Welcome, Chronicler, I do not pity you.

You have been given a task that will take you a lifetime, perhaps more than a single lifetime if you are unlucky. Our Lord has ordered you to separate fact from fiction, truth from lies. It is your duty, here and now, to scrutinise these ancient texts and select what is true and what is legend. It may be a difficult, if not impossible, task. Yet it would be best if you did it nonetheless. After all, it wouldn't do for you to displease the Divine, would it?

Goodbye, Chronicler, I do not pity you.

----------------------------------------

Woe to the enemies of man:

Woe to the enemies of man, you whose eyes were opened too late. You came when we were young, newly crafted of flesh and bone. As our elders, you saw us as pathetic mewling things. Surely we’d been created to serve our betters. You came when we were scattered and roaming. Innocent children of the divine in a vast unknown world. With wide eyes full of wonder and souls yearning for adventure. You came when we were weak, in our havens built by the gods, having never known hardship or war. You came when we were unaware, having never known deceit or betrayal.

You enslaved us, took us from our homes, such as they were. We chopped the wood for your hearths and camps. You put us to work in your mines, toiling away for your gain. You forced our sons to erect your fortresses, with that very stone, to protect your cities from those who would assault them. You had us forge your weapons of war, so you could slay those same aggressors. Then used our kin to bolster your armies as auxiliaries so they would die while you claimed glory.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

We laboured in your mansions, as maids and butlers. You used our sons and daughters for your carnal desires. Forced us to wean your children at our breasts for such things were beneath you. Clothe and wash them as we ought to do for our future masters. Plough your fields with tools we built and tend to your gardens on bent knees.

You were not prepared, when the blacksmith claimed to have created a blade unfit for you and sent the undesired weapon to be used by a lesser being. You thought he was showing proper respect to his betters. While the miners started to sweat and toil twice as hard you thought they were simply trying to avoid the sting of the whip. The farmers in your fields began to modify their scythes so they would be more efficient. The gardeners would plant new and exotic flowers that secretly harboured deadly poisons. As your fortresses were reviewed and renovated to meet the standards of the empire. The roads were smoothed and repaired so you could travel more swiftly to your cities. The auxiliaries trained harder and fewer of them perished in battle. Your maids seemed to be ever more attentive in their duties, always taking note of your business to better serve you.

After all, after a century this upstart race must have been broken, no?

Fools, all of you, blind and complacent in your position of power. Now human soldiers hold the walls of your fortresses. Human servants relay your comings and goings. Human farmers turn their simple tools into war scythes to skewer their masters. Harlots have become assassins and wetnurses report that your precious children have died in agony of an unknown plague. The axes once used to gather wood for your hearths and pick for the stone of your roads now drip with the blood of the foreman who once oversaw the work.

Woe to you, the enemy of man, you realised your folly far too late. -The first King of Humanity to the soon-to-be-extinct race known as the Rakari.