They call it the Imperial Age, but we call it the Forlorn Tide.
It did start well, though. The Empire was good at the time. Imperial ships† took us from the barren lands of our forefathers and brought us to our new home. Imperial settlers helped us clear the woods and drain the marshes. This also drove out the wort-men who lived here before we did.
We grew and we throve on this new land of ours with rolling hills and open fields. The Imperials lived in their great towns on the shore, we lived in our steads and townlets and kept to ourselves. But soon the Empire grew wicked and slanderous. Our elders had to bow down to their aldermen; our warriors were taken far away to fight wars which weren’t our wars. Many did not return. Worse of all, however, was the weightiness that the Imperial wizards took. They built their lore halls were they would grow in uncouth spellcraft-lore and dwimmer-lore, and whence fearsome gear-beings stepped out. They brought in bug-men from their home island. This was too much. We got together, swore oaths of help and brotherhood, and set upon the evil that the Empire had become. The strout was long and harsh but in the end we won.
Life is tough, though. Trade hasn’t borne well our newfound asideness. The great towns on the shore yold to us but kept many of their wizards who may still plot against us. Leftovers of their eerie checkouts are still there; fearsome fiends dwell in forsaken wrecks. Yet young daredevils set out to delve into those stows. This game is about their undertakings.
†Note: The magical transfer from Slontos to Umathela was such a shock that the Umathings have collectively suppressed it from memory and now sincerely believe that they have come by ship.