The Scourge is not a person, but a pattern. It is a recurring force woven into the history of Thalevir, marked by rhythm rather than identity. Every two or three centuries, a figure or movement rises, gathers followers, and ignites an uprising that threatens the continent’s stability. Names change. Causes shift. The shape remains.
Mushkinek was one expression of the Scourge. The Ravens are another. Each emerges from different conditions, yet follows the same arc. Charisma hardens into belief. Belief becomes momentum. Momentum turns destructive. Institutions strain, alliances fracture, and the foundations of peace crack under pressure.
Some argue the Scourge serves a grim function. It exposes complacency, punishes stagnation, and forces societies to confront weaknesses long ignored. In its aftermath, new alliances form. Old systems fall away. The peace that follows feels earned rather than assumed. Survival itself becomes a form of renewal.
That argument offers little comfort to those who pay the price.
Each cycle of the Scourge consumes lives that might otherwise have shaped a better future. Leaders, thinkers, builders, and reformers are lost in the violence, burned away before healing can begin. Progress resumes, but thinner, built by those who remain rather than those who might have been.
The Scourge leaves no monument and claims no flag. It passes like fire through dry ground, reshaping the land without mercy or intent. When it fades, Thalevir endures. But it always endures diminished, carrying forward both the lessons learned and the losses that made them unavoidable.