Sharrukin's Palace

By about 2,500 years before Krava’s time, metal-workers on both sides of the narrows of the Sailor’s Sea had developed the technique of alloying copper to produce bronze. Reflecting this, the limits of Neolithic and Chalcolithic technology have been dropped on this map. The Neolithic lifestyle has finally expanded to the far corners of the world, and even copper tools are becoming commonplace. Now, bronze-working is the critical technology that distinguishes leading-edge cultures from their less sophisticated neighbors.

The new technology spread slowly at first. The tin necessary to produce high-quality bronze could only be found at the extreme edges of the trade networks of the time. Still, tools and weapons of the new material soon became a prestige item, and warriors and traders alike began to traffic in it. The new metallurgy was one of several factors that gave rise to the first urban civilizations in the world.

The first true cities appeared in the daharim region, a dozen or so settlements with extensive fortifications, large palace and temple complexes, and populations of 3,000 to 6,000 each. These towns formed the nuclei for city-states, each ruled by a hereditary royal dynasty, all competing for the best farmland and trade routes.

To the east, the Ka-Meret peoples gave rise to their own first civilization, the Mereti Kingdom. So far, this was still a chalcolithic culture, but the Mereti god-kings developed very sophisticated techniques to organize agricultural labor and trade. The Mereti kingdom was not at all urban – even the god-king’s palace was surrounded by mere farming villages – but in terms of territorial extent it was the largest unified human realm at the time.

Out in the islands, the Kavrian Matriarchy appeared. The Kavrians were the greatest sea-farers of their time, a critical link in the trade networks that crossed the narrows of the sea and made the Bronze Age possible in the first place. Led by an alliance of priestess-queens and daring sea-captains, the Matriarchy was also not yet an urban state, but its halls and palaces played host to visual arts, dance, and music unmatched in the world.

Most of the language groups of the Great Lands had changed little over the past thousand years. In the north, the Mahra peoples were an exception.

A division between Western and Eastern Mahra languages was becoming more clear with each passing century, the dividing line placed roughly at the boundary between the woodlands of the Lake Country and the central steppes. The western Mahra benefited from the new trade in bronze, and were more sedentary and peaceful. The eastern Mahra had committed themselves to the horse-nomad’s lifestyle, and had become fierce and tenacious warriors despite their relative lack of bronze weaponry.

The eastern Mahra move toward a warrior culture was, in part, driven by a new danger out of the white north.

The ancient “demons” who had once taken refuge around Mount Akyat had regained their strength, building an army of “fierce men” and modified beasts. Now they emerged from their refuge, carrying war across wide ranges of the northern continent. Once they had been gentle gods of peace, fertility and good harvests. Now they had become the Renounced Gods – terrible deities of war, pestilence, famine, bitter cold, and death. Where they went, the peoples of the north submitted or died.

The first campaigns of the Renounced Gods were against the Smith-folk of the far north, especially the reactionaries who had fled the Neolithic wave thousands of years before. Now their fears had come true. The armies of the Renounced Ones attacked three of the old Smith-folk enclaves, “liberating” the spirits bound there and slaughtering the people.

Some of these campaigns crossed eastern Mahra land, and the horse-nomads soon learned the bitter necessity of resistance. Under pressure, the eastern Mahra quickly developed the horse-nomad’s way of warfare: superb mounted archery, capable of fast, mobile strikes followed by quick retreats. Strengthened by their own divine patrons, the Mahra were able to survive the onslaught. Some of the oldest hero-tales in later Chariot People mythology referred back to these early wars against the Renounced Ones, across the sea of grass.

Not all of the eastern Mahra were able to stand and fight. Retreating before the generations-long attack, some of them sought refuge in distant lands. One group (the Kusi tribes) migrated into the far east, onto the cold steppes north of the Eagle Mountains.

Another group (the Nesali tribes) made the fateful decision to migrate south, and even to cross the narrows of the Sailor’s Sea. They settled among the Zari peoples of the region that would one day be called Navenia. There, new bronze weapons combined with their existing mounted archery to give them complete military superiority. They soon took over the region, setting up several petty kingdoms ruled by Mahra warrior-aristocrats. It was a pattern that was to be repeated many times across the Great Lands in the following centuries.

Here’s a link to the DeviantArt page for this map.

By about 3,500 years before Krava’s time, the world seemed to be in an era of slow, steady change. Yet beneath the surface, forces were gathering that would transform everything.

Over the past 1,500 years, both Neolithic and Chalcolithic technologies had spread more widely. Some of the major language groups had also expanded; the Mahra and Zari peoples, in particular, had settled much broader ranges of the northern Great Lands. The Zari peoples appeared ready to win a centuries-long competition for domination of the northern continent.

On the other hand, the northern Mahra tribes had achieved something of great importance: the domestication of the horse, not simply as an occasional meat source, but as an animal useful for riding and for transport. At first, this development simply enabled the northern Mahra to travel widely across the steppes, managing their herds more effectively. These people soon took up the first horse-nomadic lifestyle the world had ever seen. The possible military applications had yet to be thought of . . . but over time, the once-peaceful Mahra peoples would transform themselves into the aggressive, expansionist Chariot Folk.

In the south, the Karuni peoples of the daharim (“rivers”) region approached the development of civilization. Some agricultural villages expanded to unusual size, well over a thousand inhabitants in the largest. Trade networks appeared and grew more extensive. Ancient token-reckoning systems gave rise to true writing. Tribal oligarchies yielded to hereditary dynasties of priest-chieftains.

Meanwhile, a prolonged dispute among the spirits and gods of that region had profound consequences.

The dispute began when a clique of minor Karuni deities suggested that the existing relationship between spirits and humans was profoundly detrimental to the spirits. They pointed to the dependence of “gods” upon their human worshipers, and the outright enslavement of lesser spirits by Common-folk shamans and the Smith-folk. They proposed aggressive action, a radical revision of the relationship that would place spirits firmly in command. Their opponents, including virtually all of the prominent deities of the region, pointed out that this proposal would devastate human populations and destroy the very societies upon which their style of existence depended.

Shortly before the time of this map, the dispute broke into open warfare. Spirits fought, both directly and by pitting their mortal worshipers against one another. The conservative “divine” faction won; the rebel spirits were (literally) demonized and driven out of the Karuni region. The victors assumed, for the time, that the conflict had been resolved, but this assessment was premature.

Instead of vanishing, the “demons” fled into the far north, taking refuge in the area of a massive snow-bound height that would one day be named Mount Akyat. There they licked their wounds and began to plan their revenge.

One of their long-term projects involved interaction with the primitive hunter-gatherer peoples of the area. They used their divine powers to sway these people, breed them, and biologically alter them. Soon they had created a new kind of humanity: Homo ferox, the “fierce man,” stronger, faster, and more violently aggressive than any of the older species.

The new species grew but slowly, in the harsh conditions of the northern forests and tundra, but in the centuries to come they would prove a terrible plague upon the northern Great Lands. Thousands of years later, Krava would know them as the skatoi, and they would become her bitterest foes . . .

Here’s a link to the DeviantArt page for this map.

As in our own world, the discovery of agriculture was a tremendous revolution. Over time, the Common-folk peoples who committed to this new way of life made a fateful exchange: reliable food sources that could support unprecedented population densities, at the cost of back-breaking labor, social stratification, and subjection to a growing class of gods and priest-chieftains.

While the primary center of agricultural development was around the ancient site of Tar-Karun, in the end five distinct peoples (and one outlier) took advantage of the new technology. These formed new language-group communities, each with its own distinct cultural template. They slowly spread across the Great Lands, displacing the thinly scattered hunter-gatherer population . . . and where the new Neolithic peoples went, their gods went with them.

The Karuni peoples were probably the most religious, devoted to gods of the sky and the harvest, building the first temples in the world. Their societies tended to be strongly patriarchal and rather aggressive, forcing others aside to gain access to the best farming lands.

The Zari peoples took a softer approach, especially after they crossed the narrows of the Sailor’s Sea and took root along the coasts of the northern continent. Zari societies tended to be more egalitarian, dividing authority between male chieftains and female priestesses. Later they took to building megalithic structures, lines and circles of standing stones, possibly in memory of ancient Tar-Karun.

The Mahra peoples took up a mixed lifestyle, some of them farming in the river valleys and by the shores of the Great Lakes, others following herds of goats and sheep in the grassy uplands. They were patriarchal but not aggressive, preferring to move away from danger rather than confront it.

The Tamir–Nandu peoples spread rapidly across the south-eastern coasts, taking advantage of the plentiful monsoon rains and rich soils of the region. They were distinctive for their relative lack of social centralization and stratification. In such a rich land, anyone dissatisfied with the leadership at home could simply pack up and move, setting up new farms or villages at a safe distance. Rather than building temples for a few primary deities, the Tamir-Nandu societies continued in the Mesolithic tradition of venerating myriad local spirits, building small shrines for them.

The Ka-Meret peoples pursued a mix of river-irrigation and monsoon-irrigation, and were the most centralized cultures of this period. Their relationship with their gods was distinctive – their culture put great value on ecstatic states of “possession,” in which gods spoke and acted through human hosts. Some Ka-Meret chieftains became almost permanent hosts for their divine patrons, setting up an early form of divine kingship.

Wherever these people went, they brought a Neolithic technical set with them. Back in the heartland of the Karuni and Zari societies, a Chalcolithic technology had arisen as well, with the use of copper to supplement stone tools. This and the following maps will mark the boundary of each new stage of technological development.

In the far south, the Muri peoples were not yet fully Neolithic, but they had begun independent development of farming and herding in their own territory. Their communities were tied together by a strong tradition of endogamy and matrilocality. Young men tended to leave home and travel long distances in search of a bride, and then settle down in her village after the marriage. This led to lasting links between villages, permitting exchange of trade goods, languages, and ideas.

The ancient Smith-folk looked on all these developments with concern. Before the era of agriculture, the balance between Common-folk and Smith-folk had been stable across thousands of years. Now Common-folk were starting to swarm across the land, bringing their gods with them – no longer so dependent on the Smith-folk for survival, and threatening to outnumber them by wide margins. This admittedly brought new wealth to the old Smith-folk enclaves, but some conservatives feared disastrous consequences in the long run.

Thousands of the Smith-folk departed for the distant north, setting up new enclaves far from the agricultural wave. Unfortunately, in so doing, these migrants unwittingly set up the conditions for the very disaster they had dimly foretold . . .

Here’s a link to the DeviantArt page for this map.

By 9,000 years before Krava’s time, the Ice Age was in full retreat. Although a remnant of the ice sheet remained in the far north and west, most of the northern continent was becoming greener and more hospitable with each generation. Tundra turned to open steppe, and then to deep forests, spreading inexorably northward.

Both of the humanities living in the Great Lands took advantage of the new springtime.

The Smith-folk enclaves grew, and more of them took root in congenial mountain valleys exposed by the retreat of the Ice. Some of these enclaves attained populations in the low thousands, with complex social systems and even a few permanent structures in stone or wood. These enclaves had not yet acquired the mighty fortifications of later millennia, but the structure of the latter-day holdfast was finally becoming clear.

Meanwhile, the Smith-folk had become accustomed to the presence of the taller, more versatile Common-folk sharing the wide lands. They taught the newcomers (some of) their ancient knowledge, and gave away tools and artifacts of power in exchange for meat and hard-to-find materials. Some Common-folk bands even set up trading relationships, carrying light goods and ideas among the Smith-folk enclaves. The result was a tenuous network of trade and communication that stretched across two continents. This system gave rise to a variety of high Mesolithic cultures.

In one small area, the first hints of something even more significant had appeared. At the eastern end of the Sailor’s Sea, some of the Common-folk began to supplement their otherwise-typical Mesolithic lifestyle with the harvesting of wild grains. This was not agriculture – not yet – but it enabled the Common-folk of the region to attain population densities impossible elsewhere.

One of the centers of this pre-Neolithic activity was at a place called Tar-Kuran, the “high place” where a dozen disparate tribes came together to build a common ritual center. The center of Tar-Kuran was a great ring of carved standing stones, the result of thousands of man-years of back-breaking labor. When completed, the “high place” became known among the Common-folk tribes all across the Great Lands, and people came from incredible distances to see it.

What the elder peoples thought of Tar-Kuran is lost in the depths of time. It’s possible that some of the Smith-folk of the southern continent aided in its planning and construction. They could not, however, have been prepared for some of the consequences. For at Tar-Kuran, the placation of land-spirits and hunting-spirits, and elaborate rituals for the grain harvest, gave rise to something genuinely new. Some spirits invoked at the “high place” thrived upon the attention and fearful supplication of the Common-folk . . . becoming the first gods to dwell in the Great Lands.

Here’s a link to the DeviantArt page for this map.

For many thousands of years, the Great Lands remained divided. The early Smith-folk had the northern continent to themselves, while the Common-folk spread across the southern continent. The two land-masses approached one another in the narrows of what would one day be called the Sailor’s Sea, but there was no land bridge to facilitate interaction. Only at the height of the glacial age did the two peoples finally come into sustained contact.

In the north, the Smith-folk had evolved a distinctive way of life. A few bands wandered far and wide across the northern continent, following a primitive hunter-gatherer existence. Others gathered in specific upland areas, alpine valleys or mountain slopes that proved especially congenial. There, they used their growing skills with spirit-magic to build and support extended communities. Hundreds of people might live in close proximity, staying in the same area for years at a time, supporting skilled specialists in the arts of tool-making and spirit-binding. These early tribal communities were the first seeds of the Smith-folk holdfasts of later millennia.

The Smith-folk had long since been aware of the southern continent, but it was not until the Last Glacial Maximum (about 25,000 years before Krava’s time) that some of them found a way across the narrows. Overcoming their natural aversion to the sea, enough tribes made the crossing to establish two new communities on the southern continent. There, they came into contact with the Common-folk, leading to trade and the exchange of ideas. The southern Smith-folk tribes soon became the largest and wealthiest of their kind.

From their new neighbors, the Common-folk learned of the vast new lands to the north. Some of them soon began to venture their own crossings of the narrow sea. It was a slow process, taking many centuries, but over time the Common-folk became well established on the northern continent. Some of them turned west, living in caves and sheltered coastal areas, mostly living on fish, shellfish, and small game. Others, more ambitious, turned north or east, hunting the megafauna of the plains. When the Ice began to retreat, tribes of the Common-folk were there to take advantage . . .

Here’s a link to the DeviantArt page for this map.