Aurens are quite interesting creatures. You may have even seen one yourself, as they are far less rare in our realm than you'd imagine. When in Onoria, however, they tend to conceal their more… animalistic features. Without the trained eye of a true schor, one might not recognize them at first gnce.But the tells? Oh, the tells are obvious to one such as myself. Those unnaturally sharp ears. That elongated wingspan. The ever-present gloom behind their eyes. Yes, clear signs that they are beasts, merely masquerading in the skin of men!
One might pity them, the poor things. When they arrive in our nds, they attempt to blend in by shaving their fur. Yes, fur, like that of a dog or a bear. From head to toe, they are covered in it, and in their homends, it is quite natural to leave it untouched, Their shaggy coats run quite the spectrum, from stark white fluff that blends into their snowy surroundings, to deep bck fur that masks them beneath the cover of night. Curiously, many seem to harbor a fascination with dying their matted coats in garish, contrasting colors. making them far easier targets than they otherwise would be, I must say. When shaved, their skin is pale as the snow of their homend, giving them the sickly appearance of some ghastly, pgued Lurcher.
Pests such as lice, ticks, and all manner of parasites must see Aurens as a veritable banquet, a warm, shaggy paradise. It is no wonder, then, that ships with Auren crew fare rather poorly in matters of hygiene and disease. They are walking, talking vessels of pgue. Thankfully, for the safety of you and your loved ones, none are permitted to enter the higher districts of our beloved Onoria—even with a pass—without undergoing a full cleansing regimen. A small mercy, truly. Some might wonder: if they resemble beasts, do they not also possess the strength of them? As, Aurens fall woefully short in that regard. Still, they exhibit certain peculiarities stemming from their feral build. Some of them, when fleeing, or perhaps pursuing a rat for sustenance, will take to all fours in order to increase their speed.
Yes, dear reader, they are quite quick on the crawl. It is my learned opinion that their elongated arms serve to facilitate this absurd, four-limbed gallop. Ridiculous to witness, truly, like watching a man crawl about as if he were a child or some manner of hound. It is in moments like these that we are reminded of our blessings: to be born as we are, under the grace of Onorus, gifted with strength and beauty. Not cursed, as they are, by one of the lesser gods, such as the Auren’s so-called ‘Wolf Mother,’ Aureha. You may have heard her name before, Aureha. Far less alien than Yth’so, and not as forgotten as Ruhmar.
Some of you, the more sympathetic types, might not even see her for what she truly is: a mockery of divinity. And to that I say, for shame. To think anything but contempt for these lesser gods, while living under the golden grace of His Kingdom? Bsphemy veiled as tolerance. But as, Onorus teaches forgiveness. Aureha, the so-called Wolf Mother, encourages her people to fumble about with the animals of the frozen Moravyr wilds. It’s said that Aurens possess, as a people, a rather flexible tongue. Many of them are exceptionally gifted in the Binding of Sound—able to communicate with the dull beasts of the tundra. And oh, how they love their beasts. The bonds they form would, to the untrained eye, resemble the tender embrace of matrimony. Do I jest? Ah, dear reader, I am certain you wish I had. But no. Some Aurens, like the hairy, howling dogs that they are, take their beasts as lovers.
If you’ve only ever encountered Aurens in Onoria, you might assume all their wives must be animals, for Auren women are among the rarest sights beyond the borders of Moravyr. But no, dear reader, not all of them are animal-fondling degenerates. There are indeed women of their kind with whom they could breed. Yet, I can only surmise that Auren men possess an insatiable lust for dull beasts over their... only slightly less dull female counterparts.
Primitive as they are in their own nds, one might assume the Aurens live entirely in the unsheltered wilds of Moravyr, and indeed, many of them do, I’m sure. But they’ve also taken root in certain corners of the continent, developing what might be called towns… Many of these ‘towns’, are nestled deep within the carved-out cave systems that riddle Moravyr’s mountainous spine. They bind the stone in curious ways, maniputing its shape to amplify acoustics within their cavernous dwellings. The result is a kind of... echo chamber. They go on for hours, howling to their deities in the middle of the day. Of course, like the Garruhm, the Wolf Mother is not their only divine vying for their attention; merely the most prominent of their many, muddled idols.
This group howl is a rather curious ability, shared—at least according to my findings—by their most elite singers. They gather in choirs and replicate phenomena that, under normal circumstances, would require entirely separate schools of Binding. Their cave homes, according to one source, are sung into existence! Now, I must inform you, dear reader, that this source was one of the mongrels themselves, so I cannot speak to the full legitimacy of his words. However, we do have verified reports, gathered by our esteemed military schors, of Auren ‘songs’ wreaking havoc upon the battlefield.
Yes… The Battle of Medveshsk.
Before our brave forces were able to put an end to their incessant wailing, they endured conjured ice storms that battered their armor with sleet and hail. Their horrid beasts stalked through the blinding white, carried by winds so cold they could fy the flesh from a lesser man! Yet our soldiers, strong, resolute, blessed by Onorus, held firm through that unnatural storm. They culled the beasts, one by one, enduring with unmatched discipline and steel. And in the end, through our divine ingenuity and tactical brilliance, we cleansed the town with a single, decisive blow. Now, credit where it is due. The Mutts of the Wolf Mother wield an impressive ability. Perhaps one day, with refinement and proper control, we may even replicate such a feat among our own ranks. But as it stands now? Even without it, we triumphed, superior in weapon, in will, and in magic.
Yes, without their sing-songy tactics, they are woefully outmatched. Their armor is fashioned from the leathers and hides of their cherished beasts, sves, it seems, to their endless ceremonies honoring their animal companions. Their weapons are often forged of steel, or some other strange, unrefined metal that has yet to be properly cssified by our schors. But make no mistake: they do not favor the noble sword, the disciplined spear, or the righteous hammer.
No, the Aurens—ever fond of their gueril nonsense—prefer smaller arms. Tools of ambush. Instruments that mimic the talons and fangs of the very creatures they adore. They march into battle dressed like beasts, wielding metal cws and gnashing fangs, as though pretending to be wolves might lend them the courage of one. Silly beasts. They truly believe themselves as ferocious as the hairy mongrels they take to wife.
And so I leave you, dear reader, with a vision of the soon-to-be-conquered nds of Moravyr. Their so-called capital, Sevrasil, shall no doubt become a favored destination for the more worldly among you. Like their other hovels, the Aurens have seen fit to anchor their stronghold into the side of Moravyr’s rgest mountain. From base to peak, it is tangled in the roots of a colossal tree, its leaves clear as ice, shimmering like gss. It is, admittedly, a marvel of nature. When the light strikes it just so, it shines like a tangle of stars, beckoning travelers toward the mountain's heart. A pity, then, that such a majestic wonder is defiled by the presence of such primitive folk, clinging to its roots like ticks on a hound. But I have faith, as ever, in our glorious host. I am certain that our valiant warriors shall one day seize the territory, cleanse it of its stain, and preserve its ethereal beauty for future Onorion generations to come.
