8
As the nineteenth century drew to a close, the Industrial
Revolution was in full swing with engineers and scientists
testing the limits of power generated from steam, coal, and
oil. Around the globe, nations raced to find the strongest
and most efficient means of harnessing this power, and it
seemed that every year a new technology revolutionized
one industry or another. Farming, logging, mining—every
industry was transformed, made more efficient and more
lucrative. In the midst of this technological race, a scientist
named Nicola Tesla brazenly squandered his life’s savings—
and the money of many investors—to build a town-sized
“Factory” in the heart of Transylvania. Shortly after its
construction, rumors began to flow from the Factory
regarding the creation of wild experiments and fanciful
machines, all of no discernable value.
Then, in 1901, an emissary from the “Factory” requested
an audience with the Saxony emperor, offering him the
chance to “be the first to witness the latest invention
from the genius mind of Mr. Nicola Tesla—a world-
changing creation, the likes of which has never been
seen by humankind.” The emperor, well aware of Tesla’s
reputation as a feckless dreamer, was amused by the
audaciousness of the request and accepted, more out of
curiosity than any belief in the emissary’s claims. A month
later, the emissary arrived, along with a small entourage
transporting a large wooden crate. An air of spectacle hung
around them, tinged with the confidence granted to one
holding a precious secret. The emperor’s curiosity was
further piqued and he shifted slightly in anticipation. He
knew the effect was pure theatrics, but he couldn’t help the
intrigue that slowly overtook him.
“If they are going to waste our time, I am glad they know
how to put on a show while they are at it!” he chuckled
to his wife. She smiled her condescending smile as she
watched them position the crate for their grand reveal. Her
husband had forced her to abandon a regular gathering to
attend this farce, and she was eager for it to end.
The front of the crate had been loosened, and the emissary
stood beside it and turned to face the emperor with a
somber expression of reverence. Then, without further
fanfare, the emissary spoke.
“Honorable Emperor of the great Saxony nation,” he
intoned solemnly, “I humbly submit, for your study and
approval, the world’s first automated walking machine.”
Untouched by the emissary, the front of the crate fell to
the ground and from it emerged a four-legged machine. It
was roughly the height of a man and moved on menacing,
spider-like legs. It stopped, turned, and then climbed
the steps toward the emperor, finally coming to a halt in
front of the imperial court, silent but for the faint whir of
machinery within. A hushed awe descended on those in
attendance. Even the emperor’s wife found her mouth—
and her mind—stopped by what she witnessed.
BACKSTORY

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9
“The great scientist Nicola Tesla has spent the last five years
of life and livelihood perfecting the ‘automachine,’” the
emissary said with the quiet confidence of one unfazed by the
powerful and influential. “Available as large-scale, manually-
operated ‘mechanized utility suits’ or smaller, independent
‘automachines’ such as this one, Mr. Tesla has harnessed all
forms of power known to man. Soon he will exploit those as
yet unknown as well. In every way, he has proven himself
the ultimate scientist and inventor. All other technology
may remain useful, strictly speaking, but it is now rendered
obsolete. The Factory is the womb from which the future is
born. Automachines are the future. Tesla is the future.”
The emperor stood stunned. I am but a child, he thought.
All I have ever known is as nothing. He turned slowly from the
automachine to face this emissary from “the future” who
had upset his entire world view in mere seconds.
“Thank you for sharing this with me today,” he managed,
relying on his decades of training in decorum to reorient
himself. “It is quite impressive.”
“It is merely a prototype,” the emissary said. “As we speak,
Mr. Tesla continues to improve his designs and to create
new visions to reshape the world.”
“I see,” replied the emperor, “And these . . . automachines,
you call them? They can replace the equipment we have now?”
“For smaller tasks, yes, the automachines may help in a
variety of ways. For more taxing work, such as logging or
mining, the large “mechanized utility suits,” which require
an operator, are more suitable. They can be configured to
suit any purpose.”
“Any purpose?” the emperor inquired. A faint smile
appeared on the emissary’s face.
“Any purpose.”
The emperor’s mind adjusted to the new world order
surprisingly quickly. The promise of these machines
serving “any purpose” sparked his imagination and his
mind raced ahead to envisage the seemingly limitless
possibilities.
“Is the esteemed Mr. Tesla seeking further investors?” he
asked. The emissary’s smile grew slightly.
“Mr. Tesla is open to new business relationships,” he
replied.
“And am I the first to see this invention?” The emperor’s
greed began to grip him. The emissary nodded. “Are there
plans to share this with others?”
“Several such displays have already been arranged.
Emissaries are transporting prototypes throughout Europa
and will be meeting with the heads of other nations over
the coming days and weeks.”
So time is critical, the emperor thought. He smiled his
most diplomatic smile.
“Thank you again for this impressive display. I would be
most honored if you would join me for dinner to discuss
these matters further.”

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10
The automachine demonstrations had the desired effect.
Although the prototypes sent to the nations of Europa
were largely novelties, they captured the imaginations
of all who saw them and many who didn’t. Word spread
quickly, and excitement grew to obsession over this new,
largely unknown, and hardly understood technology. Every
nation saw the possibilities presented by these mechanical
wonders and soon they had all negotiated contracts with
the Factory and had sent representatives to oversee the
design of their own unique automachines and mechanized
utility suits, customized for specific purposes, and to
national aesthetics. The productivity gain possible in
every industry was obvious from the outset, but it was the
machine’s defensive potential that generated the most
excitement among the leaders of many nations. And
excitement led to funding.
The mechanized utility suits, or “mechs,” were more
versatile, more powerful, and more imposing, and they
became the focus of nations looking to defend themselves
against their neighbors’ hostile intentions, real or
imagined. After the Factory’s initial commissions were
delivered, it became clear to Tesla that he could not keep
up with the ever-growing demand, so he reluctantly took
the advice of his daughter and sold the nations license
to use his patents. However, he steadfastly insisted on
selling only the more primitive designs used in the early
commissions, saving the more advanced mechs and
automachines for use at his own discretion. With these
licensed patents, every nation began churning out armies
of the lumbering mechs, while Tesla continued to amass a
fortune that was rumored to rival that of entire countries.
In just a few years, the presence of mechs and
automachines had become a mainstay in even the most
idyllic countryside. The increased production had driven
down the cost of the older, smaller mechs used as tools
for work, and many of Europa’s wealthier landowners had
long since added entire stables of mechs to their farming,
logging, and mining equipment. But these lowered costs
were only made possible by an industry of war-ready
monstrosities that was growing in size and quantity. The
public became accustomed to these new tools and hulking
war machines with surprising speed. Most still could not
comprehend the machines, but they were seen, accepted,
and before long passed into familiarity. Some complained
of the noise or the smell or the oil polluting the land. Some
argued for the “old ways,” claiming that faster and more
powerful was not always better. An ox-and-plow, a hand-
pulled saw, a horseback cavalry—these engendered feelings
of dignity and honor to some, and these new machines
represented a dark and grimy future, full of terrifying
unknowns. Yet these voices were rarely heard, and even
more rarely given credence by those in positions of power.
There were exceptions though. The Khan of Crimea
appreciated the agricultural benefits these new tools
offered, but he was wary of over-reliance on them. It
was his brash, bold daughter who stood transfixed by
the machines, and it was she who saw their neighbors
vastly improve their weapons of war and feared being left
behind. In the end, the Khan loved his daughter more than
the methods of the past, and he gave in to her insistence
that they “modernize.” The young and the powerful saw
excitement and potential in these mechs, and they rushed
headlong into the inevitable end of all technological
revolutions.

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11
In 1910, the tsar of the Rusviet Union narrowly survived an
assassination attempt. The assassin escaped, but Grigori
Rasputin, the tsar’s trusted advisor, claimed to have seen
the accused and sent his men to track him down. Several
days later, Rasputin produced a body bearing documents
with the seal of the Republic of Polania, who, he said,
had confessed to the assassination attempt before being
executed. Polania denied these “vile, baseless accusations.”
Outrage at the attack and brazen denial grew throughout
the Union, until only a few weeks later, Rusviet soldiers
shot and killed several Polanian engineers in the vicinity
of the Factory. The Republic of Polania bristled at this
violation, and before long, militias were instigating
skirmishes between the two nations as the people cried out
for vengeance.
Europa had reached a tipping point. Flush with nearly a
decade of prosperity, and eager to test the might of their
newly assembled war machines, it took no time at all for
these isolated skirmishes to stoke the fears of people
across the continent, and they clung to their patriotism in
response. Nations began engaging in more overt border
struggles. Any slight, real or imagined, between rival
merchants became a matter of national pride, security, and
prosperity. Any opportunity to test a new weapon or claim
a new plot of land evolved into a key operation in the name
of national defense. Just a few months after the attempted
assassination of the Rusviet tsar, the Great War had begun.

It had seemed so glamourous during the early skirmishes
of the Great War, but no one was prepared for war on an
industrial scale. In their eagerness to experiment with new
weapons and tactics, Europa’s generals did not consider
the scope or consequence of their actions. In the opening
months of the war, all the people saw were images of
heroics and triumph. The new weapons were spectacular,
awe-inspiring, and utterly horrifying. The mechs caused
destruction that the mind could not fathom, and by the
time they had come to terms with their new capabilities,
every nation was so afraid of the terrific weapons of their
enemies that they refused to stop using their own.
So the war dragged on, year after year. Death tolls
registered in the tens of thousands, then hundreds of
thousands. Civilians could do nothing but stand and watch
and hope fate did not deliver them into the path of these
warring juggernauts.
As the spring of 1916 gave way to an early summer, the
war efforts escalated once again. This time, though, there
was a sense of finality. It permeated everyone, from
high-ranking tacticians, through to peasants working in
the fields, and although there was no visible difference
in the physical state of the world, the air seemed to hum
with decisiveness. The people, the soldiers, and the
leaders were tired of this war. The major players of the
Great War limped through the summer of 1916, mustering
the remnants of their forces and steeling themselves
for the war’s climax. Then, as though in response to
some unseen signal, they all heaved forth in one final,
violent outburst that was the Great War’s death rattle.
When the oily smoke cleared, only desolation remained,
and the survivors crawled home, listless and broken.

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12
The Great War had crippled every nation involved. Bereft
and exhausted, the public met the end of the war with
stunned and cautious relief. In the first few weeks of the
cease-fire, most expected hostilities to reignite at any
moment. Gradually, they became more comfortable, and
even hopeful. Then, a few weeks after the fighting ceased,
formal truces were announced between several of
the nations.
For now, it seemed, the rulers and politicians had had their
fill of war, and the citizens of their nations were all too
happy to begin the rebuilding effort. However, the military
leaders of the world would not forget the lessons they
learned, and the new technologies developed during the
Great War would not simply sit in the armories,
gathering dust.
From the outset, Tesla had known that his machines
had the potential for death and destruction. But in his
eagerness to test his inventions, and to finally profit on
their potential after so many years of ridicule and financial
losses, he never truly considered the devastating potential
of his designs.
In his mind, the machines’ capacity for destruction had
been theoretical at best. He raced ahead of the world’s leaders in his eagerness to explore his technology. Where
they sought power, he simply sought the limits of his
ability.
Perhaps he had simply envisioned one mech squaring
off in an honorable battle against another, like dueling
knights in greasy, mechanized armor, with the casualties being counted in replacement parts and oil stains, and
maybe even the occasional killed operator. Perhaps he had
never imagined them in actual battle at all, but it seemed
clear that he never imagined these industrial war machines
pitted against human flesh.

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13
Whatever he imagined, it did not match reality. His mechs
were certainly used in battle, but they never replaced
soldiers and cavalry. They supplemented them. And they
overpowered them.
Tesla did not entirely believe the early reports from his
ambassadors regarding the destruction being wrought
by his machines. Who would send soldiers into battle
alongside these behemoths? Were they madmen?
The war’s early reports had told of scores of soldiers
slaughtered in mere moments.
As the years wore on, tactics adapted, but it was rare for
infantry or cavalry to survive more than a few battles
in which the mechs were involved. However, it was the
civilian casualties that pushed Tesla over the edge. The
armies had shown little discretion in applying their new
machines of death and there were unending reports of
farms targeted for attack, or nearby villagers simply getting
caught in the crossfire.
Eventually, Tesla had to see for himself, and he left his
work and his Factory and toured the countryside.
He saw bodies everywhere.
Soldiers.
Horses.
Farmers.
Families.
Children.
And he realized that these were just the ones that had not
been retrieved yet, lying in fields, ditches, streams, barns,
houses.
He reeled. Some say he went mad. Whatever the case, he
retreated to the Factory, ceasing all manufacturing and
dismissing his workers. He took his daughter, closed the
Factory doors, and together they disappeared.
This is where the story of Scythe began. Scythe started with
the core game, expanded with Invaders from Afar, and
took to the skies with The Wind Gambit. Now it is time to
complete the Scythe expansion trilogy.
WELCOME TO THE RISE OF FENRIS.

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