Legends of Belariath

History of the Empire

Of Empires and Capitols - Sturmtsalise and Nanthalion

As reported from the bards tales by Kaytoo

As the realm of Chaos gave way to the Titans, so that of the Titans had fallen to the Gods and their creation the realm of man. A time begun steeped in conflict and war as the Gods and their creation mankind, in fact all the humanoid races battled to usurp the realm of old. Yet as the Gods had finally driven out their enemy, mankind was left to deal with a world under no rule as the Gods themselves set to work on their own interests. So alone the new humanoid races struggled and searched for their own way of being, living yet in truth simply surviving. Yet as individuals began to band together under common goals, race and interests, the inevitable had begun, that being the oppression of the weak, and slaughter of the defiant, as mankind made great efforts to simply destroy itself.

So it was, century after century till roughly five millennia ago, the final war neared its end. The war for the third continent having raged on for four generations, invading armies from the south, the second continent having taken and held the three land bridges connecting the two. One last army of the north to conquer and the entire known world would be theirs. Yet as the last battle prepared to begin, the forces of the south having outflanked those of the north, wheeling round them to the east and driving them north once more away from the mid land bridge, tragedy befell the remnants of the northern army. Beathude the Just, sole remaining general and leader had taken the point of a lance, and as the infection took him, fear and chaos spread through the remaining troops.

As word of his impending demise spread through the fleeing army, talk of scattering and slipping through the enemy’s lines to hide in the wilderness of the far north was on many soldier’s lips except one. Finding themselves pressed to the cliffs of a raging river and gorge like a moat about the base of some unnamed steep mountain, the one stepped forward and stated “here the tide will turn”. Protest and debate sung out from the ragged remnants though was quickly silenced as this upstart, though virile and substantial yet young, ended the debate with the loss of the nearest protesters head. “My lands, my people, we drive the invaders out now!” and as the final word left his lips and his sword raised high, the Gods answered as the most mighty of lightning strikes seen by any there struck the peak of the mountain.

As clouds rolled in and the winds rose in force, just as sudden as the thunder of the strike met their ears, it was followed by a rumble deep within the mountain. A lone tree on the peak the rod, its roots the lines to the lake deep in its belly, the lake turned to steam and split the mountain in halves. As the face nearest the men slipped from the other, a great depression was made as though a giant spoon had carved out the side in one draw. Yet as the mountain side fell, filling the gorge behind this young giant, so was loosed another wonder though just as foreboding.

Crawling from the rubble of jagged stone, no doubt from the heart of the mountain appeared a great and substantial Wyvern crawling to the new formed peak. The young man’s sword leveled toward the invading army pointing the way to victory or death, never having turned round so focused. At that instant, the lightning of the impending storm silhouetted the Wyvern and the courageous leaders form, the Wyvern rising and spreading its wings behind him in the distance, appearing as though a figure upon his helm.

Although, the battle not the tale here, as few remember if any at all, the young giant of a man defeating the armies of the south and driving them back, eventually to usurp the third continent and part of the second for his own. No, this tale is of the capital mountain fortress city of Stormbringer the Emperor, the center of the known world five thousand years past.

Most agree, the events of that day impossible and dire at best. The Gods no doubt favoring this man or perhaps he one of their own finally taking his divine right. Yet none the less the Gods surely had chosen the location, no finer said throughout the land. So as the armies of the third continent returned from battle, it is there that they were set to a new task, to build the center of the world. The mountain now finally settled, a conical rise as though on one side having been scooped away clean of fine granite and marbles.

A natural land bridge now formed across the gorge of a moat surrounding the base of the mountain granted the only access to Sturmtsalise. Using the granite rubble to build with, a great wall was built from one edge of the remaining mountain to the other at the cliff’s edge. Roads laid and buildings raised of the strong stone a fortress began to grow and fill the hollow of the north face. As refuge was sought from the barbaric outer lands by many, inside the wall structures of rock and wood began to spring up built by those loyal to the Great Stormbringer. His fortress growing up the slowly rising void, the Emperors chambers and great hall near the top so he could look out over his dominion.

Sturmtsalise (Shturm’tsah’leese), odd how its name in all the ancient tongues means similar things. “Eye of the Storm”, “Axis of the Winds” and “Haven from the Tempest” for some, “Squalls Origin” and “Drum of Thunder” to still others. A hundred names, a number of spellings yet all pronounced the same, and all including center, origin, and violent weather in their meanings. The peaceful protected area from the violent storm. Its center, and yet its origin. The hurricane of violence and chaos swirling more fierce and untamed the further from it you go. The axis of the civilized world, and that axis being the staff of the Emperor, as he sat in firm judgment of his empire, in his mountain fortress where the tide of battle had so long ago turned by his hand.

Oddly, the harsh weather of this savage planet seemed to avoid this spot circling round Sturmtsalise. Warmed by the sun from the south, the northern winds sweeping over the peak passing it, the climate there was almost perfect. Yet it is said when the winds of invaders threatened, and the hail of sedition rained down on the Emperor’s capital, the dragon Wyvern would rise perching on the peak spreading its wings over the city to shield the peoples there from the onslaught. The storm of justice and might swirling about it, as it is the heart of the known civilized world, the axis of an empire, the empire of the man who commanded lightning to strike and winds to howl causing the earth to rumble and beasts of chaos to rise. Sturmtsalise, fabled capital city fortress of the Mighty Stormbringer of old.

Typical of the Gods, soon their interests turned back to their creation, though some would say to simply plunder the creation of others. The empire of Stormbringer having tamed the chaotic world, so the Gods once more cast an eye to what they claimed was theirs. Yet just when all seemed set fair for peace and prosperity, a new disturbance muddied the waters of time. How it came to be, or what labors it took unknown, yet on a spot some twenty-one days walk northwest from Sturmtsalise a white tower rose. The tower known today as Unigo.

Unigo holds it's own histories about it's creator Katarein; a being of power no dispute there, as the power of Stormbringer’s tempest was unable to scathe this new creation. Exactly what happened between the two is lost in the mists of time, yet logic suggests circumstance left only one resolution to the wise and powerful Lord of Man, compromise, truce and yet to prosper. For it was a truce that benefited all really. Great things were done in this time, the most important of which was formation of one empire, under one leader, under many Gods. Items of unheard-of power were created and stored in the armories of Sturmtsalise to insure its ever-lasting rule. Magics and spells were taught to the humanoids, the grand light that shone out from the white tower of Unigo helping the primitive humans find an easier way. So it went, year after year as peace and security reigned over all the world of Belariath.

Peace till one day, the reason still unknown, during the peak of prosperity and enlightenment, Katarein, deified by her followers and now known as the Goddess of Magic, was simply gone. One might think this would be a boon to mankind, believing the knowledge of the Gods now theirs, they themselves now the most superior beings. Yet as Katarein had vanished, so had the Emperor Stormbringer soon after. Some speculating his wisdom knowing what lay ahead. Others still that he set out on a holy quest to find Katarein and bring her back. Yet others believed that both he and Katarein had simply grown tired of this place, all challenges gone as peace, harmony, advancement and knowledge was had by all. Yet the world they had both made soon became clear would not remain as such without their firm guiding hands. As once more, strife, conflict and suffering began to loom over mankind, once more moreover with a vengeance.

As others tried to take the place of Stormbringer and Katarein both Sturmtsalise and Unigo fought over, the world again began to fraction up into race, class, and interests, all claiming that the White Tower and the Eye of the Storm should be theirs. Suffice to say it would be no ones, some believing the fortress and tower only serving their creators. Sturmtsalise ravaged by war held firm, yet as the Wyvern would no longer rest there to shield it from the elements so very slowly began to fade. Slowly till the day the earth shook once more, and the unnamed mountain reclaimed its old stone falling upon it, leaving nothing but a hill of granite as even the river gorge filled in.

Just an old fortress the belief of many, yet as Stormbringer had left so he had taken the keys you might say, as be it by design or magic, the doors to the treasury and armories could not be opened by the warring rivals, and so were lost the Relics, weapons and wealth of the ancients. As the wars for dominance raged on, so did the seasons year after year as the Natural world proved who was the strongest and most patient. Centuries passed and as armies of men dwindled, so Nature took back the lands. As lakes were turned to swamps then to bog then field, so the mountains were leveled and raised as Nature reformed the world to its liking. The ancient city of Sturmtsalise perhaps now a soft rolling green hilltop.

So just as the mighty fortress capital of Sturmtsalise was obscured and vanished fading from view, so had the memories of men begun to fade as to the tales of Chaos, Titan, Gods and mighty Emperors. History became tales, tales to legends, and legends to fables, finally watered down to bedtime stories destined for oblivion, lost forever. Centuries uncounted slipped by, as the world fell back to more savage days when no Titan, God or even Man could lay claim to Belariath fully. A savage world now liking to the realm of chaos yet formed, where even the smallest of groups or tribes were the only law.

Yet as the world had fallen to the force of Nature, in the wilderness near the old white tower of Unigo something stirred. A lone man, large, strong of stature and will began to clear a spot in the ancient forest. As others encountered him they were drawn to his vision, enticed by his charisma and humbled by his determination and purpose. So in kind these lost souls began to follow him and his dream.

Trees were felled and a rustic building raised, a communal hall and residence for the growing tribe. Today we known this hall as the Lonely Inn. The odd warrior or mage joining the small group contributed security and creation as craftsman and farmer supplied their skills and found security behind his shield. The little encampment soon grew to a village and all parts of it began to prosper as the peoples following this man contributed to the well-being of all others in the community.

As those that would plunder to survive confronted this little group, the diversity of all worked in harmony, always finding a way to drive off the invader. While the small village grew under his leadership, the visionary leader began to gather around him a group of talented warriors and mages. Operating from the remote hall turned tavern he and his band soon took control of the surrounding area, largely freeing it from the depredations of pirates, raiders and even nature itself. Welding the disparate people together into a sizable diversified force, defense quickly turned to offense to keep the invaders at bay. As his armies grew, so did the lands under his control, and chaos slowly turned once more to savagery, then to barbarity as civility clawed to take hold.

The numbers drawn to this little village began to swell as survival turned to the business of living, and mankind started to take a hold on the world once more. Those that contributed were welcomed, those that tried to defile it mercilessly defeated. Other districts and kingdoms were soon being usurped by this now Warlord to insure his people’s security, and soon most on the third continent knew of him and his founding village, now town called Nanthalion. So the town became the capital of a small kingdom, and the kingdom was growing into the beginnings of an Empire although a primitive one at best.

Yet Stormbringer the rising Emperor troubled some. Not that they had done poorly under his leadership or that he proved malevolent or demanding. Not that he had a look common of someone long in their pasts they feared, but something. Some said it was his confidence, others his vision, yet most agreed it was more basic then that, quite simply his name. As somehow, from somewhere they had heard of a Stormbringer before.

Stormbringer. Did the man take that name because of its symbolism in history or could he be a descendant of the legendary emperor whose name he bears? The more fanciful bards assert that he is that same emperor, The Emperor of Sturmtsalise, returned from his wandering or perhaps awakened from a magical sleep after five millennia. A sword of justice though perhaps a God come back, as life had become a challenge once more

Within a period of no more than 20 years the fledgling empire spans an area roughly one thousand miles in every direction and is named Ilfirinor, the traditional title of the region it roughly encompasses. Actions on the marches of empire continue, expanding the governed territory gradually by combinations of economic and martial means. Still in its infancy the capital of Nanthalion continues to grow and after a couple of years the warlord turned wilderness emperor is finally moving from his home in the Inn to a more imposing and appropriate residence.

Though conflict still is the rule not the exception over these lands. As the young empire grapples to remain established and the focal point of the world, force and capitulation remain the rule. A growing empire seeking still even to know itself as its people vie in petty struggles to stake their claim on the lands and fulfill their own dreams often scattered, varied and confused. All but the Emperor Stormbringer’s, his vision focused and clear backed by the resolve of wisdom and the security and confidence of his own mind and ability. A will and composure of granite some say, a mountain of resolve.

His beginnings unknown, though most too self absorbed to really care except to avoid him, a few have noticed something that causes them to wonder about the Emperor. As the weight of an Empire young bears down on this leader, and concern or deep thought stills his form, an old elf looks up to the northern sky backing into the Inn and speaks in an ancient tongue. Warning of clouds darkening from impending storms, and to take shelter in The Lonely Inn. Simply said in a single word, “Sturmtsalise”, causing the Emperor’s brow to furrow.