Daosr Tu Tra Hurae (Part I - The Gathering)

[Lore / Background]: "The Vemsk Uk Raoqam, one of the great tribal empires of Earia-20 are known in Avarian history to have the widest expanse of territories, spreading across the majority of the northern hemisphere as well as a few smaller territories in the southern. Their overly-zealous rituals and tributes to the Ancestors have earnt their people and their elders the favor of the Silent Brood. With tensions rising between the lesser tribes and the dozens of marauder clans littering the lands beneath the Vemsk Uk Raoqam's notice, an alliance was quietly forged between some of these collectives, some who the dominant zealots branded as 'disbelievers' and together, they began plotting and amassing a mighty legion to strike into the heart of the blessed empire..." [Spoken Word] "Miks uir rasoceak ba musrems bis criarsae su uma omusrar? Nu... sra sria qekeum uk uir omcaksurk ek mus uma su ba decsosad bae bremd urd kcraacrak cumkuredosems vuvar kur sraer uvm virvukak. Tra ors uk cukbos ek sra uma sria apiorezar uk uir demd. Wesr ur vesruis uir vemsk, va ora kserr buimd su uma omusrar." ("Must our legacies be nothing but cruelty to one another? No... the true vision of our ancestors is not one to be dictated by blind old screeches consolidating power for their own purposes. The art of combat is the one true equalizer of our kind. With or without our wings, we are still bound to one another.") [Verse 1] Born beneath the burning sun's loathing gaze Talons sharpened on the bones of kings We who carved our names in thermal winds We who never learned to kneel Wingless and feathered — shoulder pressed to shoulder Scars where wings once spread like banners They call them heathen, hollowed, grounded But these ones chose to stand... with us Blood of cowards? No— Blood of those who climbed back up From the dirt where judgment threw them (threw them!) [Pre-Chorus] But old hate lives in the marrow still, In the elder hush, in the blood-oath will. The trueborn sneer through their hooked white masks: “Those who fell from the sky were never meant to last.” [Chorus] But tonight the fire says otherwise— Tonight one banner climbs the skies. No throne, no chain, no priestly hand Will keep us bowed to a dying command. Hear the cry, let the high winds ring, Let the valley shake when the warbands sing. Feather and scar, blood and bone— We were not born To kneel to stone. [Verse 2] The Vemsk Uk Raoqam — gluttons on devotion Their zealots kneel to shadows behind curtains Priests who've never tasted wind Commanding those who ride it They hoard the hunting grounds, the sacred tradewinds Choke the old ways into scripture But scripture never stopped a spear And prayers don't parry steel *(no...)* "Haosramk. Sdae-sreaqak. Brudam em sra aaea uk sra bruud. Traae vuird vaor uir kroduv, Traae vuird dremd uir vemd, Traae vuird ksoem vros sra omcaksurk dmav.” (“Heathens. Sky-thieves. Broken in the eye of the brood. They would wear our shadow, They would drink our wind, They would stain what the ancestors knew.”) [Chorus] But tonight the fire says otherwise— Tonight one banner climbs the skies. No throne, no chain, no priestly hand Will keep us bowed to a dying command. Hear the cry, let the high winds ring, Let the valley shake when the warbands sing. Feather and scar, blood and bone— We were not born To kneel to stone. [Bridge] See the Baoksredark lash the mane, See the Masokaosrar glide through the copper rain, See the pilots mark the dawn with smoke, See the last taboo Begin to choke. Spears held high in the rivers of grass, Horn and drum where the warbands mass, Mothers singing through trembling beaks, Fathers binding the bark beneath Bronze-worn greaves and leather bands, Children tracing the sacred brands. Not of bondage— Not of fear— But of all that says: “We are still here.” [Verse 3] Now southward burns the gathered line, Past mesa shadow and cedar spine, Toward Deokumd, where the stockpiles sprawl, Where the black granaries feed them all. There the zealots forge their reign, There they salt the captive plain, There their banners crowd the sun, There their counting of the dead is done. So every torch is lifted higher, Every chest a living choir, Every outcast, every heir Marches now in the same night air. [Final Breakdown] To Deokumd! To the root! To the shrines in their armored fruit! To the storehouses! To the gates! To the keepers of the old cruelties and fates! We bring the storm they would not name! We bring the branch! We bring the flame! Winged and wingless, side by side— Let the false gods learn How the free clans ride!