FirstEra The End of Ancient Alliances
Timespan: Years 1501-1800 of the Era of Chaos
The First Break
The transformation from whispered doubts to concrete action began in Sylmaran Ruins, where the kingdom’s long-standing preference for isolation made the transition seem almost natural. In the 1520th year of the Era, Grandmaster Theron Shadowquill the Fourth issued what would later be known as the Edict of Scholarly Independence - a decree that, while diplomatically worded, effectively ended centuries of academic collaboration with elven institutions.
“The pursuit of knowledge requires minds unencumbered by perspectives that, however well-intentioned, cannot comprehend the urgency of mortal inquiry,” the edict declared. “Sylmaran’s scholars shall henceforth focus their efforts on research methodologies appropriate to human timescales and human needs, free from the well-meaning but ultimately inappropriate guidance of immortal advisors.”
The elven scholars who had long worked alongside Sylmaran’s researchers were not expelled dramatically, but their access to the kingdom’s Silent Libraries was quietly restricted. Collaborative projects were allowed to conclude naturally but were not renewed. New research initiatives were classified as “internal academic matters” requiring “specialized human perspectives” that made continued elven participation impractical.
Lady Silviana Moonwhisper, now approaching her second millennium and having watched the rise and golden age of human civilization, felt the first real pain of rejection she had experienced since the early days of human settlement. Her offers to share elven longevity research - previously declined out of ethical concerns about forced life extension - were now dismissed as “too little, too late” by human scholars who questioned why such knowledge had been withheld for so long.
The break was accomplished with such diplomatic skill that many observers initially interpreted it as a temporary shift in academic focus rather than a fundamental change in policy. Only in hindsight would the true significance of Sylmaran’s withdrawal become clear.
The Domino Effect
The Kingdom of Noldruun followed within two decades, though their separation was couched in terms of magical safety rather than academic independence. Archmage Lyralei Starweaver the Third announced the Doctrine of Responsible Magical Governance in the 1544th year, establishing new protocols that effectively excluded non-human researchers from the kingdom’s most important projects.
“Recent analysis of magical incidents across the known world has revealed concerning patterns in mixed-race magical research teams,” the Archmage explained to a gathering of concerned elven and dwarven colleagues. “While we value the contributions of our long-lived allies, the fundamental differences in magical perception between races create unnecessary risks that responsible governance cannot ignore.”
The doctrine was supported by carefully compiled statistics showing that magical accidents were more likely to occur in research teams that included multiple races - data that was technically accurate but failed to account for the fact that such teams also tackled the most complex and dangerous projects. The implication that elven and dwarven presence created safety hazards was devastating to relationships that had been built over more than a millennium.
Master Crystallwatcher Aelindra Starweave, an elven mage who had helped establish Noldruun’s first academies, found herself classified as a “consulting advisor” rather than a full researcher, her access to advanced magical research restricted for the first time in eight centuries. Her protests that she had pioneered many of the safety protocols now being used to exclude her fell on ears that had been trained to hear elven concerns as paternalistic interference.
The kingdom’s new policies were presented as temporary measures while “appropriate safety protocols for human-optimal magical research” were developed, but the timelines for these developments stretched into decades, and the restrictions only grew more comprehensive with each passing year.
The Economic Separation
The Kingdom of Lenthir, which had always prided itself on practical concerns over academic abstractions, framed their withdrawal in economic terms. Queen Isabella Goldenheart the Second announced the Agricultural Independence Initiative in the 1567th year, declaring that human farmers needed to develop “sustainable, human-scale agricultural practices” free from dependency on immortal advisors.
“For too long, our agricultural policies have been shaped by beings whose relationship with time bears no resemblance to the realities faced by mortal farmers,” the Queen proclaimed to a gathering of human agricultural leaders. “We must develop farming techniques that account for the urgent needs of communities that cannot wait centuries to see results.”
The Initiative began with seemingly reasonable requests for elven agricultural advisors to train human replacements and gradually transfer their responsibilities to mortal hands. However, the training periods were artificially shortened, the knowledge transfer was incomplete, and the new human agricultural officials often explicitly rejected elven techniques in favor of approaches that prioritized immediate yield over long-term sustainability.
Master Cultivator Thessarian Greenleaf, an elf who had spent four centuries perfecting soil management techniques specifically adapted to human farmlands, watched helplessly as his carefully balanced systems were dismantled in favor of intensive farming methods that would exhaust the soil within decades. His warnings about long-term consequences were dismissed as typical elven “excessive caution” inappropriate for human time scales.
Trade relationships with elven communities began to deteriorate as human merchants, emboldened by their kingdoms’ new policies, demanded more favorable terms and shorter negotiation periods. The patient, relationship-based commerce that had characterized human-elven trade for over a millennium gave way to aggressive, results-focused dealing that many elves found offensive and shortsighted.
The Military Withdrawal
Caernast, whose maritime focus had long made them the most internationally minded of the human kingdoms, maintained their diplomatic relationships longer than the others. However, by the 1580th year, even they began to implement policies that effectively excluded their traditional allies from important decision-making processes.
Admiral Marcus Stormheart the Second established the Human Maritime Sovereignty Doctrine, ostensibly to “streamline naval decision-making for optimal efficiency in rapidly changing maritime environments.” The doctrine created separate command structures for human and non-human naval personnel, with non-humans increasingly relegated to advisory roles with no direct authority over human sailors or strategic decisions.
“The sea does not wait for committee decisions or extended consultations,” the Admiral explained to his mixed-race naval council. “Human crews require human commanders who understand the urgency of mortal life and the practical realities of short-term maritime operations.”
Elven navigators, whose knowledge of ocean currents and weather patterns had been invaluable for centuries, found themselves excluded from crucial planning sessions. Dwarven naval engineers, whose innovations had revolutionized shipbuilding, were consulted only on technical matters while being shut out of strategic discussions about how their innovations should be implemented.
The kingdom’s famous Lighthouse of Eternal Flame became a symbol of the growing separation when new regulations required all foreign vessels to undergo “security inspections” that were so lengthy and intrusive that many elven and dwarven traders simply stopped visiting Caernast’s ports altogether.
The Final Holdout
Verdant Reach, with its philosophical commitment to harmony and balance, resisted the separatist trend longer than any other kingdom. King Harrison Swiftblade the Second publicly criticized the other kingdoms’ policies and reaffirmed his commitment to the multicultural cooperation that had built human civilization.
However, the pressure from other human kingdoms, combined with domestic voices calling for “human solutions to human problems,” gradually wore down even Verdant Reach’s resistance. The final break came in the 1612th year when a dispute over forest management escalated into a crisis that shattered the kingdom’s commitment to cooperation.
The Ancient Grove Conflict began when elven druids attempted to prevent the expansion of a human settlement into a forest grove they considered sacred. The elves offered alternative locations and long-term forest management plans that would accommodate human growth while preserving the grove’s spiritual significance. However, human settlers, influenced by years of whispered doubts about elven motivations, interpreted the offer as patronizing interference.
“They speak of preserving the forest for future generations,” declared Settlement Leader Marcus Ironwill, “but whose future generations? Theirs, who will live to see the forest’s thousand-year cycles? Or ours, who need homes and farmland now, in our brief lifetimes?”
The confrontation escalated when human loggers, supported by local militia, attempted to clear the grove despite elven protests. When elven druids used magical barriers to protect the trees, human mages - trained in techniques developed through collaboration with elves - used their knowledge to counter elven magic in what many observers called a perverse betrayal of the trust that had made such knowledge possible.
King Harrison, faced with the choice between supporting his human subjects or maintaining elven alliances, chose his people. The Verdant Sovereignty Decree declared that “human lands must be governed by human law, with human needs taking precedence over external concerns, however ancient or well-intentioned.”
The Great Departure
By the 1650th year of the Era, all five human kingdoms had implemented policies that effectively ended the deep cooperation that had characterized human civilization for over a millennium. The changes were not dramatic or violent - no elves or dwarves were killed or imprisoned. Instead, they were gradually excluded, marginalized, and made to feel unwelcome until most chose to leave voluntarily.
The Great Departure unfolded over several decades as thousands of elves, dwarves, and other non-human residents of human lands made the painful decision to relocate. Some returned to traditional elven enclaves, others sought refuge in Aelarion (Pre-fracture), and many simply withdrew to remote areas where they could live in isolation.
Lady Silviana Moonwhisper, whose Circle of Aelarion had blessed humanity’s first exodus over fourteen centuries earlier, found herself organizing a reverse exodus - helping elves and other long-lived beings evacuate from human lands where they had lived and worked for generations. The irony was bitter and profound.
“We welcomed them as children learning to walk,” she confided to Ysalyn during one of the evacuation councils. “Now they tell us our wisdom is unwanted, our presence unnecessary. Perhaps we failed them somehow, or perhaps this separation was always inevitable.”
Ysalyn, now recognized as one of the foremost experts on human culture among her people, struggled to provide explanations for behavior that seemed to contradict everything she had learned about human nature. The beings she had grown up admiring for their ability to bridge differences and find common ground had become committed to isolation and separation.
The Economic Consequences
The separation had immediate and severe economic consequences for both sides. Human kingdoms lost access to elven magical innovations, dwarven engineering expertise, and the vast trade networks that had been managed through personal relationships built over centuries. Agricultural yields declined as intensive farming methods proved unsustainable without elven soil management knowledge. Maritime trade became more dangerous without elven navigational expertise.
However, human leaders consistently portrayed these difficulties as temporary growing pains that proved the necessity of independence. Queen Isabella Goldenheart the Second declared that “the short-term costs of independence are far outweighed by the long-term benefits of human self-reliance and self-determination.”
The kingdoms began to develop alternative solutions to replace the expertise they had lost. Noldruun accelerated research into magical techniques that didn’t require elven theoretical frameworks. Lenthir experimented with new agricultural methods that accepted lower yields in exchange for techniques that human farmers could fully understand and control. Caernast developed new navigation technologies that relied on human observations rather than elven intuition.
These innovations were often less efficient than the collaborative methods they replaced, but they had the crucial advantage of being entirely human-controlled and human-understood. The psychological satisfaction of independence often outweighed the practical costs of separation.
The Closing of Aelarion
The final symbolic break came in the 1678th year when the Council of Five Crowns announced that their annual meetings would no longer be held on Aelarion (Pre-fracture). The official reason was practical - the island’s elven population made human leaders “uncomfortable” and “unable to speak freely about human concerns.”
The Covenant of the Eternal Welcome, which had guaranteed humans a place on Aelarion for over fourteen centuries, was not formally revoked. Instead, human visits to the island simply ceased. The grand festivals that had once celebrated human achievements became uncomfortable reminders of broken relationships and abandoned ideals.
Ysalyn watched the last human delegation depart from Aelarion with a profound sense of loss that went beyond mere political disappointment. These were the people she had grown up admiring, whose courage and vision had inspired her own commitment to bridge-building and cooperation. To see them turning away from the very principles that had made them great felt like watching a beloved friend succumb to a wasting disease.
The Ythraewyn, under whose branches humanity had first emerged, stood silent witness to this final separation. The tree that had once been a symbol of unity and balance had become a monument to broken promises and abandoned dreams.
The Seeds of Future Conflict
As the 1700th year of the Era approached, humanity stood more isolated than at any time since their emergence from The Ythraewyn. The five kingdoms maintained their alliance with each other, but they had severed the relationships that had sustained and enriched their civilization for over a millennium.
The psychological impact of this isolation was profound. Humans had always defined themselves partly in relation to other races - as bridges between different perspectives, as synthesizers of diverse approaches, as diplomatic connectors in a world of separate peoples. Without these relationships, they began to define themselves primarily in opposition to others, as a unique people whose needs and perspectives were incompatible with those of longer-lived races.
Zoroth, watching from his throne in Udugmar, was pleased with the progress of his plan. The whispers had accomplished exactly what he had hoped - they had isolated humanity from their allies and created the psychological conditions necessary for the next phase of his strategy. Humans were now focused primarily on their own interests, resentful of other races, and convinced that their problems required purely human solutions.
Most importantly, they had lost the moderating influence of longer-lived perspectives. Without elven wisdom to counsel patience, dwarven pragmatism to urge caution, or the examples of other races to provide alternative approaches to problems, humans were now free to pursue whatever solutions their shortened lifespans and growing desperation might suggest.
The doors had been closed. The ancient alliances had been severed. Humanity stood alone, armed with power and knowledge but lacking the wisdom and perspective that had once guided their use of both.
The stage was now set for the far more destructive phase of Zoroth’s plan - the turning of human ambition and desperation against themselves in conflicts that would make their separation from other races seem like a minor diplomatic disagreement.
The whispers had done their work. Now it was time for the real destruction to begin.