Brakkas Zanzulu, Balance of Dichotomy

"Brakkas Zanzulu, bodied duality, balance incarnate, bloody brutality, In peace he fosters discipline in people, In war he grants swiftness to jingoes most evil."

The Doctrine of One's Ancestors
Dan'geon Son'yeon at the ripe age of fourteen was considered an excellent Thousand Discipline citizen within his own Discipline and as such within the nation as a whole.

After a sheer three days into the presence of Brakkas Zanzulu over the land, most would only be beginning to the feel the presence of their ancestors, the manifestation of these spirits could only be perceived this early only by those much more in tune with the mirror realm. Dan'geon had this ability in a very special way. Not only could he sense his ancestors, he was already training with them. His great grandfather and two generations before accompanied him, each of the three spirits leaning in with noses so close to a grindstone. The ancestral spirits felt pride unmatched at the technique their descendant displayed and his mastery in forging daggers of all kinds. Such an ability at this young age, few could fashion Discipline Steel into perfectly balanced works of art for all purposes from warfare to theater in the way he could.

As much as The young Disciplite looked forward to this period every four years, his ancestors looked forward to it even more. Despite their collective centuries of age, they felt within their heart a deep love towards the boy.

As the grindstone polished the blade's fuller, it revealed a beautifully detailed depiction of a pond garden setting that ran right down the middle of the blade's length. This would be impressive enough if it were the result of engraving but this piece however was made by forging the blade in such a way that the damascus banding and mottling formed the image with its ripples. Holding up the blade for all to see, everyone straightened their backs to witness the work of art, hands coming together furiously in applause over the student's victory.

As the months passed, this time of tutelage with Dan'geon's ancestors helped him improve much faster than he would without them. It was hard to find teachers that could keep up with his aptitude. The four of them stood together holding another beautiful piece, the seventh made in their collective presence. All the while each doted over the latest's quality and made remarks for minor improvements on its near perfection before brainstorming ideas for the next piece. Held out, Dan'geon moved forward to lovingly place it on the shrine in the corner of the workshop, an homage to the ancestors themselves. Each of the spirits shed a tear at the offering thinking that no one in the land could be prouder.

The door of the workshop burst open sending it off its hinges. A formidable figure at least nine foot tall with violently crimson flesh ripped the wooden plank from its pivot and as if a slice of bark held it in left limb like it weighed nothing at all. In his right arm, a huge polearm that was instantly recognizable by the smiths in the room as one single cast length of steel. This figure charged the group and although the spirits ran forward to protect the boy, they passed right through the towering oni, their incorporeal forms less than mist in this physical realm. With ease, the oni thrust his weapon with a bellowing shout running it right through Dan'geon's torso.

With reckless abandon, the skewered prodigy was waved around. "GET OUT OF HERE WISPS! THIS DISCIPLINE IS NOW AN ONI VICTORY. ALL WILL BE TRAMPLED BENEATH THE FEET OF THE TENGRI ONI EMPI-" The oni was cut short in his revelry. With his weapon brought in just close enough, the adept child planted the family dedicated dagger deep into the heart of the beast, its delicate blade gliding between ribs parting flesh as if paper. With final breaths, the boy uttered words no oni would ever remember. "You will never break the steel that is discipline lineage." He spat on the monolith of muscle before him and with no life left to give, he became a ragdoll on the roughly forged pike. The oni followed suit, crumpling to the floor and the room was silent.

Four spirits sat around the fire in the ruined discipline's circle of meeting that evening. Although bodies lay like detritus over the snow covered mountain top and homes continued to burn. Survivors of the onslaught began emerging from their homes their will of community bent but unbroken. They would request repairs immediately and continue to learn and grow in their art guided by their generational masters from beyond the veil. As each emerged from their home, the more spiritually attuned of the community noticed figures around the fire, all of them familiar but one. A young boy, around the age of fourteen.

A Moon of Duality
Brakkas Zanzulu is a moon of balance, spending its time of presence over The Mountains of One Thousand Disciplines and linking its populace to the citizen's ancestors. While this creates a great time of individual and communal development for many Discipline citizens who are able to draw from the collective knowledge of their bloodline, Brakkas Zanzulu is also a moon of dual nature. After thirty days, so begins the the middle of this season and the moon's official eclipse. Whereas the first thirty days affects Disciplites, the proceeding sixty days affects all mortals of the land but none more so than the Oni kingdom to the west who are sent into a deep blood lust. Unless a monumental event or influence occurs, war is declared against the Mountains of One Thousand Disciplines and both kingdoms begin sixty days of nationwide conflict. Sixty days is long enough for both sides to accrue many casualties and as the sixty day bloodlust subsides, both sides are ready to begrudgingly sign an armistice to recover and rebuild. The following thirty days allows more time for Disciplites to spend time in the presence of the ancestors, assisting with the rehabilitation of each discipline.

The culture of the Disc Mountains influences nearly all inhabitants to commune with their lineage and practice their sworn art even in the face of looming war. To the outside world this does seem strange when instead preparations should be made. The matter of war is very much so on the minds of the governing body as it approaches. As far back as records recall, the emperor of the land has taken council from a select group, no more than twenty in all who advise the land's leader in all manner of decisions from warfare to resource allocation.

All of the same race, this council is called The Funmyō and consists solely of Meikai Yōsei known elsewhere in the world as Lucid Elves. These individuals wisened by the vivid memories of their own reincarnations before them can offer strategic advice prior to Brakkas Zanzulu's two month eclipse to their emperor who makes the final decision on how the Mountains of One Thousand Disciplines will retaliate to the onslaught. It is during the one hundred and twenty day period of ancestral communion that these souls, in addition to having vivid recollection of their past lives, also inherit the voices and mental poweress of the lives lived before them. This astral effect creates in these already fascinating and invaluable elves dozens of brains worth of intellect working in harmony towards one streamlined goal. Able to perform feats such as running in depth mental battlefield simulations or running thousands of equations to calculate supply levels down to a single cow has given basis to the nationwide belief that the emperor's decision is the most educated in the land and should be trusted.

The Blood of the Sky gives Blood to the Song.
The bloodlust of an oni is felt greatly and sends most into a violent frenzy. Only rare individuals within the oni nation are able to resist this and harness its bolstering effects. Known as Inciters, very strong willed oni train themselves in the bardic tradition of their people. With the sensation of hot blood through their veins, a great strengthening of the oni people is directionless and can cause an inward destruction if not harness and pointed in the right direction.

Inciters have their roots stemmed from early Fragmenterra, bolstered by the first eclipse of Brakkas Zanzulu. Liberating their kin from slavery, they used the percussion of fist on chest as a foundation for which to lay fast paced and poetic rhyming lyrics that elated an even higher drive in the ever latent soldiers around them. The image of the bloody eclipse of Brakkas Zanzulu is the universal signet of inciters with most believing that it was only through his influence that their liberation from incarceration was possible.