Lazaron History

These four seemed to have reactions to one another when combined. The reactions were violent and sometimes harsh, but with the help and guidance of the four creators, they were molded together to create a sphere of incredible potential. The Creators were very impressed with the discovery and watched for many years as the sphere grew, shifted, and changed. The affects the four dimensions had on one another were incredible to say the least. They seemed almost to have a will of their own, forming themselves with no additional help from the creators at all.

Xaltion called the four dimensions the Elements. They were the Elements of creation. When the sphere stabilized, it had grown so huge that it took the creators 24 hours to move around the entire thing. All the reactions had ceased and now there seemed to be some kind of cycle. Keysa, Fergatu, and Kezarai began to be bored and suggested they try adding one other dimension at a time to the sphere to see the reaction.

Xaltion alone was wary of this. He was concerned it might destroy the sphere. Eventually however, Xaltion agreed and, one by one, they began to add dimensions. The results were somewhat devastating to the sphere, changing it further and creating strange reactions. The sphere began to show signs of instability, and Xaltion called a halt to adding any more dimensions.

Once Xaltion understood how the water interacted with the other four elements and the effect of the other dimensions woven into the sphere, he did not grow bored like the others. Instead he had ideas. He began to create again. Not dimensions or plains like before, he began to create what he called Life.

Using the example of how the sphere had taken on a will of its own when all of the elements were combined, Xaltion began to attempt to create Life that would resemble he and his siblings. Life that would create and destroy, change and grow all on its own, be unpredictable.

Xaltion started within his water, creating creatures he called Fish. He created different shapes, colors, and sizes. He created plants that housed and fed the creatures of the massive bodies of water that he called Oceans. He was very pleased with the world he had created. He gave his Fish the ability to procreate with each other and produce more of their kind.

There was no creature that was dynamic and could move through and utilize everything the environment had to offer. Things changed and evolved, but they always had boundaries. There were no creatures that resembled their creators. What kind of tribute was that? Xaltion voiced the idea to his siblings to create creatures in their images. The others were not interested. They were jealous of their power and they felt supreme over everything they created. If they created something in their image, would they be able to feel the same power over them?

The other three left the world again and Xaltion was left to tinker. And tinker he did. He began attempting to create a creature that would be like himself, thoughtful, creative, and willful. He wanted to create a creature that could look beyond foot and procreation and see things not just for food or shelter, but for potential. The first creature was called a Dwarf. The dwarf was a marvel to Xaltion. So willful, tenacious, and it thought in very creative ways. He made a male and a female and gave them the same ability to create others of their kind, and then he sat back and watched the dwarves develop.^[2]

Within a few hundred years, the dwarven population had grown and they had developed a distinct love and ability for crafting things. They were excellent at carving beautiful things from rock and actually preferred to live inside the mountains of the land. Xaltion was very pleased with the dwarves. They were very loyal to him and had developed in very impressive ways. But Xaltion saw room for improvement. Though he saw things he would like to improve, he couldn't bring himself to actually change his dwarves. Instead, he decided to develop a different race.

Elves were tall, slender and beautiful. They had a mystical grace about them and their creativity was very different from dwarves. While the dwarves carved beautiful things from the rock, when it came to more delicate things, like writing or speaking, they were not so talented. The elves not only developed a beautiful spoken language over a couple hundred years, but they created a written language too. The elves were also much longer-lived than the dwarves. The dwarves could survive for 200 to 500 years, the elves could live for thousands.^[3]

Xaltion enjoyed his two races for quite some time. He watched them interact with one another, grow, develop and discover. These creatures were perfect to him for they used everything around them and made new things out of them. They made dwellings, clothes, tools, and so many other things. They were always discovering something new and brought great joy to Xaltion.

After a couple thousand years, Xaltion began to see flaws in his creations. They lived so long and each was perfect in so many ways. He almost felt they had it too easy. He decided to make one more race that would be different from either elves or dwarves. They would not live as long, nor would they be so good at anything. They would be survivors. They would always just make it. And so Xaltion created Humans.^[4]

These individuals became clerics and Xaltion favored them above all others for their devotion and appreciation of him. Because he loved them, so did others of their kind and soon clerics were revered as what they called Holy.

Many more years passed and Xaltion was quite pleased with his world. Then, one fateful day, his three siblings came back. They too were impressed with what he had done with the world, but wanted to try other things. They wanted Xaltion to come away from his world and go with them to create something new. Xaltion did not want to go. He was happy and content with what he had made and didn't want to miss anything his creatures might discover or do. They were his children.

The other three were not so attached. They tried and tried to convince Xaltion to leave, but he wouldn't go. The three became angry and jealous of this world that had taken their brother from them. They began to cause great havoc, calling upon their respective elements to cause destruction.

The earth began to shake and split, volcanoes erupted and fire spread. The air whipped up great storms that toppled trees and building alike.

Xaltion watched in horror as the three destroyed so much in so little time. He commanded them to stop, agreeing to go away with them if they would only stop killing his world. The three stopped and Xaltion regretfully left with them. He was gone for only a few hundred years and felt he could stay away no longer. Leaving his siblings once again, he came back to his beloved world only to find sadness and despair.

So year one of the First Sun in the Age of Mercy began. People prospered and worshiped Xaltion. Clerics once again became revered instead of hated. When the world went mad, the races blamed their clerics for angering Xaltion and many had been exiled or worse yet, killed. Now that Xaltion was back, the clerics were once again accepted into society. Because of their sacrifice and suffering, Xaltion imbued the clerics with more abilities and power.

Xaltion was like an indulgent parent, giving to his children everything he thought they could ever want. Crops were abundant and there were no storms or harsh winters. For over 1000 years there was peace and great happiness. People relaxed and spent most of their time building or resting. There was all the time in the world for fun and games when Xaltion made life so simple and easy for them.

Xaltion was very pleased and enjoyed the feelings of being wanted, needed and appreciated. These were new feelings for him that he had never experienced before. He too was relaxing and enjoying everything. Then they returned. His siblings had finally grown bored and come to collect their brother.

Xaltion gazed one last time at his siblings, then ascended out of the core and the world to once again assume his normal form. Xaltion knew there had always been power in the world. He had watched as the occasional person would be born with the ability to sense it, but not understand it. All the creatures he had made were sensitive to magic in one way or another. Some, however were born with a strong ability to control and manipulate it, but without the knowledge of how to use that control.

With the introduction of the new powers, those who had the ability to use magic could no longer ignore the pull. They began to experiment. Many deaths and a bit of destruction occurred over the many years of experimentation, but within a few hundred years, the races had developed spells and rituals that allowed them to use the powers now available.

The original elves came to be known as High Elves. Some of the elves evolved differently, however, and wandered off. They created a virtually new race that was subsequently called the Tree Elves. These elves were much like the Elves from whom they were descended, but they had different creative tendencies and an uncanny ability to tap into the World Power. They could commune and control animal and plant, land and water, air and weather. They were a marvel to Xaltion. Not only for their abilities, but because he had not created them, it seemed the world itself had created them.

Now there were four races for Xaltion to watch and of which he could be proud. Within a few hundred years he had forgotten about his brothers and sister imprisoned in the center of the world. They, however, had not forgotten him.

The woman was actually freeing Kezarai from his prison. Xaltion was so enraged and felt so betrayed by this act, that without thinking, he struck down Kezarai just as he was released from his sphere of exile. The effect of this was catastrophic.

Because Kezarai was bound to the world and his magic and energy had become part of the fibers that held the world together, the loss of his essence created such havoc on the world that Xaltion was barely able to save it. When Kezarai died, all of his energy was forced into the world and the world could not contain it. Between the force of this energy backlash and that of the strike by Xaltion, the world began to tear itself apart.

Huge tears in the dimensional fibers began to spread. The damage to the material world itself was massive. Mountains grew where before there were only miles of flat land. Other mountains disappeared into the earth and the ocean swallowed up cities and land alike. It rained fire and hail and trees uprooted themselves or were simply sucked down into the ground. The death toll amongst the creatures was massive, but the toll among the races was twice that.

Some camps grew larger than others and as people began to realize and relate to where everyone was, more stable and permanent villages were established. The High Elves were the first to establish their new home. Simply starting where they stood when the world stopped heaving, they called their new homeland Quenae after the daughter of Queen Darnelia, the only member of the Royal family to survive.

The Humans, having been spread all over the known world, were a little slower to establish a new domain. A woman by the name of Lara grew tired of wandering from place to place as she and her husband managed 13 children. She demanded that they stay in one place and simply refused to leave. Many others took up her cry and stayed in what became the town of Laraville.

The Tree Elves wandered considerably longer attempting to find their lost grove. They were unable to locate it and only stopped their search when Toita sent one of the Druids a vision of a huge and ancient tree. It is believed to be one of the few trees to have survived the Age of Rending intact. The Tree Elves promptly made this their permanent home and believed they had a divine duty to protect and nurture the ancient tree they called Qway. Thus the village Qwaylan was born.

Strange creatures were reported immediately after the Age of Rending. Someone from all the races had seen them, but no one knew what they were. There were many new creatures, some found to be violent and some determined to be non-aggressive. Most people simply avoided all of them, as they were more concerned with survival than investigating.

Once the races had settled over the course of three to four decades, they began to cautiously explore the land. Makeshift maps were made from the reports of citizens and brave scouts soon took on the task of leaving the relative safety of their villages and finding out about the new world in which they now lived. These expeditions, at times, became long quests for knowledge and often spanned several years.

Where were these strange and bloodthirsty creatures coming from? Where were the other races? What was to become of the world? What had happened to anger Xaltion and cause him to nearly destroy the world? These were questions that all the races had in common. The quest for answers to these and many other questions began in earnest.

Thus the world was introduced to Pixies, Sprites, and Gnomes. It would be many years before they were completely trusted, as no one could quite say where they came from, not even them. Scholars theorized that Xaltion created them, and there were later theories that they had come from the newly discovered 'Rift'.

All the races came in contact with the Rift and learned very quickly that venturing into it was not wise, as no one who entered ever returned. A barren area along the edge where nothing would grow and a slight shimmer in the air were the only indications of where the Rift was located. The half-mile of barren rock seemed to grow wider every year. The world around the Rift was extremely unstable and there was some speculation that this was the end of the world; that it had somehow broken during the age of rending and walking into the Rift resulted in falling off the earth. They also discovered that many foul creatures were routinely spit out of the Rift and patrols were established along the entire border of the strange area in an effort to keep the creatures under control.

Government remained unstructured, as no race wanted to place another in power over them again. There were times of great tension between Humans and the other races as they were blamed for the wrath of Xaltion. Pixies, Sprites, and Gnomes were collectively labeled the 'Fae' and kept mostly to themselves.

It was with horror that Xaltion watched the Aspects battle like starving animals over the attentions of his creations. They began to grant favors to people to earn their devotion and worship. They also began to restore people to life when they died at the direction of Parsons who chose to devote their lives to the glorification of a particular Aspect. People were required to spend a great deal of time worshiping the Aspects in exchange for this lide-after-death. Xaltion found this a twisted and dangerous meddling with an already fragile world, but was unable to stop what he had set in motion.

As the races began to grow confident in the protection and promises of the new Aspects, they began to grow bolder and more adventuresome in their newfound immortality. They once again began to build and within a couple hundred years, the world was once again 'right' in their eyes. Then something happened that would later come to haunt scholars, mages, and the world in general. One day, a man appeared in the Sprite city, Desta. He appeared to be an ancient human, blind, wrinkled and hunch backed. He told them his name was Lazaron. When he disclosed where he had come from, he was quickly pronounced quite mad.

Lazaron said he had come from the Rift and had seen the other side. He announced he was there to warn them of the destruction that was to come. The Sprites quickly disavowed him and escorted him out of their village. For over 25 years, Lazaron wandered the entire land preaching to everyone about the dangers found on the other side of the Rift, and the horrible things the future held in store.

In the year 600 A.X., Lazaron died in his sleep in the bed of a temple in Quenae. His possessions were studied and the book he carried was found to be written in a language not even the Elven scholars could read. This raised a few eyebrows, but was dismissed as insane scribble and not even a real language. It was placed in their museum and the world went about its business. In the year 675 A.X., life once again would change forever.

It was just before dusk when they came upon an unaware Desta. Orcs, Ogres and Goblins, wild-eyed Humans, strange looking elf-like creatures, and twisted looking Dwarves and Gnomes. They came, thousands of them, pouring into the streets of Desta, the peaceful village of the Sprites. Where they came from or why, the Sprites had no time to ask or ponder. Dozens fell dead even as the first sounds of the alarm were raised. The Sprites attempted to bring up their magical barrier, only rarely used against larger than normal attacks of rift spawn, but it was too late. The main Barrier holders died almost instantly to strange, vile magic and arrows. Having dealt with rift spawn for some years, the village’s defenses were still not adequate enough to deal with the destruction that bore down on them now. Never before had any seen such a force, nor had any a name for the monsters that killed them.

Some 50 or 60 Sprites who were among those that managed to survive the initial attack, formed small groups and scattered in all directions knowing that the other people of Lazaron would be caught just as unaware as they had been. In a valiant attempt to warn other villages and towns of the impending attacks, only 2 of these groups managed to make it to Chelsa and Laraville. Many Sprites remained in Desta, unable to escape before the town became surrounded. Women, children, the elderly and men, all barricaded in their crude underground temple, putting forth a grand effort with their astute magical abilities, only to perish within two days time against the relentless push of their attackers.

As the ragtag band of Sprites who made it to Laraville entered the village, many of the Humans were shocked to even see them. Sprites rarely left their home, but when they did, it was rarely in groups larger than two. They immediately spoke to those the town called its council, and told them everything they could about the terror that had befallen Desta. Riders were sent out from Laraville to Qwaylan, Chelsa, and Opstantinopian. All were given instructions to stop at any other small settlements and give them instructions to head to Laraville. The riders sent to Chelsa were never seen again. The gnomes quickly sent word to Avendae and Quenae and as the races began to gather in and fortify their towns for battle, the Horde began to move across the land like a sickness, destroying everything it came in contact with. The short time of awareness would seem for not. It was only a matter of days after hearing of the Legion's existence that the cities were then face to face with the plight war.

During this time, Qwaylan, home of the Tree Elves, was benefited slightly due to its remoteness. Immediately after hearing from the riders that came from Laraville, and knowing that the farmlands around the town supplied much of the food to the lands, they sent as many groups as possible to the human village to help head off or stall the attacks. Abandoning their village, those who were unable to fight left to travel the western coast, hoping to find refuge and avoid the chaos somewhere along the way. As the Hordes reached Qwaylan, the few stragglers who had chosen to remain behind were killed; their village set to fire.

Opstantinopian reacted to the news in much the same way as Qwaylan did. Once the Gnomes were informed, a few groups took what materials they deemed useful and made the trek to Laraville, avoiding as much of the advancing Legion as they possibly could. They also collapsed the tunnels that led into the inner part of their mountain home in an effort to keep their mechanical inventions safe from enemy hands. The remaining Gnomes set the many traps contained along the outer perimeter of their village before heading into a tunnel that took them halfway down the mountainside. They then climbed the rest of the way to get to Avendae, the home of the Pixies, their close friends and neighbors.

As for Quenae, the High Elves shipped off their young and elderly on boats to seek safety with the sea, however their fate is yet unknown for they never returned. Other preparations that could be made to protect the valued items and books the city harbored were made, but it was widely known that the elves would not hold off this army of creatures alone. A joint effort must be made by all, or all would fall. The majority of the remaining High Elves went to Laraville via their boats, which were known to be the fastest in the land. Those that could not fit on the boats headed for the Human village remained in Quenae, continuing to do whatever they thought could help to protect their fair city. Many of them took the most valued and priceless books and artifacts and buried them. Others set them in waterproof containers and rowed them far off shore to be dropped into the Sea of Levia for Xaltion to guard.

As the Horde of Chaos reached Laraville, the Human village had two great advantages. The town itself was built upon an enormous hill affording it an expansive view and an ideal defensive position. It was also a port town and most humans were farmers, so there was a great store of food and fresh water, as well as an abundance of weaponry made available from all the traveling merchants at the time. The mix of Humans, Sprites, Tree Elves, and Gnomes who had arrived just a day before the Legions, used the high log walls that surrounded Laraville to line their ranged attacks. With the mechanical genius of the Gnomes, the magical force of the Sprites, the accuracy of the Tree Elf bows, and the Humans renowned tenacity, they held the village for a time, but with great loss.

When the first small waves of the Chaos Legions attacked, they were subdued within a day by the defenders. By the time the second and larger wave reached the city, the Dwarves who had arrived at the port from Chelsa joined the fray. From this moment forward, the races of Lazaron were truly united in a single cause - survival. And survive they would. Two months is how long Laraville withstood the never-ending attacks. Two entire months of slaughter, with each new day raising the death toll even higher. There was no respite; the Legions never ceased in their advances. Bodies of the dead from both sides littered the hillside in a gory display of loss.

It became evident there was no way to win this war. There was no end in sight, and the supplies were dwindling away. It was decided that they must find a way out of the town, or they all would die. The port was soon taken and Laraville was virtually surrounded. It seemed hopeless and spirits began to sink as the enemy pushed harder at the heavily fortified defenses. It was then that those who had kept to the shadows stepped forward and revealed something very few knew about. Laraville was indeed built upon a large hill, but the hill was also mostly hollow. Smugglers lead women and children to the safety of the tunnels beneath the village that eventually wound down to a small underground pond. Boarding small skiffs to overflowing, they traveled a shallow waterway that eventually took them by the cover of forest into the Marsh of Siena. In time the marsh funneled into a stream, shallow but adequate, that led the survivors through little known or explored waterways under Mt. Clearwater and finally into Clearwater Lake. They then followed South Figlan’s Run River down to Quenae.

A stand was made in Quenae that lasted for but a few weeks. Eventually their forces were pushed back by the Horde, ever south until they arrived in Avendae. Though supplies were brought into the Pixie village, it became apparent that food would be in short order for a long time and rations were implemented. The Pixies welcomed all with warmth that seemed to lift spirits thought never to rise again. They tended the wounded, entertained the children, and brought small smiles to faces of adults that had seen far too much.

The untapped magic of the Fae Forest was a boon to the surviving Sprites and the magically inclined, for a moment it was thought possible that they could win, but that thought was soon extinguished and concentration was reserved to just simply sustain their existence. The Sprites were able to lend their magic, and in shifts, the thirty some odd living worked to hold a strong magical barrier around Avendae and some of its surrounding land. Day and night, ten sprites known as the Barrier Keepers could be seen standing, staring into nothing with a shimmering magical shield that encased Avendae, and was the sole reason that any survived.

As the long years passed, it seemed as though the lands no longer existed, all that remained alive and true were settled among Avendae, living and dying, bearing children and losing families. It was a life of war and a life of hopelessness. More and more women and mothers began to fight along side their men and it was not uncommon to see a child on the battlefield helping to drag home the fallen or fighting the enemy. For ten years this hardship was endured, the people standing their ground, protecting their loved ones, fighting the hordes that seemed to simply re-spawn their limitless numbers daily. People no longer hoped for an end, or a better day. They only hoped that maybe today would not be the day their lives, or what had become of them, would end. They farmed small plots of land to keep meager food supplies, and fish were raised in small ponds, dried, and rationed. It was not living. It was barely surviving. But somehow, they kept going.

Absolute and utter shock ignited the fury of Queen Avendae as she watched the events in disbelief atop one of the makeshift guard towers erected around the parameter of the small village. From her small body was released a deafening cry of pure grief for her husband and for the very first time, hatred swelled within her. The sound broke the hearts of those around her, causing even the hardest warrior to look away with misting eyes. Standing on the ramparts, she conjured massive fireballs and obliterated the entire first division of the Legion’s army single handedly. The other Pixies, just as shocked and angered, followed their Queen’s offensive action and within moments, dozens of lightning streaks and fiery balls were let loose devastating everything within range. Queen Avendae never relented, she summoned and used every ounce of magical strength within her until finally as the day had passed and a new dawn approached, she collapsed where she stood. She was taken to her bedchamber where she never spoke and never moved. Eventually, after seven days, her grief and exhaustion claimed her life in her sleep.

Astonishment moved through the ranks of those at Avendae, they had never before seen or even considered a Pixie to be a force to contend with. But now with this newfound ally, their attacks against the Legions became even more forceful. Slight advancements were made, but never substantial enough to push the Hordes back. But now they were doing real damage to them. Magic poured from the sky day and night and warriors went forth to meet those that managed to make it near the magical barriers. Hope was rekindled in Avendae. Hope that perhaps they could push out and eventually run this evil back to where it came from. But as time went on, it became clear, nothing would change but the death toll.

Months passed and then, there came a lull that would last for one day and it was thought that maybe, the war was over. Just, maybe. Yet, just as the thought became a whispered rumor, the Legions attacked again. At dawn, just at the shift change of Barrier Keepers, the barrier was wrenched down and twenty Sprites fell dead instantly. The Horde stormed Avendae head on before any could even fathom what had just occurred, climbing over the bodies of the fallen to reach the gates. Alarms were set tolling and the survivors of the village arose to meet their fate. The attack was more intense than anything previously seen, the magic more powerful, the Legion’s warriors more ferocious and the archers seemed to suddenly have perfect aim. The gates were breached, the walls were swarmed, and those of Lazaron died quickly and easily. Any and all hope was lost; the war would end and the Chaos Legions would have free reign of their lands. Women gazed at their children’s faces for one last time, husbands held their families before taking up their weapons and preparing to give their people as many moments as possible before eternal darkness befell them all.

From the rivers was heard a thunderous roar, the waters of Forest Heart River and Sparkling River began to rise and curl into the air, rushing around Avendae like a liquid tornado ripping away building and body alike, surrounding the entire town of Avendae and its survivors. First terror and then realization spread among the races as the howling force of the wind whipped at the kneeling mass. Xaltion had answered them. Xaltion was saving them. The waters of Xaltion had embraced his much loved creations. After a time the wall of water receded and what lay before them, was nothing. The Chaos Legion was gone and the Legion camps were flooded and wrecked. For a mile from Avendae outward, nothing even resembling a member of the Horde was found. The war, of twelve years was finally over.

The times of celebration were short lived in Avendae. Xaltion was alive and well in the minds of all those who had fought but now that the war had ended, the other Aspects once again came begging of worship, offering favors of help. The races left the confines of the Pixie’s village, many children for the first time, heading for the ruins of their own towns and seeking out survivors along the way. The destruction Lazaron had sustained over the past decade or so was unbelievable. The land itself was hardly recognizable; villages and towns were seen only as large expanses of ash and rubble. Large areas of forest were burned or chopped down. Wild life was nearly extinct and rivers were contaminated with rotting bodies.

Patrols were sent all over the land to route bands of the Legion that still remained. Many could not understand what had happened, but by the trail of dead bodies left across the land on toward the Rift, the people were lead to conclude that the Legions were somehow driven back by Xaltion and forced into the Rift from where they came. As time passed, the reports of encounters from the patrols became less and less. It seemed as though the major threat had passed, though every so often it would be heard that an encampment or small settlement had been raided.

The High Elves, upon returning to Quenae came upon a band of about twenty Orcs, Ogres, and Goblins. They quickly subdued and captured them, and held them at Quenae. They gained much knowledge about the Rift; the significance celestial signs played against it, as well as much about the land of Karatta. They eventually gleaned from them what their group had been sent to Quenae to accomplish, and after months of magical interrogation, the High Elves felt it was time to call a meeting. Representatives from all the races would attend this meeting and the course of their lives would once again change with the knowledge the High Elves would bring them. In the year 689 AX, two years after the end of the Chaos War as it would come to be known as, a gathering of the races would occur, an event not seen since the Age of Mercy. This gathering would bring forth a new age, an age of realization, of knowledge, and prosperity.

I am Grentalian Hei’Tinel, a Tree Elf Druid. I was there when the Chaos Wars ended, and I was there when the Meeting of Confessions as we came to call it was held. High Elves usually write these histories, but in light of the things that happened at the turn of the Age, the people of our newly named land of Lazaron asked that a Tree Elf be chosen for the task. We are not writers of histories. We are not Scholars. But we took the task, and I was appointed. This is our story, my story. It is one of joy, grief, betrayal, alliances, and hope.

--Arch Druid Grentalian Hei’Tinel

The Chaos Wars had ended, however strange, however sudden, and the people of Lazaron banded together as we had the last thirteen years, and began to mend our bodies, minds, and spirits as well as our lands. And there was much to be mended. The stink of war and death and the foulness of the brutal creatures that had descended upon us contaminated the land. A wind did not blow that did not carry the stench of decay. A river did not flow that did not hold the taste of rot and blood. One could not walk a mile without coming upon a decomposing corpse or skeleton.

It would take years for us to cleanse the land of the decay that riddled her. We burned any corpse of the enemy that we found, and gave proper burial to the many remains of our people. So many died, so many suffered, so many children were born and grew under the dark press of war, their eyes now hard and their faces never bearing a smile. Our children were different, we were different, life was different - and for what? Why us? What could those people want from us? Who were they? These were questions that drifted in the back of everyone’s minds. But so long had they been there that we were as accustomed to them as the sound of our own heartbeat. No one asked. We just wondered and survived.

I talk much of the wilds, forgive me for they are my home. There was little left of the former cities and villages that used to dot the countryside. The Legions left hardly more than foundations in most places. Those that still had structures of any kind had been so fouled by the Horde, that they were burned. Determined to scrape a life out of what was left, the people began to clear the rubble from the ruined towns and rebuild. Their rebuilding would have a different goal in mind than in previous years. Though fortification was always a thought because of the Rift Spawn, the idea was taken to a whole new level. We were no longer preparing for minor invasions of Rift creatures. We were preparing for full-scale war. We would not be caught unawares again, not any of us.

The Gnomes were pleased to find that their traps in the outer part of their city had claimed many of the Horde’s numbers, and discouraged them from even attempting to enter the city’s inner caverns. The Legion had apparently taken their aggressions out on the accessible outer part of the city they could reach, and it was nothing but piles of rock and rubble. It took them almost a year to clear out all the rubble, corpses, and finally remove the rubble from their collapsed entryways. They were very fortunate to find their inner caverns untouched and fully inhabitable. They began to rebuild their outer city, trying to maintain a livable and welcoming atmosphere while quietly attending to the fortifications they knew they needed.

As the handful Sprites that survived the Chaos Wars returned to Desta, they were met with something different than extreme devastation or ruins. Desta had seemingly disappeared. Since the Sprites were naturally careful about making too deep a mark on the land they inhabit, they were only able to find Desta by memory and the very few vague outlines of foundations. Nature had otherwise reclaimed Desta. The Sprites began to carefully rebuild their village, being respectful of the new life that had sprung up in its ruins. The underground Temple of Desta was discovered a few months into the rebuilding, and within it the wounds of the Chaos War were ripped wide open for the Sprites. Much like the Dwarves, the Sprites came upon the mass remains of the many Sprites that had barricaded themselves into the temple hoping to survive the onslaught of the Legions some how. The Sprites were so tortured by this discovery, they chose to seal up the Temple and leave it for the tomb of their lost brethren.

The Tree Elves reluctantly returned to Qwaylan, almost afraid of what we would find. What we did find was charred piles of wood scattered over the forest floor, the remains of what used to be our homes, bridges, shops and our village. The trees seemed to have healed themselves from what damage might have been done to them from the fire that ravished the once graceful tree city. Relieved to at least find that the forest still stood, we, the Tree Elves began to rebuild our homes among the branches of the trees. More attention was paid to defense this time, as a group we agreed to never abandon our homes again. We would make sure we would be more defendable against such forces as we were faced with before.

The Pixies didn’t have to go anywhere to discover what was left of their home. It had been the home of everyone in the lands for over a decade. What they did have to do is decide exactly what they were going to do with all the guard towers, fields, shacks, tents, and other modifications that had been made to their once small, quaint village. The pixies quickly set about removing most of the additions and giving the salvaged materials to the Gnomes who had use for such things. Once done, they set about weaving walls of colorful vines all around their town and planting new grass and trees on the parts of the land that had been cleared to make room for living spaces. They decided they wouldn’t ever have another King and Queen in honor of their late royal family who perished with no heirs. Instead a town council was comprised of what was left of the nobility.

It was about a year when Dwarven representatives came to visit the Pixies, bringing gifts to thank them for their hospitality. They were horrified to see what the Pixies deemed a ‘well defended village’ and immediately approached the council to discuss the Dwarves building a good solid wall for their small allies. The Pixies agreed mainly because it seemed it would make the Dwarves quite happy, and building commenced nearly a year later. The Dwarves carted huge slabs of sand colored marble all the way from Mt. Iceback to the unprepared village of Avendae. The Pixies watched in complete dismay as the Dwarves effectively walled them in with a twenty-foot high, five-foot wide wall of solid marble.

It would take over fifteen years to complete, and once done, the Pixies were beside themselves with grief. This wall was positively dreadful to the free spirited creatures. The Dwarves met with the Pixie council and after some hours of talk, in complete exasperation, the Dwarves began to make carvings and niches where plants could be grown over the entire surface of the wall. This seemed to make the Pixies a little more at ease and after almost twenty years of labor, the Dwarves left a well-fortified Avendae.

When we finally did meet, it was around the middle of 693 A.X. in the village of Quenae. The people knew we would be there to discuss important things, but we were completely unprepared for what we would hear. The High Elven councilor, Havental Gre’yinah, addressed the races with a solemn tone. He explained first, what they had learned from the band of Karattan prisoners they detained. Dekatar, as the man was called that was leading the armies, was rumored to be a demigod. Some sort of half man, half god being. He had brought the Karattan armies to Lazaron under the impression of taking the lands for themselves, since their own land was so corrupt and dangerous. The true reason behind this Dekatar’s plans was to come and plunder the relics, histories, and artifacts the people held. Specifically of importance to him was a book. A certain book written by someone they all knew - the old man Lazaron.

Of course we were all confused, even baffled at what Havental was telling us, and we had many questions as well. Our people had no relics, no artifacts. And what would they want with that crazy old man Lazaron’s book? How would they even know of Lazaron’s existence? Our histories that we had begun recording in the Age of Mercy surely were of little interest to those individuals. But most importantly, who were these people? If Dekatar truly was a ‘demigod’ as the High Elves suspected, Xaltion was then his father?

Havental explained that Dekatar believed that Lazaron was some kind of demigod much like himself, and that his book would contain important information. The High Elves as a whole suspected that Dekatar already knew what the book would reveal, and for some reason did not want them to have it, as the group they detained revealed they had been sent to find and destroy this book. However, when they attempted to destroy the book they found that it was not possible. The cover itself was not able to even be marred, and wherever ink lay on the pages within, the paper could not be torn or burned. The Orcs had found the book finally, and upon discovering it was unable to be destroyed, they ripped the pages from the binding and sent members of their group off with the pages to hide and scatter them. The few the High Elves had captured were the remains of a much larger group apparently.

I recall the Dwarven ambassador’s eyes widening, his beard appeared to bristle and he could do little more than sputter the whole time. The Tree Elves had suspected such things of the High Elves for centuries, but had never had any real proof to go on. The Pixie representative seemed to be watching the Dwarf with some apprehension, the Humans simply arched a brow, and the Sprites maintained their usual unreadable visage. The single Gnome that had come for his people scratched his head a few times, consulted a notebook, then shrugged and looked back up at the Councilor. It was a hard few moments, but that silence and suspense was nothing compared to the near bloodshed that was to follow it.

The Dwarf, Miken Greystalk was the first to react. Seeming to find his tongue finally, he began berating the High Elves for their betrayal. How COULD they do such a thing? Keep such things from the rest of the people? Who did they think they were, holding back such knowledge and such items from the rest of the world? He drew forth his axe, which I have noticed Dwarves are never far away from a weapon of some sort, and moved toward the Councilor. I remember placing my hand on his shoulder, and simply saying, ‘Peace brother Dwarf. I fear he is not finished with what he must tell us. Let his confession conclude before you split him, I beg.’ Miken appeared to struggle with some inner battle before slamming the blade of his axe down into the large oak table the High Elven Councilor stood behind. To his credit, he didn’t flinch. He just met the eyes of the Dwarf, then nodded slightly to me.

The Human, Abigale Dorlanda, spoke - her voice surprisingly clear and concise. It was easy for me to see why they had chosen her, though at first I was a bit surprised to see a woman as a representative for the meeting. She asked Havental about the conclusion that this Dekatar is some sort of son of Xaltion? Was it true? It wasn’t so much her words that demanded attention, but her entire demeanor. Havental replied and explained that they did not believe he was the son of Xaltion, no. And this lead to further confessions. Confessions few were willing to accept. The Councilor explained that aside from the relics and artifacts they kept hidden, history was another thing they had always kept, even before the Age of Mercy. They had kept it for personal reasons prior to the people as a whole deciding that history should indeed be recorded, and they had felt no need or obligation to share it. Many would beg to differ.

Havental said matter-of-factly, ‘That leaves two’, two other gods. But where were they, who were they, what were they? These questions came from all directions. Rage seemed to have been forgotten for the moment, in its place unbelievable confusion and the feeling of the world spinning far too quickly for you to keep your feet. The Dwarf nearly fell back into his seat. The Councilor further explained that though they did not know ‘what’ or ‘who’ exactly the other two that survived were, they did know they were actually trapped in the center of the world, and that is why there was ‘mana’ available to the people of the world. It was being pulled from these Gods as a way to keep them from breaking free of their prison. I don’t recall how long he stopped talking for. But it was long enough for most of us to remember to breathe again. Also quite long enough for the Dwarf to once again rise from his seat and scream at Havental calling him a liar and a betrayer, and finally a blasphemer.

Unwilling to accept that there were Gods other than Xaltion and the Aspects of himself he had directly created, the Dwarf grabbed his axe and pulled it loose from the table. Kicking the table over and shoving Havental against the wall. Miken exclaimed that the High Elves would soon hear from the Dwarves and what the Karattan armies had brought would be a child’s bad dream compared to the wrath of the Dwarves. His arm was shaking as his axe was raised and poised to take the head from the Councilor. Something managed to stay his hand however, and he spit upon Havental before storming from the chamber, kicking chairs and knocking things from the wall as he did. Though he slammed the door behind him, you could hear things falling and breaking as he made his way down the hallway. His voice bellowing about the outrages of the High Elves and the blood that would be shed to repay years of lies and deceit. One thing is certain. You never lie to a Dwarf.

Carefully and deliberately taking his time, Havental straightened his robes and wiped the spit from his cheek. He looked to the rest of us and continued. He explained the High Elves knew we were upset and would think much like the Dwarves thought. He begged us to understand why the High Elves had done what they had, and that it was in hopes to protect us from what they viewed as a serious threat to our society as a whole. The Human Abigale pointed out that it was the Elves first mistake in thinking that they were above the rest of us and that we needed protection. All agreed. Havental sighed and spread his hands to the group of us. He asked us what could he do about the past? They were trying to right their ways, and this meeting was called to reveal what should have been told centuries ago, and also to discuss their future, which they feared was in grave danger.

Havental had theories on all of them. Theories he was very sure of. Upon the study of the corpses they had found, they believed that four of the races that had attacked them were actually related to the people here. The High Elves felt they were somehow corrupted versions of us. Perhaps they were the descendents of the survivors from the Rending, the citizens of the kingdoms lost when the world was torn apart. Apparently, Karatta was a land of corruption and serious influence from the Rift was to blame. Dekatar brought the other three, Orcs, Ogres, and Goblins, forth from the Rift himself. The ones they had captured had no clue of history or where they ‘came from’. The elves suspected magical tampering with their minds was to blame but could not find a way to help them remember. We all looked at one another, trying to see if maybe someone else had a better idea of what exactly was going on, but everyone had the same vaguely hopeful expression that perhaps this was all just in our imagination. We would wake and the real meeting would take place. Unfortunately, we realized that we were finally truly living in reality. None of us were sure we quite liked it.

Havental appeared to notice our mental anguish and attempted to console us. He explained that he knew this was all a lot to take in and process and he wished we had more time to really talk about it, but he greatly feared what he didn’t know. And what he didn’t know was when these people would attack us again, when they would find out how to use the relics and artifacts they may posses, and more importantly what was in the book of Lazaron. He did wish to depart on us the last bit of Knowledge that the High Elves had come to discover. Upon much research and reflection on the old man Lazaron’s behavior, words, and seemingly perfect prophecy, they determined Lazaron must have been Xaltion in an avatar form trying to warn them of what he knew was going on in Karatta. But what did this mean? Did he truly favor Lazaron? Did he fear this Dekatar? Was he not powerful enough to stop him? The Elves knew as much of these things as anyone else. It would take the discovery of all the pages of his book and the decoding of the language it was written in to truly understand.

‘So what should we do?’ was the unanimous question. Of course, the High Elves had a plan. They decided that Knowledge was indeed power. As such, what we all needed to do was ‘empower’ ourselves. They proposed a plan that involved each major town to build and establish Training Academies. We would send our children to them when they were young, very young, and their skills and abilities would be identified. They would then be nurtured and trained in their talent and finally graduate from the academy after a certain time of training. It was a completely different plan than any of us had considered. Most of us were on a ‘build higher walls and come up with better weapons’ line of thought.

The meeting went late into the night and into the next morning. We did not notice the sun rise, nor did we need for sleep. We were energized and hopeful about this idea. So long had we had magical abilities that we never truly fostered and brought to their full potential. How long had we depended on Xaltion and his Aspects to carry us through? Yes, this was the answer. It was more than ‘creating an army’. It was creating independence and a chance of survival, and in both places we were failing. It was at this time that agreements were struck, pacts were made, and plans were set into action. A name was chosen for our land as a whole. That name was to honor the old man that came to us so long ago. The old man we took for granted and thought ourselves better than he. The name of our land would be Lazaron, and the name would serve to remind us never to take for granted the gifts we are given by Xaltion. Lazaron was a gift, and so were our land and our lives.

It would fall to the Human representative to go to the Dwarves and try to convince them to participate. I did not envy her. The High Elves promised to make part of their task in this Academy plan to educate us all on the things they had held from us all these many Ages. They had to educate their own people as well, and face them with the fact they had kept secrets from them. But that was not our concern. We had a goal, a vision. This thought, this path we took to knowledge and self-empowerment would lead to more than just academies. Trade grew and before long, wagons crisscrossed the countryside boasting wares never before offered. New armors, weapons, and tools were invented to match the rising skill of our fighters and crafters. New spells surfaced every day, and many new magical discoveries were made. Truly we were more advanced and whole than we had ever been before. We were united under a true banner of unity and dedication.

The banner of Lazaron has stood for all that we have been through and gone through for over two hundred years now. Academies now stand in every major town across Lazaron, welcoming all those that would seek to learn and use their knowledge for the betterment of our people. Our society still struggles, but we have developed in mind and soul. We begin now in the year 912 A.X. to turn our honed skills to the lands. We look to our towns to grow to cities, our dirt roads to become paved and our wilds to be tamed. We look to expand our numbers and take hold of this unruly land once and for all. We have grown and we have learned. We have come into a new Age. An Age brought about by old wrongs righted, and self-awareness. This is the Age of growth, change, and victory over more than a battlefield. We have achieved victory over life itself. This is the Age of Prosperity.