As proudly as Man fought, as bitterly as each village defended its wooden palisade, still defeat followed defeat. For humanity was still scattered, and suspicion reigned even in the hour of tribulation. Across the world, a dozens languages were spoken, two dozen gods were worshipped, and two thousand slights were remembered even as the greatness of Manís past was forgotten. Senseless feuding, base opportunism, and craven betrayal shattered any nascent bonds of fellowship.
It was in these times that the Blind Prophet came. His vision seared away from staring too long into the sun, the Prophet was repaid with the sight of Solís truth. Across Newerth he traveled, guided and protected by a band of five warrior-disciples, recalling his brethren to the teachings of God. With a mighty voice and gentle hand he purged the infirm of sickness, stirred the failing courage in menís hearts, and even called back innocents from beyond the veil of death.
His journeys were fraught with peril. For though the many loved him, those few whose hands were red with blood and souls were black with sin sought his demise. Clinging to power even as a fool drowning at sea grasps his comrade and thus dooms them both, these wicked men lay ambushes, poisoned meals, even drew their own blades against the Prophet. At every turn, the Five guarded him, killing sinful Man and ravenous Beast alike. And so the word of Sol spread, and everywhere the light of reason began to shine once more in Man.
In the end, however, as mortals must, the Prophet met his end, ensnared by a woman whose husband the Five had slain in a long-forgotten battle against a petty tyrant. With the Prophetís death, the Five recorded his teachings and went their separate ways. Shining with the reflected light of their fallen teacher, the Five became beacons for Man in the troubled hour. To each flocked those fearful of the Beasts and those with courage to strive for more than mere subsistence.
Disciples of the disciples, these refugees took on the character of their chosen leaders. One clan turned in reverence to studying the sacred text, the Codex Solaris, and eschewed worldly ways. Another, led by a warrior driven nigh-mad by the Prophetís murder, roved the fringes of human lands, holding back the onslaught of the Beasts. A third traveled to the mountains and began, with stern will and a strong arm, to rebuild Manís lost cities and reclaim the forgotten arts. Yet another clan vowed silence and left behind their brethren, condemning them for the death of the Prophet. They journeyed into the heart of the Beastsí realm, stalking the creatures that for so long had preyed on Man. The fifth and final disciple, a man of commanding stature and great wisdom, set his standard on the central plains of the human lands and vowed to build from his followers an army that would reclaim Newerth for Man and spread the worship of Sol to all corners of the world.
As is the way of things, the brotherhood of the five disciples lasted only so long as their lives. As the generations passed, and the threat of the Beasts was kept at bay by the men who had dedicated their lives to the endless battle, mankind once more fell to squabbling. Each of the five clans viewed the others with a suspicious eye. As time passed, the clans became more and more committed to their distinct paths, and the distance between them grew only greater.
Each race unable to gather itself for total war, a stalemate endured between Man and Beast.