The hour glass turns, sand burying the memories of previous men...
From the fall of Zeal to the appearance of its people in the lands of Leanantla, humanity has shown a versatility and creativity that cannot be compared to any other race. Yet for all their great knowledge or their cities that reach for the heavens above, Man has also shown itself through corruption and the pains of war. Through the ages Man has continued to dominate the world and hold its seat of power, once wielded through the Crown of the Kingdom.
This kingdom, however, fell into civil war when the last line of kings was assassinated, after years of bloody civil war there was little left to fight for. The decline of man could be attributed to many things. One reality is inescapable, humanity is on the decline and the Kingdoms are a pale reflection of former glories.
“They say society grows great when old men plant trees, who’s shade they shall never sit under. I am unsure we are not a people who plant or sow any more, but we surely do reap. So much is lost to us now, our history but a faint echo tangled in its own telling and all but forgotten. How men forged pacts with demons and their actions echoed across an age. The notion that Gods rose and fell, slain by the hands of mortals is strange to us now, but then again, what do the godless know of divinity. What we do know is that realms of men fell, empires crumbled and we along with all that was good and great in our people was scattered to the wind. Most men and women are simply born to die, choked by relentless dust or frozen by bitter winters, we are a lost people, a race in decline. The lands of Leanantla the ruins of Mercia, believe me friends I have seen a vision of hell”
The capitals of men lay ruined first by the ravages of war, salted fields and empty farms gave rise to great famines and marauding bands of desperate souls saw the rest laid to waste. The truth can never die though, history is a story that tells itself with our every breath. In a world where people burn books just to stave off the cold, it can be lost though. Our origins are such, broken fragments of a tale that cries out for discovery. A few souls feel this pull more deeply, perhaps they simply yearn for more....are you one among many? Does fate bind you to a higher calling? Welcome to Eridan, the place where the Gods died.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the frozen stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this gray rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this gray rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
— The Legend of Opharon
As the hourglass turns, the morning dawn passing into setting sun; the warmth of summer to the bitter cold. Unaware, unaware, the world marches forward. The tapestry has woven itself new masters, but who stand to triumph, who to fall? For what do madmen have in store behind the world’s timeless walls?