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Year 3170 of the New Order

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It took the Gods ten millennia to dream the world in existence. Nearly five to drive the tides of Chaos from its surface. And one to seed life where only dust had moved for far too long.   The Dvergari made it their own in but a century.
From the highest peaks the Dwarves rule with fists of iron and souls of stone. Their word is law. Their word is justice. Their word is truth. Enforced with Magic and Technology unlike any in existence.   Below their snow covered citadells live the Atenarri, the Elves. Oldest and proudest of all races, forever caught in struggles about blood, right and faith. Ever haunted by the echoes of their sins. Always caught under Dvergari foot. For what can the sword and bow do against the very powers that keep the world in order?   Beyond the edges of civilization are the realms of the Roje, those green of skin and barbaric in nature. A hundred different kinds, each with their own way of life, although to the civilized folk there are but animals.   But as the iron-fisted stunties plot, the knife-ears squabble among themselves and the greenskins stew in old grudges, there is other movement in the world. Dark whispers on western winds. A sinister shimmer in the sun's light. A force from the beginning of all stirring again...