About Tyria

It was almost three thousand years ago that a race of serpents stepped out of the Rift onto the soil of Tyria. Unlike ordinary serpents, these moved upright, used language, and adhered to an elaborate culture. They had been summoned by the old gods, brought to this world to be the custodians. Their task: shepherd the other creatures of the land through this time of transition, while the gods continued to create the world around them. From the Tarnished Coast in the west to the Bay of Sirens (now called the Sea of Sorrows) in the south, from the far eastern reaches of the Crystal Desert to the Giants' Basin on the northern coast of Kryta, Tyria flourished under the protection of these mystical creatures. The serpents were the protectors of the land, the keepers of knowledge, the teachers of all things, and during their time the world was in balance.

But then a new race of creatures was birthed upon the world. They were not serpent nor beast. They were neither plant nor stone. These creatures had no chitinous hide to protect themselves. They had no claws to tear flesh. They arrived naked and defenseless, except for one thing: their desire for control. This new race of creatures was none other than us humans, and in no time we began to take over. Cities bloomed across the continent. Walls were erected, and weapons forged. Those things that we humans lacked, we simply built. We didn't need tough hides nor rending claws when we could make metal armor and sharpened spears. We discovered fire, wrote books of our own, passed knowledge to one another through song and verse. Soon humans had everything we required, and it was then that we began to prey upon the other creatures. We hunted animals for sport, chased the druids from the jungle, and took up residence in lands that did not belong to us. We became the masters of this world. We took all of the privilege and none of the responsibility.

In less than a century, the serpents who had protected and nurtured Tyria were no longer needed. The balance they had achieved had been undone, and there was no way to bring it back. Seeing that the world had changed, and preferring not to fight a war over control of the continent, the serpents retreated from the world of men. They left the coasts and the jungles. They abandoned their settlements in the highlands and in the mountains. Leaving the newcomers be, the serpents went to live in the only place where we humans did not—or could not—the Crystal Desert. The serpents never returned to the world of men, and slowly, their influence faded. To humans, they were just a part of the past, spoken about only in legends and myths. Eventually their memory all but passed from human consciousness. But they were not gone, only forgotten.

Despite the serpents' retreat, the gods never halted their work creating the world, and with the benevolence of indulgent parents, they decided to create magic. It was to be a gift to all the intelligent creatures—meant to ease a life of toil and make survival a less arduous task. When they had finished their gift, they presented it to the humans and the Charr, the Tengu and the dwarves, the minotaurs and the imps, and all the races of the land. But the gods had not counted upon one thing—greed. Wars broke out immediately as the magical races fought for dominance. So much destruction was wrought that humans found themselves at the edge of extinction. When all seemed lost, it was King Doric, the leader of the united human tribes himself, who made the long trek to Arah, the city of the gods, on the Orrian peninsula. He gained an audience with the creators and begged them to help, to stop the wars and bring peace to the land once again. The gods heard his pleas, and they intervened.

The forging of the world was complete. As their final act, the gods gathered back their gift of magic from all the races and trapped it inside a tall stone. They smashed the stone into five parts—four equal but opposing stones of magic, and one keystone. Without the keystone, the other four couldn’t be reassembled. Each of the first four stones was the embodiment of a specific school of magic: preservation, destruction, aggression, and denial. Magic would still exist in the world, but the devastating power of all four types together would never again be at the command of one single creature. Those who accepted the gift would have to cooperate if they intended to use it to its fullest. The gods told King Doric that since he had asked for peace, he and his descendants must carry the burden of protecting the stones. As an additional precaution, they used a drop of King Doric’s blood to seal each of the stones.

Then the stones were dropped, one by one, into the volcano off the southern shore of the Kingdom of Kryta, and the gods left this world forever, confident that they had balanced out their gift and circumvented greed. Things were good for a time. No one race gained dominance over any other, and the world was once again at peace. Over the next hundred years, the human kingdoms prospered. Powerful groups grew up within each nation. These were known as guilds. It was these groups, these guilds, that held the real power in Tyria. Though there were kings and organizations that made the laws and regulated the land, it was the guilds that enforced these laws—or didn’t—as they saw fit. As these guilds grew, their influence began to overlap. As is ever the case with peace, it once again came to an end when the volcano erupted, spitting out the five stones and scattering them across Tyria. The magic they embodied seeped out into the lands around them. Though the Bloodstones, as they are called, have never been reunited, the power that they possess was enough to re-ignite the desire in the hearts of men.

The struggle for power commenced, and again war broke out. This time, though, the humans were not united. The guilds of the three most-influential kingdoms on the continent battled each other for supremacy. The kings of Ascalon, Kryta, and Orr were not powerful enough to stop the conflict, for the armies of the guilds were even more powerful than those of their own home nations. The Guild Wars raged for decades, fueled by the desire for power and the influence of the Bloodstones. Never did the peace accords last long. Never did the negotiations take root. The conflict claimed the lives of many hundreds of thousands. It uprooted families, made neighbors into enemies, and soured the relations between the human nations—perhaps irrevocably. Though the battles continued, each with a winner and loser, no one nation ever gained enough power to fully dominate the other two. Slowly, over the course of years, the wealth of each nation diminished. Their people grew weary, and their armies grew weaker as the constant fighting took its toll. Eventually, as all things do, the wars did come to an end. But it was not the words of the silver-tongued peace negotiators or even the rough hand of a conquering hero that ended the Guild Wars. The resolution was instead brought about by an even greater war—a war brought by the Charr. In unprecedented numbers, the beasts from the north swept down through all three human kingdoms. Ascalon, Orr, and Kryta, embroiled in conflict with one another for more than fifty years, dropped their grudges and turned their attentions to defending their borders against the new threat.

Each kingdom dealt with the invasion in a different way. Ascalon stood their ground, having no place else to turn. Though their forces were depleted, they managed to rally behind the Great Northern Wall. But their defense was short lived. In a magical battle that would eventually be looked upon as the turning point for Ascalon (now referred to as the Searing), the Charr brought down fire and brimstone, destroying everything on the open plain for hundreds of miles. Their magic scorched the ground and the human cities as they swept through the Wall and moved on to Orr. The surviving humans of Ascalon have since retaken the Wall and have held it against periodic attacks, but there is little left of this once-prosperous empire.  Orr was another story. To stop the invading army, the King of Orr's personal advisor and sage turned to the powers of dark magic. Venturing into the vaults far below the marble streets of Arah, he unrolled a forbidden scroll and read the words he found printed there. The resulting explosion sank the entire peninsula and sent enough dirt into the air to blot out the sun for a hundred days. Though the Charr never reached the hallowed streets of Arah, nearly every citizen of Orr was killed that day.

Unable to keep the Charr out, and lacking magic powerful enough to push them back, Kryta turned to a man named Saul D’Alessio and his promises of unseen gods coming to aid in the war. Whether it was luck or truly the invisible hands of some new gods, Kryta managed to push back the Charr invasion, banishing the northern beasts back from whence they came. The dust from this conflict is beginning to settle. Perhaps in this next age we will glean knowledge from our past mistakes. Perhaps we have learned when it is time to put away our hatred and simply work together. Or perhaps we will do what all nations in the history of the world have done—look blindly away from our past, and proceed to unleash a new and more terrible plague upon our land. Let us hope this is not the case. Let us hope that we have learned our lesson.

Excerpt from The History of Tyria, Volume 1

-Thadeus Lamount, Historian

Once, Ascalon was a beautiful, fertile land of rolling green countryside and magnificent cities. Her people were viewed as a bit grim by their neighbors, but this was perhaps to be expected, given their never-ending war against the Charr. Indeed, it was their unfailing vigilance, their Great Northern Wall and the blood they shed each year to defend it that had protected not only Ascalon, but also Kryta and Orr through the ages. Then came the invasion, and with it, the Searing.

Anyone alive today will remember the day the lands of Ascalon were blasted and torn with magic fire. Whole cities and guilds were destroyed in the Searing, and the might of Ascalon was shattered. Now the Great Northern Wall lies broken, and the Charr have overrun much of the kingdom, defiling it with their unholy shrines, killing those who stand in their way.

The survival of Ascalon hinges on but a single remaining corner of the fallen kingdom—the capital city of Rin. In the final years of the last Guild War, the people of Rin looked to a soldier named Adelbern, a simple man of humble origins, who rallied the people with his courage and cunning and steeled them not only against the guilds of Orr and Kryta but also against the terrors of the Charr.

The sudden destruction of most of the kingdom during the Searing has taken much of the fight out of the man now known as King Adelbern. He has become stubborn and set in his ways, afraid of losing what little he has left. But in his son Rurik, the people see a leader with the courage to perhaps help them reclaim their fallen kingdom.

The survivors of Ascalon live in a state of constant warfare, using hit-and-run tactics and the remnants of the Great Wall to prevent any significant advances by the Charr into their territory. King Adelbern has circled the wagons, so to speak, content to simply defend what Ascalon has left and live to fight another day. Prince Rurik, on the other hand, is far more daring than his father thinks is wise, and has even suggested that the time may be coming to launch an offensive against the Charr.

Already the rumbling of the winds of change can be heard in the streets. People are frightened. They wonder what will become of them. Some even wonder aloud if Adelbern has lost what it takes to steer Ascalon back from the brink. They wish to see the prince step up and take command of the kingdom. Perhaps under his guidance, the people of Ascalon will live on to see another golden age.

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The Kingdom of Kryta

There are two types of humans in Kryta: those who worship the mysterious Unseen Ones and those who do not. The worshippers have become known as the White Mantle because of the long white robes many of them wear. It is the responsibility of the White Mantle to oversee the other humans and impose upon them the rules and laws of the Unseen Ones. Those inside the organization receive special privileges (more food, better clothing, access to books) simply for abiding by the rules of the Unseen Ones and carrying out the orders handed down by the White Mantle high priest. To the Krytans the White Mantle are the root of law and order, the protectors or saviors, if you will, of their lands.

The White Mantle maintain a series of temples all over the continent. Members of this organization frequently, though not always, choose to reside in these temples to better perform their duties to the Mantle and to more effectively worship the Unseen Ones. Since the end of the last Guild War and the repelling of the Charr invasion, the White Mantle have maintained a high level of military preparedness. They don’t ever want to be caught off guard again, and they often keep large stores of weapons inside their temples to use in case of emergency. It's also not uncommon for followers of the Mantle philosophy to be highly trained warriors. Fighting skills will come in handy if the day comes when they will need to once again defend Kryta from invasion.

Saul D'Alessio (founder of the White Mantle):

Saul D'Alessio was a fallen man. A gambler and a drunk, Saul reached the lowest point in his life when he lost a bet he could not repay. At the time, the local betting house was run by the Lucky Horseshoe, a gambling guild whose influence spanned almost the entire length of the continent. To avoid defaulting on his payment, Saul took to robbing merchants traveling on the road from Beetletun to Shaemoor. Though he successfully paid his debt to the Lucky Horseshoe, he was eventually fingered by one of his victims and tried as a thief. His punishment was exile from the Kingdom of Kryta. The local authorities blindfolded him and rode him out three full weeks before leaving him to fend for himself.

Alone, broke, and lost, Saul wandered through a dense forest for several days, surviving on only roots and berries. On the fourth day, delirious with hunger, Saul emerged from the trees to see what he thought was a hallucination—a city of massive towers reaching into the heavens. The architecture was astounding, and the creatures who lived here were unlike any he had ever seen. Walking down into their city, Saul got a closer look at the denizens of this place. They were tall and thin with skin the color of golden ore. When they walked, their feet seemed not to touch the ground, and when they spoke, it was the most melodious sound he had ever heard. Surely these creatures were the stuff of divinity. Hungry and exhausted, his clothes ragged and dirty, Saul dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground. He had found his gods, and they in turn had found their most devoted disciple. 

Saul D'Alessio returned to Kryta a changed man. His rags had been replaced with a sleeveless, pure-white robe embroidered with golden thread. His once sunken, sickly features were again full and healthy. He no longer craved the bottle, no longer wished to strike it rich gambling. His life had purpose. He had returned to spread the word, to deliver his finding to the humans of Kryta. During this time, the Krytan Empire was in the midst of two wars—one against the guilds of the other human nations, and another against the beastlike Charr. Food was becoming scarce as the invaders burned the crops and salted the fields. It was then that Saul came to the people, offering help from his powerful, enigmatic gods.

Saul's new faith was so powerful that soon he had a small following. As a group, they traveled the land, recruiting more and more, offering salvation from trying times. Though no one ever saw the gold-skinned gods or their cities of massive towers, they took Saul at his word that they did truly exist. Saul was a shepherd, and his sheep followed his every step. Those who showed real conviction were given white robes, each embroidered with golden thread.

This was the beginning of the White Mantle.

Beaten, outnumbered, leaderless, and facing almost certain death, the people of Kryta looked to Saul to lead them out of their darkest hour. Saul D'Alessio was transformed from a messenger into the general of a great army. With their new faith and their new leader, Kryta and the White Mantle managed to push out the Charr, forcing them back over the mountains. Though his efforts were successful, Saul eventually lost his life fighting the war that freed the humans of Kryta. In the last offensive of the war against the Charr, Saul led his troops deep into Charr territory. His network of spies, though normally quite effective, failed him on this day. The Charr were waiting in ambush, and the beastly creatures slaughtered Saul's unit to the man. Consequently, Saul became a martyr for the White Mantle. His teachings live on in the temples, and his name adorns a seacoast on the north edge of Kryta, a memorial to a man who brought peace and prosperity to the people of this tropical region.

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The Kingdom of Orr

Situated on a peninsula south of Ascalon and southwest of the Crystal Desert, Orr was a vibrant, proud, and prosperous nation. Its citizens were the favored of the gods, living in the shadows of Arah, the deserted city once inhabited by the likes of Melandru, Dwayna, and Balthazar. Deeply spiritual, the Orrians looked after the buildings and structures left behind when the gods left Tyria, caring for them in the hopes that one day, the divine beings who created magic and bestowed it upon the world would return.

The Orrians were a peaceful people, hoping only to do their duty toward their gods and content to be rewarded in either this life or the next. When the guilds began feuding, Orr as a nation tried to stay out of the conflict. This was not the sort of struggle that entire kingdoms got involved in. But when the strife overflowed into armed conflict, and guilds from the other human nations began fighting in the streets of Arah, Orr rose to defend itself and the city of the gods.

Soon after Orr mobilized its armies, Kryta and Ascalon did as well, and what had started as a dispute between localized groups became an all-out war. The Guild Wars raged for nearly fifty years. During that time, none of the three human empires was able to assert dominance over either of the other two. While Ascalon, Orr, and Kryta were busy fighting with each other, they became blind to the threat from the north—the Charr. The northern beasts swept in, taking Ascalon in a spectacular magical battle.

At first, Orr was saved from much of the fighting. The guilds with allegiances to Ascalon and Kryta withdrew, heading back to defend their homes. Orr regrouped, granted a moment to prepare simply because they were farther south. The Charr had to make their way through Ascalon before they could reach the gates of Arah. But eventually Ascalon fell, and the Charr arrived in Orr.

Hopes were high that the Charr would be defeated quickly. The Orrian army was the equal of any in Tyria, and the invaders had already fought a long battle against the Ascalons. But those hopes were dashed in less than twelve hours.

The invaders reached the gates of Arah without breaking stride. The Orrians failed to protect their charge. With defeat at the doorstep and the kingdom nearly in ruins, one man turned to a forbidden magic. The king’s own personal advisor in the matters of the arcane took it upon himself to destroy the invaders, no matter the cost. Unrolling one of the Lost Scrolls, kept inside a warded vault deep within the catacombs below Arah, he spoke the words of a litany that spelled the end of the Kingdom of Orr forever.

There are few who survived that day, now known as the Cataclysm. While the Charr were never allowed to step foot in Arah, few count what the king’s advisor did on that day as a victory. The resulting explosion felled the invading army where it stood, but so too did it sink the entire peninsula, leaving only a scattering of small islands in its place. The beautiful city of Arah was consumed. What’s left above water now lies in a pile of ruins, blackened by the Cataclysm and years of neglect. All that remains in the wreckage of Orr are the wandering dead—those souls unable to rest in the shadow of this great disaster.