Luw'oon-ji

In Püertagœ's infancy, when the aqueducts weren't even in existence, and access to water was being carted in barrels either by hand, Wôrdiţ or a mess of a wells dipping into the much smaller cistern, there were heavy waves of off and on again sickness. Despite the city being built to accommodate large amounts of people, it started off rather small.

Of course, there were plans for the great Püertagœ to become what it is now, a 12 rings metropolis, but the rings were built slowly over time as population demanded it, and it fed new jobs, with new people. But with the influx of people in such tight quarters during one of the first ever expansions, it was as if the entire city became hyper focused on the tasks at hand. Everything became work, and partying it up during free time. This left hygiene on a back burner that proved to be disastrous.

With men and women heading to pop-up taverns and brothels with no free flowing water, people relieved themselves wherever and however, with little thought on who would clean it up later. With dust and debris from construction, small living quarters and a lack of hygiene things were bound to go awry, and they did.

People soon became ill, even dying, making the growth of Püertagœ come to a halt and a place to avoid. The illness, Luw'oong-ji, began with blurry vision followed by rashes that, rather than burned, made the individual feel as though they were freezing. These rashes would propagate over the majority of the body, until the eyes lost pigment, and the individual would die. Their skin would be clammy to the touch, even in death, and remain that way.

The city went on a high alert to cleanse itself, and sanitation became a priority. It became mandatory for people to relieve themselves in designated locations, and for families to cart in their own water on a two day basis at most. With years passing, aqueducts were built and rebuilt as the city grew. Salt was used to spread over defecation and the devastation of Luw'oong-ji never returned. All the dead were burned in massive pyres well outside the city's current walls.

Despite this being a potential learning curve for future generations, this is one epidemic that Püertagœ does its best to keep stricken from the history books. However, there was a plus to all this. Where they were burned is now the land of the village of Béschmed and is in fact part of why this farming land is so plentiful.

Luw'oong-ji wreaked its havoc just over 18 Tam'nýer—a''n years ago. Roughly 540 years ago in our Earth years.

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The Occupation of डैकबर​

Fawzia-Kedet, as we know it now is considered to be primarily human run, but Fawzia-Kedet used to be called डैकबर (Daikabara). It was originally commissioned by the Ṅkhya'jra and was built by the Z'sa'Ză-'Bäa. A lot of the architecture is actually original, but due to the invasion, some was indeed damaged. It has been repaired though by the Z'sa'Ză-'Bäa to ensure that it was restored to how it was supposed to be as डैकबर was renowned for its architectural beauty and harmony with the nature surrounding it. But this article is to explain the how and why डैकबर came to be known as Fawzia-Kedet in the first place, so let's delve in.

The summarized version is that after the Gods came to a cataclysmic end, Tam'nýer—a' suffered great changes. A good example of this is that magic, for all intents and purposes, was snuffed out, until artifacts came to be known and understood. This single shift caused such a ripple that it gave birth to a warped paranoia because it altered an understood and accepted power scale as well as reality, and that understood power scale in turn maintained the peace between races.

Everyone once worshiped, and most could harness the elements with study, practice and patience, that is until the Gods blipped out of existence. They died, and all at once it appeared that the only ones still blessed by the Gods were the Ṅkhya'jra. This was thanks to their undying devotion, surprisingly as a racial whole, and their practice of tattooing or scarification of the Gods' sigils that they still carried a type of empowerment. The power of belief imbued them with a little cut above the rest and that was enough to begin the wedge between the Ṅkhya'jra and the other races.

The apprehension of different races only grew worse as the Ṅkhya'jra grieved the loss of the deities. This is when their worship started to become zealotous, and reviving the Gods became their raison d'être. Due to this, the Ṅkhya'jra decided to shut the doors to डकईभर to focus on this racial transformation and dogma.

Once again, this reaction only fuelled the fires of paranoia, most especially those of the Khah' and this was because their beloved Uwhang geographically was in between डैकबर, as well as the Ṅkhya'jra homeland of

ॠध​ऊञ​ई (Rīdhaūñaī). As for Püertagœ, they were on the same continent, and this fire that was building came to a fever pitch when artifacts were discovered. At some point the citizens of Püertagœ began rioting, demanding protection, security and for the Senate to do something about their northern neighbours, because who knew what they had and what they were capable of. You have to understand that this paranoia was building over a time equivalent to 30 Earth years (1 Tam'nýer—a''n year). You could feel the unease in the streets.

With the riots, the Senate and the Empress of the Sky-Coral Sea (Uwhang) met multiple times and finally declared war on डैकबर. Sadly, डैकबर fell, and it happened in the passing of a single Tam'nýer—a''n day. Of course, as you may suspect, this only worsened the relations and apprehensions of the races, and was ultimately the foundation of why the Ṅkhya'jra are racist. Only now is their racism understood to be mostly fuelled by their fanaticism.

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Žraăst'e's Ire
Žraăst'e's Ire was a summer unlike any other. Lighting is an expected part of Tam'nýer—a''n life, most especially in those dry summer months, when the skies are tinted pink more than any other colour. However, this particular season was worse than anyone could have anticipated, devastating crops in ZàÞça to the point where Püertagœ had to make bargains with the less than amicable 'merchants' of B'hărăbû in order to feed its people. Noîka crops were set aflame for hectares, absolutely destroying some families financially, and generations of work.

As far as natural disasters goes, Žraăst'e's Ire is remembered as one of the worst in Tam'nýer—a''s history, and happened, for most, two generations ago. For the majority of the populace Žraăst'e's Ire is slowly turning into a bedtime story to make children obey their parents to sleep during the bright Summer nights. However, for those who's lively hood depends upon agriculture, the sense of foreboding continues to live on.