon had surpassed Memnox's dreams. And then Fraertes came.
Fraertes was a rustic overlord from a nation far to the south. He was a powerful ruler and a famous hero in his own right. He left his kingdom to see the world. He did it with only one companion, no army, no procession. In his travels his exploits preceded him. He made lasting friendships with some states and became a wanted criminal in others. He was unpredictable. On his way home, travelling along the coastline heading south, he entered Jawarl Avignon and Memnox received him.
Historically, Fraertes is mentioned in many ancient stories and accounts of many cultures from all over the western side of the continent. We also note that his life span is extensive. Sages suggest that Fraertes is a symbol for a type of person common to many ancient cultures, or that he is actually a group working under one name, or that he is a creature without life or a great lifespan. In all of our research of this shadowy reference we have never discovered his home or his tomb.
Fraertes proved to be quite intelligent and well-travelled. He complimented Memnox on the structure of his society and his skillful leadership. Memnox and Fraertes enjoyed each other's company for several days. During this time, Fraertes had noticed one of Memnox's young daughters and was secretly impressed by her beauty. One day Memnox and he sat together at a game of chess when Fraertes suggested they play for high stakes. Memnox questioned why and Fraertes said that it would put a value on their skill. Memnox said that he had nothing of equal value to his skill and that he could wager anything he possessed. Immediately, Fraertes wagered his own daughter in marriage and suggested the same wager for Memnox. Now, Memnox would have been offended if he was not so knowledgeable of other peoples, but he understood that the offering of daughters was common throughout the known world and polygamy was common to the south and west. Memnox was a more enlightened man and he never claimed possession over another man or woman, even his own children.
"My friend, the stakes are possibilities I can neither give nor accept. My daughter will choose when she is ready to be wed and I have passion only for my wife. Both are beyond my abilities. As I said, those things I have power to give I can wager. The greatest thing I have to give is this." and he put his magic gladius beside the game board.
"Oh, I am sorry, and I hope I have not offended. I understand your position and see better now why Jawarl Avignon is so great. Here is my greatest possession." and he placed a jewelled amulet upon the table. "Now let us begin."
They played for several hours on one game, but Memnox was decidedly better. Fraertes grew increasingly aggravated at the direction the game was going and at some point Fraertes decided he would take control of the game his own way.
In one smooth motion, Fraertes grabbed Memnox's magic sword from the table and drove it through Memnox's hand and the marble table beneath stapling his hand to the game table. Fraertes only comment was, "Oh my, that is a nice blade." And then the nightmare began.
Somehow all of the guards and people of the citadel were neutralized. When they awoke they found that Memnox, his daughter, and two of his sons had all been slain. The town was devastated. They sent out hunting parties of elves and humans to track the killer, but they were unsuccessful. Memnox's family was now reduced to his wife, one young daughter and one young son. Sadness overcame the town in the following weeks. Jawarl Avignon was never the same again.
Because there was a council in place, the town was not completely crippled. The death of Memnox did not effect the few elven council members as much as it did the humans, so the elves took charge during the period of mourning. A new military leader was elected—a very skilled elven warrior who was a strong friend to Memnox. He took up residence in the citadel and allowed Memnox's family to remain there. And life continued on.
One day the aged Xentarchus came to Memnox's widow and announced that Fraertes was dead. He was going to "pay his respects" and he magically flew away, never to return. Incidentally, there are many excerpts similar to this concerning the eventual death of Fraertes. Many nobles from many lands went or sent emissaries to witness his final rest either to praise or curse his grave. As mentioned before, no tomb has ever been discovered.
The attack on the house did more than kill a leader; it killed a people. For the next five hundred years the division between human and elf became more defined. For generations after, the story of Memnox and the liberation of the people became an epic that became larger than the actuality. He never achieved the level of immortality in their minds, though, and there was never a suggestion that he would return again. He was dead and he would stay that way. So the stories that were told, even though they tried to maintain a sense of history and heritage (which they did), ultimately told a story of despair and the eventual fall of greatness. For five hundred years the human elders of Jawarl Avignon repeated the story of how regardless of love, strength, and perseverance there was nothing that could be done to stop their hero's eventual victimization by powers greater than he.
The elves, however, grew tired of the pathetic fatalism these humans endlessly preached. Being generally fatalistic normally (because of their long lives) even the elves had a more positive outlook on life. Their experience of Memnox was that he was a very fair and very good man, and they were all sad when he was murdered, but they stepped back and were able to say that even good men die and life must go on.
Eventually, the humans just went away. Jawarl Avignon was still a great center of art, craft and trade, but now it was virtually all elven. It was the elven craftsmen selling their goods, the elven merchants shipping supplies, the council was almost entirely elven now, and the citadel guards were elven. It was not a subversive takeover by the elves, as some sages have suggested, but they liked Jawarl Avignon too and they were proud to call it home. After Memnox's death only the elves still felt like the town really was a fantastic place, unlike any other town in the continent at that time. They continued to work for its lasting glory while the humans moped about feeling sure that any hard work they expend will only be taken or destroyed by pirates or powerful strangers. The humans faded away entirely and Jawarl Avignon was entirely an elven town.
The elven community had become quite large extending all the way into the Monmurg peninsula. Elven homes tend to be less permanent than human dwellings, so when the Sea Princes settled the area, they did not know of its previous inhabitants. The only existing structure in the area at all was the citadel of Jawarl Avignon which was old and ruined by then, the foundations for the old human homes and also the cobbled roads hidden under thick forest. By the time humans had come again to the peninsula, those being the Sea Princes, the elves were entirely gone.
Three hundred years ago the elves, in all of their prosperity, were wiped out completely by orcs from the Hool Marshes to the northwest. Both communities had grown beyond their established boundaries and were beginning to come into contact quite frequently. In time, the orcs became aware of Jawarl Avignon and the wealth of that community. The orcs also had powerful leadership at the time, so it was easy to assemble a vast army that swept to the south slaying elves as it went. Their attack was devastating to the elves and the land.
When they reached Jawarl Avignon, the orcs were stopped as they fought an extensive battle at the walls. The town was completely razed. Not one building was left standing. They did not lay siege to the fortress. They did not feel they had time. Each day they sent waves of warriors at the walls and orcish blood covered the walls and the ground everywhere. When they attacked the open tunnel, elvish arrows from the arrow slits ripped through orcish flesh until the tunnel became impassable with the dead. The sun baked the bodies and the smell of rot encompassed the citadel and sickened the elven warriors. The elves held the orcs off desperately so that the elves at the peninsula's tip could escape by ship, but there were so many elves in that little bit of land that there were not enough ships. Passing merchant ships were hailed and elven refugees packed into whatever craft they could get in. The warriors of Jawarl Avignon had to hold the orcs at the citadel.
The orcish chieftain was very powerful and not entirely stupid. He did not want to pass by Jawarl Avignon for he did not know the forces at the peninsula's end. If he knew that it was mostly women and children by that time he certainly would have passed by the citadel, but as it was he was not willing to expose his army's backside to the seasoned elven warriors of Jawarl Avignon. So he hurled his forces at the walls to make it fall quickly so he could move on.
He carried with him a spear containing powerful magic against elves. It was itself a central icon of this war against the elves. The chieftain would raise his spear, the orcs would rally behind, and run screaming at the walls in a frothing bloodthirsty rage. When the chieftain himself would join the battle, the spear would blaze up and elves would die on its tip. The elves knew their fate; they knew they had to slow the orcs with their lives.
When the orcs finally took the walls, there was a pitched battle on the wall tops and in the courtyard. The elves fought desperately, but the orcs overtook them. In the final moments, one brave elven warrior confronted the chieftain, grabbed the spear from the chieftain's hands (burning his own hands terribly), and cast it far into the sea. The orcs, in their rage, slew every elf in the citadel.
It took no time for the orcs to sweep the peninsula, expel all of the elves, and claim the land for themselves. The orcs kept the citadel of Jawarl Avignon, and the orc chieftain claimed it as his new home. The sea elves claim that the great spear was found by Deep Sashelas who promptly destroyed it. The orcs kept the land for ten years when they were struck with plague and rapidly, those that remained, all died.
Now Jawarl Avignon is a great mystery. The old roads still remain and the citadel is visible from the sea. The locals will not go near it, however. With all of its history, the betrayal, the war, many claim it is haunted by the spirits of its founder or by fallen elves condemned for eternity to the place of their last desperate struggle. Many of the people who live under its shadow now believe that it contains a sleeping curse that should not be disturbed. Such has not been verified.
Jawarl Avignon stands as a silent testament to Istus and the power of her will as Time. Some fear change. Others say change is good. All things considered, change is everything, but the value of it is indeterminate. The will of a man made Jawarl Avignon while the will of another slew him. The fear of change removed the humans from the beauty of their town while it was change that removed the elves from the land.
The citadel itself has changed. The tower has fallen. Other change has also certainly occurred within, but nobody claims to have gone inside since the orcish plague. Not even I have been within its aged walls. Within Jawarl Avignon is the final story of the last days of the elves and the occupation of the orcs. To know this is not important, but I can think of nothing that is.
~*~