The history of mankind does not begin in the
works of their own scholars. It is found instead within the ancient documents
of the Elderkin, those races that bestrode the world from the earliest days of the second
age. In the esteemed archives of the Dwarves, Elves
and others, the journals of naturalists can be found, and their vivid descriptions of
the primitive race of men offer an unparalleled glimpse into the earliest chapters of their
early existence. It is clear that few among the Elderkin
held
any special regard for early humanity. As a species, little was found to mark it
as anything other than a savage pest. Mankind was judged to lack the higher graces
or innate wisdom that marked those of greater potential. Even compared to the lesser races, the orcs
and other things that possessed at least some primal cunning, human beings seemed to lack
any inherent nobility or unique potential. They were seen, at best, as crude imitations
of the Elderkin, and at worst hardly different than
orcs themselves. Neither the Elves nor Dwarfs or any other
civilized race expected mankind to be anything other than scattered chiefdoms or barbarous
nomads. So when the first human states and Kingdoms
sprouted up across the world, the Elderkin were taken slightly by surprise. Yet so paltry were the achievements of the
human race in the shadow of the Elderkin, and their spread so confined, that rather
than challenging any preconceived notions of their potential, the early rise of humanity
went l
argely unnoticed. Slowly and arduously across the millennia,
mankind earned a place for itself as civilized people with a destiny of their own. But where the Empires of the elder races seemed
to weather the passing of time with an unyielding constancy, the domains of man rose and fell
in an endless cycle of fleeting glory and lasting ruin. Orcs and other things destroyed countless
human kingdoms but more often that not it was betrayals, wars and other self-inflicted
catastrophes that snuffed out
the fire of the human race. Mankind’s kings and statesmen of this era
were vassals of the Elderkin, trade partners, or even allies, but never equals. The presence of a human nation in the territory
of the elder races might have been begrudgingly tolerated or even celebrated as a mutually
beneficial relationship, but the moment its ambitions crossed paths with the desires of
their superiors, mankind was reminded of their subordinate role, often firmly. Human nations whose aspirations outstripped
their station, were as ruthlessly destroyed as any incursion from the lesser races might
have been. In the great events that shaped the passage
of the Second Age, the nations of man rarely played a meaningful role. When the Ninth Gate was found and opened and
the world seemed poised to slip eternally into the darkness, no human champions were
ever named among those that fought the legions back. As the Orcish Wars engulfed the whole of the
Red Steppes, and Turangar itself, greatest of the man’s
nations, was besieged, it was
the arrival of the Elves' that secured the victory, and the price in human lives was
overlooked. And in the few moments when the character
of humanity was truly tested… it always failed. Few traits unite those who have waged war
against all that is good in the world, but every Dark Lord or Prince, every would-be
God of Darkness, all have found willing servants in mortal men. It is for this reason that human beings have
often made convenient scapegoats. The Elderkin
are hardly without their own
inner turmoils and more than once, a human kingdom has been blamed for all the ills and
strife in their societies. Crumbing ruins are all that remain of the
human kingdoms that once filled the Emerald Sea, extinguished for no other reason than
Elvish pride. For the Republic of Voskgardia this specter
of annihilation had been a recurring shadow throughout all their history. Nestled between the great empires of the Northern
Seas, in the aftermath of the Orcish wars it
had come to control an increasingly vital
waterway. It was a modest human nation and made a convenient
buffer state for the elder races of the region. Its position gave it wealth and power, but
not enough to push back against the machinations of its neighbors. Whenever war came to the Northern Seas, Voskgard
would inevitably fall, unable to withstand the overwhelming power of the nations that
surrounded it. Often it was used as a bargaining chip, traded
back and forth as a vassal, protectorate o
r tributary. The nomenclature differed, but the outcome
was always the same. In the final century of the second age, Voskgardia
seemed poised to once again face the all-too-familiar cycle of uncertainty and subjugation. Nominally a vassal of the Tassendrel Empire,
it had enjoyed an unusual era of self-determination and prospered as a result. While the elven nobility of Tassendrel were
distracted by internal politics driven by questions of succession, the Republic of Voskardia
had been transforme
d. The city itself had doubled and then tripled
in size while its farmlands and territories extended further and further across the coasts
and into the continent. For the first time in history, the inferiority
of the Voskgardian state compared to some of the other smaller Elven Kingdoms across
the Northern Seas, was not a guarantee. This in itself likely would have been enough
to draw the ire of the Tassendrel Empire. Though powerful human states existed, they
were rare, and certain members of t
he Elderkin saw them as an imbalance in the natural hierarchy
of civilization. An unchecked vine that needed to be trimmed. This was the belief held by Emperor Thelianar
and with his own legitimacy in doubt he was eager for a brief one-sided war to solidify
his grip on power. Yet there were also increasingly fantastical
rumors flowing out of Voskgard’s ports and markets. Most seemed more perplexing than revelatory,
but every detail that flooded out of the city was sorted directly into the ears o
f Tassendrel’s
spymasters. The unprecedented success of the city was
said to have been manifested by a new kind of sorcery. Human beings were universally feeble in the
practice of the higher arts, but as Voskgardia prospered, everything from its architecture
to the local weather began to change. Its skies grew dark, its people weary. It had become like no other nation in the
world and the Empire’s appetites for a confrontation grew. Emperor Thelianar got his wish in the two
thousandth, nine hund
red and fourteenth year in the old calendar. Year zero, by the new. Presented with terms they had no choice but
to reject, Voskgardia asked to negotiate, and Tassendrel responded with war. As had been repeated again and again throughout
the history of the Northern Seas, Elven armies marched across the Sunter Plains, and prepared
to cross the River Vosk. Tirgaard Crossing was the most natural point
in which to block the enemy, but in all the attempts made across all the centuries, no
human force
had ever won a victory there. When the Voskgardian Army assembled along
the river they faced the same ancient swordsmen, the same grizzled, steely faces, that had
personally cut down their fathers, grandfathers, and more distant ancestors. Elven mages had anticipated some great display
of power and prepared the appropriate counterspells, but as the inevitable confrontation at the
River Vosk grew imminent, no sorcery arose to block their way. Human innovation was not often valued highly
by the gr
eat artisans of the Elderkin. It was considered crude and unrefined by the
standards of the Elves and borderline irresponsible to the Dwarves. Yet every now and then, despite every disadvantage,
it was capable of producing something new. And In Voskgardia it created a miracle. Inspired by the discarded works of the Dwarves
a cabal of engineers had crafted a crude device, one that used steam to push a piston back
and forth. From this initial secret invention had eventually
come many others and on
the banks of the River Vosk the first of them would be revealed. It was called the MG-12 recoil-operated machine
gun. It took an alliance of 5 Elven Emperors and
3 Dwarven High Kings to wipe Voskardia off the face of the world. But for almost two decades the Northern Coast
became a battleground without precedent in which a single isolated human kingdom endured
the assembled wrath of the Elderkin. There was little glory on these battlefields,
only pockmarked craters, shattered trees and the scre
ams of the dying. It was a harbinger of things to come. The idea that these new technologies might
somehow be contained was never realistic. So distracted by their own internal rivalries,
the rapid advancement of human civilization had been almost entirely overlooked. The developments in Voskgardia were soon repeated
elsewhere, and then everywhere. The time of the Elderkin was over. The era of man had begun. In the depths of ancient mountains and in
the heart of the oldest forests, the world as
it existed in the second age can still
be found. There are places where the old dance between
magic and nature continues, secluded pockets where time stands still. But such places grow smaller every year. The world, this new one that mankind has named
Tyrrell, is one of industry, progress and relentless ambition. And it will not stop until it has achieved
the total destruction of the old. In every city, smokestacks punctuate the horizon,
smothering the skies in blankets of ash and grime until th
e rain burns as it falls. The incessant hum and clang of machinery reverberates
over the modern age, while armies of men, dwarfs, and elves alike, assemble in ragged
lines. They march into the factories, into the textile
mills, the coal mines, and the steel foundries, the lifeblood and gristle of the new, perpetual
machine Every year the mechanisms of production and
slaughter are refined. Every year the soil of Tyrrell is covered
in more shells and drenched in more blood. There are creatures tha
t thrive in a world
like this. Ancient things the old races drove away in
times all but forgotten. They are returning now, and the world that
man has made is very much to their liking. The gates will be uncovered soon, and the
harvest can begin.
Comments