The twilight sky over The Wall always presents a melancholic panorama, filled with gray. The cold wind carries the whispers of the exiled and the breath of dragons, remnants of ancient legends. From the fragile tower atop The Wall, Oldman stands.
Oldman, a leader of this great collaboration of three races in the past, gazes across the vast expanse of Middle Earth. He exhales heavily, as if bearing the weight of history that has shaped this world for millions of years.
"I am no poet. I am merely a ruler in this wretched place called The Wall, a colossal structure hailed as the bastion of peace. But I know more than most. This world, since the primordial era, has been marked by catastrophe and war. Tens, hundreds, perhaps millions of years ago—even the ancient dwarves, elves, or human royal archives could not truly encompass it all."
The old man with crimson eyes closes his eyes for a moment, his face lined with wrinkles, as if carving a long tale into his memory, rich with experience.
"The Primordial Era. It was said that creation took place then. In ancient times, the Creator One forged ancient gods to aid in crafting a perfect utopia. The Creator One also created dragons to maintain balance in this world with their Jewellery of the Gods, establishing the World Tree, which was once the dragons' sanctuary.
However, over time, the black dragon Ragonar and his allies began gathering the Jewellery of the Gods, bringing untold calamity for an unknown period. The Jotun, intermediaries sent by the gods, appeared to quell their rampage. It was a mess."
"The Chaos Era. Around ten million years ago, according to the elves' tales, dragons and Jotun clashed fiercely, leading to worldwide devastation. The entire continent was shattered, many ancient races perished, and the lands changed. It is said that the dragon Shedara died, along with his sacred crystal. According to legend, all Jewellery of the Gods vanished from this world. No one knows how long the war lasted.
However, fragments of the jewellery still scattered across the world, leaving behind traces of magical power that modern nations would later encounter. These powers were misused, leading to continued wars in the following era."
"The First Era. There are no definitive records of when this era began. It was in this era that the four main races—humans, dwarves, elves, and orcs—rose after a period of peace across the continent. They built civilizations and carried the remnants of the fragments, which everyone thought were mere myths.
According to the information I obtained, this era saw the emergence of a mysterious organization, The Veil. Rumors suggest that The Veil incited conflicts between and within races, ensuring continued wars over territory. It is believed they sought the fragments for their own purposes. But now, they have faded into history.
The great war peaked when Bahamud, leader of the orcs, invaded the continent wielding four fragments—green, purple, silver, and black. In response, Reinhard, the last active Jotun, led an alliance of other races with three fragments—red, dark blue, and gold—to crush the orcs in the Battle of Hope.
The orcs were defeated, Bahamud disappeared along with the black fragment into the annals of time, while the remaining six fragments were secured by Reinhard, and the Tower of Jotun, now considered a myth, was built as a symbol of the end of this era."
"The Second Era. Around two hundred thousand years ago, according to elven records we've uncovered. The great orc invasion returned, once again led by Bahamud. This time, he brought an orc warchief wielding the legendary Darkness Sword and the black fragment, aiming to destroy the entire continent.
Reinhard once more intervened and created six holy weapons to counter the orcs. However, the battle of Last Hope was thrown into chaos when the dragon Ragonar suddenly awakened in the south. The orcs were not completely eradicated.
Legend says Reinhard entrusted the six fragments to the three races—dwarves, elves, and humans—while building The Wall, a colossal barrier to defend against southern threats. It was said to be created so that we, humans, dwarves, and elves, could hold back the horrors from the south. But now, it's just a sad tale."
"The Third Era. Fourteen thousand to one thousand years ago, according to our records. A period of peace saw the growth of each race, striving for dominance. Nothing special marked the early years, apart from conflicts, political intrigues, and wars shifting power from one ruler to another.
However, everything changed when rumors spread that humans had stolen the green fragment from the elves and the purple one from the dwarves. It was said that the perpetrator was Hamongrad, a ruler who harnessed the power of the gold fragment. Hamongrad eventually united much of the human lands, establishing the first human empire—The Empire of Hamongrad.
His expansion continued, and with the power of the gold fragment, he united all of Middle Earth, which was once shared by dwarves and elves.
This unchecked expansion led to the Battle of Three Races. The humans emerged victorious, seizing Middle Earth and parts of the dwarves' and elves' territories. But the aftermath spelled disaster for The Wall. Once guarded by three races, it was abandoned, with only a few loyal to it remaining.
It seemed as if the empire was cursed for its greed; it collapsed from within due to noble intrigues or southern monster invasions—no one knows for sure. Upon Emperor Hamongrad's death, all fragments disappeared without a trace."
"The so-called Peaceful Era is what I believe has lasted for the past thousand years after the fall of the empire. This is the era I was born into, an era where many believe peace has returned. The lords fight amongst themselves, but never to the point of destroying the continent. They think wars among lords are normal. They also believe the dragons remain asleep and that the orcs have perished in the south. But we at The Wall know better."
Oldman shifts his gaze northward, where human greed still thrives. He scoffs, knowing no one truly cares for them.
"As the Supreme Commander of The Wall, my duty is clear: to hold back the threats from the south—mutant monsters, ogres, cyclops, or... hopefully not... the return of the orcs. The kings and lords of Middle Earth do not care. To them, we are just a bunch of 'Outcasts,' exiled criminals and soldiers pushed to the margins. That's fine. It's better if they stay out of our way. Corrupt politicians rarely care about real security."
He looks down at the Outcast barracks below, where the central headquarters commands the entire Wall, separating the south from the main continent. Wisps of smoke rise from the kitchens, carrying the scent of salty, stale soup. The Outcasts atone for their sins or suppress their grief through dangerous missions in exchange for a few gold coins, following the rigorous standards set long ago.
Such is life at The Wall.
"I, Oldman, am not a religious man. But I interpret the legacy of past eras as a reminder: The world has never truly been at peace. The evil forces of all ages—fragments, orcs, or dragons—will always lurk. Humans, dwarves, elves, whoever they may be, could end up killing each other, driven by cunning deceit.
And now, the only barrier holding back the southern threat is The Wall... and us, the Outcasts. Perhaps history will remember us as nameless heroes, or perhaps it will forget us. But as long as I stand here, I will not allow the monsters from the south and other darknesses to spread across the continent again."
"I am Oldman...
In a world that has cast us out, we stand amidst the darkness.
We have no land, no name, only this path.
We are the shadows behind this wall.
We are the forgotten guardians of the world.
We are the Outcasts, and we will endure, or die on our path."