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