
Azria is an XL map with 90 cities and all races.
Seven spheres of magic
One subterraenean level
It is a normal-dissicult map and is designed for multiplayer games.  All of the
races start out about evenly.


The following are race-specific setups to the map and can be found in the editor 
under map settings.

Azria is not a tame continent and the other nations aren't the only dangers around.  
So be careful when exploring with your hero ;)


Humans

A brisk wind blows over the Sea of Marmora, assaulting the beach below 
Alik Manor with huge, dark waves.  The weather would make sailing quite 
dangerous, you muse, if the sea weren't already overrun with the lizard
men, whose population has bloomed in recent years. Like a grotesque 
reptilian red tide, the pressure of their increasing numbers has 
relentlessly driven them east toward the Caltan Coast into areas they 
were previously content to leave to the race of Man.  Already the small 
town of Oestra, which used to demark Man's westward reach, has fallen to 
the reptiles.    To the north your old allies the Western Elves nearly 
succumbed to a sudden invasion of otherworldly monsters.  Even in victory
they are somehow twisted, as though long contact with the darkness in their 
struggle against it has warped them.  Worse, they were not entirely 
successful in purging the land of their enemies.  The humans will be forced 
to deal with the reptilian threat on their own.  The beloved independence 
of the  city-states of the Caltan Coast must be sublimated to ensure the
survival of all.  You have taken up the fasces, the timeless symbol of 
the War Tyrant, the warrior who must bind the cities of the coast to a 
common leader for the duration of the war.



Azracs

The old king was doddering and senile.  You were only helping his passage 
into the next life.  A merciful thing, really.  Unfortunately for both of 
you your plans didn't quite succeed.  The king decreed you be exiled, sparing 
your life... proof of his senility, really.   You've endured long months of 
tedium in your mountain stronghold, but you'll soon return to your desert
homeland to wreak vengeance upon those who cast you out.  Your carefully 
laid plans and preparations will reveal your enemies to be fools.  Just this 
morning your spies in Mahdia reported that the Wizard King failed to return 
from a dangerous journey to the sunken city of Telun, leaving the field open 
for your return.  You have but to gather your forces from your nearby dungeon 
stronghold and walk through the stones.  When the cities of the peninsula are 
under your control you're sure you won't show your enemies the same mercy they 
showed you.



Lizards

Uarum-Ta blesses you more every year.  In the past decade the already great 
fecundity of the swamps of southwest Azria has been nothing short of 
miraculous.    The population of your people has increased by leaps and 
bounds.  Far to the west, the magic of the stones has allowed you to found 
a new colony which grew from simple huts to agreat city in just a few years.  
Still, the population of your people swells.  The shaman sing stories of the 
ancient days of your kingdom, before the humans came and drained the swamps 
of what they now call the Caltan Coast.  You must reclaim your people's ancient 
birthright and retake your kingdom from the humans.



Frostlings

Long have you gathered your forces in the hidden recesses of the icy north.  
Your desire to rule has long guided your life.  It was this unquenchable lust
which drove you to seek a deal with Malachious, a grim deity of enormous power.  
Malachious, though, was not to be bargained with by impudent mortals and rather 
than granting you boons or dominion over men, he removed a part of your soul and 
produced a twisted double, a lord of death, whom he unleashed on the kingdom of 
the Western Elves.  Now, somewhere south, a living nightmare plots your 
destruction.  Worse, hostile nations of Orcs and Goblins sit on your very doorstep.   
You must quickly secure the loyalty of the cities of the icy steppe before the tide 
of these hostile nations drown them.



Halflings

You couldn't help it.   And it's not like you thought it would lead to war.  
It's so unlikely, ridiculous even, that you still can't really believe it's 
happening.  For weeks you and the other mayors of the Shire were engaged in 
bitter trade negotiations with the greedy dwarves whose mountian strongholds 
loom over your western border.  One day of particularly heated negotiations 
you were... well, the way you see it, you were merely trying to lighten things 
up.  When you tweaked the Dwarfking's nose you...  you certainly didn't expect 
it to come off in your hand!  How were you to know the old bastard had lost his 
real nose fighting the orcs?  The worksmanship, you must admit, is exceptional.  
You never suspected it was other than real until, shocked, you dropped it.  
Hitting the floor, it rang like a bell and left a gouge in the mayoral marble 
tiling.  He was so sensitive about it that well, he declared war then and there 
and stormed off to raise an army.  And here you are, holding the bag.  
Literally.  You still have the Iron Nose of the Dwarfking in a bag around your 
neck.  The funniest part of the story, though, is that the freakish thing 
*breathes fire*!  Chuckling, you contemplate that many dwarves will (haha) die 
under the very nose of their king in the approaching war.  You must rally the 
other (still laughing) mayors of the Shire and defend your homeland!



Dwarves

The halfpint bastard will pay.  They'll ALL pay.  The Shire will lie in ruins 
for what they did to you.  Humiliating you in front of the entire trade 
delegation!  You can still hear the normally mirthless dwarves quietly 
snickering.  While negotiating trade relations with the feckless midgets who 
inhabit the fertile plain east of and above you, the mayor of one of their 
miserable cities had the unmitigated gall to reach across the table and remove 
the magical prosthetic nose you've worn since losing your real nose to infection 
during a war with the Steppe Orcs.  Your secret shame revealed!  And the way it 
rang like a bell when he dropped it!  Mortifaction!  You couldn't control 
yourself -- how could you be expected to?  You declared war on the lot of them 
and stormed home to raise an army.  Soon you'll return to plow their fields with 
salt and cut off all their damn noses.  You'll make a belt of them.  They will 
rue the day they stole the Iron Nose of the Dwarf King!  Halflings.  Hah, this 
will be easy.




Highmen

Your sleep is fitful and uneasy.  You've been troubled by nightmares for weeks 
now.  Tonight is no different.  You've had nothing but peaceful relations with 
the Azrac city states that dot the arid peninsula south of your city, but in 
your dreams Uarum-Ta, the deity your city holds in highest reverence, nightly 
appears and bids you wage war on them before a new evil emerges to lead them.  
Indeed, you heard just yesterday that the Wizard King of Mahdia, the cief city 
of the Azracs, has disappeared.  You fear that this will allow certain, darker, 
elements to emerge on the peninsula.  As day dawns over your emerald plain, 
you reach a decision.  Your dreams cannot be but the expression of Uarum-Ta's 
will.  You must unite the cities of the Highmen and wage holy war on the Azracs.
To the west, the halflings and the dwarves are engaged in the ridiculous War of
 the Nose while to the north the elves are engaged fighting the orcs of the 
steppe over the ruins of their once-magnificent capital.  Merchant ships have 
reported seeing reptilian beasts in the waters offshore, but you're reasonably 
confident that your other borders will be secure long enough to eliminate the 
unfortunate Azracs.



Dark Elves

To this day you don't know where the army of darkness came from.  One night there
was a terrible storm and day didn't dawn over teh Starwood for a week.  When a 
wan, grey light did begin to filter through the looming clouds, an army of undead
lay on the plain west across the river Nelwithe.  They were unbeatable.  The 
army of the western elves was crushed, as were the foolish eastern elves of the 
Grand Duchy who walked through the stones to your aid.  But you didn't lose.  Oh,
no.  The Western Elves are... invincible.  In the hour the undead horde stood 
before the very gate of your capital, you were visited by an avatar of Malachious,
a dark and powerful god.  And he made you an offer you couldn't refuse.  You 
realize you've changed.  But, really, it isn't such a bad thing.  Your capital 
was destroyed in the fighting, but with Malachious' help the undead were stopped.
And Malchious has made you aware of your place in the order of things.  For too
long the Western Elves were content to live in isolation and indolence.  But you
were meant to rule. You see that now.  And when you have rebuilt your capital 
and destroyed the remnants of the undead, you will start to rule.  First, perhaps
just your corner of Azria.  The lizards and the humans will be easy enough prey.



Orcs

It's ironic that you owe your sudden rise in fortune to the elves.  You couldn't 
have planned it better.  The death of both the orcish Us and the elven Duke amid 
the burning ruins of Evenstar opened your path to the throne and gave you time to 
secure it.  Murdering the sons of the previous Us in the days following the battle 
at Evenstar was a simple matter, but it has taken you some months to arrive at the 
position you are in now.  You're ready to move from your capital and align the other 
tribes of the steppe behind your banner.  Securing your place will, of  course, 
require you to carry on the war against the elves you have to thank for your position, 
but what's a few dead elves to anybody?



Goblins

You are the lord of Saraguro, the largest, richest city in the goblin confederacy.  
And you have ambition befitting your position.  For hundreds of years your family has 
been content to rule one city when clearly it is your destiny to rule not only the 
entirety of the confederacy, but the whole of Azria.  Now is the time.  The whole of 
the continent is at war.  To the east the dwarves and halflings' usually friendly 
relationship has erupted into war.  To the south, the western elves have been beaten 
nearly into submission by a horde of undead.  The only direction in which danger 
threatens  is the north, where the ice wizard has started to expand into the icy 
plain at his doorstep.  If you can deprive the ice lord of the cities of this plain 
and plunder their resources, the pesky dwarves and halflings -- and all their vast 
wealth-- will be yours.




Undead

You were alive once... you think.  It is unclear.  You were...are?...The King of 
the Frostlings, the Ice Lord, a fell wizard and ruler of the north.  Or you were 
part of him.  Karanith tried to deal with Malachious, a dark deity of immense power.  
You remember things going badly and Malachious... took you..."out," you guess is the 
word.   Malachious took you out of Karanith.  He...you...screamed and all went black.  
When you awoke, you were like this, a lich.  At your back was an immense army of 
undead, and you were charged with destroying the Western Elves.  You found it a 
pleasant task, really, which is just as well because you could not but obey the will 
of Malachious.  But you were nothing but a tool to the evil god.  It was the souls of 
the Elves he was after.  As you besieged their capital the elves in  foolish 
desparation struck a deal with the same dark lord who set you upon them.  With his 
help the elves forced you back across the river.  Since then you have been ignored 
by Malachious.  You find yourself free at last -- a cursed, bitter freedom.  You are 
invested with a hatred of all things living, most especially the dark elves who 
Malachious thought so valuable that he forced you into this unbearable half-life.  
At the same time, you can still feel the pulse of the Ice Lord far, far to the north.  
It mocks you.  It must be stopped.

