The World of Beasts
Time is circular. That is what the philosopher's say. That's what the wizards say. Me, I never believed it. But it made the stories make more sense. An ancient age of peace, a swift age of war. An age of light followed by an age of darkness. It seemed to fit, if not as perfect as the arcane would have us believe. Me, I'm just a mercenary. Time past and time coming, none of it matters. The only circular worry of mine are the coins that come with each contract. My name is Lukas. Just Lukas. Some of my colleagues carry long titles and long names. Me, I figure if people recognize me, great. But when I sign a contract, I want it to be quick.
For as long as I can remember, which isn't very long, the humans had dominated society. Their kingdoms were more prosperous than the dwarves, or the tieflings, or even my people, the dragonborn. Sure, each kingdom had its wonders, but the humans were the strongest. Then one morning I woke up and everything had changed. My commanders said something had gone wrong. Half our barracks were empty. Every human was gone. We didn't know why. We didn't know...
Four days. Four days of eerie quiet. Four days of searching. No human or half-elf remained. Messengers were sent to every fort and village we could. It seemed it was the same everywhere. Entire human villages, empty. Entire cities reduced to a tenth of their population. No blood, no bodies, just... emptiness. Four days of absolute confusion. Then the Uprising. Giants, Titans, Ogres, Trolls, Orcs, and Goblinoids. The combined forces of the dark races rose up in one frightening movement and smashed like a tidal wave onto the civilized world. With our reduced strength, with the humans and half-elves all gone, we stood little chance in many of our once powerful fortresses. Many good dragonborn fell in defense of posts that served no purpose. My company was hired by the Arkhosian Empire to defend the ancient citadel of the dragonborn people, Arkhosia itself. Our people rallied in the frozen north and faced off against the frost giants that threatened our lives. No messenger could make it through the enemy lines and our allies, as troubled as we were, could neither aid us nor expect aid from us. As I sat in the cold halls of Arkhosia, I knew only the cold grip of despair...
It has lasted for four years, this war without hope. And while we still defend the cold stone walls of our sacred Arkhosia, our strength diminishes. The saving grace is that our foes have lost most of their fervor after crashing against our walls time and time again. We have slipped a few small groups of soldiers past the front lines. Now my company has decided to sell our swords to the dwarves or the elves. The giants seem lazy, seem content to starve the city out. Fifteen of my comrades at arms are prepared to breach the line. Prepared to bring news of Arkhosia to the other races. Bravely we arm ourselves and, with honor and valor, sneak out the back. Discretion is, after all, the better part of valor.
We trek across the frozen wastes of the north, steadily traveling southward. We know the mountains far to our south and west hold the greatest citadel of the dwarves, the deserts of the world's deepest south are the home of the Tiefling fiends, and the forests of the east the elves and eladrin. Our leader says we need to travel to the Iron Citadel of the Dwarves, Karraz Gherren. And so we travel, silent and swift, to bring a bit of cold, merciless justice to these beasts who dared to push us from our homes. Four years of war, and now we have the chance to strike at their weak flanks. Thus begins my journey, thus begins my personal war.
For as long as I can remember, which isn't very long, the humans had dominated society. Their kingdoms were more prosperous than the dwarves, or the tieflings, or even my people, the dragonborn. Sure, each kingdom had its wonders, but the humans were the strongest. Then one morning I woke up and everything had changed. My commanders said something had gone wrong. Half our barracks were empty. Every human was gone. We didn't know why. We didn't know...
Four days. Four days of eerie quiet. Four days of searching. No human or half-elf remained. Messengers were sent to every fort and village we could. It seemed it was the same everywhere. Entire human villages, empty. Entire cities reduced to a tenth of their population. No blood, no bodies, just... emptiness. Four days of absolute confusion. Then the Uprising. Giants, Titans, Ogres, Trolls, Orcs, and Goblinoids. The combined forces of the dark races rose up in one frightening movement and smashed like a tidal wave onto the civilized world. With our reduced strength, with the humans and half-elves all gone, we stood little chance in many of our once powerful fortresses. Many good dragonborn fell in defense of posts that served no purpose. My company was hired by the Arkhosian Empire to defend the ancient citadel of the dragonborn people, Arkhosia itself. Our people rallied in the frozen north and faced off against the frost giants that threatened our lives. No messenger could make it through the enemy lines and our allies, as troubled as we were, could neither aid us nor expect aid from us. As I sat in the cold halls of Arkhosia, I knew only the cold grip of despair...
It has lasted for four years, this war without hope. And while we still defend the cold stone walls of our sacred Arkhosia, our strength diminishes. The saving grace is that our foes have lost most of their fervor after crashing against our walls time and time again. We have slipped a few small groups of soldiers past the front lines. Now my company has decided to sell our swords to the dwarves or the elves. The giants seem lazy, seem content to starve the city out. Fifteen of my comrades at arms are prepared to breach the line. Prepared to bring news of Arkhosia to the other races. Bravely we arm ourselves and, with honor and valor, sneak out the back. Discretion is, after all, the better part of valor.
We trek across the frozen wastes of the north, steadily traveling southward. We know the mountains far to our south and west hold the greatest citadel of the dwarves, the deserts of the world's deepest south are the home of the Tiefling fiends, and the forests of the east the elves and eladrin. Our leader says we need to travel to the Iron Citadel of the Dwarves, Karraz Gherren. And so we travel, silent and swift, to bring a bit of cold, merciless justice to these beasts who dared to push us from our homes. Four years of war, and now we have the chance to strike at their weak flanks. Thus begins my journey, thus begins my personal war.