Concerning Saphyna, the Eve of the Howlers and the creation of zombin

Since our realm's history has attracted the attention of certain learned sects in far sailed parts, our Academy has received legio inquisitive writings concerning the alchemical teachings about the zombini potion's preparation and precise effects.

As several, of us deployed opportunists, have declared that these kingdoms present little threat against Trakorian values and domains, I have humbly been ordered to enlighten the barbarian darkness that seems to prevail over the aforementioned lands.

For thee, ignorant masses, it is appropriate to slander the island of Saphyna succintly, this woolen foot of Trakoria, where the lands are populated by strange people. They are born and live with their eyes turned towards the dirt from which they sprang. Otherwise, the Saphynian sees and hears nothing.

The Saphynier's thought slowly crawls through his head, as worms through sinewy meat. However, he does work meticulously and stands by his word, and is thus a good thrall under patient masters....

However, every so often, as firebirds rise from a stinking marsh, a miracle child is born out of this slow people, a silver drop among grey stones, a mustelon among sloths. These children should be put in the forest, but they are too cunning, as they even at birth can create sympathy among the simple minded.

These silver children have three things in common:

Pro Primo: they sound odd.

Pro sekundo they are attractive as they sound odd

Pro Tertio, they lead, without fail, to ruin, shouldst they be allowed to act. Thus is the legacy of Krindenland.

No one of sound mind can think that the contagious mind rot that is the Rejoicer faith sprang from Saphyna.

Thus, the zombin potion, of which ye ignorantly query, finds its origin in the Guidena barony, under the western mountains next to Saphyni inner coastline.

There lived in years past a master alchemist. His ears harkened to the name Harlevold and he was the third legitimate offspring of Baron Hurrum Hookbristle of Guidena. In those days, there was unnatural and unjust fretfulness towards our beloved home island, the green and fair folked Paratorna, as a patch of fertile soil from Gudeni valley had been rightfully claimed by our government.

From Harlevold's head sprang then the disgusting drug of extraordinary quality, with the power to distort all senses. Its name was written as "Zombin" after the dead walkers.

"Let us for Gudeni liberation create an army from loiterers and drifters who dwell in loony bins, are misshapen and destitute, an army that bows to our voices without fear of death, disfigurement or other trifles!"

Lowly peoples were thus herded with great obfuscation to be fed the drink through hose and funnel, as it is so vile that no one would drink it otherwise. A mighty host was thus assembled on the plains, which with dead gaze closed in on Paratoni army camp. The guards, upon beholding it, were filled with dread, screamed and ran. However, one single man-at-arms with a clear head was sufficient. He cried: "Make halt, ye slimy hordes. None shall pass!"

Without will, the thralls of Harlevold's army took these orders to ear and stopped to gaze emptily towards the sludge.

The Saphynians soon managed to drew the zombine army forth again, but as the Paratorni warriors saw how a single jack had stoppped the march, they stepped forwards to try their voices' mettle.

Thus it came to pass that the zombine army moved back and forth irresolutely, as commands fell into their ears. Such was the screaming that the battle became known as the Eve of the Howlers. The indecisive masses undulated while voices soon grew hoarse.

Finally, the Paratorni host brought a herald with a voice of thunder by the name of Skrynk. He opened his mouth wide and cried: "Slaughter ye your masters!"

And lo! Like the ocean turns with the tide, the zombin army, hearing his words, walked back against Harlevold and his men, who could now but squeak. Light footed runner boys scurried forth and plugged the lackwits' ears with beeswax, so that they naught more would hear but this: "Slaughter ye your masters!"

And that came to pass.

And the blood flowed crimson.

And that was the last time that Saphyni people raised arms against their masters.