We have always been here. We are farmers, we are shepherds. We are warriors!

Some things never change. No matter who comes, if he tries to take our land they will learn to respect us. Many peoples and nations live south of the high mountain barrier, in the land of the acorn, of the rabbits, of the deep rivers and the gentle sun of the West. Foreigners have come and gone from across the barrier, from the merchant sea where the tuna fish abound and the never-ending ocean of the lands of tin, where high waves threaten the bravest. Anyone who comes to enslave and rule us is bound to know our determination to lead ourselves.

There is a place in the east where people learned to melt the copper without help, and a place in the west where a silver king ruled for centuries under the dictates of the verses of a poem-law. Their lust for luxury and profit made them all marry the uses and daughters of the cultivated foreigners that came from the east. Some say they have reached freedom, others that they are free no more. But, who cares? Here in the inner lands we are a thousand tribes, each earning its place in the world. To the north and south lay the brood of warriors that came across the mountains from the north, in those times when memory was dark and strange. Before them it was a time when all the country between the two great rivers was ours; it was a time of prosperity. Our herds were fat, our crops abundant, our children strong and our ancestors were honoured. But those days are gone. From the north they came, tall and fierce with broad shields and weapons of iron, to take our sheep, our grain, our blood and our sacred places. To the mountains we looked for protection, waiting for the time when we would be strong once again. And that time may well have come.

Hard times they may be, but also full of hope and potential. The world we know is becoming smaller and smaller, and we may find that there is no where else to go. Soon, the greedy foreigners of the eastern sea will not find satisfaction with their rich settlements of the coast, and come after our ancestral land. The northerners are bound to come again. Who do they think we are? We are not their slaves. It's us who decide when to fight, it's us who cultivate the wheat and eat it, and it’s for us that our sharp swords are forged. The time has come for you to lead your people, and here we must stand, or fall. Will you lead them to their place in history, or abandon them to fade into legend?