Dawn of Empire

 Age of Conquest
The Dawn of the Great Emrosian Empire

 

Emros City

King Keltan stood beneath the moons of the Great Hunt as Ghanray slowly slipped beyond Skelis, avoiding his grasp, and beginning their endless pursuit once more. His hands gripped the battlement of the keep as he looked out over the great western city-state.

“I have seen glimpses of possible futures,” the old seer said, “a great empire shall be born. Spreading between the oceans, embracing all of this land under its banner.”

The Emrosian King turned toward the seer, looking in the gaunt man’s pale eyes. Why should he trust this old wizard?

“Power, King Keltan, and notoriety. Your name will be remembered for ages to come, none shall forget the great Keltan the Conqueror, he who founded the Emrosian Empire.” The seer’s long, white beard fluttered in the breeze as he stared back into Keltan’s eyes. “Of all the possible paths that may be taken, that does not change. You are destined, King Keltan, you cannot shirk destiny.”

Sakri

The Death of Wonder
Approximately 2,400 Years Before the Emrosian Empire

 

Alhu

The great central city burned. Those few survivors dispersed into the surrounding forests hoping to find succor somewhere far from these devastated lands. The charred soil was littered with the corpses of the slain. Alheen and Firlosii warriors, their allies the stout folk of the distant Mountains of Ice, as well as the southern demons.

The trail of the dead led south, a hundred miles of carnage. A swath of destruction carved into the land, leading to the mountains from whence the demons spewed forth.

Deep below the ruined city a dozen figures surrounded another. They each carried their exhaustion plainly.

“Are you sure of this?”

“There is no other option. They must be kept at bay. This power must be controlled. They cannot handle it.”

“Then so be it.”

“I am sorry my friend.”

“It is the only way.”

Sorceries flared from the dozen figures, wrapping about the central figure, his body contorted with pain as he was lifted from the ground. He aged millennia over the course of mere moments. Wisps of light spiraled about the man as he was locked into a timeless prison of agony.

The others turned their backs on him. There had been no other choices. They did as they must. For themselves, for Alhu, for the world.

Exodus

Fall of Empire
Approximately 3,800 Years Before the Emrosian Empire

 

Eastern Coast of the Imperial Peninsula

The followers and worshipers of the Emperor of Ash fled their homes, setting off into the unknown ocean waters to the east. The Empire’s once great cities smoldered once more, though this time they would not be rebuilt.

He stood engulfed in flame, facing the seven sorcerers, grinning wildly. He raised his arms to the sky. With a flick of a tall woman’s wrist a mighty wind picked up. The flames wavered and died out. The Emperor’s face twitched as his fingers danced, sparks igniting along his hands.

The bald sorcerer stepped in. The air grew chill. The wind continued. The Emperor of Ash was no fool. He knew his time had run out as the sorcerers closed in. These sorcerers’ power had grown, the bald man barely moved as he willed his power toward the Emperor of Ash. Ice burst forth from the ground, dousing the last bits of flame as it incapsulated the Emperor.

He stood there frozen, watching as the remains of his city crumbled. Soon the ashes would scatter and the cities would be lost to the world. A sea of grass would take their place marked only by crumbling towers and decayed ruins where once stood great cities. But beneath the land would sprawl the catacombs of his greatest achievements. The city even these sorcerers knew not of. He would escape his prison, he would rebuild after all.

“Not this time,” a shrill voice spoke from behind a scarred mask of wood as he approached the Emperor within his tomb of ice.

I could grant you power, greater than any you have known. The Emperor of Ash willed his thoughts to this one. You could become a god.

The masked figure paused a moment. He let forth shrill laughter as he resumed his approach.

“I shall,” he rasped as he reached the Emperor of Ash, raising the black-bladed dagger. A green gem, gripped in the maw of the serpent-like hilt, glistened as the man used it to carve out the heart of the Emperor of Ash.

Othun of the Winds

 Age of the Legends
Approximately 4,000 Years Before the Emrosian Empire

 

Southern Firlos

The gathered warriors assembled near the border with Alhu. The Chieftain of the Drakniir Isles held her axe high, her commands carrying across the winds to all the warriors that followed her. This night their march would begin down through the mountain passes and into the Alheen territories to the central settlement of the Alheen tribes. As the moons waned their march would begin. And when the sky lacked the light of either moon, their battle would begin against the demons of the south.

The woman pointed her axe southward and gave a final roar. A heavy, chill wind blew from the north kicking up colorful autumn leaves in its wake. For the first time the Firlosii clans had united into a singular army against a common threat. The winds of change stirred in the south.

Massive, long horned drakniir pulled heavy wagons of supplies down winding mountain paths as the Firlosii clans began their march to the aid of the Alheen tribes. Quite possibly to the aid of the world.

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And here's a preview of the map of Firlos (unlabled, just the outline so far)

The Emperor of Ash

 The Age of Kelril
Approximately 5,000 Years Before the Emrosian Empire

 

The Eastern Lands

Rain poured over the expanse of grasslands. Thunder echoed across the land. Heavy black clouds filled the sky, blotting out the light of the moons. Lightning lit the sky above the stone walls surrounding the sprawling City of the Plains. A fire raged at its center, spreading rapidly outward. People ran about in a panic in their desperate attempt to flee.

Atop the largest tower of the city the Emperor of Ash stood, arms raised toward the sky as lightning crackled around him. Flames danced about his fingertips as he cackled maniacally. As he brought down his right hand, gouts of flame burst from the ground below. One building to the north of the city remained untouched. Within its walls, deep below the ground, awaited those of the city the Emperor deemed worthy to survive.

Those that ran through the streets below had earned his wrath. He had built this Empire on the ashes of the previous, doing so again would be but a minor inconvenience.

A lone figure walked the streets below, unhindered by the walls of flame closing in. Their pace was slow and never quickened even as flames licked at the trailing hems of a dark robe. The figure sought the charred remains of those too slow to escape the fire. A dark hand extended in a warding gesture at each corpse. And each corpse withered to dust upon the figure’s passing.