Selected
excerpts from:
"History of the World"
by Vontalagon the Black
Download .doc
version
Translated by Arlin ne Gardon
Herein we put forth a resume of the history of
our land and peoples. This work is aimed at providing the student's first
introduction to History.
The full body of the Dragon's writing is massive and should only be tackled
after the student has thoroughly digested the general principles and,
preferably, Senad's Concise History.
Though the vocabulary is sometimes difficult and the great Wyrm's manner of
speech occasionally confuse, there is no denying the value of his work and
its relevance to every serious study of history.
It is our sincere hope that our gentle reader shall find this work both
useful and entertaining.
Index :
- Introduction
- The races
- The Long Summer
- The Birth of Magic
- Dark age
- Age of empire
- The end of the 1st
Empire
- Sorcerer Kings
- Rise of the 2nd Empire
- The Great War
- Empty victory
- Final word
A few
years back, a good friend of mine gave me the pleasure of hosting him in
order to, as he said it, "expunge some doubts about past events".
History, he called it. Lettow was then a strapping man of forty summers, a
renowned scholar and author of several books. He had just started his life
work, a complete history of the world with an “annotated index”. I don’t
really know what that is but the reverent tone in his voice when he said that
makes me think it is something scholars care a great deal about.
I did
my best to help him, of course, over a glass or two of exquisite Elven cider.
It was an unforgettable year. While preparing to receive him, I made a wider
than usual exploration of my larders. Therein I discovered a few forgotten
odds and ends that I considered were deserving of experimentation. The
results were such that we spent the next couple of weeks exploring that
little parcel of my dominion, and the rest of autumn and winter enjoying the
bounty.
We were
both astounded at how well a good vintage will age. I will admit that up to
that day I’d swear that after eight centuries- or was it nine? I do remember
that in the year I got them the Elves had Queen Ialeran holding the reins
then. She was a strong willed woman if ever there was one, with a terrible
attitude towards foreigners, merchants and whomever had happened to be born
outside her realm or otherwise had engaged her abundant capacity for wrath.
Her poor husband- but that is neither here nor there.
Interesting
times, those were… well, anyway, one would never think that even Elven cider
would last so long and keep getting better every single blessed year. Over
that long and cold winter, we were privileged to finish those two casks
which, oh bountiful luck, I’d forgotten somewhere in the depths of my cellar,
along with some others which if not quite as good were like rubies to
diamonds.
Wonderful
days. Then and there we gave shape to a great work, one that would be a true
masterpiece. I do not say this lightly. As a scholar my friend’s knowledge
was vast, augmented in a small measure by a certain old friend of his. Yet it
was not that which set him apart, but the liveliness of his writing. I was
verily mesmerized by the act of creation as I saw my mortal friend giving the
first shape to something that I felt would outlast even myself.
Alas,
it was not to be. On his way back to his cosy little tower Lettow fell a
victim to the bad humour of a petty baron and his band of cutthroats. That
slime just happened to be out taxing the passers-by on land that did not
belong to them.
I felt
his absence, and twice I was guilty of thinking my friend had forgotten both
me, and his promise that I’d be the first one to read his work. Eventually I
learned the truth and applied my own particular brand of justice upon that
criminal. Yes, a criminal and nothing more, even though his particular choice
of tactics had by now made him a Count. Such is the worth of a title; this
day there is no castle with his shield, and his family do not soil the land
with their presence.
It is
scant compensation for the loss of a good man.
After
this task was duly finished, I retired into my solitude to ponder about the
new ideas flitting through my brain, the… urge that was my friend’s legacy to
me.
Thus it
is that, to my surprise, I now find myself trying to bring his last dream to
fruition.
Let us first introduce the players, that we may best
understand how they tread upon the great stage of History.
Of
the Names of the Peoples
I have
decided to add to these notes a small commentary by Nenilaith na Nenor, a
writer and pedagogue of the Elven peoples, who has written several treatises
on languages and etymology. His grammars are, in fact, the references for all
others, and his books for students are still current matter in any decent
school.
The
reason I add the following words is that not only it clarifies a certain
point of interest, but is also a very accurate example of the way of thinking
of many an Elf regarding other peoples. It is in that light that the
following text should be read.
The people whom humans know by the
generic name of “Elves” are, in fact, but the smaller part of the Great
People. It is typical of our short-lived uncultured friends to throw names at
things without worrying much about whether they are even minimally
appropriate. This particular mistake (alas, but one among many) is compounded
by the fact that they consider as “non-Elves” the people who are not only the
greater part of the family of “Elves” but may, in fact, be regarded as the
true “Elves”. But let us cleanse our mouth of such foul syllables, and give
the right names to the right peoples.
The Fair People, as an uncommonly enlightened
human once sang, know themselves as “The people”, or, to use the best word,
Thiel. The Thiel have two immediately visible types of members, those with
light skin and hair and those with dark skin and white hair. The former call
themselves the Thiel Eluweri, which means People of the Moon, and the latter
name themselves Thiel Kilidiri, or People of the Sun. These names reflect the
individual preferences of the individuals of each type.
The Eluweri, with their fair skin and light eyes,
feel somewhat uncomfortable during the daylight. For this reason they prefer
to be active during the night, early morning and late afternoon, sleeping
during the day. Some of the wise wonder whether they are not an albino
version of the main race. It is known that the forefathers of the Eluweri,
who joined the mainstream of the Thiel thousands of years ago, originally
resided in an area of tall mountains and deep caves.
The Kilidiri, on the other hand, are equally
comfortable during the day or the night. They most enjoy the kiss of Father
Sun, and feel sorrow that their cousins have skins so fair that the cleansing
light hurts them.
Before we continue, let us settle one small item
of misbegotten lore that has come up time and again. It is well known that
humans are so unstable that the colour of their skin, their height, the shape
of their limbs and their faces change wildly from one to another. It is also
known that the progeny of two fair-skinned humans tends to be fair skinned,
while that of two dark-coloured humans will be also darkish. When the two
kinds mix, the result is an intermediate brown that is neither one nor the
other.
This is most definitely not the case of Elves,
which may marry freely between each other, but whose children are either of
the Kilidiri or the Eluweri. There are no intermediate tones of skin or hair,
one is either of one kind or of the other. Which is, as some of the wise say,
another proof that the particular skin tone of the Eluweri derives from a
type of albinism.
Dark skinned parents may birth light skinned
children and vice-versa; it has been observed that in pure strains, such as
our Royal family, there are very few instances of (…)
(…) as luck would have it, the
Humans first met members of the Eluweri tribes. This was a deliberate choice
by our fair King who, most rightly, felt that the primitive peoples just then
sniffling at his borders would be more amenable to hearing words of wisdom
from speakers who most resembled them. Had it been one of the dark-skinned
tribes, the Kilidari would, of course, have been the ones to make contact.
As it turned out, the Humans got into their heads
the notion of calling the whole people as “Elves”, a name arrived at by a
corruption of Eluweri. The Kilidari they know by the name “Silfies”, the root
of which is forgotten and certainly of no interest whatsoever.
(…)
The Thiel are not the only victims of Human
propensity to perpetrate indignities in the rightful names of other peoples.
The D’akor’Warv’en saw their names reduced to “Dwarf” or “Dwarves”, which as
an added indignity also means “of short stature.” It is well known that the
D’akor’Warv’en are somewhat less tall than we Thiel or even Humans, though
heavier due to their rude and muscular build, but they are far from being
“dwarven” in stature.
Even the Urkon-Gak, may their blood rot for all
eternity, have not escaped untouched. The human word for them is “Ork” or
“Orc”, at the speaker’s whimsy. It is true that many bad things are due a
member of that race, but the least, the very least one can ask is that they
be referred to correctly. One should know well what one is killing.
As for the mixed progeny of Humans and Orks, who
call themselves Kat’Fula-Urkon (which means fair-skinned Orks), let us step
back in wonder at the wit who dubbed them “Half-Orks”.
Such is the warning I must extend to all students
who have decided to endeavour the study of the Human languages. Beware, at
all times, that (…)
I
will only add to this that the people of the Dragons know themselves as
Hyarnastin; Wyrm is also acceptable, and has no relation whatsoever with the
human word “Worm”.
Anybody who doubts this last statement must only look
at one of us to realize how ridiculous such a comparison can be, and also how
dangerous to even think about it when talking to a Wyrm.
Translator's note: For reasons of simplicity, we will of course continue to use the
common Human names for all the races throughout this work, even where
Vontalagon used the original name.
The
Elves
We will
now focus on “(…) the green land of the golden people (…)”, as the Bard once
described it. Careliniador of the silver voice lived close to two thousand
years ago, yet his work remains the prime reference on the history of the
Elven people. It is in the nature of this people that in matters of society,
habits and view of the world the Bard’s words still describe them without a comma
of deviation.
Elves
change slowly and with great reluctance. This is the one and single most
important factor one must take into account when studying the history of the
Land of Lorennor and its people.
Almost
as important is their love of their land and their proven ability to live and
prosper with it, not against it. Surpassing woodcrafters, their art with the
products and creatures of nature is unequalled. Due to a happy quirk of
nature there were also deposits of good stone and metal within their borders,
which they used as naturally and as expertly as they collect the wild berries
found in their tall forests.
For the
historian, they are a factor of stability and reference through time. The
recorded history of the Elven peoples reaches a long way into the past, as do
their memories. The best way I can describe it is that it is inhuman in its
precision.
Not
that this means much, knowing how easy it is for humans to forget things.
The
Elven race is divided in twain, forming the people of the Elves and the
people of the Silfie. There is a slight difference in colour, but let not
such details trouble you. As one who knows, I assure you that they share the
same flesh (…)
Translator's note: Vontalagon is, of course, referring to having eaten exemplars of
all the sentient races. The next few lines gave a description of comparative
anatomy and flavour, which we omitted for reasons of good taste.
(…)
About
the origins of the Elves, we know that their first King unified the various
tribes of elfin hunter-gatherers in the year 8533 before the Age of Light and
that he chose the location of his seat of power in the year 8489. The
foundation of Legathien marks the year 1 of their calendar, and to this day
it has remained the capital of Lorennor. It is very significant that their
first kings were of the Silfie tribe.
From
its very start, Lorennor has been a closed land. The people itself are the
main factor that contributes to this. These long-lived citizens of a haughty
civilization, which reckons time by generations rather than seasons, look
down on all other races. They consider them to be fickle, chaotic and most
unreliable.
I must
correct myself here, of course. They hardly look down on my own kind (…)
Translator's note: Vontalagon is an informed commentator of history and the customs
of other races, but it should never be forgotten that his point of view is
that of a Great Dragon. His sympathy and understanding of other races is
enormous but tempered by a very well defined notion of the dignity of his
person and his race. It is precisely for such knowledge that Dragonkind
consults him whenever they are in doubt as to whether to take action
regarding what Dragons call "the bipeds".
When in doubt he usually advocates punitive
action. His often stated disbelief in the ability of "the bipeds"
to learn unless the lash strikes hard says more than a little both about
Humankind and the Great Dragon himself.
The
Dwarves
(…)
Dwarves are very unlike Elves in physical build, but show a remarkably
similar outlook on life, a fact that, I might add, both races sternly deny.
Like Elves Dwarves are long-lived and change little. Their numbers grow
slowly and they are firmly set in their ways, regarding change as something
to be- I will not say fear, as most dwarves show little comprehension of the
concept. Hate- yes, that word describes it best. This does not mean that they
are incapable of mutation, but that they will try almost anything before
embarking on that dreaded vessel.
Like
Elves, dwarves have adapted almost perfectly to their environment and have
grown to resemble it. They are austere, hard and glum. They manipulate stone
and metal as well as Elves treat wood and deal with plants and animals and,
having less variety to choose from, they have concentrated their efforts and
become unrivalled experts at metal and stone working.
(…)
Despite
their differences, commerce started very early between the two races, and
their civilizations grew together through the ages.
(…)
The
hardy people are hard in work and hard in battle. Their hardness of strength
and will, their lack of fear and the steadiness of their purpose makes them
relentless, dangerous adversaries.
The
Humans
Despite
appearances, humans are quite different from both the former races. Due to an
obvious physical resemblance and compatibility, they were once fancied to be
far relations of the Elven people, some lost tribe who had strayed into the
plains and fell into moral and physical decadence.
The
first contacts between Elves and humans awed the latter. The primitive
nomadic human tribes were almost crushed by the huge difference in
civilization, sophistication and physical perfection of Elves, which in turn
thought them primitive, rude and stupid, big clumsy children who had to have
an eye kept on them. There was some meagre trade in which cunning Elven
traders shamelessly cheated the primitives they dealt with, but from which
the human race benefited stupendously by learning a few basic concepts, like
agriculture and construction. As for the art of war, it need only be said that
as regards that humans have never needed any lessons.
What
might have happened if this peaceful coexistence had gone on long enough none
could say. Perhaps Elven culture would have colonized the human tribes.
Perhaps we would have seen an age of prosperity, with the creativity and
energy of humans tempered with Elven wisdom and perspective.
We got
the Long Summer instead.
(…)
The
Elves describe them as short-lived wild tribesmen. The Dwarves, when they
think of them, picture a big, clumsy child unable to concentrate. The Orks
consider them good eating, unless the humans in question happen to be well
armed and looking for Ork ears. Half-Orks both hate and fear their Human
forfathers.
(…)
The
word in the language of Dragons for humans means “Builders of Empires and
Makers of Ruins.”
(…)
Humans
never cared about what other races think, not even other Humans. Other than
Orks, the Humans are the second most populous race, and they are by far the
deadliest of all. Humans are not experts of magic like the Elves, not as hard
as dwarves or quite as able to make their living off the worse wasteland such
as the Orks. Yet they will prosper where Elves would be unable to survive,
they wield magic powers that daunt the sturdy dwarves and they can match the
Orks for sheer savagery and outfight them in the field.
(…)
I have
heard good arguments naming the Dwarves as the strongest fighters, the Elves
as the best archers and most powerful mages, the Orks and Half-Orks as the
most savage and cruel warriors.
Humans
were the only race to develop professional men-of-war.
When
trouble starts, I will bet my money on the humans.
The
Orks
Translator's note: For the sake of consistency, we have placed here Vontalagon’s
description of Orks, gathered and condensed from several references he made
throughout his writings.
The
most despised of all the races, Orks are the most numerous people. The
reasons for their considerable success are manifold. Their ability to eat
anything is as legendary as their ferocity and prodigious quantity of
children.
Some
say that they are less intelligent than all the other races, and I won’t be
the one to argue this. However, Orks are the living proof that sometimes
intelligence can be overrated.
(…)
My friend
Lettow once described Orks in a most satisfyingly accurate manner. He claimed
that they had never managed to cross the mental gap that stands between the
notions of "taking, looting & burning" and "conquering,
tributing & bloody well staying". I know that if ever they get it
through their thick skulls that one could actually remain in a city one has
conquered, particularly if one abstains from putting a match to it, the
"civilized" races will have a world of trouble in their hands.
When
speculating, it is very rare for an Historian to be able to avow, "I
know". In this case I am utterly secure of my words, though, as I have
personally seen it happen. It was only by shameless bald luck that
"civilization" did not have that same knowledge branded into its
soft flesh. I will expand on this later on.
(…)
In my
considerable experience, Orks have never mastered the concept of conquest.
They understand much about the art of the warrior, there is no doubt about
that. They just love a good fight and excel on those parcels of the military
arts related to looting, pillaging and ravaging of fields. Enslaving cities,
spoiling fields and cutting down orchards is right up their alley and when it
comes to whoring, raping, drunken revelry and putting a torch to a city filled
with valuables they are in a class all their own. However, they show a
beginner's enthusiasm on that theme and often seem in doubt about whether
burning is supposed to come before or after the looting.
(…)
I do
remember an enterprising Ork chieftain who had a marked preference for fire
arrows and whose army by necessity had to learn to pillage merrily burning
settlements. Being of a stubborn set of mind, the Orks insisted on going
through all the steps of the "town taking" routine, so that with
their limited time divided between frantic drinking, ravishing and looting
they did neither very well and usually came out of it with little loot. They
did seem to be happy with the sport and for a change that chieftain was not
killed by a competitor but lived many full years to leave his head on a
plainsman's spear.
(…)
Orks
have always done rather well at bush fighting and they are positively lethal
when encountered around their home grounds, but on the subject of the
"nobler" military disciplines they evidence some poignant doubts.
Siege operations other than the famous “Ork up the wall” tactics continuously
elude them, field discipline has been achieved when they manage to charge all
at the same time and as for the chain of command, well, it is something they usually
decide on the very field of battle, to the amusement and profit of whomever
happens to be on the opposite side.
The
Half-Orks
“From
violence and pain was injustice born”, said the poet. As regards the people
known as the Half-Orks, or revenants as they call themselves, these words
were proven time and again.
As I
have said on other occasion, Orks share with Humans one characteristic: they
can both be savage and cruel.
(…)
Their
name says it all. Humans deny their part of the inheritance, remembering only
the Ork half.
(…)
For
centuries, there was a constant trickle of raiding and spoiling, raping and
enslaving. On the borders where the wild tribes of humans met the wild tribes
of orks, the distinction sometimes became blurred. Both sides fought the same
way, dressed alike, lived off the land and whoever crossed their territory,
carried their houses on their backs and gave allegiance only to the tribe.
Moreover,
despite frequent Human protests to the contrary, it is well known that the
same instinct that makes humans such sturdy survivors also makes them…
sympathetic towards the charms of some Ork maidens.
Ork
males have no qualms about expressing their appreciation of Human females, of
course. Actually as far as I know Orks have no qualms whatsoever about
anything, with the exception of work.
Is it
then any surprise that, what with one raid here and a few slaves there,
children were born of both races? I most certainly think not, and history
agrees with me.
From
the very beginning, the fruits of such matches were not well regarded. Humans
proved harsher than their hated foe. Almost universally they simply abandon
the babies to the elements or smother them.
Ork
mothers have a strong maternal instinct and, I am told, a ferocious temper
when their children are threatened. Besides that, Orks are rather merry and
good-natured creatures with their own. They raised those children, though of
course it cannot have been easy for them. Children are cruel to each other
and they do not forgive difference.
(…)
Half-Orks
soon showed to be a breed apart. They are stronger and more resistant than
Humans, and faster than Orks. More important even, they have the full
intelligence of their Human half. There are no poets or artists among them;
their intelligence is channelled by an angry viciousness that combines the
stronger elements of both Human and Ork. Their strength of emotion and
impulsiveness is greater than that of either race, which sometimes brings
them to grief.
(…)
It
would seem obvious that Half-Orks would take control of Orcish tribes, but
that is not how the race of Orks functions. True-blood Orks do not take well
to leadership, much less one other than their own kind. They have all the
despise of bullies for those smarter than them.
A grown
Half-Ork is a full match for a grown Ork, but there are far more of the
latter. There is nothing in their laws, such as they are, that stops an
Half-Ork from taking the chieftain’s mantle, but those same laws allow
challenge by combat.
Whenever
a Half-Ork rose to a position of prominence, he was challenged mercilessly
until he fell.
Denied
that route to achieve their ambition, it is no surprise they found others.
(…)
All
through their long and often sad history, Half-Orks have always been keen to
take off on their own away even from the Ork tribes that nurtured them. In
the deep woods they built their own communities, which until they suddenly
burst into written history, have always been so small as to be considered
meaningless.
These
small communities would occasionally war with Orks, but this was rare; they
have always preferred to keep their predations in reserve for their human
neighbours.
Translator's note: Here we gather together parts of Vontalagon's history of the
ancient wars, with a few excerpts from some correspondence and other
writings.
(…)
This is
the name given to this period by humans. Other races call it different names
and not nice ones at that. It all started mildly enough. During some decades
winters were not quite as rough and autumn harvests yielded more and better
grain. Children died less and there was more meat on the table. I remember
the surprise I felt at the time when I first saw the top of Gafinloth without
its crown of snow. It marked a period of fine weather such as one doesn’t see
these days, and all the land was alive. Plants, animals and humans all
flourished abundantly. In the latter case, the growth was rather
indiscriminate.
Too
much of a good thing may turn out to be bad.
At this
time humans were having their first contacts with civilization. The original
tribes had spread like wild weeds and taken residence wherever the land was
free from the shadow of the great trees and the cold of the high mountains.
Nineteen out of every twenty humans still lived like their distant
forefathers, hunting and gathering, taking their small herds and houses to
the next pasture.
A few
had already gathered together and formed small towns, usually within reach of
Elves or Dwarves so that they could trade. The older peoples had equally
built themselves some towns in the plains and by rivers, both for trade and
agriculture.
(…)
When
the Long summer started, the nomadic plains tribes exploded in numbers. They
became bolder and started testing the readiness of settlements. Civilization
held its own for a while- stout palisades were reinforced by hard stone, and
the townspeople had the edge in weaponry.
The
tribes people were unsophisticated, but their men were used to fighting all
their lives, taking on wolves, bears, their own fellows and engaging in wars
of conquest for the best pastures. When their numbers grew, warfare erupted
all over the plains. Stronger tribes conquered and absorbed the weaker, and
after a while the remaining weaker peoples started moving away, pushing into
the woods and hills- and beyond.
When
the first harried tribes started pushing against the few Human towns there
was hard fighting. Eventually the bigger tribes followed in search of wealth
and the luxuries only available in towns.
(…)
As is
the nature of men, the war leaders were never satisfied. There was always
another tribe to conquer, a town to take. Yet when they took all the towns
and achieved a rough balance between one another, they also learned that
there were other people in the deep forests. They were strange people- not
real humans- who crafted fantastic luxuries and had an enviable life. These
chieftains also knew the stories of the merchants whose towns they had conquered,
and had learned of their resentment for the treatment the Elves afforded
them.
(…)
Chieftains
took their warriors into the forests and discovered an old and philosophic
civilization that had no organized army. The Elves of that time actually
despised warrior-like pursuits. The stories those warriors brought back to
their homes was of a land amply furnished with strange exotic goods, pretty
women and precious metals.
The
stories grew in wonder and quickly filtered back into the plains. They gave
humans a common prey.
The
Elves tried to stop the raiders, at first, with stern words and dire
warnings. These had no result other than to encourage them, and soon they had
no settlements left outside the great forests. The raiders naturally didn't
stop, but by this time they had to face considerable forces and suffered a
few setbacks. During some years the Elves managed to hold their own, falling
upon band after band of raiders and slaughtering them in the deep of the
woods, though always a few got through and those who returned brought so much
wealth and tall tales that for each five who fell there were ten to take
their place. The fighting just went on.
What
was later to become known among the Elves as the “Human Wars” lasted for
close to two hundred years and strained the Elven people to its very limits.
The Barbarian’s initial lack of experience in forest fighting allowed the
Elves enough time to raise an army, and safe grounds to return to when that
army suffered its first painful lumps while learning the art of fighting.
During the first two decades the Elves would routinely manage to build a
strong army, push the humans off the forest and then venture into the plains
with the intention of pushing them away, where they were always routed and
pushed back with great loss.
Always
quick learners in anything related to warfare, humans learned some of the
ways of the forest at the same time as Elves learned about fighting and
started using heavier weapons. None of the sides ever succeeded in tipping
the balance.
(…)
During
this period, Dwarves also felt the heavy hand of their lowland cousins. The
milder, long-lasting weather not only meant that there were plenty of humans,
but it opened several ways into their lands which heretofore were closed by
great colds and snows. Bands of roving nomads, most of which had been
expelled from their ancient tribal lands, tried to settle in the fair
mountain valleys and paid Dwarven tenacity with human ferocity. Tough
warriors who have nowhere else to go make for surprisingly tenacious
opponents and though the dwarves were fighting on their home ground and
caused great casualties to their foes they just didn’t manage to replenish
their numbers fast enough. By the time the Long Summer ended, there were but
a few scattered tribes of Dwarves living in the most inhospitable reaches of
their former kingdom.
(…)
During
this same period Orks were also experiencing great growth. It was inevitable
that they would get into conflict with the Human tribes.
Orks suffered less from the heavy hand of the plains
tribes, yet in no way can we say that they got away with an easy deal. It is
known that there were great battles, with huge masses on both sides. The
precise details elude us, as this happened far from the sight of Elven and
Dwarven historians and the Humans who fought there were yet to learn the
concept of a written history. My own race had no interests in the area where
that happened, but someone who flew over one such battlefield told me that
there were great hordes on both sides.
Oral tradition
leads us to believe that the issue was close, but that finally the Orks were
fought back to their swamps and badlands.
(…)
The
Long Summer prepared the ground for the seeds of Human greatness.
(…)
I have
found that history is mostly a matter of perspective. There may be a run of
good and bad days, months, years, even decades and centuries- but in the end
the wheel always cycles round. True to form, as is the way of all common
summers, the Long Summer ended, and its short Autumn had bright red leaves,
coloured with blood. There was simply too much people. Armies marched-
primitive and badly armed bands, among whom the slightest blade-shaped bit of
iron was deemed priceless- but there were a lot of them. They squabbled and
they fought among themselves, and as they became busy with one another they
eased the pressure on the Elves and left the mountains, now growing less
hospitable by the year. The land itself was hurt, its capacity to support
life diminishing drop by drop under the hooves of horses and the boots of
marching armies (…)
The
weather took a turn to the worse and famine took more lives than War. Then it
was the turn of Pestilence to raise its ugly head, and when it was finally
sated not a third of the human peoples were still alive.
(…)
Magic
has always been a companion to civilization. Yet its true power was only
revealed late in history.
During
the Long Summer the Elven royalty had among its members several mages. Pressed
by war and fear, they embarked on a voyage of discovery that would change the
world. Ironically, their greatest discoveries were all based upon knowledge
first gained during the War with the Humans, but they did not reap its fruits
until later on.
(…)
To this
day, the Elven word that denotes Humans doubles as a designation for
Barbarians. During the Long Summer the Elves learned well to fear and hate
the outside world. Their ruling class- their royalty and nobility- had
learned what it meant to have too little power to control their fate. They
decided never to suffer the same fate, and Magic seemed to be the most
promising avenue.
(…)
It is
ironical that even though they were set on the right track, the Human Wars
ended just as the Elven people learned the first practical magical spells.
This is
what Humans call the time after the Long Summer. The Elves and the Dwarves
both refer to it as the Rebirth.
It took
close to a millennium and a half before humans started regaining a fraction
of the vitality they had shown before. They had sunk so low that it is my
belief that at anytime between the 4th and 8th Century
after the end of the Long Summer they could have been thoroughly wiped out.
None of
the other races took that advantage.
During that
period the Elves likely the power and organization for it, but I believe it
simply didn’t cross their mind to leave their forests if only to get some
revenge. The memory of their constant defeats whenever they left the shadow
of their trees was too fresh. They were also concentrated in their own
doings, developing the art of magic and rebuilding their numbers and their
land. It is during this period that (…)
Orks
did try and did get some measure of their own back. They had the numbers, but
not the organization to make the most of their opportunity. Bad leadership
and constant infighting also affected them. During the 6th Century
after the Long Summer the Orcish chieftains gathered in (…)
The
third race to benefit from the setback in the fortunes of humans, Dwarves
made good use of this truce to recover their numbers. They did not get
themselves involved in trouble, as anyway they had no power at the time to do
more than hold the ravening wolf packs from overrunning their last
settlements. By the time they were back to a semblance of their former glory
and could have afforded to attack anyone, it was far too late to bring the
fight into the plains and they were forced to slate their anger on struggling
hill settlements. At the time all humans were either killed or driven out of
the hills.
It
helps one to better understand the Dwarven attitude when one finds out that
among their records there is no reference to a “Long Summer”, but to an “Age
of Woe”.
As
usual, the wheel of life took another turn. Humans again grew in numbers, and
this time there were more settlements and fewer nomads. Through a few wars,
alliances and marriages great chieftains rose to prominence and power,
dividing the land and fastening an iron grip over the bodies and souls of
their people. Eventually Gardon the 3rd united the Khalan plains,
forming the Khalan Empire, which started expanding South, East and West while
taking care not to infringe on the territories of Dwarves and Elves. There
were plenty of wild lands and people to conquer and no reason to take on
those well-fortified races.
(…)
During
this time the Elves had grown in strength and fierceness and had fortified
the mountain passes and accesses to their lands.
When
ruled by some of its most progressive leaders, travellers were politely but
firmly driven back to the plains by their cavalry. A little trade was allowed
under carefully controlled circumstances. These periods of “openness”
cyclically alternated with periods of rigid, sharp, pointed and very accurate
borders.
(…)
In the
year 4362 E.C. the ruling King of the Elves died in a hunting accident,
leaving behind two sons. Edral, the elder, was a full Silfie, his mother a
scion from the oldest noble family in the land. Faral, the younger, was the
son of the King’s adventure with a clear-skinned maid of a minor noble
family. Faral the Half-Silfie was by far the most charismatic, an energetic
leader, a rebel who pushed his father’s politic of openness and trade to its
limits and beyond.
According
to Elven Law, Edral was duly crowned King and just a few months later utterly
reversed the orientations of the Elfin policy of the last 500 years. He was
not wise in his choice of time; less wise still in the abrupt manner he
applied his will.
At
that time the Elves had a highly civilized neighbour- the human Empire of
Khalan- who not only refrained from harassing them but also provided both an
outlet for their merchandise and a source of very desirable products and raw
materials. In the last three centuries a veritable class of merchants had
sprung from nowhere- or, as the aristocracy used to say, from the mud- which
in turn had raised the expectations of the population. Trade created new
needs and a whole new economy. Suddenly the faucet was closed and not a drip
got through, and this greatly upset the entire people.
At any
other time in their history, nothing would have come out of this; Elves take
a long time to get excited and they usually wait events out.
Yet at
that crucial point in history Prince Faral made his play. He gathered around
himself the new class of Traders and its great economic power and used it to
put a large part of the population on his side, including some military
units. The battle for the minds and souls of the people was always peaceful,
but short of bloodletting it was as fierce as it could be. It became a matter
of race as well as politics. The less numerous clear-skinned population
naturally gathered around Faral, who was both one of them and a full blooded
son of their loved King.
There
was no military solution, as the poorer clear-skinned Elves formed a very
large proportion of their land’s armed forces.
In the
summer of 4407 E.C. the Elves solved their problem in a typically inhuman
way. One third of the population left their houses, along with half the army.
There was no fighting, though there was bitter rancour. There were no
attempts to stop them or force them to leave valuables behind. The entire
kingdom supplied the base resources that would allow the colonists to leave.
A
mighty host left the forest, armed to the teeth, fierce cavalry ranging
ahead, tough soldiers forming a ring of steel around their loved ones.
Faral
took care to keep his intentions secret until the last minute, lest the
Humans should ambush them. It was then that History was changed.
As they
took to the road the new King had the foresight to send an embassy to warn
the Emperor of his people’s exodus, and of their intention to settle far to
the East in the wild lands.
Emperor
Caled IV was a young ruler, an experienced soldier who had gained the love of
his army by crushing a large Ork incursion. Despite this ability, all through
his reign he showed a love of peace, which he amply demonstrated on this
occasion.
Knowing
how easily accidents happened whenever armed forces brushed he immediately
recalled all his units from the vicinity of the Elven line of march. He also
sent them gifts of food and guides to lead them through a stretch of his
land.
It is
from this period that the fair skinned Elves became reconciled to their
distant cousin. They were aware that the Emperor’s full might could have
crushed them, and that he could have demanded great tribute from them. In
fact, the Emperor, never a fool, kept his forces gathered and vigilant until
his envoys returned bearing news that the Elven people had found its new land
and had started settling it.
The
Elven people to this day speak his name with reverence and celebrate their
Long March and the Emperor’s Gifts in their greatest holiday that is (…)
(…)
Once
settled the Elves proceeded to clean the forest from Orks and other foul
creatures that had found refuge there and pushed them back to the swamps.
Envoys travelled back and forth and King and Emperor decided to open a large
road to connect their two lands.
(…)
The Growth of Walls
The
settlement of the Islands dates from the Empire. The Khalan Empire was always
turned towards the sea, building all its cities where the people could smell
the salt waves.
In a
major way this determined the geography and characteristics of the Empire.
The cities were united, prosperous and peaceful, united by the ships that
touched their shores and brought them the Imperial rule, news and trade, and
also providing them with an outlet for their goods.
Outside
the cities, the wild lands and forests were left pretty much to themselves,
under the control of tamed tribes, who had learned by fire and steel not to
trouble the settlements.
(…)
At this
time, the Empire itself was composed of the City of Caernathor, the main port
and the Emperor’s seat. It was the first and foremost human settlement, and
has always been the largest. The second city of the Empire was Barentium to
the south, a prosperous trading port, rich in woods and cereals. To the East
were three small settlements, Dakeria, Mountaingate and Varonia, with a very
small population and no importance. These had been added to the Empire by
their request that they might benefit from privileged trade. One must only
look at the map to realise that were it not for the sea, the Eastern part of
the continent would have remained unknown and unused. It is too distant, the
way by land too strenuous.
Dakeria
was the biggest of the three, which is to say it had a few more huts and a
feeble palisade. It started out as a camp for fishermen and merchants, and
later grew when hunters and trappers made their home there to explore the
forests to the North East.
Both
Varonia and Mountaingate started as very small villages, existing for no
reason other than the tribes living in the area needed a market and meeting
place.
The
history of the East changed when the Elves came through and settled to the
East of Varonia.
Suddenly
there was a whole new population, with wants and needs, who were friendly to
the Empire and its peoples. They had unique goods and lacked merchandise
which was common in the West.
By
reason of geography Varonia became a strong trade centre, the home and base
of rich merchants who colonized its islands with small, fortified markets and
later made their homes there.
Mountaingate
also gained trade, but its fortune was made with Ore. The Elves to the East
had no ready source of metal and stone, nor did they much wish to become
miners. Humans and some dwarves came to the booming town, attracted by the
high wages generated wherever a resource is scarce.
When
eventually the prices settled at a lower level, they stayed. The town was
already supplying not only the Elves, but also Varonia to the South and even
the Capital to the West, and its great forests provided even more resources.
It never did much trade, but there is always a need for the products of
metal, wood and stone.
(…)
After
the lands surrounding the capital were pacified, well before the Elves
marched East, the great ocean going vessels of the Khalan had visited all the
islands in the sea. Some offered unique resources, such as fine woods, spices
or gems, and some people settled there temporarily to work. Temporary became
permanent, and these towns grew and prospered together with the Empire.
(…)
The
cities of Crania and Lheathor came to being as the traders explored the
coastland. Lheathor in particular became a preferred trading port with the
Elven lands to the North.
The navy
was the lifeblood of the Empire, the great roads for its armies. Without them
the Empire as it was could not exist, and the system owed its strength to the
internal unity of trade and policy.
During
a time of economic slump and idle leadership, ambitious men came to the fore.
As is the way with such rebels, they manipulated conditions to create
discontent, so that they might best achieve their ends. As is also their way,
they destroyed that which they wanted to take intact. When strife took the
place of trade, prosperity diminished. With it came anger and even more
trouble, generating a descending spiral from which the Empire could not
escape.
(…)
During
the next couple of thousand years nothing much happened, at least from the
point of view of the Elven people. As is the way of such things, the Khalan
Empire decayed and vanished, its demise bloody with civil war.
(…)
The
Dwarves and Elves kept their borders stable while generals and cities warred
with one another, fragmenting the land in their frantic efforts to conquer
it.
(…)
The
island cities lost much of their population, who could not support themselves
solely through the resources of their small lands. These arrived at the
shores of the continent, homeless and destitute, providing more fuel for the
fires of misery and destruction. The warring armies inflated with cheap
desperate flesh and hurled themselves at each other.
Some of
the island cities resorted to piracy to maintain their livelihoods.
War
breeds disease, and such a large war could only bring great disease: the
plague. The few ships still plying the sea carried it throughout the land,
fresh from the carnage of the great battlefields, to wreak even more death
wherever it touched.
(…)
Vradiater was completely emptied during these years.
Built in a waterless, deserted tribe, this town prospered for the gold and
gems found in its sands. It was never rebuilt.
Translator's note: In this section, the author gives us great details on the
ultimately pointless civil war that erupted in what was once the Human
Empire. We have elected not to present such detail here. In essence, some
towns were destroyed and the two large cities became city-states; their
relations lapsed from organized bloodshed to smouldering tension. In view of
what happened later, these events only have real interest for the experienced
historian.
While
the flames of civil war consumed lives and hopes, the world started to change
without warning. In the depths of the original Elven homeland, the first
wielders of true magic came to being. All of them were members of the royal
family, strong willed Elves used to command. They had the resources, and most
of all they had the time. The full lifespan of an Elf is not negligible even
by the standards of Dragonkind.
Their
search started while their brethren fought and died to keep their homeland,
showed the first flowering just as that war started and it bore fruits when
the Empire reached its full might.
It was
kept strictly an Elven secret, to be used if ever their land was in peril.
Not a single practitioner of magic ever set foot from under the shadow of the
Elven forests until a third of the whole population voluntarily exiled
itself. With them went a few apprentices of the great wizards, but none of
the true powers.
These
apprentices had already learned about life magic and the first rudiments of
summoning and conjuring (…)
Translator's note: For the sake of clarity, we insert here a description of magic
that was only to be found further down the book.
There are three great areas of magic. The
first and easiest is called “Life magic” by Elves. Often its subject is the
destruction of life, but it works by channelling the life force of the
magician and using it as a tool to gather energy from around themselves and
from prepared objects. This is a necessity for common bipeds who, of course,
have far too little life to make actually do anything useful and therefore
have to call it up from other sources. Dragons need only to use what is
within them, of course.
(…)
Using this energy is harmful to the body, akin to being
slightly poisoned whenever one casts a spell. Because of this biped mages
usually are weaker and unhealthy. They also suffer from “wizard palsy”, which
is like that of very old bipeds when they are near death. Unlike age this
does not continue increasing until death relieves them of it, but settles
down at a mid level. I believe that it is because they’ve burned off whatever
was ever going to burn. The effect is that they are clumsier and not very
agile.
What do they do with that power so dearly bought? Mostly
minor pyrotechnics and effects. A little lightning here, a puny ball of flame
there, a weak shield of energy or foul gases, some healing and damaging magic.
Just after life magic, there is summoning and conjuring
magic. Now we are starting to get into a worthwhile subject. This involves
either the creation or the summoning of spirits.
There is more than one plane of existence, some of which
truly strange where rather than matter there is only energy and life forces.
Conjuring magic taps into those worlds, forcibly capturing one of its
denizens and dumping it in our fair land. Luckily for us it seems that they
can not reverse the trick.
(…)
Part of the magic is, of course, providing those
creatures with a body, usually shaped out of some common matter or animal and
given shape, consistence and animation by the spirit’s own forces.
(…)
Conjuring is something else, rather like a construct of
life forces. It has no sentience higher than a rat’s, and by that I am doing
a disservice to the rodent population. This construct can be ordered to do
some very simple tasks, such as killing someone.
All conjuring and summoning is temporary in nature. The
frame dissipates within a short period of time and, with it, the cage that
was holding the spirit in this world, dumping it unceremoniously back to its
home. Even if destroyed by physical means- not easy for common bipeds, but
possible- the spirit is returned to its land.
(…)
Real power comes with death magic. For its description I
will call upon the words of an eyewitness to the events he described,
Elentiral har ben Adiron.
Translator's note: Elentiral had full knowledge of what he wrote about. Of the eight
great wizards of the Silfie, he was the only one who refused to take the
final step into becoming a Grand Liche. Later in life, when the great
carnages were alive only in the nightmares of a few old warriors, he wrote
down his memoirs in an attempt to explain his guilt to the world. He vanished
from history a few years later, having always refused to give even an
indication of the magical arts that allow the conjuring of the higher spirits
and of that discipline which eventually leads to Death magic.
His feelings on the subject were made most clear
when he hunted down and systematically slaughtered a small coven of magicians
who were attempting to replicate the process.
“Sometime it occurred to a mage that
his life forces could be enhanced, and with them his magical power. Investigation
showed that this could be done at the expense of other people’s lives and
this line of thought eventually led to undeath.
If the spirit burns bright enough, it no longer
needs it’s casing of flesh. A body is still useful, but it is no longer essential
to the spirit. It is merely an anchor, something with which to pick up a book
and leaf its pages.
Most important of all is that without a body
there are no distractions such as hunger and thirst, desires and pains and
swings of mood. With them go other feelings, such as those that make us human
and alive.
This kind of magic is extraordinarily hard to
perform, but even that is nothing compared to the greatest single problem of
death magic. If the world had deserved a little better luck the whole thing would
have ended there, but we must have greatly offended the gods somewhere along
the way.
In a nutshell, all death magic turns on the fact
that dying is a very traumatic experience. While undergoing that process, the
mage loses all control- and therefore cannot finish it, so he truly dies.
The way around this is what brought our world to
its sorry state.
These mad wizards reached the conclusion that
Daemons could keep the spirit from taking its last plunge into the otherworld
and plunge it back into a readily prepared vessel, which, as often as not, is
the magician’s own dead body.
After this is done once, the mage can, with great
effort, repeat the process by himself. Without exception all prospective
undead need help to become a monster.
To our even greater misfortune, it is not normal
daemons who can do this, only the greatest. These you can’t just summon and
command. You must negotiate with them. There is a saying that states, “Never
deal with a dragon.”
Author's note: This statement is misleading. The
original words were "Never cheat a Dragon", but since bipeds hardly
ever conceive of the notion of keeping to the letter of a bargain, there have
been some flaming episodes in history which led to the perverted form of what
was once a very good example of folk wisdom.
Yet, despite the occasional lapse, Elentiral's work is
always worth reading.
It should be stated, with far more justice,
“Never deal with a daemon.” We know little of those creatures, but what
little there is should have been more than enough to stay as far away from
them as possible.
But, of course, wizards always think they know
best.
Daemons live in a land where everything is
different. There is no matter as we know it, no sky and no seas. But there
are sentient beings and wherever there is will there is struggle. Those
creatures have regimented themselves into huge nations and wage great
battles. Their life is balanced on the knife-edge of deadly fighting both
physical and political.
It also seems that, by not being a part of this
world, once here those creatures can use their energy to manipulate matter
very effectively and have more power, proportionately, than in their
homelands. Once established here, they can also summon other creatures from
their land and force them to do their bidding. This was the recipe for
disaster.
The first wizards who studied the possibility of
undeath summoned to their aid none other than great princes and dukes of the
nether hells. They soon discovered to their pain that the Daemon princes had
too strong a will and command of themselves to be forced to submit. The
spells required to hold them were too hard, the risk to the caster immense,
vigilance constant and unyielding. The slightest slip or hesitation would
provide an opening and the daemon would roast the wizard in the blink of an
eye.
Since they could not force them to do their
bidding, they decided to deal with them.
Those Princes and rulers of another world
understood the situation and, of course, started working for their best
advantage. Those who thought were controlling them, those sons and daughters
of Elven royalty, with all their age and knowledge and pomp and circumstance,
never saw it coming.
The first experiences involved animating corpses
and skeletons, permanently fixing either a weak summoned spirit or a strong
conjured entity. Why use dead bodies at all? They are the best recipients for
those spirits, since they once contained and were controlled by another
spirit. Magically speaking, they are ready and waiting.
Undead skeletons and zombies proved to be useful
servants and wetted the appetite for more. The Wizards started to make them
stronger and more perfect. They found out that to do this they needed
life-energy, a lot of it. Humans started being kidnapped on the edge of Elven
forests.
True undeath still eluded them, and more people
died so that they could experiment with making Liches. It worked, producing
creatures of great power who could animate a rotting body and change to another
at will. The process demanded the use of the life forces of dozens of
victims. The spirit being converted, against his will, had to be old and have
the rudiments of magic. They sacrificed some of their apprentices to make
these Liches. The strain of having their spirit forcibly removed, bent and
squeezed back into their dead body made most of them completely mad.
Finally they were confident enough to try it with
themselves. For this, the Daemons demanded that they sacrifice the person
they love most in the world, and the sacrifice of hundreds of lives to feed
their hunger.
They kept their secret well, but something of
that magnitude can’t be completely hidden. A mad spirit escaping, a few
animated skeletons wandering wildly out of control and killing a few
travellers, a mad Lich taking residence in the ruins of his former manor; all
of this happened, and the people felt the cold breath of death on their
necks. As preparations started in earnest for the last great sacrifice, the
King of the Elves decided they were going too far. He moved hard and fast,
but not early enough. As the troops prepared to rush the towers of these
mages, they were ordered back by their king- or rather, by a spirit wearing
his body. There followed a period of repression where all those who opposed
the new policy were murdered in the sacrificial chambers.
Of the eight Wizards who reached this stage,
seven took the plunge. Thousands of lives were lost and they emerged
triumphant. Rulers of life and death, they looked around themselves and
decided that they should rule.
The world was, to them, a source of the life
force they craved for their magic. The Daemons had shown them what it was
like to have godlike powers. They now knew true power.
The seven wizards, now the uncontested rulers of
their land, called the greatest Daemons and demanded, how can we be made
Gods? The Daemons laughed and answered, “The path to the Throne of the Outer
planes shall only open for those who rule the Plane of matter and command the
life-forces of tens of thousands.”
Faced by such an obstacle, the Sorcerer kings
went to war.”
The
Sorcerer kings made plans and initiated their preparations in the manner of
their people: thoroughly, slowly and with great prudence. They had good
reasons not to hurry.
Even
was the absolute rule of all the lands given unto their hand, at that moment
they could do little with it. Having just recently been converted to Grand
Liches, they had to allow their spirits the time to mature. For bipeds they
showed considerable wisdom when they realized that there was much they had to
learn yet.
This
delay did not trouble them overmuch. Endless aeons were theirs to dispose of,
and in the meanwhile they had the leisure to engage their spirits in
long-ranged investigation and the discovery of new paths of magic. Decades
went by and they learned more about life than anybody before. New monsters
were summoned or created, ones who could reproduce and remain in this world
indefinitely.
Rather,
they became an integral part of the world.
Ratmen
date from that age, as do Ettins, Trolls, Harpies and many other
monstrosities. They also built up their armies of the Undead, and most
convenient soldiers they were. Not needing to eat or sleep, immortal and
unchanging, the Undead were created and then stored for future use.
(…)
Very
shortly after their transformation, the Sorcerer kings decided that they
could do without their erstwhile colleague. Despite some friendly noises from
both parts, they suspected that their colleague had not only been unable to
free himself of mortal concerns, but had lapsed a long way back and now
opposed them. As a side issue, he was also a living, breathing and enjoying
example of what they had given up. He had the use of almost as much power as
themselves- the advantages of Lichdom are great, but mostly attained with the
years- and he also made good use of his healthy body.
It was
not long before they attacked and- so they thought- killed him. Their
opponent was ready and waiting for their move, though, and used that chance
to escape unseen to human lands. There he started plotting for (…)
(…)
The
ranks of the living gained a further respite when the Sorcerer kings waged
war between each other. It was a long affair, starting with arguments over
the division of resources, and evolving naturally as very strong
personalities and corrupted egos vied for dominance. There are interesting
details to these wars (…)
Translator's note: The Author shows considerable interest for the details of the
wars of the Sorcerer Kings, which is only natural since Dragonkind was pulled
into the fray and the Author himself played a prominent part in the affair.
Interesting as his description is, this subject
goes beyond the scope of this work. It suffices to say that the period of
hidden conflict and jockeying for position covered an interval of a century
and twenty years.
The war itself lasted only two years.
The
three Sorcerer kings who survived their civil war based their alliance on the
need for immediate action and the fulfilment of their common aims. They were
realist enough to be aware that the possibility for disagreement was still
present, and that they did need one another.
While
the most powerful bipeds in the planet concentrated their entire attention in
mutual destruction, their old involuntary “donors” of life force, the humans,
were busy rebuilding their fortunes.
Precisely
in the middle of the Sorcerer Wars, which at the time were only known to the
outside world by chance rumours, a ruler stepped forward, a young man of
great charisma and undeniable military skill. This ruler deftly played his
leadership of a backwards plains tribe into the Imperial cloak.
Most
conquerors founder on the reefs of keeping what they have gained. Refractory
populations, lack of resources, extended borders and so on will kill the
impulse of most armies.
Such
was not the way of Emperor Vetray. After taking the capital of the old Empire
through a surprise, undeclared attack, he consolidated his tribesmen within
all the important positions, while at the same time conciliating the people
with the spoils of battle and the property of the old lords. He was only
twenty and one years of age when he placed the Imperial crown upon his brow.
Using
such processes within a few months he recruited a strong army that he
unleashed against those who had laughingly refused his offers of joining his
Empire.
As is
the way with Humans, a successful war-leader will find all the support he
needs. Emperor Vetray took to the field with his army and spent the next
years submitting one tribe and city after another. His capital grew fat on
the spoils of war and tribute of the defeated; those who were intelligent
enough to surrender simply bolstered his growing strength.
In all
the years he spent in the field, the Emperor kept always ahead of the events
of his Empire. While thus busy he had the wisdom, the power and the prestige
to build the structures of his Empire. Unlike other rulers, treason was not a
danger that kept him awake of nights. Not all his subjects were loyal, but
all who had such thoughts were forced to put their ambition on hold for fear
of the army he led, which was composed of the best three quarters of the
Empire’s armed force, and which was also fanatically loyal to their General.
By the
time he received the homage of the last independent city of the Human realms,
Emperor Vetray was one year short of forty.
Within
two years of his “Grand Peace” he had deftly probed the defences of all his
neighbours, finding that the Orks offered the only venue for further
expansion. They were also inconvenient neighbours, so during the next decade
he kept his army busy by decimating them ruthlessly and forcing them away
from his lands into the great jungles in the South. To keep them under
control, he fortified the city of Barentium and, later, checked their
incipient attempts to learn the profession of piracy with the construction of
the fortified port of Tabhes, where he based his newly built Southern fleet.
(…)
The
Emperor took care to receive the submission of the few peoples remaining in
the outer islands, but he went no further there. What few settlements were
left were not worth any trouble, and unlike the previous Empire whose mantle
he now wore the Emperor thought in terms of the continent. His power was
based on land and men and horses and steel, not in trade.
The
Eastern cities were submitted under his rule, to the South he had Barentium
and Tabhes, and to the West Lheathor and Trush’s Flight.
(…)
Though
not a deliberate matter of policy, the island towns started to grow again.
The event of a peaceful Empire could only increase the rewards of trade and
(…)
(…)
Magic
was first reported among the humans a short decade after the Empire was established.
Its origin at the time was not known, and the magics done were few and weak.
Yet
during the next decades many mages donned the robes of their calling and the
power of the oldest kept growing.
This
was, of course, the work of Elentiral, who had established himself secretly
in the human capital and started to teach his art. He was well aware of what
was coming knew that the forces of magic were the main weapon in the arsenal
of his old colleagues. He was fully aware- his writings of those years leave
us with no doubts- that he could not redress the imbalance, but he knew well
that he did not need to achieve equality. Magic can be more easily used for
the defence than to attack.
(…)
When
the War of Sorcery ended, the undead rulers faced a different world. It must
have been a shock to them to realize how quickly the events revolved and
passed ahead of old plans. Unlike the Elves, the Humans had not waited
patiently while the centuries past by. The Empire was strong and united under
Vetray the third, the grandson of the 1st Emperor Vetray. He
acceded to the throne in less than auspicious circumstances due to the
premature death of his father and had to make compromises with several
interests in order to gain the Iron Crown. He had been a short three years
wearing the Imperial cloak when the war ended, and had yet to prove himself.
His people were at peace, his army not as large as before but hard and
professional. The Orks festered in the southern jungles but had no route to
the rich lands in the north unless they take Barentium first.
It was
not a good time for conquest, and had they acted as is the way of the Silfie
people, they would have waited, decades and centuries if needed, for the
moment of deep weakness when they could strike. But this time they were
hurried by a will not Silfie in nature. The Daemon princes promised them the
true immortality of godhood, and the supply of blood for sacrifice was
running short. The wild tribes on the fringe of the Silfie lands were no
more, either consumed in the altars or run away.
A way
had to be found, and find it they did in the neglected and despised Orks.
Envoys
of the undead met the chieftains of the Orks, and learned of their
grievances. It is a measure of how much things had changed in their minds
that any scion of the Silfie royal family would ever consider parlaying with
Orks. That these envoys were not put in a pot and cooked says all that ever
needs to be said about the despair of the Orcish chieftains.
(…)
During
the last century the Orcish tribes had suffered greatly under the heavy hand
of the Humans. Contained in the hot, fetid, disease-ridden jungles, their
numbers had nevertheless grown where all others would have perished. They
lacked no strength, yet they dared not face the Imperial Heavy Cavalry in the
plains outside the walls of Barentium, nor could they storm the great and
ever alert city. To the West, a range of craggy mountains and the men of
Lheathor kept them in check. The small and nimble human ships, with their
dreaded rams and tenacious captains, closed the sea to their badly built and
worse manned ships.
(…)
A plan
was settled and both sides took to it with heart. Propelled by their rulers,
the Eastern Elves built great ships, while the Orks used what few vessels
they had to remember what little they ever knew of seamanship, in hidden bays
and remote beaches, far from the piercing eyes of the human captains.
Bold
raids and great losses supplied them with herds of cattle for the upcoming
war.
(…)
For
centuries the undead kings kept rigid control over their own people. Their
envoys and servants were obedient, as their families were hostages to their
behaviour. Sorcerous forces kept watch for any sign of upheaval and the few
who did try to rebel were quickly ground to a pulp, their minds raped by
magic, the alliances and secrets on which such an endeavour depended opened
asunder before the dark eyes of the Kings.
(…)
The
Silfie fleet looked most strange. Tall Silfie ships filled to the tops with
Ork warriors, captained by a few Silfie seamen left the Southern shores,
cloaked in fogs of magic that gave them utter secrecy and allowed them to
land unseen in Occlo. Then the town died.
The
remnants of what was once a great trading settlement were enslaved and sent
across the sea to die in the altars, their blood the fuel for the fires of
magic.
From
Occlo it was just a short hop to the north and Trush’s Flight died as well,
without a single survivor to tell the tale. The Ork army, as it was told,
numbered in the region of ten thousand of the best Orcish warriors, with the
best weaponry available, and such was the overwhelming superiority of numbers
that, it is believed, in the two isles together there were not ten thousand
men.
The
Sorcerer Kings and their Daemons rejoiced in the spoils of blood and called
forth for more. The fleet turned west to Buccaneers Den, and here it met its
first debacle.
The
Empire had recently tamed the old pirate town, but having lived by their wits
and blades for centuries they still knew how to use them. For this very
reason there was a large military contingent in the isle, to make certain
they did not revert to the old ways, and also as a reserve force that the
Emperor could quickly order to any part of his realm.
These
soldiers were greatly outnumbered, but they formed a focus for the efforts of
the entire island and were it not for the magic of the Silfies the Ork
invasion army would have perished to the last. The few Human mages were
neither sufficient in number nor experienced enough to sustain their
colleagues on the opposite side.
The
humans were defeated, with great casualties among the Orks, and a large group
of men and soldiers escaped with their families. Of those some survived the
magic unleashed upon them from afar.
The warning
got out.
Still,
the Empire was hard struck by this blow. Not for the losses in population,
which, great as they were, was just a fraction of the whole. Yet it was in
Buccaneer’s Den that the Northern fleet was based. Most of the ships and
sailors were caught, and both were put to use by the Sorcerer Kings, if in
different manners.
(…)
The
Southern fleet sailed north, bearing the wives and children of the soldiers
and sailors of that great fortress. After depositing them in Barentium,
which, of the whole Empire, was considered to be the safest city of all, it
sailed to the Den to verify the tales. They found it empty and dead.
Those
who knew the ways of the Orks were most scared. Not a building had burned.
The waste was minimal. They had at last found a guiding intelligence.
Messengers
flew back to the Emperor while the main fleet sailed to Moonglow. They
arrived in time to see the last stages of the massacre and engage the Silfie
fleet.
The two
fleets were about the same size, but that of the Humans was well led and
piloted by real sailors. It should have been no contest, but Humans were,
again, inferior in magic. Great waves and lightning lashed their fleets while
elementals and daemons clambered onto the ships to fight hand-to-hand.
(…)
A few
pitiful remnants of the Southern fleet escaped West with the news of their
defeat. The story they had to tell was one of unmitigated disaster, yet in
this they were mistaken. Too many human ships found refuge from the waves and
the lightning among the Silfie ships, and while outnumbered they fought to
the last with suicidal courage and the expertise of professional seamen.
A full
third of the Silfie fleet was sunk, and without those vessels they could not
transport both the army and their prisoners. Worse than the ships was the
loss of the sailors, who could not be quickly replaced.
What
proved most important in the long run was what the humans had no way of
knowing. More than half of the Silfie mages and Ork shamans with the invasion
force were dead. The human ships were well manned by Imperial marines, who
all were trained in the use of the bow and the flaming arrow. As soon as they
realised what was happening, the few human mages concentrated their efforts
not on fighting magic with magic, but on marking their opponents. The human
action was not concerted, but it was not the less effective. As soon as the
archers saw some of their opponents outlined with coloured lights, clouds of
arrows descended on them, showing that a shaft of wood can kill just as dead
as a ball of fire.
(…)
(…)
about the siege of Tabhes, yet it is not undue that we should render homage
to that lost city here as well.
Warned
by the survivors of Buccaneer’s Den, the remaining warriors in Tabhes
prepared the defence of their city. Their families were gone to the North and
most of the younger soldiers were with the Fleet sailing East.
They
waited for news and cried when a solitary ship arrived, telling them that
their sons had perished at the battle of Moonglow. That same ship sailed back
to the North, bringing the Emperor a message asking for permission to join
the main army when it departed to crush the Orks.
A
couple of weeks later a few ships arrived with mages and reinforcements.
During the
rest of that fatidic autumn no more news came until one day the Silfie ships
unloaded thousands upon thousands of Ork warriors upon the green shores of
the fortified isle.
Tabhes
was like an old nut, tough, dry and hard to crack. Yet inside it there was a
tasty morsel, the grand arsenal of the armies of the South. It held great
storehouses of provisions, enough to keep their army for a whole year,
weapons and armour and a few dismounted siege engines.
If the
undead kings thought they could get it easily, they were soon disabused of
that notion.
The
magic of their minions could do little against the defenders who, if they
could not strike back with magic, could at least prevent its use by the
besiegers.
Tall
and strong walls can not be climbed until their defenders are defeated, and
looking down on the horde were three thousand angry soldiers.
Yet
they had an urgent need for those provisions, so they resolved to buy them
with flesh. The Undead Kings made the deal, the Orks paid for it. They went
up the walls and died like flies, and the ships kept bringing more and more.
For two
months the fighting raged and their troops died, until the furious Kings
summoned a daemon prince to lead their army. They sent him across the sea to
Tabhes, and the very next day he attacked. His magic and his demonic servants
tore down the wall, giving entrance to the Orks.
The
soldiers perished to the last, killing as they went down.
It is
said that nearly thirty thousand Orks died in that small isle.
(…)
During
the Winter Crania was taken and Lheathor evacuated. The cold season, which so
constraints fighting in the North, is far less of a problem in the steamy
South.
(…)
Of the
siege and fall of Barentium much has been written. It was sudden and it was
disastrous, but its greatest effect was among those who took it.
For
decades that town had stood as the beacon of human might in the south. It was
large, extremely well fortified, and its garrison was ten times as strong as
that of Tabhes.
No Ork
army could invest it with any chance of success, and the Undead Kings knew
that even if they threw their whole people into the fray they would not
succeed.
Yet now
they had a resource they lacked before. Thousands of humans languished in
their dungeons, filled with the precious blood that Daemons loved so much.
The kings ascended the altars and the sacrifices began.
(…)
Unleashing
the Daemon princes was the final straw. We dragons had been keeping a close
watch on the situation, worried that the events were going out of control.
What
was to us an Empire or two? Nothing, really. The doings of humans are too
fickle to concern onesSilfie about. Even for those of us who deem it worthy
of keeping in touch, it is more than a little troublesome having to learn new
languages, oh, every four hundred years or so.
What
can one say of a people that doesn’t even trouble itself with having a
consistent language? They come and they go and they’re always different and
always the same.
Yet
there was such in the situation to trouble even us. The reek of death magic
reached our noses, and we Dragons have long memories of millennia past, of
ages that were long gone before the Elves started inventing the notion that
they are the eldest and wisest race of all. Dragons know well what lurks
beyond the shadows, and we will not tolerate that in our world again.
When
the first Daemon prince showed its fangs outside Tabhes, the Dragons gathered
together to decide our course of action. There were many who questioned (…)
Translator's note: Vontalagon gave us a lengthy exposition on the councils of the
Dragons. The question was whether to let the Sorcerer Kings waste their
strength crippling the other races, or whether to protect them by stepping in
early. According to his report, Vontalagon was instrumental in the decision to
act early.
(…)
Our
wings took us to the realm of the Dwarves, who know us well and are aware
that when a dragon talks a biped heeds. The Elves in the East were made aware
of what was happening with their world, and even if they know not as much as
they thing, they still remembered some old tales.
(…)
I must
credit my friend Bubastis with the brightest idea of all the assemblage.
He
looked at the map we had clawed in the living rock and said, “The seas are
clean.” Just that, and we all saw it at once.
The islands
the humans had colonized were, now, all empty. No orks had remained behind,
and the only great navy in the world was that those whom we now considered
our foes.
It was
the time to strike a blow both for ourselves and against our enemies. What
could be best?
Immediately
we contacted our cousins of the sea. The great wyrms of the deep are not the
fleetest in mind, but they are right-minded and they know much, as must those
who travel through all the abysses of the world.
Last of
all, we contacted the Emperor. As we knew he must, he did accept the deal we
proposed to him. He was a landsman of a family of landsmen, and he understood
the power of a boot planted firmly in black soil better than that of a naked
foot on a swaying deck. He was also a man who looked at the map and saw a
naked coast with thousands of miles where an enemy could set foot at will.
We
signed the treatise and he sent out the order to recall all his vessels.
Translator's note: In the long term, this treatise proved almost as deadly to the
civilization of Humans, and to a lesser extent of the Elves and Dwarves, as
the attempted invasion.
Yet it is not our place to discuss the decisions
of those who were there at the time and died to defend the future we now live
in.
(…)
The
attack on Caernathor was prepared with unusual great care. The Sorcerer Kings
had good reasons for this.
Waiting
there was the rest of the army of Barentium, with all of the heavy cavalry,
plus the great Army of Caernathor and great levies of archers from the East.
Every day new weapons and armour came out of the forges, new recruits swore
their oath of fealty and more men were trained.
Elentiral
had revealed himself and was now at the head of the Imperial regiment of
mages.
The
entire city was a war camp, empty of the women and children that gave it
laughter. On that city there was not a person who was not expected to go to
war; all the others had been sent to the East, where they would be far from
harm’s way.
Emperor
Ventray led the greatest host that the continent had ever seen. Of Imperial
legions alone (…)
(…)
The
plan of the Sorcerer Kings was well conceived. Their armies were well armed
and supplied and confident of victory, their magical powers were at a height
and they knew the power of the forces they were facing.
Across
the mountains to the North West came a great Silfie host, forty thousand
warriors led by their most experienced general and reinforced by a great
troop of orks, who, of course, were meant to suffer the brunt of the losses.
They planned to drive through the Dwarven lands and come out of the mountains
where the humans less expected it.
The
entire Silfie fleet, reinforced by many new vessels built for the purpose,
took thirty thousand fighting orks.
From the
conquered town of Barentium marched the greatest army, one hundred thousand
fighting orks and in the vicinity of twenty thousand undead, with Daemons and
other summoned creatures.
The
Sorcerer Kings decided to travel with the largest host. They moved cautiously
and steadily, ready to fall upon an army that, as they expected, would be
busy dealing with two other forces. Rather than be the front-line army they
would be arriving last to hit hardest.
They
counted that the humans would have to heed their threat and would be stopped
from facing the other two hosts with all their force.
It was
a good plan, sophisticated and bold- by Silfie or Elven standards.
(…)
It is
not often that we Dragons are surprised, nor do we like it when we are.
During this war, I must admit that many events came to pass that we did not
expect or even consider possible. Our influence was great, yet I will allow
no doubts to cloud truth; it was a war of bipeds from the beginning to the
end.
We had
expected to have to take upon our own winged shoulders the leadership of the
human armies. From the very beginning we prepared to take control if events
warranted it. For this we started by bringing the Emperor information and
good counsel, gaining for our people a prominent place at the planning table.
Once we were among them, we could control them if we wanted, by might or
magic.
It is
well that we did not try.
I
remember the first planning meeting well. We had brought an envoy of the
dwarves and one from the Elves, whose host even then marched West to join us.
We explained what we had gathered about the armies of the Silfies, and there
is not much that crawls upon the earth that we do not know about. Their dirty
magic, daemon servants and ballistae kept us from cooling their ardour with
the wind from our wings, but such large hosts cannot hide from eyes that even
eagles envy.
Emperor
Ventray the Third was then a young man, his tender two decades of age plainly
visible in his smooth skin.
We traced
the best places to erect the defences, enumerating choke points where we
could fight them with advantage. The fleet would be dealt with and did not
concern us. The dwarves would suffer greatly and would have to evacuate ahead
of the army, trying to delay them. It would be close but, we were confident,
we could meet the main army and defend successfully.
That
child wearing a crown of Iron heard our words, and also the pleas of the
Dwarven envoy, who saw fully well that his people would be crippled. He could
offer no better plan, but asked that we send some thousands of archers to the
mountains. Then the Emperor laughed hard, surprising all of us but his own
grizzled generals. The humans traded knowing smiles and then, when they
looked back at me, who was older than a hundred times their combined ages, I
felt young and inexperienced.
“You do
not win by waiting, Dragon,” he said.
Translator's note: In many passages Vontalagon describes events in the councils, and
he is not afraid of describing his own reaction to events even when he does
not appear in the best of light. Much of this material is irrelevant to the
present discussion, and therefore it is not included. The student should keep
in mind at all times that this is not the full text, and read it accordingly.
(…)
The
entire human army abandoned the city behind and marched northwest, towards
the mountains. Dwarves met them on the way, taking them through the hidden
pathways.
(…)
General
Elu’faner faced another dwarven stronghold across the mountain pass. He
ordered his troops into line as usual, Ork soldiers with ladders in front
with Silfie archers behind. He counted on losing a few more thousand Orks as
soon as they got in contact with the few hundreds of Dwarves that would be
holding the wall. That would be all right, that was as it should be.
(…)
With a
wave of his silk-covered hand he ordered the attack to commence and stood up
on his reins to watch.
(…)
The
attackers were half-way to the walls when these disappeared. The stone was
replaced by rank upon rank of steel-covered Human heavy cavalry, lances held
high with their blood-red pennants flashing in the cold mountain breeze. The
ranks of the Orks faltered. At a trumpet blast all the lances were lowered
and the riders started trotting forward. Some of the Silfies yelled that it
was only an illusion and that they should advance. The Orks were terrified,
for generations the iron-clad human riders had been their greatest terror.
They turned away as the riders approached, and when the charge thundered upon
them it found only a terrorised mob clawing each other to get the faster
away. Behind the riders came a mixed host of human and dwarven infantry to
carve up the survivors. During the rest of that day the remainder of the
Silfie army was completely obliterated.
(…)
As the
humans and dwarves emerged on the other side of the mountain, they had before
them the unprotected forest of the Silfie, while behind was the capital who
was just then about to be occupied. The dwarves begged to be allowed to
wasted the Silfie homeland, yet the Emperor was not to be so easily diverted.
He spared four squadrons of light cavalry to, as he said, “make their
warriors cry blood when they return home”, and turned Northeast.
(…)
The
tall mountains north of Caernathor close the passage almost to the North Sea,
but just almost. To those who know there is a good way, a road even. The
passage was held by the Silfie at its choke point, by deadly archers
protected by hard stone. The defences, strong as they were, had not been
built either to sustain an attack from behind nor, much less, to match
Ventray’s Imperial Legions. The Silfie were simply swept aside, and the few
prisoners told them of the army that had marched East to place itself just
after the swamps. It had been the intention of the Undead kings to catch all
fleeing humans after the swamps so that no survivors could raise another
army.
The
Emperor thought that it was a good idea.
(…)
Though
they had the greatest distance to march, the horse-heavy and disciplined
human army reached their objective first. The Silfie army had set its camp
just beyond the swamp.
(…)
There
was great chagrin among the Emperor’s Legions when they discovered that the
greedy Cavalry squadrons had charged and crushed the Silfie troops alone. It
was considered unsporting and bad manners. The cavalrymen, of course, were
used to such accusations and laughed all the harder.
(…)
The
Elves arrived just after the dismantling of the Silfie army. They placed
themselves under the Emperor’s orders and in a short time Elven rangers were
sent all around the army, most through the swamp, both to find a way and to
discover the location of their foe.
They
returned with news that they had found a way in that the army could take,
just between the swamp and the mountains.
(…)
The
undead kings learned that their ships were sunk with all hands just a couple
of days before they knew that the mountain army was only a memory.
Enraged
they sent scouts to discover the whereabouts of their foe, while slowing down
the main army so as not to be surprised.
(…)
It was
with joy that the Emperor learned that their foe was now moving with caution.
As he made clear to the war council, it was not because he believed they were
losing the will to fight, or that they were weaker than his own forces- he
knew that he had yet to sample the power of the undead kings- but he took
this as a good omen because it told him of what sort where the leaders he
faced. He knew well that he would at once have charged as fast as possible to
unsettle all his opponent’s plans.
Emboldened
by his opponent’s fear, he decided to go across the Swamp and meet them
head-on with his cavalry, his fastest legion and the Elves. The infantry he
ordered East, to build a great wall on the neck of the Eastern peninsula.
(…)
Ironically
the humans had time to cross, place themselves and still have time to worry
whether their foes had stolen a march on them before the great army of the
undead drew near.
The
forest East of Caernathor became the setting for a large mobile army, with a
small but hard and fast foe stinging the main host, setting traps, charging
any solitary unit and generally making life dangerous for the host.
Day by
day the human army gave ground, but that was their intention- it was not the
time to fight the great fight, but to harden their own men and bleed the foe.
It was a joy to see great Ork hosts huddling together and ignore orders at
the sight of the armoured lancers.
Yet
they learned that their foe had a new, fearless weapon- undead skeletons,
armed and walking. They discovered that most of them were not dangerous for a
decent warrior but some were indeed incredibly strong. This worried them and
made them happy they had discovered this before they bet all their cards on
one toss of the dice.
(…)
During
these few days, two events changed History forever.
The
Slaughter of Dakeria
While
the human cavalry, Elven archers, orks and undead skeletons played hide and
seek in the great forests East of Caernathor high history was forged. The
Half-Orks stomped into the books of history and wrote their saga in red.
(…)
At the
time they first started organizing the Orks, long before the war erupted, it
did not escape the attention of the undead leaders of the dark hordes that
they had an exceptional tool in the shape of Half-Orks. As soon as they
gained control of the Orcish peoples, they started taking them apart from
their tribes and moulding them into special units.
At
first they were very successful. The Half-Orks were more than happy to enjoy
themselves at the expense of all the other races and they purely loved the
idea of leaving behind the true-bred Orks who, they felt, were so slow in the
head they kept everyone behind.
Along
with the Silfie units, the Half-Orks were thinking troops who showed
excellence at the game of ambush and mistake. Unlike their Silfie companions,
they could live much better off the field, were stronger and their born
viciousness and independent streak gave them an edge.
(…)
Unfortunately
for the Dark Forces, the Half-Ork units understood well the faults of
planning and lack of decision in their leaders. Their intelligence allowed
them to see what was happening, and their nature was such that they did not
feel awed by the age and power of their leaders. To a Half-Ork, only the
final result counts.
Many
deserted the forces, moving away in small groups to the badlands away from
the fighting, taking with them the weaponry and the discipline of trained
warriors. There they met others of their own breed, tribes of runaways who
lived in the fringes of human civilization.
(…)
The
commander of the 2nd Half-Ork regiment got into trouble with the
Silfie command when his troops repeatedly neglected to send reports or obey
orders. At that time they were at the frontline of the main army, an area of
great forests and difficult terrain where the humans and Elves were keeping
them in check. Some say that the balance was tipped because Commander Krannok
got a humiliating dressing-down from his Silfie superior.
Translator's note: The Silfie never had respect for Orks, and scarcely less for the
Half-Orcs, whom they hated all the more because they feared their
intelligence. Krannok seems to have been a particularly large individual, not
of the brightest of his breed but among the most fearless, energetic and
decisive. In retrospect, those were precisely the qualities he needed the
most.
The
next day the Commander sent his troops forward, sneaking around the flank of
the Human unit fronting them. He sent a few scouts to sting the humans and
drive them towards the Silfie. The result was better than anyone expected.
The Half-Ork group deftly avoided the Silfie defences, and made themselves
scarce just as the furious regiment of swordsmen following them gleefully
realized that they were at the rear of a large and unprepared Silfie camp.
While
the vicious humans had their way with the unfortunate Silfie, Commander
Krannok led his people onward to the North and East, intending to do a
reconnaissance in force and allow time for tempers to grow cold.
For
days they were on their own, living off the land, under no orders from any
other race.
(…)
Sometime
on the first few days he chanced upon a small group of Half-Orks, from whom
he learned of the other dispersed but strong groups in the area. He was
curious and sent envoys, even as he got farther and farther away from the
main body.
He
could not help it but be influenced by the arrival of these free Half-Orks,
who did naught but their own will. These, in turn, were awed by the might and
discipline of Krannok’s troops, and started to work on him to be their
leader.
(…)
The
Half-Ork army crossed the wall the human armies were building in darkness,
killing the few sentries. At the time the legions were still not positioned
for defence, as no enemy was expected.
(…)
Precisely
when he presented his scheme to his troops is not known, but when he did the
independent streak that runs in every Half-Ork came to the fore with a
vengeance. Why should they obey anyone, he asked? Why care for the orders of
the Sorcerer Kings themselves? They were alone in a huge land and they need
only to reach and take what they will.
(…)
The
regiment marched into the deep woods, keeping well away from the main routes.
Envoys went far ahead, gathering even more dispersed tribes. These recognized
the opportunity before them and force-marched to meet Krannok.
A few
villages fell on their way, and they learned more about the land and the
defences of their peoples. His troops tasted easy blood and liked it, so that
it was the easiest thing to take them where he wanted to take them.
(…)
The
town never had a chance. For such an important event, it happened without any
fanfare.
One
night the Half-Orks escalated the palisade and that night a town was murdered
and born again. They kept some human females for slaves. Everybody else was
put to the sword, with the exception of two men. These were brought before
Krannok, who gave them a message to take to their people.
(…)
Some
said that soon they would simply tire and go back to their woods. They were
mistaken. Unlike their orcish forefathers the mixed breeds could see well
beyond the immediate benefits of a raid & burn.
During
the war, there were no forces to spare for the destruction of Krannoc and his
people. After the war, there were neither enough people nor any willpower
left to take upon such a task.
The
Slaughter of the Innocent
The
infighting between Silfies and Elves is one of the saddest notes in history,
and yet it is one whose reasons are so obvious that one finds it difficult to
argue against the result.
Just
like some Half-Orks seceded from the host and left to find their own fate,
some Silfie planned to leave the forces of the Sorcerer Kings and find their
home in the East, next to their long-departed cousins. They denied their “inevitable
right to rule” and the call to arms and oppression.
Unlike
the Half-Orks, they prepared their movement with great care and cunning, and
with equal care they acted. The elders planned and prepared gathered friends
and family.
They
were free to plan and conspire, since their deadly overlords were absent and
could not keep their deadly hands on the net of espionage that subdued the
entire Silfie people.
So it
was that when the marching order arrived, there were four thousand fighting
Silfies ready to secede. With them came their families, disguised as camp
followers. More than once they were on the brink of discovery, such as when
they bivouacked next to an Ork unit who decided to have some fun with a
couple of camp followers. The unexpected result was a very angry regiment
storming their camp, and the Orks breaking ranks in fear.
Yet
Lady Luck remained at their side to the very latest.
(…)
The
saga unfolded to the end. They were not sent across the mountains, were all
would have vanished and their fate never learned. They did not go by the
North coast to try and set the ambush at the swamps, else they would likewise
have found their fates in the tips of the lances of the heavy human cavalry.
It was
their fate to be chosen to be with the main host, a fate they at first
decried. When the news of the destruction of the other armies reached them
they rejoiced secretly, both that the way was free and that they had been
right in their decision.
(…)
Luck seemed
to favour them even more when they were detached to the rearguard, so that
they could keep Orcish stragglers on the line, and spared them the first
contacts in the forest.
(…)
The
undead kings realized that if they were to break through they would have to
bring forth all the Silfie, who were masters at forest fighting. From the
rear and sides they were called, and with them the regiment of conspirators.
As soon
as they found themselves near the lines of those whom they regarded as their
liberators, they advanced during the night and tried to link with an Elven
army.
Translator's note: The full story of that night has never been told. It seems
strange that the Silfie would advance before preparing their way better.
Still, at the time desperation drove everybody.
Here
luck betrayed them. They were recent arrivals to the front lines and as a
result were not aware that all during the last days of forest fighting both
sides had been playing as dirty as they could. Both sides had done ambushes,
fake-parleys, breaking of temporary truces and spying.
When
the Silfie contacted the unit in front of them, they were well received. The
Elven army, of course, thought it was another trick and decided to turn it
into a trap. When the Silfie crossed the lines, what the Elves saw was a
large and well-armed unit moving towards them. They sprung the trap, and
suddenly the Silfie were charged in both flanks and the front. The massacre
started.
It was
tougher going for the Elves than it should have been- with the lives of their
families at stake, the Silfie fought with incredible resolution. Ironically,
an Ork unit heard the ruckus and charged merrily into the fray, turning one
of the Elven flanks. Seeing the opening, the Silfie formed a wedge and drove
through the lines of their killers. While the battle raged behind and more
forces were fed into the furnace, they limped away into the night.
It was
a victory the pain of which not many defeats could equal.
Of the
fighting Silfie, only fifteen hundred were still alive. Of their families,
not one third lived still.
Mad
with despair, they pressed to the East, away from the fighting, ambushing and
killing the few isolated messengers or patrols that came their way.
In
the meanwhile, over the dead battlefield Elven officers noticed the great
numbers of dead camp followers and, on closer investigation, found a wealth
of objects such as no army on the move would carry- but a moving people
would. The wounded confirmed it and the true magnitude of the disaster was
finally understood.
Birds
flew to the East, bringing the order to open the way before the Silfie and
meet them in embassy.
As the
grief-stricken survivors arrived at the neck of the peninsula, the army
building the wall gathered what few Elves had remained behind and sent them
as envoys.
The
first flag-bearers were cut down where they stood; the second group came
backed with two legions. Tears in their eyes, the weight of a terrible burden
on their shoulders, the Elves parlayed with their bereaved cousins, offering
them their homes and families. The furious, smouldering Silfie tested the
edge of their swords, saw the numbers arrayed against them, and understood
how matters stood. They demanded that they be allowed to find an empty land
to dwell in and that none should disturb them.
(…)
Their
numbers weak, despair driving them on, the Silfie sent out patrols and after
a few months of searching found their home in a complex of caves. They
consecrated their new home with the blood of a few captured Elves, humans and
dwarves, swearing a blood oath of vengeance that bonded them and their
descendants to revenge.
The
day of decision
The
universe must have a sense of humour. For centuries the Undead kings of the
Silfie planned and plotted, raised their power and their undead, preparing
their ascension to the control of all the lands.
For
centuries the humans fought against themselves and the Orks, rising in power
only to tumble back to the mud, their politics as unstable as their lives are
short.
Yet,
just when the dice were about to be thrown, that same instability provided
them with the tools to face the might of magic and daemons. It supplied them
with new power, a new Empire still vital with the energy of the young but
already heavy with the muscle of maturity. Fifty years before or fifty years
after and I believe they would never have stood a chance. Fifty years or a
day, it is all about the same for us who fly. For the undead sorcerers, it
was scarcely more. For the humans, it was time enough for a man to be born,
have a son and watch him grow, attend his wedding and still see his grandson
playing with the other children.
(…)
The
Imperial Army left the forests ahead of the confused undead host and marched
quickly to the NorthEast. During the fighting they had caused great losses,
but had also understood precisely the magnitude of the forces they were
facing. The Orks and Silfie alone would not have been too much of a problem,
but augmented by the skeletons the difference in numbers was close to three
to one. Adding to their forces were Daemons and powerful mages.
(…)
The
Emperor asked us whether we could keep the mages and the Daemons from the
main battle. We told him that we could, but that he would still be hopelessly
outnumbered, and therefore it would be best to retreat further than the wall,
into the forests. The dwarves wanted to fight, but also considered that it
was best to do it under better conditions, while the Elves did not think they
could win and an escape was the only option.
Just
thinking of it I can still picture that tiny form standing before three Great
Wyrms- myself, Alvrak and Crykopher the Blood, plus two princes of the Elves
and the Dwarven chieftain and generals of all three races, telling all of us
to do our part and learn with those who knew how to fight.
Translator's note: Vontalagon gives great detail in this part, most of it too
personal or of too low a level to include. It is obvious that he attempts to
project an historian's detachment, and equally obvious that he could not but
fail.
For that reason the following excerpts are
fragmentary, even though they were compiled from several sources and brought
to chronological order.
(…)
It was
not an ideal setting for the undead kings, yet they accepted the proffered
battle. They were tired of playing hide and seek, and they had gotten enough
scares at the woods that they did not want the humans to take refuge under
the trees and in the mountains.
(…)
With a
mighty trumpeting, shouting and clashing of weapons on shields the army of
the Silfie kings stormed the Wall. Ballistas and catapults killed droves of
them, and yet there was no difference in their numbers. There was not much
else we could do, as we dragons had our own tasks. Above the undead host came
a drove of daemons and even an undead dragon.
(…)
In the
ground the fighting was the fiercest the world had ever seen. The great host
slammed into the wall held by the dread legions and blood flowed. Magic
struck at the humans and very little of it reached its target, intercepted by
their few mages. No magic struck back at the undead host.
Behind
the lines the Elven archers kept up a cloud of arrows, eviscerating the Orks
by the hundred, but then they had to change their fire to their own cousins,
the Silfie, who were equally good archers. There were about twice as many
Silfie but the Elves had the protection of fixed wooden structures behind
which they had cover. Still, the Silfie were emboldened, well equipped and
hardy. As they traded arrows without seeing one another their fire ceased to
support any side.
Without
either magic or archery to influence the result, the hand-to-hand fighting
grew fiercer. A mass of Orks and Skeletons forced the wall and opened a
breach, and as they started pouring in reserve legions massed against them.
(…)
The
Emperor had kept the dwarves under reserve. Suddenly, without any
explanation, he ordered the entire Dwarven army to attack from the walls and
drive a wedge into the right flank of the host. This was suicidal folly, and
the dwarves knew it. Despite any initial success they were set up to be
slaughtered. Yet the dwarven general had learned to trust the young human
with the crown of iron, and such is the way of dwarves that they were almost
ill at hearing the sounds of battle from afar without taking place. Without
argument he set himself at the head of his troops and charged into the fray.
At the
beginning they pushed back the startled enemy and cleaved their way through a
row of corpses. Soon, though, the undead Kings saw their opportunity and
threw their reserves at them, thinking they’d finish the dwarves off and go
in where they’d come out.
Again
bold human madness decided the day.
Coming
from the north cloaked by mages and walking on their own feet came the
cavalry. They had walked for twenty miles since morning. They marched into
range, formed behind a very low elevation, just enough to keep them out of
sight, and waited. Soon enough the signal came. Ten thousand lancers mounted
and entered the fray.
(…)
Their
reserves busy with the dwarves, the undead kings had only themselves to face
the cavalry with. They rode to the threatened flank and cast their magic.
With the riders were mages, who did their best and diminished the onslaught-
but just a little. Hundreds of men and horses perished, burned, poisoned,
rent by spirits and apparitions, yet the squadrons charged in.
Translator's note: Letters and descriptions from the battlefield give testimony to
the huge power of the greatest masters of magic the world had ever known.
There are descriptions of a full hundred crisped where they rode, their
horses with them; of men turned inside out by dread magic; of spirits of
poison following individual riders and smothering them; of men simply
igniting and burning to death.
Yet even they could not kill so many men fast
enough.
(…)
In the
air the battle was balanced, with a small advantage to us dragons. Yet even
in the deepest fighting we never lost track of what happened below us. We
were almost as surprised as the undead kings by the arrival of the human
heavy cavalry- but we knew our Emperor. While they were busy with the humans,
three dragons saw the chance- a veteran fighter and two young ones, full of
spirits and vinegar- and did as humans would have done; they dove into the
fray below.
Surprise
was ours and we were able to disembody two of the kings before we had to
regain height. The third drew back, cloaked himself in magic and got out of
the way even as the cavalry slammed into his forces.
Translator's note: Of these three dragons the "veteran" was Vontalagon
himself. In general the other dragons were not as careful as he at keeping
watch on the events below, nor did they show the same initiative. Perhaps the
Great Wyrm was more influenced by his studies of human impulsiveness than he
thought. His modesty is commendable, yet he gives the impression that any
dragon could have done what he did. This is not so. The Liche kings were far
too strong for any dragon other than a Great Wyrm.
(…)
When
the two undead kings were disembodied, they lost control over the Daemons
they had summoned. These were instantly banished back to their realms,
suddenly turning the battle in the air. In short order the Dragons destroyed
the remainder.
(…)
With
the cavalry and the dwarves on one flank and the human legions in front, the
tide began to turn. Superiority in numbers was not enough to win against
training and discipline, and for a moment it seemed that the whole business
would be solved shortly.
Translator's note: And so it seemed to the Foe, who felt compelled to take such
desperate measures.
(…)
His two
companions put out of the fight, Elenmiral, the last undead king, drew back
to his headquarters and gave a fatidic command. Calling to him six daemons,
they started a ritual of invitation. Orkish swords fell on unprotected necks,
providing the sacrifices and life force needed for the spell. Unlike a normal
summons, this ritual did not bind the daemons, and as a result was much
simpler and faster. A gap was made in the fabric of the world, and through it
poured thousands of spirits. The Daemon princes were released as well, their
participation in the ritual and a final service the only condition for their
freedom. They stood at the entrance of the portal into the other planes,
quickly ordering the new arrivals to attack the humans. Some of the daemons
were the same which had been released when their undead masters were
disembodied; and these were among the rebels who refused all orders, laughing
at their new freedom and willing to do only what they wanted.
Most of
the other spirits did not obey and streaked away from the battlefield,
laughing and chattering, to alight wherever they wanted to. But too many
stayed to fight, mainly daemons and others who took residence in fallen
bodies.
A few-
very few, but they must be counted- turned on the host and attacked it, just
for the fun of battle and rebellion against any command.
(…)
Suddenly
all over the battlefield Daemons took shape and fallen bodies twitched into
mockeries of life.
Harried
from all sides, the human battalions drew into close order and fought with
the force of despair. The mages concentrated all their energies on the
Daemons, whom they soon discovered that they could not banish. The six daemon
princes flew over the forces and landed near the Imperial Guard, aiming at
the Emperor himself.
(…)
From
the skies the disaster was obvious. All the dragons tipped their wings and
descended to wreak havoc below. Such an event was what we had feared all
along, and if this ritual of invitation was small, we now saw before us
plainly to what extent the undead kings would go should they gain complete
control over the land.
There
was not a dragon that did not see, and a dragon who did not understand, that
they must be defeated there and then at any cost.
After
the first pass, it became clear that the fighting was too intense to strike
from above, so we took to the ground and went claw-to-claw, tooth-to-tooth
against the Daemons.
(…)
Encouraged
by the arrival of the Dragons, the veteran human units gathered about the
Wyrms. Such a sight was never seen, and such a feeling I had never had and
never felt again. To be forced to fight on the mud is something Dragons
consider demeaning, and yet then and there it seemed the greatest of honours.
As we
descended, we all roared “The Dragons are here!”, to encourage our side and
drive fear into the hearts of our foes. I recall landing inside a circle of
fighting men, surrounded by all sides but still fighting defiantly, and to
the rear there was a dread melee. I headed for it and saw the warriors- nay,
truly they were soldiers- driving against three great daemons. Men died each
time a great claw slashed, and yet they tried harder, to the surprise of the
Daemons. Feeling my arrival the soldiers were encouraged and launched a
brutal attack. I took a bite at one daemon and at the same time the other two
were swarmed over and brought down. From the melee emerged a bloodied soldier
raising a flagpole with a ragged cloth tied to it, to the cheers of his
comrades. I did not recognize the unit until a sergeant yelled “Tenth legion,
forward!” and waded into the fighting.
Just as
I was about to launch myself at the thick of it, a lieutenant, not two years
out of childhood, ran in front of me and pointed to the side. I raised my
neck and looked that way and, to my chagrin, saw another legion just a couple
of hundred yards away, with a mass of Orcs between us. That child, still wet
behind the ears though he was, had just given me a lesson in war.
(…)
To my
sides and behind were masses of soldiers, veterans of war encased in steel,
training and fury. At times I had to take care not to step on them, and
sometimes I failed- at times their blades and their lives kept claws and
teeth from my own skin. I would engage a daemon and immediately the men would
flow around us- yea, some even dared run between my legs- and rip at his
wings with their spears, slash at his feet and tendons with sharp swords and
lay him open to my strikes.
Soon I
learned that I need only take a strike at one of the bigger foes- slash at
him, force him to the ground- and those small but oh so dangerous soldiers
would finish the job with their hatred and cruel blades. Orcs and undead
would try to reach me and do the same, and immediately I would find a shield
wall around me, from behind which I could pluck them and scythe their ranks
with my long neck.
As the
luck of war would have it, we soon made contact with another legion, the 4th,
and then we had a line and could push all in one direction. Dwarves and
lancers joined our lines, and even some Elves, and then our forces seemed
more than doubled. Each fought in its own way, together with the others, and
having an effect much greater than if all fought alone.
(…)
I raced
from melee to melee, followed by a hundred riders and some two hundred
infantrymen of the Tenth who seemed to have taken me under their care, and so
it was that I came upon the Imperial Guard’s last battle. Surrounded by the
Daemon princes and other undead, they had fought to the last. We arrived just
in time to drive off the last two living princes and save the last twenty men
of it, all clustered back to back around their flag. Among the dead was the
Emperor, whom we found crushed under the body of a Grand Daemon, the Imperial
sword deep in the Daemon’s guts- a Grand Daemon, a duke in his own land, who
had come to this only to cause suffering and found death at the hand of a
small man whom he would not even have deigned to notice.
Translator's note: The Emperor left behind him a wife and two small children. All
perished in the following five years, taken by sickness.
Such
victory as was to be had, we had it. A pity there was so little to go around.
More
than half the human forces were dead, with scarcely any less casualties among
the dwarves and the Elves. Of the living, I believe only a third were unwounded,
and of the others most died during the following days.
My own
Tenth Legion, whom I fought with since I laid foot on the battlefield until
the bitter end, had less than one thousand men left alive from its original
five thousand proud soldiers.
Translator's note: The Great Wyrm was as impressed with the soldiers of the Tenth as
the Tenth was impressed with the Great Wyrm. It is not for nothing that the
Legion later changed its colours to include a Black Dragon, and the official
records state that were it not for Vontalagon having joined them they would
have been killed as they stood. Typically, the Wyrm downplayed his own
involvement. The Tenth was the only legion that was completely surrounded by
the enemy during the battle, and the Wyrm chose to make his stand precisely
where the danger was greatest.
The
Emperor was dead, and with him the personality that could have turned the
tide of history. Or could he? The damage was too great, but sometimes I
wonder.
What to
say of the Dragons? During the battle in the skies, and later in the ground,
we lost one fourth of our own, almost all of them young ones who should have
had millennia still to grow and learn the wonder of the stars.
The gate
to the other planes died along with the last sacrificed captive- we found
four thousand bodies in chains, killed in that ritual. How many thousands of
dread spirits came to poison the land we know not. Certainly less than would
have come had the Kings won and tried their grand ritual to become gods that
is for sure: but still the land was never the same from that day onward.
(…)
With
great effort, the exhausted army kept watch at the wall, and they did not
relent even when the great plague swept the land and claimed lives by the
thousand, sparing no one and no side. The remnants of the Imperial Cavalry
never lay still, and continued to range across the land- now the border,
formerly just a distant part of their lord’s demesne- to the dismay of the
few Silfie, Orcs and undead left there to keep them in check.
(…)
When
they returned to their homeland in the Western Coast, the Silfie found it
ravaged, with tens of thousands of their families and children put to the
sword and the torch. The few squadrons of human cavalry that had stayed
behind wreaked the dread vengeance of their race with a cruelty and savagery
that surprised even the Orks. It is known that nine out of ten of these
riders eventually perished in the woods, unwilling to cease their private war
against the Silfie. A few returned to bring the news.
When
their threat ended, the Silfie did not even have the strength to commemorate.
(…)
After a
decade of vindictive cavalry raids, the Silfie general of the East Mark
brought his exhausted forces back and built a wall of his own, just West of
the great swamps, to keep safe from the human lancers.
Unable
to continue their raids, the Imperial cavalry gradually returned home and the
squadrons were extinguished, to remain only in the memories of a lost time.
Translator's note: In a letter, the Great Wyrm describes with sadness how humans
could not keep their efforts concentrated for long unless there was bloodshed
involved.
(…)
The
undead kings returned to a broken realm and dismal defeat. All had had their power
reduced- two of them for having their bodies destroyed and having to spend
the energy to make new ones, the last for the energy consumed by the grand
ritual.
Angry
and bitter, they quarrelled, and threw blame at each other, and eventually
fell apart and each took to his realm.
Elenmiral,
at the time the strongest, remained in control of the Silfie forces and many
of the daemons. Fareun built his tower in the Orkish lands and made himself
their leader, while Narbolear gathered in the old capital with his undead and
other fell creatures.
(…)
We
draconids had one victory that was a defeat to all others. From the day that
the fleet of the undead king was destroyed in the sea, not a single vessel of
any kind was allowed in the sea, and selected areas were given to the dragons
and no construction allowed there. Such was the treaty signed with the
Emperor, and that treaty was maintained as only dragons can.
There
was no slackening of attention and no intrusions, as humans naturally would.
Our own strength and that of the sea serpents that are our cousins has more
than sufficed to assure that the treaty was followed to the letter.
What
few ships try to crest the salt waves never return to the land, and as for
the intruders in our domains… they provide us with amusement and tales to
tell when we meet.
We do
not really find fault with the bipeds for constantly testing their
boundaries. It is their nature.
Writing
now three hundred years after the Great War, I look at the past and remember
the sadness of those days, but also the heady feeling that we were all truly
alive to the utmost particle of our being. Then I look at the present days of
quiet and stagnation and cannot but wonder about how much we all lost.
The
world has settled into a new cycle, one that was mostly good for us Dragons.
There are very few humans now- the butcher’s bill was enormous during the
war, and the great plagues which lashed the land in the following decades
diminished the populations to a fraction of what they once were.
The sorrow
of losing their Empire and of being confined to a small fraction of their
ancient domain weighs heavily on human spirits.
We
shouldn’t forget the presence of the Half-Orks and the Eastern Silfies. There
is constant war between these peoples and the dwarves, humans and Elves.
Humans have not forgotten how to fight- they never did- but they can’t expand
as they need if they are to replenish their numbers.
I see
no change in the future until a great leader, such as our deceased Emperor,
again forces his way into the forefront of history.
The
released Daemons and spirits settled mostly to the West, where they disrupt
the land and keep even the undead kings on their toes. They recognize no
fealty and no lord, and they have no tolerance for any other will but their
own.
Some
even dare try our ancient haunts, and humans never suspected the battles that
sometimes bring light to the caves under the mountains. More than once I have
yearned to have again by my side those dread fighters of “mine” Tenth Legion.
(…)
It is
ironic that of all the Imperial Legions only one survived, my very own Tenth
Legion. It is now but a shade of its former self, and yet it is also still
the strongest human unit in existence. Now they no longer patrol the great
wall and confine their efforts to protecting the only remaining human city.
Translator's note: Vontalagon deliberately downplays what remained a steady
association with the Legion. Old veterans tell that at a time of great
hardship and famine it was the Great Wyrm himself who gave the legion the
gold that allowed them to keep their force and permission to obtain meat in
his own domains. Just what is their present association is anyone's guess.
Final Words by the Translator
This treatise is, we believe, a thorough
exposition on the main events of our historical past. We advise the serious
student to read Vontalagon's complete work, as well as the writings of other
Elven and Human authors whose names we indicate in the bibliography.
Writing three hundred years after Vontalagon finished
his work, we find that conditions have grown scarcely better, even if magic
spread among humans and other peoples enough that in any future conflict we
would be able to use it as a weapon as well as our adversaries.
Of events in the West we hear little. There has
been restlessness from time to time, and occasionally there have been
ambitious generals who probably decided to make their mark with an incursion
in our lands.
What forces they bring with them have always been
larger than our own, but disorganized and hesitant. The wall still remains
our Western frontier, and it will remain so for the foreseeable future.
It is our most sincere hope that a better
understanding of history will help us not to repeat it once again.
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