FirstEra The Whispers Begin
Timespan: Years 1201-1500 of the Era of Chaos
The Watching Eye
Deep within the twisted realms of Udugmar, Zoroth, the Hollow Prince had been observing the gradual transformation of human civilization with growing satisfaction. For nearly eight centuries, he had watched as the children of balance - those infuriating beings born from the creative tension between his father Vorthar, The Dark Weaver and Almariel, Lady of Light - slowly discovered the bitter truth of their mortality.
Where once Zoroth had seen humans as merely another creation to be envied and resented, he now recognized them as the perfect instruments for his long-delayed revenge against the cosmic order that had excluded him from true power. Their contracting lifespans had created exactly the psychological vulnerability he needed - a deep, generational wound that he could carefully nurture into something far more destructive.
The genius of his approach lay in its subtlety. Rather than the crude corruption he had once employed, Zoroth began to work through the natural resentments and fears that The Shortening had already awakened in human hearts. He needed only to amplify what was already there, to give voice to the doubts that humans were beginning to feel about their place in the cosmic order.
From his throne in the depths of The Underdark, Zoroth began to extend his influence with the patience of one who had learned from centuries of observation. His whispers would not come as obvious temptations toward evil, but as reasonable questions about fairness, justice, and the true nature of the relationships between the races.
The First Whispers
The corruption began in the dreams of human scholars and leaders - those whose minds were already occupied with questions about mortality, legacy, and the meaning of their shortened existence. Noldruun’s great magical academies, where humans had long studied alongside longer-lived races, became the first breeding ground for the subtle poison that Zoroth had prepared.
Master Aldric Starseeker, a brilliant human astronomer who had spent decades mapping celestial patterns only to realize he would never live to see their completion, found his sleep troubled by recurring visions. In these dreams, he saw himself standing before the ageless elven masters who had taught him, questioning why they withheld the secrets of longevity from their human students.
“They have had millennia to find answers,” whispered a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of space itself. “If they truly cared for you as they claim, would they not have shared the knowledge that could extend your brief lives? Or do they prefer to keep you dependent, mortal, and ultimately disposable?”
Aldric would wake from these dreams with a sense of unease he could not quite shake. The questions seemed so reasonable, so logical. Why hadn’t the elves, with their vast knowledge and centuries of magical research, found ways to help their human allies overcome The Shortening? Were they truly unable to help, or were they simply unwilling?
Similar dreams began to plague scholars across The Kingdom of Noldruun. Mistress Elena Voidwalker, a human expert in comparative magical theory, found herself wondering why certain advanced techniques were shared only among the longest-lived races. Professor Marcus Timebinder, whose research into temporal magic had been repeatedly discouraged by his elven mentors, began to question whether their warnings about the dangers were genuine concern or deliberate sabotage.
The Growing Questions
As the whispers spread beyond Noldruun’s academic halls, they adapted to touch the specific fears and frustrations of different human communities. In the Kingdom of Vanguard Reach, where humans had long worked in partnership with elven environmental advisors, the questions focused on stewardship and legacy.
“They speak of planning for the health of forests centuries into the future,” the voice would murmur to human rangers and druids. “But you will be dead long before those plans come to fruition. Are you merely temporary caretakers for projects that will be remembered as elven achievements? Do your brief contributions matter, or are you simply tools to be used and discarded?”
Ranger Captain Sarah Thornwick, who had devoted her life to protecting the ancient groves alongside elven wardens, found herself questioning the long-term planning sessions where elven voices naturally dominated due to their expectation of seeing projects through to completion. Why should she defer to plans she would never live to evaluate? Why should human perspectives be considered less valid simply because they came from shorter-lived minds?
In The Kingdom of Lenthir, the whispers took on different tones, focusing on the agricultural partnerships that had long been the foundation of the kingdom’s prosperity. Human farmers who had worked alongside elven agricultural advisors for generations began to wonder whether the careful, patient methods they had been taught were truly optimal, or simply designed to maintain elven influence over food production.
“They teach you to plant for harvests your children will reap, while they themselves will see a thousand such harvests,” the voice suggested. “Would they teach you the same techniques they use in their own lands? Or do they keep the most effective methods for themselves, ensuring that you remain dependent on their guidance?”
Master Farmer Willem Goldgrain, whose family had worked the same fields for eight generations, began to resent the elven advisors who spoke casually of century-long soil management cycles while his own lifespan would encompass perhaps sixty growing seasons. Why should he follow plans laid out by beings who would outlive his great-grandchildren?
The Spread of Doubt
The insidious nature of Zoroth’s influence lay in how reasonable his whispers seemed. He offered no dramatic revelations of elven malice, no spectacular evidence of deliberate oppression. Instead, he simply gave voice to the doubts that The Shortening had already planted in human hearts, helping those doubts grow into something more substantial and organized.
In Sylmaran Ruins, where human scholars had long prized their isolation and self-sufficiency, the whispers reinforced existing tendencies toward independence while adding new layers of suspicion about outside influences. The kingdom’s famous libraries, repositories of knowledge gathered from across the known world, became sources of comparison that highlighted the vast disparities between human and elven achievements.
“Look at what you have accomplished in your brief spans,” the voice would suggest to Sylmaran’s master craftsmen and scholars. “Imagine what you could achieve if you were not constantly interrupted by mortality, if you did not have to waste time re-teaching each generation what the previous one had learned. The elves fear what you might become if you ever solved the mystery of The Shortening. That is why they offer sympathy instead of solutions.”
Grandmaster Theron Shadowquill the Third, descendant of the kingdom’s founder, found himself increasingly resentful of the patronizing sympathy that elven visitors offered when discussing human mortality. Their expressions of sorrow seemed hollow when they made no effort to share knowledge that might alleviate human suffering.
Even in Caernast, where maritime trade had long fostered positive relationships with diverse peoples, the whispers found fertile ground among sailors and merchants who traveled widely enough to see the vast differences in how various races approached time and planning.
“In every port, you see the same pattern,” the voice would observe. “The elves speak of projects spanning centuries, the dwarves plan for achievements that will outlast mountains, and you… you hurry to complete your work before time runs out. You are treated as partners, but partners in what? Their great works, their long-term visions, their lasting legacies. What legacy will humans leave except as footnotes in the histories written by longer-lived hands?”
Admiral Marcus Stormheart, great-nephew of the legendary Theresa Stormwright, began to question whether human maritime innovations were truly valued for their own merit or simply appreciated as amusing curiosities produced by a short-lived but energetic race.
The Philosophical Poison
Perhaps most insidiously, Zoroth’s whispers began to corrupt the very philosophical foundations that had made human civilization possible. The balance between light and shadow that defined human nature - their greatest strength during the Golden Founding - became a source of internal conflict as the whispers suggested that this balance was actually a weakness imposed upon them.
“You were born from the tension between opposing forces,” the voice would remind human philosophers and priests. “But consider what this means: you are creatures of compromise, eternally torn between different impulses, never able to fully embrace either light or shadow. The elves live in their eternal light, the dwarves in their solid certainty, but you… you are condemned to eternal indecision, eternal conflict with your own nature.”
The monastic orders, particularly those that had developed from the original Seekers of the Inner Flame, found their meditation practices disturbed by questions about the true nature of human existence. If humans were meant to be balanced, why were they the only race experiencing The Shortening? Did their dual nature make them inherently unstable, inherently flawed?
Master Kael Innerlight the Fourth, inheritor of the original master’s teachings, struggled with doubts that seemed to arise from the very core of human identity. The techniques that allowed monks to bridge their life force with The Aetheric Weave (Magic) began to feel less like divine gifts and more like desperate attempts to compensate for fundamental human inadequacy.
The First Cracks
By the 1400th year of the Era, the accumulated weight of three centuries of whispers began to manifest in observable changes to human behavior and policy. The great Council of Five Crowns meetings on Aelarion (Pre-fracture), which had once been celebrations of cooperation and shared achievement, became increasingly strained affairs marked by underlying tension and barely concealed resentment.
King Harrison Swiftblade of Verdant Reach shocked his fellow rulers by questioning whether humans should continue to defer to elven environmental wisdom when their own relationship with time and land was so fundamentally different. Why should beings who lived for centuries dictate how humans, who experienced only decades, should interact with their environment?
Queen Isabella Goldenheart of The Kingdom of Lenthir openly challenged the agricultural advice that had long guided human farming practices, arguing that methods designed by immortal beings for immortal timescales might not be appropriate for mortal farmers facing mortal pressures.
Most concerning to observers was the change in The Kingdom of Noldruun, where human magical researchers began to pursue lines of inquiry that their elven colleagues deemed dangerous or inappropriate. The careful collaborative approach that had characterized magical research for over a millennium gave way to a more aggressive, sometimes secretive pursuit of knowledge that prioritized human interests over broader safety concerns.
Archmage Lyralei Starweaver the Third, great-granddaughter of the original archmage, found her attempts to maintain traditional research protocols increasingly challenged by younger human mages who questioned why they should limit their investigations based on the concerns of beings who would outlive the consequences of any magical discoveries.
The Growing Isolation
As human attitudes shifted, the easy relationships that had characterized the Golden Founding began to deteriorate. Elven advisors found themselves increasingly unwelcome in human courts, their counsel dismissed as irrelevant to mortal concerns. Dwarven craftsmen noticed that their human apprentices had become impatient with traditional learning methods, seeking shortcuts that often compromised quality for speed.
The elemental enclaves, which had long maintained positive relationships with human settlements, began to report disturbing changes in their human contacts. Where once humans had approached elemental wisdom with respect and patience, they now seemed driven by urgency and frustrated by anything that could not provide immediate results.
Ysalyn, now fully mature and recognized as one of the foremost elven scholars of human culture, found herself in the unique position of understanding both perspectives. She could see how The Shortening had created genuine grievances and frustrations among humans, but she also observed the troubling changes in human behavior that suggested something beyond natural adaptation was occurring.
Her attempts to mediate between increasingly hostile human and elven perspectives met with limited success. Humans dismissed her concerns as elven condescension, while many elves began to view her advocacy for human understanding as naive sympathy for beings who had chosen to embrace resentment over cooperation.
The Invisible Hand
Throughout this period, Zoroth’s influence remained carefully hidden. His whispers never advocated for obvious evil or dramatic action - they simply asked questions, raised doubts, and amplified existing frustrations until they became defining characteristics of human culture.
The genius of his approach lay in how natural and justified the changes seemed. Humans weren’t becoming evil; they were becoming realistic about their circumstances. They weren’t embracing darkness; they were simply prioritizing their own brief existence over the long-term concerns of immortal beings who would never truly understand mortal pressures.
Even The Alorama and The Nyx found it difficult to identify the source of the growing discord. The changes in human behavior could easily be explained as natural consequences of The Shortening rather than external corruption. Humans weren’t worshipping dark gods or performing evil rituals - they were simply questioning relationships and assumptions that had guided their civilization for over a millennium.
Yet beneath the surface, Zoroth’s influence was creating exactly the psychological foundation he needed for the next phase of his plan. Humans were becoming isolated, resentful, and increasingly convinced that their interests diverged from those of the longer-lived races. The seeds of envy had been planted and carefully tended, and they were beginning to sprout into something that could eventually flower into open conflict.
The Tipping Point
As the 1500th year of the Era approached, the changes in human civilization had reached a critical threshold. The five kingdoms remained technically allied and cooperative, but the easy trust and genuine friendship that had once characterized their relationships with other races had been replaced by suspicion, resentment, and an increasingly aggressive pursuit of purely human interests.
The Council of Five Crowns began to discuss, in carefully diplomatic language, whether humans needed to reconsider their traditional approaches to inter-racial cooperation. Perhaps it was time for humanity to pursue solutions to their unique challenges without deferring to the advice of beings who could never truly understand mortal limitations.
The stage was being set for the next phase of Zoroth’s plan, though none of the participants yet realized they were dancing to his design. The seeds of envy had been successfully planted and cultivated. Soon, it would be time for them to bloom into something far more destructive than mere resentment.
The whispers had done their work. The first cracks in the foundation of human civilization had appeared, and those cracks would soon become fractures that could tear apart everything that centuries of cooperation had built.
The golden age was ending, and the age of discord was about to begin.