Men were the first major race to conquer the lands now known as Worrel, having matured independently from the other races beyond the heart of the world. The Palash they were called, and they found many dark creatures within the realm of Worrel. But these were hearty men of war, accustomed to suffering and victory, and they dispatched whatever foes threatened them harm… at least for a time. Their empire thereafter lived in relative peace and prosperity, ignoring the various minor races dwelling in the shadows. But the greater evils learned of the short lives of men, of their power-hungry nature and desire to always have more, and with these flaws the night creatures wormed their way into the hearts of the Palashian leaders, corrupting and enslaving them.

Before the waning of their strength, the Palash encountered a clan of Dwarves in the northeast of Worrel. The Oronad, the dwarves called themselves, crossed the northern crags as exiles of a bitter civil war. They had refused to take sides, and the resulting victor banished the Oronad clan from their ancestral homeland. With a stroke of fortune, the Oronad found the Palash receptive to trade, as the Oronad were skilled craftsmen who loved to create songs and jewelry. They reluctantly forged steel armaments for the Palash Empire as part of a settlement agreement. The acquisition of fine dwarven weaponry only inflamed the deep divide among the men, and when at last a great civil war erupted, the lands were saturated with blood. The war’s end saw no stronghold untouched, and the victors were those that survived rather than those that triumphed.

Thus ended the Age of Steel.

During the Palashian civil war the Oronad remained in their new halls, clothed in finery with dozens of new mines striking deep into the mountain roots to discover a land rich with gems and ore. And when mines grew almost too deep and hot for even the hearty dwarves to endure, a new metal was struck which chipped the heads of their steel picks. Mithril it was called, and after the dwarves learned to harvest the ore, a new age dawned upon the lands of Worrel. The Oronad saw potential and ushered out of their mountains clad in impenetrable armor to subjugate their former suzerain. The few dozen nation-states of the fallen Palashian Empire now fell in turn to the Oronad, and power was centralized to the Halls of Zuruban. Songs of beauty and friendship were remodeled into songs of battle and fidelity to dwarvenkin, and the “mithril fist” of the Dwarven Clanking became a symbol of subjugation among men and the lesser races.

But the dwarves delved too greedily and too deep seeking ever more mithril. Their network of mines discovered a vast subterranean world, and the Underdark flooded the dwarven halls. The impenetrable armor Oronad meant little to the swarm of foul creatures clawing madly at flesh. The dwarves were forced to abandon their mountain homes. Emissaries were sent to other kingdoms calling for aid, and two powerful nations beyond the mountains answered: the Incaryn Elves and Myrianthedan Dragonborn, though the aid came with a high cost. The Oronad were forced to trade their precious mithril-forged armaments for the first time, and they grew jealous of foreigners wearing their coveted work. 

The elves and dragonborn succeeded in retaking Zuruban, and as part of the post-war agreement, the Oronad became bound to unfavorable treaties and subject to reparations. The city of Yindove was established in Worrel to monitor the flux of mithril coming from the mines and ensure the dwarves were honoring their agreements, a notion that the Oronad resented. 

The dwarves quickly grew tired of their overlords, resenting them much more than they ever resented the Palash, for they had grown proud. In a move of defiance, the Oronad caved in the network of tunnels connecting their halls to the wider world. When the emissaries of Yindove came at last with an army to investigate, they found only blood-spattered stone and the gnawed stunted bones of the dwarves.

Thus ended the Age of Mithril.

With the sudden disappearance of the dwarves, Incarys and Myrianthedan bickered over which nation would continue the mining of mithril. Both races were hesitant to re-awaken any slumbering dangers beneath the Halls of Zuruban. The quest was ultimately abandoned, and the majority of dragonborn within Worrel departed to their homeland. 

Many elves chose to remain. The forests of Worrel held many comforts and curiosities, and the beauty of winter was something the elves had come to love. Yindove blossomed from a small city to a multiracial metropolis as regional inhabitants flocked to see architectural treasures and high magic. The elves were welcoming, for there was much they had not yet seen in Worrel, and their long lives beckoned them to taste new experiences. After many centuries, these elves became known as the Yindis, and they propagated their influence throughout the great plains.

While the magnanimity and splendor of Yindove grew, so too did its reputation, attracting creatures from beyond the plane. Many of the fey travelled to the great city and Yindove became a retreat for both the winter and summer courts as accorded neutral territory. The presence of such a large number of winter and summer vassals disrupted the seasons. Winters grew cold as a starless void and summer scorched dry the grasses of the plains. The elves witnessed a great diaspora as survivors flung themselves beyond the fey’s influence to find a home more hospitable. Yindove became an empty city. 

The few remaining elves strong enough to withstand the capricious climate tended to their once grand city, hosting only the fey. They dwindled in memory until re-discovered by another race.

Thus ended the Age of Emeralds.

After many successful generations of fighting fiercely against abyssal forces, a powerful faction of crimson-skinned tieflings choose Worrel as a realm of respite, a wish granted by Asmodeus himself for their loyal service. They arrived to the plane with the power and knowledge of high devils at their command and with weapons of extraordinary power, the Blades of the Nine. They quickly conquered the realm, constructing a central city unlike anything before or since seen in Worrel. Umeros it was called, the city of splendor, and it a mountain raised by their own hands.

The city was a lone figure of high towers amid a flat plain of eternal grass, shining from afar like a mountain of metal. None knew how the tieflings built such a structure so swiftly nor where they found such a large trove of resources, and the tieflings only smirked when inquired about their secrets. Power and knowledge were riches seized through might they believed, not gifts to be handed to weaker creatures, unworthy and incapable of responsibly wielding grand power. While the tieflings were unkind, they possessed a refined sense of honor and duty, and so they ruled their vassals in a firm but candid fashion. Many minor kingdoms profited under their influence, but many others were nearly extinguished. One such nation was the tribe of desert orcs.

The orcs invaded the greener lands from the west, seeking fresh fields to feed their herds. The first battle between tiefling and orc was a devastating defeat for the tiefling nation, and it was beyond their comprehension for many years. But the answer was simple, and the orcs knew it. Numbers triumphed, and the orcs had an inexhaustible number of warriors. The second battle was in the favor of the tieflings, killing ten thousand orcs like fire set to a prairie. But the cost was high for the tieflings; their numbers were much smaller and renewed much slower. A decade of war dwindled their might until at last they struck strategically at the orcs with a new weapon, and the orcish nation fell at last, ending the War of Bile. The orcs were enslaved, and the tieflings continued to rule for another five hundred years until Asmodeus recalled them to the frontlines of the Blood War.

But the tieflings had grown accustomed to dominance and they refused Asmodeus’s command when their time of respite had expired. Quite unexpectedly a meteor struck the capital and ended their civilization in an instant. The few survivors fled from the region, far from the orcs who survived in the farms outside the capital. The survivors beseeched forgiveness but received only silence from Asmodeus.

Thus ended the Age of Ruby.

The Age of Ash was heralded by the meteor strike on the tiefling capital. For a decade ash hung in the sky. Many suffered and died as crops failed and lungs breathed in soot. 

But not the orcs. They thrived. Their lungs were hearty and their reach vast, and they traveled swiftly beyond the dead grass of the central plains. In the east they met the remaining elves from whom they received unlikely support. 

The elves were kind to the hard people whom the tieflings had enslaved, and they judged the orcs not by their unsightly visage but by their suffering and strength to one another. The elves in turn found fierce friends with the orcs who, like their former masters, have a strong system of honor, debt, and gratitude. 

With elven wisdom and magic, the orcish nation developed into a strong union after the ash descended from the sky. The Mahuul they named themselves, the ash-born. Their leaders were wise and strong, and their people loyal and driven. As natural nomads, the orcs were able to extend their influence beyond the reach of previous kingdoms, conquering from the far east to the previous realm of the western desert. Those they resisted were fought and defeated but honored and incorporated. Those they merely submitted were seen as weak and were heavily taxed for their cowardice. 

The Mahuul eventually reconquered the former capital of the tieflings, and upon the shores of the lake formed from the meteor’s crater, the orcs founded a city. But as their empire extended, so too did their enemies, and they united out of common cause. The Mahuul became stretched through the continued re-conquering of vassals who adapted against the swarm tactics of the orcs. Nations began to defeat the Mahuul not through victory but through perseverance, outlasting sieges and picking off orc warriors one by one from high walls. Each successive loss brought their once proud leaders to dishonor, who were removed from power. The strong warrior shamans were replaced with concessionists, and the empire weakened from within.

The Mahuul were in no position to resist the Abyssal invasion which soon followed.

Thus ended the Age of Ash.

Ushered in by unknown forces through inter-planar portals, a thousand legions of abyssal nightmares invaded the lands of Worrel. Led by demon lords in an uncharacteristic moment of union, Yeenoghu, Graz’zt, and Baphomet were seen issuing commands and delighting in bloodshed. Other infamous lords of the depths were also rumored to have entered the plane but witnesses descended to madness and accounts remain unreliable. 

Most of the minor nations swiftly fell to the invaders. Stronger kingdoms beyond Worrel managed to hold out long enough for the demon lords to begin bickering amongst themselves. Divine intervention followed shortly thereafter in what became known as the War of the Outer Gates. 

Little is known regarding the alliance made in swift necessity to combat the Abyss, but stories tell of Bahamut striking a deal with other pantheons to prevent the permanent razing of Worrel. Landing from the backs of metallic dragons, a host of celestial warriors scoured the realms of abyssal foes and drove the demon lords from the plane. The Golden Order Pantheon was afterward established, though curiously Worrel was excluded from the total planar unification, remaining instead a land of minor kingdoms left in isolation. 

Though the War of the Outer Gates lasted less than four seasons and the entire Age of Terror barely more than six, this period marks an important turning point in the history of Worrel and the greater plane. 

Thus ended the Age of Terror.

Following the devastation of the previous age, celestials began the arduous task of rebuilding and reorganizing the numerous and devastated kingdoms. Power was centralized and the Golden Order Pantheon was established. Each race was represented within a governing body. A system of laws was established by the celestials and enforced by the implacable Modrons. Worrel was exempt from this consolidation for reasons unknown to either the denizens of the great plains or the inhabitants of the newly minted Golden Empire. Tall mountains were raised by extra-worldly forces separating Worrel from the rest of the world, guarded by winged beings of shimmering light. 

Worrel became largely forgotten and left to their own devices, recovering slowly without the aid of divine beings. The surviving nations squabbled for many years. A leader emerged from the chaos and led the nations to peace by forming a representative democracy that transcended racial boundaries. All races, both minor and major, were given a seat from which to barter and compromise in a manner other than warfare, and for a time there was a gentle peace upon the plains of Worrel. 

But a thin veneer of residual magic lay upon the land, magic that originated from the Demon Lords of the Abyss. Wizards began experimenting with the tainted magic, discovering methods of questionable morality. A powerful wizard named Valmont founded a new school of magic dedicated to the manipulation of life and death. Necromancy, it was called, the “divination of death.” With this new art Valmont gained incredible power, and he rose to dominance in the politics of the republic. The other factions turned against him, and Valmont was imprisoned and executed. And for a little while longer, peace reigned.

Then Valmont rose from the grave and assailed the republic of Worrel with an army of bones and rotting flesh, overthrowing the leaders and establishing a kingdom ruled by the undead.

Thus ended the Age of Agreement.

After Valmont ascended to lichdom and wrought vengeance against those who had signed his execution, he quickly pacified the council through fear and cunning words, guaranteeing them riches and the return to an era of high magic and greatness. The leaders of the other races bowed their heads to Valmont’s power and promises. And Valmont delivered.

The lich king’s undead army grew in number as the recently deceased were recycled into a slave caste. The mines of the Odonad were re-opened, guarded from the Underdark by undead who knew no fear and who swung pickaxes with the steady rhythm of a beating heart. A clan of dwarves descended from the Odonad were thrust into the role of master forgers. Their people had retained much of the lore surrounding the refinement of ores and smithing of mithril. They fired the ancient forges of their forebears and produced a wealth of weaponry from the Halls of Zuruban. 

Valmont armored his most formidable guard in mithril, hoarded the rest, and sent jewels and fine gems to the noble houses; their greed pacified them. But despite his best efforts to subdue rivals, his very teachings nearly became his undoing. The secret to his immortality was discovered by students of necromancy, and a dozen other powerful wizards attained godhood. The War of the Liches began.

Worrel suffered greatly as hordes of undead battled against one another, and Valmont would have been defeated had the other wizards worked in tandem. But the power of the lich king could not be denied, and he soon discovered the phylacteries of his rivals after dispatching them on the battlefield. They fell one by one until only four remained. They sued for peace and were allowed to serve Valmont as powerful captains by surrendering their phylacteries, thus ensuring their loyalty. 

During a ceremony celebrating his victory, Valmont and the other liches were attacked and defeated. They did not rise again. None know how these heroes discovered the location of Valmont’s own phylactery or how they managed to overcome his power in combat, if ever they did. The order responsible simply vanished thereafter. A decade later a sudden rise in seismic activity initiated the formation of volcanoes throughout the plains, throwing ash into the sky once more. It settled after a few hard seasons and the inhabitants of Worrel resumed their lives. 

Thus ended the Age of Amethyst.

The Koll were a mysterious human-kin of blue skin and tall stature who sailed to Worrel in search of a lost artifact. They possessed a form of magic that not even the elves fully understood. Among the multitude of races, the Koll found the gnomes to be closest in spirit, tinkerers at heart with a fondness for mirth and friends. The Koll raised up the gnomes as powerful servants, and though they loved them greatly, gnomes were never considered equals to their masters. It is unclear if the Koll ever found what they sought, but after many years they simply departed from Worrel, setting sail into the deep seas. 

Many gnomes wished to join them, but they were denied. The gnomes were instead charged with guarding the knowledge gained by the Koll until one day they would return. The gnomes reluctantly agreed and constructed a city along the coast with a high tower to look for the return of their friends and masters. The city was named Wilcryn.

Following the volcanic eruptions around the plains of Worrel, the central part of the realm began to sink, forming a basin. It began slowly at first, small cracks running along the prairie, but as the years progressed, the subsidence rapidly increased. Each season the central portion of the inner plains would fall by a meter. After several centuries the region became isolated on all sides by a sheer cliff over a kilometer high. Rivers altered their course and flowed into the basin, creating lakes along the inner edge. 

What lay at the heart of the basin was the former capital of the Tiefling empire. The great shadows cast by the overhanging cliffs bred predators along the basin’s margins and in the shallow lakes. Even the most courageous of adventurers would hesitate to descend into the basin. Those that did rarely returned. A trove of treasures from forgotten adventurers is thought to be scattered throughout the region, and the survivors ramble incoherently about obsidian spires and formless shapes suffocating their companions. 

The kingdoms cared little for the darkness remained in the depths of the basin, and the other nations went about their lives. 

Thus ended the Age of Subsidence.

Our tale continues with the Heroes of Heshema, those brave souls whom continue to fight for honor, justice, and freedom.