Introduction

Slip through time, 800 years before the coming of the Jungle Deep, to the far off continent of Euwera. A vast island astride a zone of moderate temperature, it had, over millenia, become the home to numerous Elain kingdoms and republics. living, on the whole, in harmony.

None know from whence came the Aegyptus, nor why, only that they landed on the eastern shore in their strange long-prowed war vessels, and then spread, a plague of death and destruction. Their armies, both highly organised and rigidly segregated, marched in battalions of Falcon archers, Goat mace-wielders, Ibis spearmen and Jackal and Cat runners. Although they were relatively few in numbers – perhaps thirty thousand at most – they were united as their victims were not, and they swept everything before them. The decisive land and naval battle of Xis’ Strand was the death knell of Euwera.

Whether the people had or not a say in the institutions that so far had ruled them, they were unanimously better than what followed. The Aegyptus were purely a warrior class, and to sustain themselves they needed slaves, by the tens of thousands. Those who did not submit and accept the way of life of their new masters were forced to serve them, shackled if needs be.

So few had the means to flee, and only a handful an idea of where to go. Thus it was that on the 21st day of summer, in what would now be called the year -792 BJD, Prince Erenthal headed down to the harbour, with his wife, their two sons, a handful of companions, and the Queen’s blessing. Their destination was a small island fortress belonging to the dynasty, a hundred leagues off the west coast of their dying kingdom.

They were never to reach it. They were, however, set to change the history of the world.

 

This is the continent of Prytannia, and the refugees from Euwera have landed on its eastern side, in the vast swathe of inhabited land, running from east to west, known as Albion.  No single ruler has ever brought the entire land under their sway; instead, it is broken up into various countries, which strive endlessly against each other.

In the east, proud Northymbra stretches from the River Tweed down to the Hymbre estuary. Once, the royal house of Othyr ruled far beyond that western border, and exercised control over much of the Borders territory to the east as well.  

However, recent years have seen the iron grip of the Othyrs weakening…To the south lies the ‘Freebeast’ Republic of Myrce. There, the fox families have been gradually extending their sphere of influence, promising equal opportunities for all. For many beasts from lowly backgrounds, who have chafed under the rule of the King, a life where all are valued for their own worth is appealing. But many fear that they are simply swapping one yoke for another; regardless, villages within spitting distance of Caerlisle are now, to all intents and purposes, under Freebeast control.
The Border regions in the east have long had a bloody reputation, and increasing raids by the wild Hillfolk clanbeasts of Strath Clota have only served to worsen the situation. The King maintains many small fortified towers in the region; but they are in real danger of being overwhelmed.

Even within the fortress capital of Bebbanburg, the situation is dangerous and confused. The King, Redwulf Othyr, has not been seen for three years, and his son Prince Reinert rules as Regent in his stead. To begin with, there was talk that the King had received a vision, and had immediately set out on a pilgrimage. But other, darker rumours now circulate; tales of madness, disease, and even assassination. Who knows what really happened? Many hint darkly at the involvement of Freebeast plotters; while still others go so far as to suggest that the Prince himself might have had a paw in the disappearance of his father…

For the common beasts of Northymbra, these are dark days. The War of Storms left vast swathes of the country devastated. The towns are crowded with the homeless and the hungry. Rogues and vagabonds prey on the weak. Unquiet spirits stalk the moors. The authorities seek to tighten their grip on the people. And, as the year 800 approaches, apocalyptic cults are increasing in influence, demanding sacrifices to the old gods as the only path to salvation.

In spite of the widespread suffering and fear, many remain hopeful that the good times will return; it is always darkest before the dawn, after all… 

 

The Elain of Albion are largely organised along species lines, and there is a certain tendency to might making right.  Hence creatures such as mice and shrews are numerous and can be found in almost all villages and towns, but hold no political sway. At the other end of the spectrum, many of the western towns, such as Caerlisle, are the domains of foxes. Foxes are strong, cunning, and dangerous, and few beasts will happily turn their backs to one. Although the wealthy fox families have an uneasy truce with Prince Reinert’s court, they are always working in the shadows to advance their own causes.

Many rats live happily in the towns and cities, but in the Ironstone Hills, some rat clans have begun organising, effectively carving out their own small kingdom, and are believed to be tunnelling beneath many towns and cities. Among them are many brown rats, who tend to take the lead in rat society – bigger, stronger, and tougher than their black rat cousins.

Often seen as a bit unstable by the other beasts, stoats and weasels, under the orders of their larger and more cunning cousins, ferrets and polecats, can often be found running criminal gangs in Northymbra’s cities.

 

‘The question, really, is what do you want from a King? Because there will always be a king; one way or another, someone always takes over. So, if you’ve got to have someone in charge, what do you want from them? That’s the thing.
I mean, it’s been Hounds of one family or another for most of Northymbra’s history. Seems fair enough, they’re likely descended from old Lupine the First, that wolf who founded the Kingdom, as the stories say. But they’ve been a mixed bag, really; some good enough, others, not so much. Then there was Grawlog the Bold, back in 452. He was a Hare, and the only Hare we’ve ever had as King. But you know how it is with Hares, always picking a fight. Twelve years on the throne, and the Kingdom at war for eleven of ‘em. No good for anyone that, ‘cept maybe the smiths and the grave-diggers.
So it was back to Hounds again, with the Grimmjaw family taking over. And they ruled for many a year, with the usual ups and downs. They were a bit heavy-pawed, mind, and upset a fair few folk as time went by. And in the end, there was a bit of an uprising, like, and the Othyrs, a noble Otter family, who had the backing of a fair few disgruntled ceorls, stepped up and took control. It was all a bit iffy, in the legal sense; they had no precedent for ruling, not being royal and all. But no-one complained, apart from the Grimmjaws, o’ course, and no-one was listening to them. Because, you see, the thing is, under the Othyrs, Northymbra just sort of worked, you know? Everything seemed to run smooth… the roads got maintained, markets were regular, and the mail got through, stuff like that. Beasts were content, really, with nothing riling ‘em up enough to think the trouble of revolt would be worthwhile. So there’s been an otter’s backside warming the throne ever since.
‘Course, that’s all gone a bit off, now, what with the War of Storms, and all the trouble for common beasts coming out of that, and then there’s old Redwulf Othyr not been seen these three years now, and the Barons agitating for personal gain. Who knows where we’ll end up, if Redwulf don’t show up again soon...’