Long time ago when event, nowadays refered as `Dragon Wars', took place, and the fabric of the world known to men today, was created. During that time the tremble, caused by massive battles between dragons, was so overwhelming that the very foundations of earth shook, reforming the whole region into new shape and by that shattered many, many legends of past which now lay in deeps, forgotten...

In the ensuing destruction the stability of the region was reduced and the lesser races inhabiting the mainland commenced the slow climb towards civilization. Elves and Dwarves who'd inhabited the land for eras established their first kingdoms both above and below ground, forming alliances when needed to combat increasing Orc and Yan-ti aggression.

Gnomes and Halflings recently released from Dragon enslavement started to build their own kingdom in the war-devastated island of Lamindor and began reestablishing their presence.

Some decades after the `Dragon Wars' a single human Barbarian tribe migrated into the region, seeking more fertile pastures and sheltering from hunters and slave traders from other, more powerful races. Their travels ended in Whitesand bay after discovering abundant marine life in what seemed uncharted territory.

The first human settlement in that regionwas founded.

An Elven party on patrol scouted the fledgling village and reported the discovery back to the Elders. Needless to say that the Elves were puzzled, how could such savages possibly display such advanced social order? There were even signs of a primitive, hierarchical system of rule.

And so the Elven kingdom Illsfyr sent an emissary to the human village in order to study this phenomenon. However the humans ran in fear upon seeing the Elves. The centuries had dulled the edge of this keen people to a superstitious, nomadic lifestyle, their battle knowledge lost in years of cultural stagnation.

Seeing the Elves were not marching with swords and spears, but still cautious from tales of Elven magic, the human elders faced them.

Realizing the humans' potential the Elves soon eased their fears and befriended them, establishing the first trade route between the two races. Soon, word of the intelligent human tribe came to the underground Dwarven kingdom of Dunbrak and after negotiation another link was forged with the humans, exchanging metal ore for food from the sea. The humans' natural ability to adopt other skills and technologies for themselves enabled them to evolve far faster than they would normally have done. They absorbed what they could of the Dwarven and Elven cultures; trade, architecture, alchemy, some magic...they learned all that was available to them.

What had started as a small village, born out of fear and wandering, grew over time. Buildings and roads spread out over the land as the village became a town, and the town a large city governed by Anryl Cormaerir, the first human mage and Lord of Faernrast.
. . .

It was dusk and small drops of rain fell on Mer Lightfoot. The human inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the forest around him, and sighed.

He'd meant to get back home before dark and was just about to leave when his ears picked up a noise alien to the trees, a strange repeating boom like thunder, or drums? He turned and looked back, straining his eyes to get a better look at the horizon - a thin black line covered the far meadows. Dismissing it as a strange-looking storm he shrugged his shoulders and started the long walk home. He only got as far as a few paces when he heard the swish of metal through the air and the world turned black.

The humans were caught completely off guard when an evil army attacked. The city's defences were overrun by Orcs, Goblins, Minotaurs and an army of the undead, which cut through Faernrast leaving death and destruction behind them, caring for neither the weak nor the young. The city guard and militia were ill-prepared for the wave of sheer savagery and rage which engulfed them...and their allies were nowhere to be seen.

Anryl, realizing help wasn't coming, gathered his family and urged them to go the docks with whomever they find along the way to escape on the fishing boats. Rent apart inside he sought for the remains of the guard and stood ground at the entrance to the docks to face the approaching doom.

And so they fought, hopelessly outnumbered, but knowing that every last sword thrust they could muster would spare another moment for the women and children to flee. The seemingly endless flow of enraged creatures advanced again and again, and each time there were fewer and fewer humans to hold them back. Many heroes died that day, men who saw their friends clawed to pieces before their eyes, shielding the passage to the docks with their very bodies, raising their swords with the last of the strength their failing bodies could summon.

With a cry of victory the evil army smashed the remnants of the militia and only a single human lay before them, a noble's livery discernible beneath the blood and gore shrouding him. Anryl alone remained, limping badly, his left arm hanging useless by his side. He had been preparing for the end. The final words of the deadliest spell he knew left his lips as a scream of defiance and, magic arcing through his enemies, he hurled himself into the swirling mass.

Anryl and his men had not martyred themselves in vain, for by the time the enemy reached the dockside dozens of boats had sailed beyond the range of their arrows and spells, and were making their way to the unknown. Long weeks passed as the crowded vessels ploughed through uncharted seas. Finally an island lay before their eyes, cradled within golden sands; but caution stayed their joy, for soaring above the exotic trees rose a single tower as a gleaming spear of white. One by one the boats beached themselves on the island's shore and their battered cargo of humans poured onto the sand. Some lay as if dead on the ground through sheer exhaustion and malnourishment, others, their attention no longer held by the perils of the journey, were overwhelmed by the loss of their loved ones and the sacrifices made for their escape.

In the midst of their grief a small, humanlike figure emerged from the trees, it seemed more like a child than a dwarf, with no discernible facial hair but fully-formed as an adult. The only language which had an effect on this creature was Elven, at the sound of which it murmured something and signaled those that could to follow. After a few minutes walking through the dense jungle the outermost buildings of a city, none higher than the trees around them save the high tower, appeared among the foliage.

Light streamed at them from every angle from walls of polished, white stone and they had to shield their eyes.

As they were led through the mysterious city more and more of the small humanoids and their even smaller offspring appeared, many wearing goggles with smoked lenses, attracted by the spectacle of a parade of giants headed by one of their own. These people, as far as they could tell by the architecture they saw, was no more advanced than theirs, only the ever-present glare made it hard to see fine detail. Slowly they were shown to a long stair which led to the base of the tower itself, and upon arriving the manling beckoned them to go inside with him.

Now it happened that among those who had survived the journey and still had strength to walk was Alysia, maid-servant of the house of Anryl, she had been waylaid from her master and mistress at the docks and feared all the family dead for she hadn't been able to find them among the survivors. But there were still ships out at sea which had not made landfall yet. Seeing that all those assembled would not be able to enter the tower she took it upon herself to act as their representative, choosing a few she knew she could rely on for strength and wisdom. In this the survivors were not remiss to allow her to speak to these new people for them, for they knew her and the position of trust she had held with their Lord.

The tower's walls were made from the same smooth, polished stone as the rest of the city and its surface was not adorned with any designs or devices. Entering they found themselves simply in a round space, empty save for a desk covered in papers and what looked like a short stairway standing on its own, leading nowhere, beside it. The little man ran over to the stairway and stood on it holding the banister, indicating that Alysia should do the same. Bidding her friends to wait she mounted the stairs and held on, uncertain what she was doing. No sooner had she touched the wood than the floor soared up beneath her, making her dizzy; they were no longer in the same room of the tower. The floor she was standing on contained an enormous library.

Thousands of books lined shelves, rising to such a height they seemed impossible to reach. Here and there she could see ancient volumes, yellow and cracked amidst the myriad documents, and in the centre were tables stained with experiments and potions unknown. On them were beakers and glass tubes of varying sizes, some bubbling with many colours, others slowly emitting cloudy vapours, row after row of glass vials were arrayed beside them, it seemed they had arrived at some great centre for learning and experimentation on the island. Between all this seeming chaos of smoke, sound and small ran another small humanoid, taking care of a dozen experiments at once. The man beside her walked to the elder and greeted him with some formality and eagerly began to explain his discovery on the beach
Alysia was somewhat taken aback when the elder greeted her in the Elven tongue, and she responded in kind, curtsying low. The old man was Gwilshek, Master Alchemist of the Gnomes, as they called themselves, and after offering his guests food and drink, and sending out more for the rest of the humans on the beach, he bade her sit on a low bench and spoke with her.

Centuries ago, he explained, this city had lain under the tyranny of a great Dragon, huge and strong in her menace, and merciless in her greed. The Gnomes here were descended from those who were her slaves, and brought her gold and food so she may maintain her armoured skin and grow mightier. One fell day the war reached the distant isle as if from nowhere and began to wage in their city, great voices booming in the destruction, shouting for the Dragon to show herself and fight. Of course She could not turn down such a challenge thrown in her face at her own doorstep and gathering herself, she strode out to meet the intruders to her domain. The battle which followed destroyed most of the city and took the Dragons in a whirlwind of fire and flame away from the island until no more was heard of them. Freed from their slavery they took it upon themselves to rebuild the city and used knowledge they found in the Dragon's library to improve it beyond what it had been.

Alysia then told the Elder all that had befallen her people, of their flight from the East and their coming into the new land, of all they had accomplished over time and how that had been destroyed in an instant when the Horde had attacked, sudden and savage. Her face was marred with sorrow as she described the last stand of those upon the dock, and their sacrifice so the rest should escape, finally bursting into tears at the last charge of Anryl.

She would always hear that last scream echoing in her ears unbidden and unending. Seeing the plight these people had endured and the noble spirit of the lady before him, the Elder's heart was moved to offer them such shelter and food as they could provide. There was room on the island for her people to build a settlement and slowly heal their wounds. Alysia returned to her people outside with the good tidings, they had escaped destruction and were now being given a second chance that they may again grow strong and happy. And for all this they had the Gnomes to thank.
. . .

The years passed by without event, many children were born to the houses of Men over that time and the decimated population was again thriving. Much they had learned from the Gnomes in the ways of alchemy and technical skills, and these only added to their existing knowledge from the Elves and Dwarves. But there was always one thing which the original survivors could never answer for their offspring, what of Faernrast their home? A new generation it was that decided then to go back to the lands they had lost before, and with the help of the gnomes to rebuild the city that had been destroyed. If they were lucky there may be descendants of survivors like themselves somewhere in the region. The island yielded the wood they needed to build large ships that would carry them in comfort back home, and finally they set sail, a device depicting a drake surrounded by fire was emblazoned on their sails in honour of Anryl who had died years ago.

After a peaceful journey passed in comfort they eventually espied what they had been asking about for years, Faernrast could be made out on the coastline. When they reached the shore the dream they had for so long held dear in their hearts was shattered, Faernrast had indeed been totally destroyed. The images they had in their minds from tales passed down from their parents fond no place here, for the buildings were in ruins and great plants and weeds were slowly consuming the stone. Walking through the docks there were no signs of any remains of friend nor foe on the ground, all had been taken, and in one spot the earth was blackened and nothing grew on it for thirty feet around. Such had been the power of Anryl's last blow.

A further search of the city gave up nothing, there was no life, no signs of survivors. With their spirits broken the sons of men returned to their ships to seek counsel. It was not long before their resolve hardened and remembered their desire to rebuild their city so they should have a home of their own again. In honour of their grandfathers they began to clear the city of vegetation and rebuild it beyond its former glory. Using sketches their parents had made of buildings and the city from memory, they set about reworking the stone that lay there. A master Gnome engineer had traveled with them, and showed them ways to cut the stone, and he moved great loads with magic.

So it was that the great labour of the humans which would have taken decades to complete, was finished in but a year. A troop of Elves on patrol in the wild came across a sight that filled them with amazement, for there stood, after but a moment in their immortal lives, the city that they had thought lost from the humans; and filled with movement and noise for the ships had gone across the sea again and transported the rest of the population. They were greeted with mixed feelings in new Faernast, for there were those among them who still remembered the words of their grandparents, asking where were the Elves and Dwarves when their people were being slaughtered.

For their part the Elves explained how the attack had come completely without warning, a strike at lightning speed that had caught them off guard, and what force they could muster had arrived too late. The day waned to night as the questions and stories continued, how they had renewed their strength on the Gnome isle, how the Elves and Dwarves had hunted the Horde as best they could, but no trace of that great host was found about the land; it was as if a powerful darkness had shrouded their arrival and covered all traces of their departure.

The following day filled with the news, the Elves rode hard back to their kingdom and bore the tidings to their King. Immediately he began preparations to help fortify Faernrast, for he was determined that no such horror should befall any of his allies again, and in his wisdom saw that the strength of Humans could be added to his own forces in combating the evil which threatened them all. The Dwarves too sent the best of their builders and weapon smiths. Needless to say any grievances the humans may have held against the Elves and Dwarves soon vanished for they helped raise mighty walls about Faernrast, and built armories which they stocked with sword, spear and shield to defend them. Great was the preparation of the people of that region at the time, for they all shared the dark memories of their parents and elders, and were loathe to be caught unprepared again. Magic they were taught by the Elves, and greater mastery of metal and stone by the Dwarves.

For her leadership on the Gnome Island Alysia had naturally occupied the place of Anryl in days gone by, and about her she had gathered a council of advisors for she had little knowledge of war or trade, but governed with her heart. Long they spoke of the evil army and one of the greatest mysteries of the attack was how such creatures ever came together as one force; never before according to the Elves had such rival races united against a people who posed no apparent threat to them. It was some time before any light could be shed on this, but information was finally gleaned by the Dwarves in their travels about the mountains. It seemed that the attack was no idea of the Orcs, or the Minotaurs, nor even some undead lord commanding them all; the attack had been masterminded by a mysterious serpent-like race called the Slythe.

The humans now knew the name of their enemy, and all swore an oath then to never lay down their arms or live in peace until the lives of their people had been avenged tenfold. But most of all they wanted to know...why?