In the wildest lands of Khaldun dwell the Drauga, a race
whose savagery is matched only by their sense of honor and tradition. In
Ages past, the Drauga stood as the greatest bulwark against the Shadow, ever
eager to do battle against the Ceyah and unafraid of the death and
destruction of perpetual war. Yet as the Ages have marched on, the vitality
of the Drauga has been sapped. Their endless civil warfare, coupled with
depredations by the Ceyah, has weakened them greatly. Moreover, their
rejection of technology and civilization has allowed other races,
particularly the Humans, to gain in martial prowess relative to the Drauga.
Feared or hated for their war-like tendencies, the Drauga have been driven
from Human and Haroun lands, and now smolder with resentment and shame.
Whether this burning becomes a blaze of glory or the flames of desolation
will yet be seen.
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Rise, Drauga, Rise!
All blood burns, fire calls,
Fury shines, the weapons groan.
Steel against bone, once, now twice,
Sword against club, the warrior's life
Spills, but yet, again he draws breath,
Resists death, and swings again.
His foe knows no fear: blood cold,
Eyes old, life and death are all one,
Or many -- for both have come and gone
Again and again, and so he smiles cold,
And dares the warrior on.
This is our struggle. Our
blood sings it.
Broken, beaten, breathless, yet we fight on.
Drauga! The warrior stands, swings
On and on, battling the laughing immortal,
Condemned to die, yet by his choice
To live these last moments, glorious.
As immortal as his foe, as deathless
As that cold blood, is this his tale!
Honor claimed and held fierce,
They cannot take.
So on the battle waged, and wages,
And we are driven from land to land.
Broken, beaten, breathless we stand,
Now here upon this forsaken dirt,
And claim, now, and hold fierce
This tale, our honor,
And rise again to do battle!
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