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| Art by Mohammed Z. Mukhtar |
Today's update reveals one of the okanta iconics, and his story is written by none other than Aethera freelancer Jessica Powell, who is designing the okanta race for the Aethera Campaign Setting! Kick back and take a look at Arakhu's heroics, and if you like what you see here consider contributing to our Kickstarter so we can bring more of Aethera to you!
Arakhu
Scattered in tribes across the frozen lands of Orbis Aurea, eyes directed toward the stars, exist the wandering race of the okanta. Descended from giants, the okanta are short-lived but with spirits that burn with a fire so bright that the inhospitable environment and fierce enemies that surround them have never been able to conquer them. With an inherent ability to quickly adapt to any surrounding or situation, the okanta have thrived in face of adversity and shown an indomitable spirit well suited to their nomadic ways.
It is known that the most blessed among this race can hear sidereal whispering from the sky above. Many young okanta spend long nights on the frozen tundra, hoping to be one of the chosen who will become shamans and carry the song of the universe inside themselves. It is through the song that the okanta have been able to survive, transforming it into ballads that preserve their culture and way of life in the absence of the written word. It is the song that warns of all dangers of the past, and provides the knowledge to combat all challenges of the future - for the okanta are not only strong, but they are wise. They listen, they watch, and they always remember.
Hailing from one of the northern tribes, Arakhu was one of the many young hopefuls who looked skyward and listened. Coming from a long line of shamans who still told stories of the glories of Haj-Harmarandh, he dreamed of one day rebuilding the city so high that it would touch the stars themselves. Though normally such impractical fancies would be scorned by the okanta, losing the metropolis had been a huge blow to the people’s pride. The elders encouraged such dreams, even while the tribes suffered under an endless struggle against the frost giants.
Yet as Arakhu grew, those divine dreams turned into bitterness. He watched as his brothers and sisters answered the whispers of the stars that he remained deaf to. Try as he might, the song that he so desperately yearned to hear continued to elude him. In despair and wanting to prove his worth, Arakhu threw himself into battle, growing more bold and reckless with each skirmish against the frost giants. Utterly fearless and able to instantly observe the enemy and determine key weaknesses, stories of Arakhu’s victories and might began to spread among his people. Still disappointed that he could not hear the song of the stars, Arakhu failed to notice that it was now his name that the tribes of the north began to sing when huddled around the fires at night.
Words of his deeds began to spread further than he could have dreamed. Wanderers who travelled from tribe to tribe carried his name on their lips, calling him “the fire that burns away the frozen night”. Soon, it was not only the okanta that spoke of him, but also a nearby human settlement that had long depended on the okanta for the wisdom to survive life on Orbis Aurea. In exchange for protecting their caravans from the frost giants, he was gifted with a speeder bartered for by the tribe at the human spaceport of Wighthaven. Though considered bulky and outdated by human standards, it was a technological wonder to the young okanta and he delighted in it. Immediately, he was able to conceive of new battle tactics that he used to further surprise and defeat frost giant ambushers, who were unprepared to counter such a foe.
Arakhu only began to realize the significance of his deeds when the taiga giants giants finally came to his tribe, asking not for aid of the shamans as they always had in the past, but specifically for him. The frost giants that he had so successfully been thwarting had turned their rage upon the ancestral allies of the okanta, and the neighboring taiga giants were now under relentless siege. Knowing that even if he could not aid them in battle, that his death might quell some of the the fury of the frost giants, Arakhu swore himself to their aid.
When Arakhu set off with the taiga giants, he expected to go alone. Instead, many of those he had previously fought with and protected who had been inspired by his courage followed along. Even the shamans that he had envied for so long were now walking with him, and looking at him the way they looked and listened to the stars. When the warband passed the human settlement that he had often protected, word of the upcoming battle quickly spread and Arakhu was startled to see their own warriors running to join his ranks.
The trek was long and wearisome. The very environment seemed to side with the frost giants, impeding the travelers with chill winds and treacherous ice. And yet no one faltered, for each obstacle the land threw against them Arakhu was able to navigate and defeat. He listened to the advice of the elder shamans. He welcomed the technology of the humans, and he respected the tactics of the taiga giants who had been battling the frost giants since before the songs of the okanta had began. In the middle of nowhere, with the enemy very near with overwhelming forces, the three different peoples became one.
From the beginning, the battle seemed like one that would be lost. The warband was greeted with the corpses of fallen taiga giants, and the forces of the frost giants seemed numberless. In all of the songs and stories of the okanta, the ancient foe had been driven back before, but never defeated. As darkness fell and the night grew cold, hoped dwindled and the screams of the dying filled the air. Even Arakhu fell in battle, his speeder toppled over by a frost giant’s well-timed blow.
Once again Arakhu felt a familiar, old despair. He had failed to become a shaman, and now he would fail here too when victory mattered the most. Laying in the snow, with the only warmth being his own blood that now surrounded him, he thought of closing his eyes and surrendering to the darkness behind the stars, for the stars themselves had never chosen to shine upon him.
And then he heard it - his name on the wind. It was faint, and he could not tell if it was the voice of a human, taiga giants, or okanta. Yet it was enough. It stirred a fire in his veins, and within himself he found the song he’d been searching his whole life for. It was the song of battle, of triumph, of glory. It was not his fate to listen to the whispers of the ancestors, to tell others of fate. It was his destiny to make his own.
Rising once again, Arakhu ripped the fabric of his cloak to serve as a victory banner. Looking at the battlefield and seeing all of his allies fighting side by side, he knew that it called for more than the symbol of just his tribe. Having nothing else to paint with expect his blood, he stamped the banner with his bleeding hand, and held it aloft of all to see that he, Arakhu, was not yet defeated, and neither were they.
Rallied, the united forces of okanta, humans, and taiga giants did more than drive back the forces of the frost giants that night. They defeated them, nearly every single one except for a scant few that ran back to the glaciers further north. Arakhu knew that more would come, but he did not fear what the future held. He would be waiting, and he would be ready.
As celebrations broke out around him, Arakhu looked at his people and their allies and felt a nearly forgotten dream rekindled within him. It no longer felt so impossible to reclaim what had been lost. The power of of a unified people was not lost to him. What would happen, he began to wonder, if all the nomadic tribes banded together? If the okanta of the north, the south, the west, and the east once more gathered under one banner, one purpose? Haj-Harmarandh might once more be a reality, and this time it was the frost giants who would lay in ruins.
Arakhu swore that until that day, he would hold his banner high.
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