Post by Ottoman on Dec 17, 2020 4:05:44 GMT -6
This is a golden age, a gilded time - a period of wealth, prosperity, and rich harvests. It is an age of adventure and ambition. A time of valorous deeds, noble endeavors, and boundless opportunity.
Across the sands of the Great Blight, beyond the Worldspine Mountains lies the Ostland, a land of vast forests, dark soil, and wide, rushing rivers. The Cradle of the Ahr, and upon the shores of that inner sea rests the great city of Litthauf, the capital of the League, the Crown of Man. Their fleet spreads to every corner of the land, carrying with them gold, trade, and order. No shore of the east is untouched by the Litthauf Mark, and so reigns Zofia, first of her name, Queen-Elect of the League.
From the swamps of the southern marches to the foothills of the mighty Myrskor stretches her realm, but she is not without peer. Tsarina Ladimova Borovna - Empress of the Myrskor - has ruled for forty-six years, a beacon for the dwarfs in their tireless efforts to reclaim their ancient glory. The Great Moot of the Khallic Druids auger the will of the Gods and the needs of their people from amongst the counsel of elder wisdom and the portents of the earth. To the south, the great Bailar Khan, master of the Golden Horde, whose will reaches across the steppe as the sun does the sky. And Anne of Niermeer, Hochmeisterin of the Elisabethan Order, a woman whose fury is matched only by her faith.
Under such rule their realms have prospered, as never since the arrival of the Averian Eagle has the Ostland known such a glorious age. Commerce and trade fill the land’s coffers, bonds are forged with the strength of gold, art and faith travel with the speed of an arrow and the clarity of steel as the light of civilization spreads like wildfire, and blood flows like Ahran Wine.
Already rogue Elisabethans ride into the lands of the League, razing villages and sacking hamlets as they please, unphased by the weak peace bought at Darmstadt, eager for the next chance to test their steel against the might of the League. The Dwarfen Realms remain steadfast in the face of the Khallic assault, and even pride themselves on hunting the northern elven enclaves to near-extinction - to say nothing of the Golden Horde, the mighty host of Bailar Khan, whose horses stand ready on the banks of the Tulk to bring all the world under his banner. Such times are good to the brigand and the bandit, the merchant and the peddler, villains whose meager lives grow fat and happy with ample, desperate quarry.
But as a scant few truly know, there are things far worse than a marauder’s blade lurking in the shadows. The mortal realms of the Ostland are beset by profane magics, stricken with hideous mutants, possessed barbarians, the restless dead, and worse. Darkness encircles the Ostland as the unnatural and the profane turn their gaze to the fertile riverlands. As the embers of discord threaten to billow into the inferno of war, the slavering hordes of horrors unknown watch with eager, hungry eyes...
This is a golden age, a gilded time - a period of slaughter, carnage, and war unending. It is an age of profit and prejudice. A time of sordid decisions, insidious treachery, and boundless opportunity. In this land of mighty lords and vile blackguards, the names of those in the shadows of titans can often sift out of the murky mire - be they praised or cursed - and in such sanguine years, the Ostland shall sire them as never before.
Across the sands of the Great Blight, beyond the Worldspine Mountains lies the Ostland, a land of vast forests, dark soil, and wide, rushing rivers. The Cradle of the Ahr, and upon the shores of that inner sea rests the great city of Litthauf, the capital of the League, the Crown of Man. Their fleet spreads to every corner of the land, carrying with them gold, trade, and order. No shore of the east is untouched by the Litthauf Mark, and so reigns Zofia, first of her name, Queen-Elect of the League.
From the swamps of the southern marches to the foothills of the mighty Myrskor stretches her realm, but she is not without peer. Tsarina Ladimova Borovna - Empress of the Myrskor - has ruled for forty-six years, a beacon for the dwarfs in their tireless efforts to reclaim their ancient glory. The Great Moot of the Khallic Druids auger the will of the Gods and the needs of their people from amongst the counsel of elder wisdom and the portents of the earth. To the south, the great Bailar Khan, master of the Golden Horde, whose will reaches across the steppe as the sun does the sky. And Anne of Niermeer, Hochmeisterin of the Elisabethan Order, a woman whose fury is matched only by her faith.
Under such rule their realms have prospered, as never since the arrival of the Averian Eagle has the Ostland known such a glorious age. Commerce and trade fill the land’s coffers, bonds are forged with the strength of gold, art and faith travel with the speed of an arrow and the clarity of steel as the light of civilization spreads like wildfire, and blood flows like Ahran Wine.
Already rogue Elisabethans ride into the lands of the League, razing villages and sacking hamlets as they please, unphased by the weak peace bought at Darmstadt, eager for the next chance to test their steel against the might of the League. The Dwarfen Realms remain steadfast in the face of the Khallic assault, and even pride themselves on hunting the northern elven enclaves to near-extinction - to say nothing of the Golden Horde, the mighty host of Bailar Khan, whose horses stand ready on the banks of the Tulk to bring all the world under his banner. Such times are good to the brigand and the bandit, the merchant and the peddler, villains whose meager lives grow fat and happy with ample, desperate quarry.
But as a scant few truly know, there are things far worse than a marauder’s blade lurking in the shadows. The mortal realms of the Ostland are beset by profane magics, stricken with hideous mutants, possessed barbarians, the restless dead, and worse. Darkness encircles the Ostland as the unnatural and the profane turn their gaze to the fertile riverlands. As the embers of discord threaten to billow into the inferno of war, the slavering hordes of horrors unknown watch with eager, hungry eyes...
This is a golden age, a gilded time - a period of slaughter, carnage, and war unending. It is an age of profit and prejudice. A time of sordid decisions, insidious treachery, and boundless opportunity. In this land of mighty lords and vile blackguards, the names of those in the shadows of titans can often sift out of the murky mire - be they praised or cursed - and in such sanguine years, the Ostland shall sire them as never before.
If you missed the interest check and the introductory blurb, they can be found here.
Hello and welcome to the OOC for Endzeiten - Cold Blows the Northern Wind! The first in a series of RPs set in my world of Pteia (I hope) to be hosted here on the Constructs, Cold Blows the Northern Wind is the first of what many in character will feel to be the signs of the end times - but whether or not such things will come to pass is in your hands. Suffice it to say, this will not be a story for the faint of heart or the squeamish, however difficult roads can often lead to beautiful destinations.
Endzeiten - indeed, everything set in Pteia - will be low to medium fantasy, with heavy inspiration from Earth's history and a handful of my favorite authors and games. If you enjoy J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert E. Howard, or Stephen R. Donaldson, or are fans of Mount and Blade or Warhammer Fantasy, then I hope you will find Pteia and Endzeiten to be up your alley. While I will flesh out the world later on in this post, with both OOC player and IC immersion information, especially in regards to where Pteia as a setting differs from most typical fantasy fare, for now I will simply say if you're looking for fantasy that is gritty, dark, and dangerous, you may have very well found it.
So without further ado - I look forward to meeting your characters and embarking on our journey!
General Rules
- Be Excellent to Each Other - While I fully plan on and expect the defecation to hit the oscillation IC, whether it's against the enemy or the fellow members of your party, I do expect us to all maintain dignity and decorum in our interactions with each other outside of the bloody Ostland. Tl;dr - keep IC beefs IC.
- Tell Me a Story - There is no minimum post length, but I would ask those participating to at least try for a paragraph, if not two. I understand that some situations, especially in the thick of dialogue, can leave you with little to work with. All I ask is that you embrace the challenge, and make the most of what you have. Keep in mind that this is an RP aimed at intermediate to advanced writers - I don't aim to exclude anyone, but as a warning some of my posts will be quite lengthy.
- "... to shreds, you say?" - Not only is character death a very real possibility in the Ostland, but it is something to be expected(often in gruesome and unpleasant ways). Pteia is not a forgiving world, and sometimes your characters will be confronted with a situation best remedied by running away - it will be up to you to know when. I don't aim to bully you or your characters, but some of the obstacles you face will truly be heroic challenges.
- Death is Not the End - With the looming threat of PC death, I want everyone to understand that, should your character perish or retire, you are more than welcome to make a new one. Indeed, even in the case of a total party wipe, the story will go on. It may be some time later that the new party assembles - days, weeks, months, or even years - but the new party will have new challenges and obstacles to overcome, inherently tied to the demise of the previous heroes. These may be the Endzeiten, but the story always goes on.
- The Dance of Death - I will not be incorporating any sort of mechanics for determining the flow of combat, rather I would prefer to work on an honor system - no attack automatically hits, so long as it is not ignored in your post. When things are dire and the chips are on the table, it will come down to your capability as a writer to determine if your character survives.
- Honor Site Rules - As always, all Constructs rules are in effect. I expect them to be followed - I know I shouldn't have to say this, but I am regardless.
Regulations
- Personally, I would greatly appreciate it if you put a character sheet together in google docs, as it is much, much easier for me to catalogue and keep track of that way without having to refer to specific pages in the OOC thread. You are still more than welcome to put together a sheet on the forum itself, this is just a personal preference of mine for book keeping.
- While technology levels range and vary between the different factions, a good, general rule to follow is to aim for high to late medieval in regards to the League and its immediate neighbors. Gunpowder does exist in the Ostland, albeit in very limited quantities brought over foamy waves from far-off shores, and is rarely utilized for its intended purpose. I aim to create a table listing the things that can not be readily found or utilized in the Ostland, for handy reference. Generally, I would like to see nothing from past the year 1500 AD on your character's person.
- While I wont be enforcing a strict post order outside of combat, I would appreciate it if players refrained from double posting.
Character Creation Rules
- Select an Archetype - Select one of the four character archetypes (Disciple, Magician, Rogue, or Warrior) for your PC.
- Determine your Bonds - Determine your bonds following the regulations and charts linked here and below with the character sheets.
- Exotic Races - Only one PC of a single exotic race will be allowed in the party at any one time. Note that the Exotic Races may change depending on the Act of the RP and the party’s location in the world, and what is considered exotic now may not be two acts later. Keep in mind this applies to character creation - a race that may be considered common now and exotic later will be grandfathered past the ‘one per party’ aspect.
- Nobility - Only half of the total party limit may be of noble descent. A party of nobles trapezing about the wilderness is typically cause for alarm, as often war isn’t too far behind them.
- Capabilities - You have been employed as a mercenary, have been following a mercenary company, or have simply stumbled upon this opportunity in a common, Sagard alehouse. Keep such in mind when outlining your capabilities - essentially, all I ask is that you keep things balanced.
- Equipment - Keep in mind that you have found yourself working with a company of mercenaries - common sellwords at best. While you may have an heirloom, be it a sword, your breastplate, or a bow, your equipment otherwise now proves to be average, at best.
- Lore & History - If you need any blanks filled in, in regards to lore, DM me and I’ll be happy to explain or share further lore with you to help you with your concept. The only bad question is the one that isn’t asked.
- Alternate Character Sheets - Feel free to use your own character sheet if it suits you, so long as all the points in the basic CS are covered, you can dress it up however you like.
Bonds, Character & NPC Sheets
Here are the regulations for choosing character bonds, as well as lists of the bonds available.
Here is the link to the NPC sheet in Google Docs.
Here is the link to the PC sheet in Google Docs.
Here is the sheet in bbcode:
[b]Full Name:[/b]
[b]Title:[/b]
[b]Monikers/Aliases:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Race:[/b]
[b]Nationality:[/b]
[b]Social Class:[/b]
[b]Bloodline:[/b] (if applicable)
[b]Occupation:[/b]
[b]Character Bonds:[/b]
[ul type="disc"][li]Bond 1[/li]
[li]Bond 2[/li]
[li]Bond 3[/li][/ul]
[b]Character Questions:[b]
[i]What are your memories of home like?[/i]
[i]What is your family like, blood or otherwise?[/i]
[i]Have you ever been in love?[/i]
[i]Is there anything that you find delightful?[/i]
[i]Who taught you to survive?[/i]
[i]What is it that makes your blood boil in anger?[/i]
[i]When was the first time you ever killed someone? What was it like?[/i]
[i]Do you put any stock in the divine?[/i]
[i]What in the world terrifies you?[/i]
[i]What is the thing you fear coming to pass the most - rational or otherwise?[/i]
[i]What do you value most in the world?[/i]
[i]Do the ends always justify the means?[/i]
[b]Capabilities:[/b]
At least three paragraphs detailing your character’s abilities and skillsets, must include at least one weakness.
[b]Appearance, Equipment:[/b]
At least three paragraphs detailing your character’s looks, traits, and equipment.
[b]Personality:[/b]
At least two paragraphs detailing your character’s personality, mindset, and mannerisms, must include at least one flaw.
[b]Biography:[/b]
At least three paragraphs detailing your character’s background, and how they came to be in Sagard. 
Playable Races
Common Races
Common Races
Men of the East:
Men of the East
In the Ostland, Osters - the men of the east - are known simply as the races of man. Only the Northmen can contest the Oster dominance over humanity east of the Worldspine mountains. Descendants of both the Averian invaders and the aboriginal tribes, the Osters consider themselves the inheritors of the imperial legacy. While without an empire in name, the Litthauf League has come to dominate the Ostland and its waterways despite the multitude of challenges that they have faced, binding together the various peoples and powers of the region with their coin and merchants.
The Men of the East are remarkably adaptable, and have spread the reach of Litthauf Sovereigns and the Basilica to the far corners of the Ostland - from frigid Höxter to the humid swamps of Weck - jacks of all trades, but masters of none. Averaging six feet in height, Osters can range in appearance from fair and pale to swarthy and olive-skinned, depending on where in the Ostland they hail. They are as varied as they are widespread, both in form and in function, and are not easily defined by any lingering stereotype - save their lust for gold.
They speak a bastardization of the guttural aboriginal tongues of the east, shaped by their time under the Averian Eagle. Oster is a language as widespread as it is rigid, and is often regarded as the common tongue - the trade language - of the Ostland. While many official decrees and religious texts are kept in High Averian, the rise of the merchant class has given way to a surprising degree of literacy amongst the common folk and the gentry, and with every passing year the common tongue finds its way to graffiti, signposts, and even the written word.
While they are not completely deaf to the whispers of magic, the races of Men do not make for consistent mages. Their inclination - or indeed, their base capability - is something that only occasionally manifests in their youth. Some seem to heed the call and cast effortlessly, whilst others struggle their entire life to master basic prestidigitation. It is a matter made worse only by the growing correlation between inhuman or supernatural lineage, as mutants, half-breeds and abominations take easily to such tasks, earning the suspicion and ire of the more pastoral populations of the land.
Northmen:
Northmen
Hardy, pale folk, the Northmen have not the patience for southling propriety - indeed, they often hardly have the patience to tolerate an Oster in their presence - though the irksome nature of the lesser Northmen pales in comparison to that of their savage kin. The Northmen are the progeny of those Oster tribes that refused to yield to the Averians, and fled in a great migration to the north, between the Mountains of Myrskor and the sea, into the snowy depths of the Tundra. While many expected the Northmen to struggle, it was fear that greeted the sight of the longships - their prows carved in the likenesses of the Scourge of Earth - as they descended upon the Ostland from the northern waters.
To speak of them is to invite their approach, so say the wives’ tales, but there is a tendency amongst them. Some Northmen, like their cousins, are renowned traders, carrying goods the likes of which the Ostland has never yet seen - ticking dials that measure the day, glass eyes on gilded wire, and a jet black powder that burns as bright as the sun - and, as renowned seafarers, have spread their reach to lands that the Osters have only yet read about, and some they never knew at all. This is to say nothing of their typical ferocity, and their value as mercenaries in the northern reaches of the League. Many among them even find titles of honor and privilege amongst the Oster hierarchy.
But these are those who bother to speak instead of strike - those who weather the mild winters of the southern tundra - and though they may yet raid the verdant lands of the east, their mercy may yet be bought with silver and homage. From the lands of ice and stone in the distant north come the Dragonships, crewed by men driven mad with bloodlust, and helmed by things that only seem like such. Their savagery is unmatched across the breadth of the Ostland, as even the nomadic Dhallii pale in comparison to the barbarism of the north. Where some longships bring trade from distant shores, others bring slaughter, cannibalism, and ritual sacrifice. No shore is safe when the winds of winter blow, and the Northmen embark viking.
The milder Northmen do not deny the existence of these savage folk - indeed, it’s often a keen threat in their haggling - but rarely if ever do they speak of why. Guarded whispers in their harsh tongue tell of a great horror in the distant wastes of the north, a thing which drives men to desperate, unnatural ends. They speak of shamans and witches, bound in blood to unspeakable names, summoning the shades of the dead, shattering ships with a single word, and calling crimson fire from the sky. To those of the distant north, magic is not only a common sight but an expected one, while the mild-mannered Northmen prove far more like their Oster cousins.
Half-Elves:
Half-Elves
The Elven Migrations had resounding effects on the Ostland for a multitude of peoples, but none quite so personal as the ‘Children of the South’ - the half-elves. Neither truly at home with elves or men, the half-elves more often than not have to eek out their own place in society. Some, those whose heritage has lingered in their ancestry, are often accepted more readily and find nooks and niches within the League, but more direct byproducts of the union of elf and man are typically held with some disregard. Seen as less-than by the elves and sullied by the Osters, these folk typically struggle socially, working twice as hard to find the ground given so freely to those whose parentage proved free from scandal.
More often than not, much like their full-blooded cousins, half-elves hold craftsmanship in very high regard, and have produced several smiths, jewelers and artisans of remarkable caliber. But whether they reside on Khallgasse in the capital of Litthauf or a quiet hamlet in the foothills of the Worldspine, half-elf life is shaped by the culture that it is under. Without any unified body or culture, the half-elves find themselves at the mercy of those that do. Though they may preserve their elven - or human - tongues through family traditions, they often find it to be in their best interests to adopt the culture of that which rules over them - be it man, elf, or dwarf.
Their appearance proves as varied as their diaspora, with the full range of elven and human features and physical tendencies amongst their number, heavily defined by their ancestry and their geographical location. There are many in the Ostland who do their best to hide their heritage, depending on where it is they live, as to avoid prejudice and discrimination from both man and elf. For some it works, passing themselves off as one or the other, and many have gone their whole lives without ever being found out.
However, one of the easiest tells as to a half-elf, especially one that is doing their best to pass themselves off as human, is their innate tendency towards magic and its manipulation. The sigil-craft of all Hallii is something that half-elves can dabble in without intention, much as their elven predecessors, though, like their human ancestors, they may struggle to comprehend - or even cast - the simplest spell.
Khallic Elves:
Khallic Elves
To speak of the hallii in the presence of a dwarf is to invite their ire, but to speak of the khallii is to summon their rage. The wounds of the Migrations, scarred over as they might prove now, have largely healed in the lands of men, but to the dwarfs there can be no surrender, no negotiation, and no quarter with the invaders. Indeed, their reception is well-earned, as the khallii have continued their war upon the dwarfs for centuries after they made their peace with the osters, and they show little sign of stopping.
A fearsome, fair-skinned folk, the khallii migrated north from the distant south with their darksome cousins, preferring the valleys and forests of the mountains to the wide open steppe, and while it might be a migration by technicality, to the rest of the Ostland it was an invasion. Despite their pastoral inclinations and their naturalist sympathies. The khallic elves are a sword culture - a warrior race - and take great pride in war and its waging. Indeed, to a khallic elf, their sword is not only their life, but a direct link to their forefathers and the badge of a free man.
Though typically smaller in stature than the men of the east, the khallic elves are not small folk. Averaging at just under six feet, the khallii are a people bred for physical combat. More often than not their tribal celebrations consist of contests of strength, from wrestling to the cabar toss, and all - men and women, young and old - are not only encouraged, but expected to participate. But, this is not to say that the khallii are unclean or uncivilized - despite the occasional human, or elven, sacrifice - as their introduction of lye soap to the Ostland and their exquisite fabrics show. Indeed, it is rare to see a khallic elf dirty or dressed in the drab manner of serfs, as they take great pride in their appearance.
The khallic relationship with magic is an odd one, for while they are far more capable than the races of men, they still lack the innate proficiency of the osiruk. They rely heavily on sigils and their craft to achieve consistent results, able to apply them to many surfaces, objects, and even living creatures to achieve the desired effect. Nowhere is this more evident than the Painted Ones - the shock infantry of khallic hosts, who enter the fray with naught but a weapon and shield in hand.
Dwarfs:
Dwarfs
While their golden age may have since long past, the dwarfs of the Ostland still command respect in the courts of Men. In the northern depths of the Myrspoz and the western reaches of the Myrskor, the two largest surviving realms of the dwarfs are locked still in mortal contest. When others yielded to the elven invaders, the dwarfs refused, answering offers of a white peace with the blade. They vowed then, centuries ago, that they would never rest until their birthplace, Mount Avrila, is liberated - and so they have fought, tooth and nail, ever since. The Dwarf call to war has never been something to make light of, but to reclaim that which they hold highest? It is a thing never before seen, and some say, will never be seen again.
If viewed alone, without context, one would wonder why it is that the dwarfs are called such, however should one stand beside a common man - as malnourished as he may prove - and the reasoning is quite plain. While certainly being far from pygmies, the dwarfs average at five foot and a quarter, noticeably smaller than the races of men - despite their remarkable physical similarities. Almost to a tee the dwarfs seem to look and function almost exactly like men, proportional to their lesser height. Given, while they may only seem to be shorter folk to most men, to the Trolls that first met them they proved a far more diminutive sight.
But even with their lesser stature, the dwarfs stand proud - and they have good reason to. One of the first civilizations to arise on Pteia, the Dwarfen Empires spread far and wide across the world in antiquity, creating a rudimentary global trade network before Averia was even an Archaen backwater. Even now, with their realms shattered and under siege, the dwarfs remain stoic and steadfast: their legions of human mercenaries and troll levies are backed by dwarfen archers - argued by many to be the finest in the world - atop brutal, nigh unassailable battlements high in the mountains.
But unlike so many others, the dwarfs suffer one severe, almost crippling flaw - they have absolutely no control, or even connection, to magic. Many have speculated as to why, but without any definitive proof. The only ones of their number who wield any kind of power over the hidden forces of the world are those that cavort with unholy, profane powers, and the price they pay manifests itself in hideous mutations upon their body, and insidiously twists their mind.
Ratfolk:
Ratfolk
A sight that many outside of the Ostland would great with hostility and panic, the Ratfolk of the Ahr are indeed kin to the ravenous mutants that stalk the forests and the dark places of the earth. Once, centuries ago, they were counted among their number, another savage race of mutants hellbent on rape and slaughter, but their concentration around the Lake Ahr and the emerging dominance of that body of water in the infrastructure of the region meant that they were the first to come into the Averians’ sights. Conquered and subjugated, as much as any bestial race can be, they were sequestered and ground into submission, utilized primarily as a labor force.
The tribal shamans and matriarchs were the first to be purged, and as litters of the ratmen were born, the Averians would pick and choose the strongest of their number to be tutored and raised in the Imperial manner. Schooled in language, philosophy, and the worship of the Maian, these ratfolk were reintroduced to the population, and gradually the Averians began to realize their true value. Within six generations the Averians had turned the ratfolk from their bestial, profane loyalties to that of the Maian and the empire, but, most important of all, they had found auxilia the likes of which the Empire had never yet known.
Standing just as tall - if not taller - than a man, a typical ratman is an imposing, hulking figure. Defined by their raw strength and an uncanny sense of balance, the ratfolk comprised some of the finest maniples of the Averian Legions - some of which continue to this very day, their colors and standards preserved. Indeed, much of the ratfolk race has taken war and its patron, Victoria, as their task and purpose in life. While their snouts may impede proper pronunciation, the ratfolk are keen and eager to regail comrades with harrowing tales of valor and victory, and are quick to fiercely defend the honor of their regiment from slander.
They possess an innate disposition to magic, though they often look down upon the craft as a coward's weapon, the tool of the craven and the inept. If one cannot accomplish the task at hand with their own two hands, they say, then you haven't trained properly. Indicative of their heritage as progeny of the Profane, the females of their race bear the greatest inclination to magic, having long ago served their people as shamans and witches.
Trolls:
Trolls
Perhaps the least understood of all the free peoples of the Ostland, the troll tribes of the east care little for the affairs of kings and politics, preferring, as they always have, a quiet, agrarian life. But such preferences mean little in a place steeped for so long in war and strife, and the trolls, both for their physical stature and innate capabilities, are highly valued in the ranks of the various powers that vie for control. Both the hardy folk of the mountains and the cunning tribes of the forests have their own talents, and only fools underestimate either. Despite their fearsome appearance, trolls have never tended towards violence as the other races have, but they do not shy away from it should it be visited upon them.
Standing well-above men, the trolls of the Ostland are large, furred humanoids - with the mountainous tribes sporting thicker, shaggier fur than their lowland cousins - capable both of incredible feats of strength and, given the right circumstances, a surprising degree of subtlety. They know their homes like no one else, surviving - and thriving - before even Ladim Firstborn of the dwarfs, and in their native environments they can prove master ambushers and invaluable scouts. Regardless of whether they are employed for their innate talents or physical might, many trolls have caught on to how lucrative their services can prove - and gold can buy land far more easily than ‘ancestral right’.
Scattered throughout the Ostland and under the control of various regional powers, the tribes of the trolls recognize the authority of those that rule over them, so long as they are left to their own devices. It would take heinous deeds to call the trolls forth from their hamlets and villages to march to war. But make no mistake, despite their isolationist mentality, they are hardly anti-social. The trolls trade with all, and all are welcome to stay - so long as they follow tribal laws - with some men and elves even holding seats in the regional Thing. A society of free folk, there is nothing that the trolls value more than their liberty, and it is not an unusual sight to see trolls wandering the world before they find land to settle.
The trolls are second only to the osiruk in their mastery of magic, though amongst the trolls there are no official schools or hierarchy. It is a tool to them, not a profession, and has shaped their approach to the arts. It is a far more passive thing with them than an active effort, using their magics to slip into the darkness when being pursued, or to sit so utterly still that they seem to be nothing more than stone. Make no mistake, as they can certainly use much more direct magic if the need arises, but rarely is it ever so precise as those who are properly trained and schooled.
Exotic Races
Dhallic Elves:
Dhallic Elves
The mirror image of the khallic elves, the dhallic are their cousins, split from them in the aftermath of the Migrations, residing in the southern grasslands where their hooved host dominates the steppe. Masters of the saddle and the bow, the dhallii have established themselves as the unquestioned lords and masters of the land of the open sky. Indeed, some would argue they pose a far more grave threat than their fair-skinned cousins, considering that they have organized themselves around a single leader - the Khan.
While the dhallii fought amongst themselves for centuries, mastering the horse, camel, and bow, it was not until the rise of the Khanate that the dhallii grew into something more than warring tribes of brigands, and the Ostland has taken notice. Not only have they eclipsed their khallic cousins in centralization, but they have minted their own coins, developed their own alphabet, and even instituted their own legal code - the Dhallic Code. Establishing the rights for all freeborn amongst them - even accommodating the rights of foreigners, so long as they supplicate themselves before the Khan - and creating a procedure and code of justice for disputes, the Dhallic Code is, to many, the sign that the Khanate aims to compete directly with the League.
Their moniker as dark elves is twofold - first is their very appearance, shaped by generations on the open plains with the light of the sun beating down on them has darkened their skin tone significantly, and second is their reputation, at least amongst the League. Fearsome warriors of the Golden Horde, dhallii command quiet respect wherever they are seen, though that respect may quickly turn to violence should the locals feel threatened by their presence. The wounds of the dhallic invasions of the southern League are still smartly felt, and even the golden yellow of their cloaks alone can drive folk to hasty and prejudiced ends.
The dhallic relationship with magic is much like that of their khallic kin - more reliable than that of man, but still augmented with ritual, sigils and runecraft. While they may not command mighty beasts to do their bidding in battle, the dhallic shamans wield great powers of augury, and there have been many who have ingratiated themselves to a noyan with prophecy and portents - not that they have all come true...
Osiruk:
Osiruk
To the west, past the Worldspine Mountains and the Gap of Hadash, reside the Osiruk, a people of glimmering desert cities and ancient, forgotten wisdom. The Sultanate of Ruk is one of the few powers remaining in the world that can challenge the Dwarfen Empire in longevity, and while the dwarfs may yet dominate the fields of technology and infrastructure, the osiruk boast a command over magic and an understanding for the world that eclipses all others. An osiruk tutor is worth their weight in gold from centuries of experience in study and literature, and a trained osiruk battlemage can command a far higher price.
However, the osiruk are not a people necessarily inclined to mercenary pursuits - hard currency and profit hold little meaning for a people who can live for thousands of years, and whose forms are not suited for earthly delights - but the chance to see the world, to explore and discover, is a thing held in high regard by their number. Indeed, the greatest among them spent some time amongst the Ostland, and even distant Averia to the west, across the sands of the great desert. While the Great Library of Qalyut holds troves of knowledge unparalleled in all the world, the osiruk understand better than most the eternal quest for perfection, and the search for knowledge is never-ending. The possibility to return and share one’s observations and notes - if not manuscripts from afar - is something all osiruk strive for.
Despite the rampant prejudice that exists across the Ostland against mutants and the abnormal, the osiruk find themselves somewhat exempt from such hostility - if only for the tall tales and rumors of what they are capable of. Should one of their number prove young enough, their flesh, darkened by millennia of survival in the shifting sands, is coarse and harsh to the touch, a condition that only worsens with age. After enough time the flesh itself grows dry and brittle to the touch, falling away like ash with the slightest touch, leaving them extremely vulnerable to physical harm, and their elder, dessicated forms can combust all too easily…
However, such suffering and anguish are the price to pay for the unparalleled mastery of magic that the osiruk enjoy. No other race can boast such an intricate knowledge of the mystical and the arcane, and only a handful of any other folk can even approach the capabilities of the osiruk people's’ most talented magi. Only those pledged to the Profane can compete with the osiruk on a case by case basis, and even then a vast majority of the Profane host cannot match them. It is what the osiruk are known for far and wide, and what the common folk whisper in the taverns when one appears - and who can blame them? The chances that they will lay eyes on another in their lifetime are slim, at the very best.
Alptraum:
Alptraum
However not all mutants enjoy the respect and quiet admiration afforded to the osiruk, and though magic's touch can twist a form in a great many ways, there are some patterns that have occurred so regularly that they have earned names - and mythos - all their own. One such breed are alptraum, nightmare in the oster tongue, the bastard children of mortals and Orcus. Shunned more often than not, the progeny of the dark god are not often welcomed in the lands of the living, despite being counted among their number, though some do survive - whether through the privilege of their birth or the love of their parents.
Like the half-elves, the alptraum are a folk without a true home, as they occur at random at best, and systematically in the wake of darksome and prolonged nights at worst. They are, like most folk, products of their upbringing, and have no culture or mores to call their own. One alptraum may certainly be the malicious thing of whispered rumor, whereas another may prove a quiet, mild-mannered farmhand - truthfully their darksome father has no sway over them any moreso than the rest of the Maian have over anyone else.
But that is not to say they are without his boons, or his curses. Poor eyesight and sensitive hearing can endanger these folk in ways that the average man does not readily consider, but such weakness begets strength in other ways. More often than not the alptraum do not rely on sight when they move, but rather use their remarkable hearing to judge distance and depth - there are few who can get the drop on them, and they are valued highly by some as bodyguards for this very reason - and this is to say nothing of their leathery wings. While none of them are able to truly fly, those with more developed pairs can slow their fall or glide from a height, though they must be well-aware of the risk that such large and sensitive appendages carry.
Perhaps contributing to their reception amongst the suspicious and the ignorant is their propensity for magic. While not as grand as the osiruk, the alptraum boast a fair innate grasp on the working and wielding of spells. While they may struggle to find a chance to study magic professionally, should they be afforded the chance they have the means to become very capable mages indeed.
Teufelkind:
Teufelkind
In some ways cousins to the alptraum, the teufelkind are another strain of mutation that has occurred so frequently amongst the mortal populations that it has earned a name and a reputation. The devil children of the Ostland are assumed to be just that - the offspring of the union of mortals with Ignis and his fiendish servants. But much like the alptraum the teufelkind are neither wicked nor fickle by nature, simply half-breeds whose nature is only partly grasped by those that surround them. While largely ostracized, much like their darksome kin, the teufelkind have found that labor - indeed, any task requiring strength - suits them, and such work the Ostland provides in spades.
It can prove a jarring sight, especially amongst the Elisabethan Order - one of the few places they are welcome - to see that one of their knights whose horns are not upon their helm, but their own head. The defining physical characteristic of the teufelkind are such bony growths, which can prove remarkably varied - from curved to straight and twisted to curled - and are often the mark by which the world knows them. Otherwise looking to physically belong to whatever race gave birth to them, the teufelkind enjoy a brawny constitution, deft feet, and a voice capable of an unnerving timbre.
Given, they have little - if any - way of concealing their nature, and are known almost as soon as they are seen. While the alptraum might hide with a thick enough cloak or the arrangement of their hair, the teufelkind have no such luxury. Though, for as many of them that have been lost to superstition, still more remain, and crop up across the Ostland at a steady pace. Perhaps with time and valorous deeds, they might grow to become a more regular and accepted sight.
But, much like the alptraum, teufelkind have a natural tendency towards magic and its use, and the Elisabethan Order has made tremendous use of them in their ranks both as shock infantry and spellswords. However, the sight of a horned man spinning spells in the commons of a quiet hamlet is certainly a quick way to get someone’s attention, though it might not be the friendliest. Perhaps more than most, the teufelkind must be careful of when and where they dip into the well of magic, as their appearance alone can instill fear and uncertainty in the ignorant - and such is fertile soil for derision and hostility.
Factions
The Litthauf League:
The Litthauf League
Capital: Litthauf
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Oster (official language)
- Dwarfish
- Khallic
- Old Tongues
- Vermintongue
Official Religion:
The Basilica of the Maian
Government: Elective Feudal Monarchy
Monarch: Queen-Elect Zofia I
Legislative Body: The Diet of Litthauf
Currency: Litthauf Mark(s)
Naming Convention: Germanic
Formed in 506 AC by Reginald I, the League is an elective-monarchy supported by a widespread feudal hierarchy of dukedoms, baronies, and various other fiefdoms united in an economic alliance. While it might seem delicate at times, make no mistake, as it is the single most powerful martial and economic entity in the Ostland. Thriving thanks to her shrewd mercantile class and the wise rule of her elector-kings, the war-galleys of the League reach across the Ostland, as far as the rivers can take them.Based primarily on the Averian model of civilization, the League considers itself the true successor to imperial authority, styling themselves as the Empire of the Golden Age, at times. But beyond the Basilica, averian law and the common alphabet, there’s little to suggest they’re averian, much less imperial. If anything they are the oster interpretation of a sovereign averian state, culturally and ethnically. While averian influence might linger in art, song or family names, it has largely passed into history, replaced by the synthesis of averian and aboriginal cultures that has become known as Oster.
Elected from amongst the body of dukes, the Elector-King - or Queen, a tradition broken with the election of Zofia - rules not as a dynastic monarch, but as an officer of state. While the faces and families in the Diet have changed over the centuries, by and large the League remains as Reginald I left it on his deathbed. The legislative system regulates and assesses most domestic issues before they can become true problems, and the codes of conflict keep what open fighting there is regulated. If anything more seats, both in the General Assembly and on the Elector-Council, have been added in the centuries since its founding to compensate for the growth of the League as it has spread across the Ostland.
At its very core the League is really about one thing - money. From the highest noble to the lowliest peasant, the mercantilistic quest for coin and capital permeates their society. Indeed, to the uninitiated, it seems that the League is a nation that is built on greed, and to less materialistic and more honor-bound cultures it is rather deplorable, but to understand what drove man to such base pursuits, one only has to spend a month, at the most, amongst them. Though they wear the trappings of averian civilization, the osters are still men of the east - violent and foolhardy, not entirely unlike their northern cousins, and it is their greed and the pursuit of profit that keeps the League united, even as frail as that unity may sometimes seem.
But to say that the League is without averian values, even if they might lack averian temperament, is unfair. With averian law came averian social customs, which proved to be a double-edged sword: on one hand the religious tolerance shown in the wake of the Order’s violent suppression of anything outside of their dogma has won the League friends and support at home and abroad, while on the other the complete lack of legal rights as a woman, save that one is a wife or a daughter, has driven many in veritable droves to the meritocratic and nearly egalitarian Order.
The Elisabethan Order:
The Elisabethan Order
Capital: Riedel
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Oster (official language)
- Dwarfish
- Khallic
- Old Tongues
- Vermintongue
Official Religion:
The Synod of the East
Government: Meritocratic Martial Theocracy
Grandmaster/mistress: Hochmeisterin Anne of Niermeer
Legislative Body: The Abbatial Diet
Currency: Mark(s)
Naming Convention: Primarily Germanic,
The Order, beyond the arrival of Elisabeth and the theology which came with her, has its origins in the Wars of Succession and the competing averian patrician families. With the internal collapse of the Averian Empire and the withdrawal and disbandment of her legions and auxiliary forces, the patricians had little to call on at first save for the standing guards employed for the estates and the few mercenary ruffians that still roamed the Ostland. There was a definite need for professional, dedicated soldiers, and those with the hearts brave enough ventured into this new enterprise. It didn’t take long for these patricians to begin shoveling bullion into these private armies, and in many cases these oster soldiers became just as wealthy, or at least better equipped, than their employers. With over a century of near constant war to hone their weapons, armor, tactics and strategy, it was little surprise that scores of these troops turned on their masters and took their lands for themselves, the only ones spared from such a fate being those who devoted themselves to this new vocation in their own bids for power and prestige. Thus out of this notorious and bloody era, the modern knight emerged.
A soldier before all else, an oster knight was, and even still is, expected to give their life in battle for their liege-lord, should it be asked of him or her. Typically dedicated in faith to their patron, Victoria, they are also held to defend the honor of the entire pantheon, as the Basilica, to the League, represents divine authority and the proper order of existence. It was through such obligations that the League’s most grave foe found their precedent - the Shrine Sergeants, guardians of the Basilica in Litthauf and its possessions abroad. While nowhere as complex or powerful as the Elisabethan Order, the Shrine Sergeants of the Maian paved the way for knights in the service of a divine lord, instead of an earthly one.
Formed in 1 AE according to the Elisabethan Calendar, or 1221 by the Averian, the Order was initially intended to guard Tränsel, the sole island in the Ahr and the final resting place of the Prophetess. An elite group to protect what was then the cult’s most holy - and primary - site, with the aggressive ventures of Ternockburn and others did the Order begin to take on its modern visage as the domain under its authority grew from a single island to an entire barony in a matter of days. Knights pledged themselves and levies volunteered in droves under the threat of Basilican repercussion.
But still the Order acted only in reaction to Bascilican aggression, at least until the Battle of Kulpin. Though they had victory aplenty before this infamous engagement, it was only in the wake of this crushing failure on the part of Duke Stöck that the Order realized their martial strength and capability. With the Synod and the Diet urging Hochmeister Biehla to action, the first of the campaigns against the League began in 9 AE, with the Order’s march of conquest only coming to a halt nearly a century later in 98 AE at Darmstadt.
Now they stand as the undisputed masters of the Eastern Ostland, second only to the League in terms of martial might, and already the League has keenly felt the Order's influence as they guard what waterways they have seized with extreme prejudice.
The Dwarfen Empires:
The Dwarfen Empires
Capital:
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Dwarfish (official language)
- Oster
- Old Tongues
- Siruk
Official Religion:
The Cult of Cthona
Government: Decentralized Absolute Monarchies
Monarch:
Currency: Grivna
Naming Convention: Russo-Slavic
In the early days, just as now, the dwarf realms possessed no single, overarching authority since the passing of the legendary progenitor Ladim. Instead each range - or empire, if you will - is, in effect, its own self-contained entity. Unlike the osters in the League and the elves that haunt the Worldspine, the dwarfs do not fight amongst themselves, having long moved past the feudal conflicts that plague the lesser peoples. It has oft-times been recorded that long-standing rivals will march to the other’s aid with no greater agenda than the protection of their folk. But even with each range as its own realm there is some semblance of order to this decentralized empire. Each realm is ruled by a royal family, and though they are not all of the same house, they do stem from the same bloodline - namely, that of Ladim Firstborn, the nearly mythical founder of the Myrspoz kingdom and lawgiver of the dwarfs. Some, like the rulers of Myrspoz and Myrskor, are direct, or relatively direct, descendants, while others, like those of the Twin Kingdoms or the Black Isles, trace their lineage through bastards and cousins. Regardless of the nature of their kinship to Ladim these families are respected and revered in dwarven halls the world over for it, and their authority is unquestioned by the stonefolk.
For over five-thousand years the Dwarfen Empires have endured and by the blood of Ladim, and many swear it will reign for yet another five millennia.
Although contact with their western brethren has been lost in the wake of the collapse of Averia, the dwarfs of the east continue with their lives unperturbed, either confident in their people’s ability to look out for themselves or more concerned with issues of their own - for issues the dwarfs have aplenty. The Elven Invasions struck no one quite so badly as they did the dwarfs, and to Ladim’s people, they never ended. In the south the dwarfen realm of Vyazma is all but lost, occupied now for centuries by the khallic usurpers who dare to brand it with their own bastard name - Khallatia. To the east, in the Worldspine, do the last dwarfen strongholds rage against the onslaught of the barbarians, desperate to hold onto some shred of their homeland. Only in the north, in the great Barrier Mountains - the Myrskor - do the dwarfs see victory approaching as they tighten the noose around the last khallic enclaves there, though the ambitions of the northmen complicate this otherwise decided theater.
Only those kingdoms surrounded by the League, their once-enemy, found themselves spared the brunt of the Elven Invasions, free to concentrate on trade and domestic development instead of warfare and survival. Most notable in this endeavor is the colonization of the Black Isles which began in 985 AC, as the dwarfs dismissed the concerns of the oster men and settled on what had long been presumed to be cursed land. Whether immune to the black magic of the islands, or simply too bold to be frightened by old wives’ tales, the dwarfs of the Black Isles have made quite a name for themselves in the centuries that followed as a capable maritime power that, given time, might rival the League’s navies.
The Khallic Confederations:
The Khallic Confederations
Capital: N/A
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Khallic
- Oster
- Dhallic
- Old Tongues
Official Religion:
The Four Corners
Government: Decentralized Tribal Confederations
Monarch: N/A
Legislative Body: The Druidic Moot
Currency: No standardized currency
Naming Convention: Gallic
Before the Elven Invasion began in 584 AC, the elven peoples were rarely, if ever, seen in the Ostland, a barbaric people from a barbaric land - as merciless and unwelcoming as their home. Not since the days of the Averian Conquest had the elves, then known as the Hallii, maintained a presence in the southern riverlands, driven away to the south, much as the men were driven north. As the Empire stagnated and collapsed, as as the osters fought and united themselves, the distant, muddled memories of the Hallii were forgotten. Driven, as legend says, by drought and famine, the elven people embarked on a great migration back to the fertile lands of the north, hardened by their harsh home and carrying the lessons of war they learned on the wrong end of averian blades. As a great tide of men they swept over the southern lands, sacking cities and razing them, overrunning many before any word of warning could get out. The success of the invasion partially rested on these early victories and the fear they wrought in the civilized lands, though due credit must be given to the elves as a whole - few other cultures dedicate themselves so utterly to the waging of war when it is asked of them.
The men of the League, having only recently emerged from their own bitter war, met the elves in kind, slowing and eventually stopping the hordes before they could reach the shores of the Ahr. The dwarfs, however, were not so well prepared: Vyazma fell to their might, its people put to the sword and its riches plundered, and only with the strength of all the Worldspine’s levies did the dwarfs hold fast to their homeland. Not even the Myrskor were safe, as they skirted past the Gap of Hadash and the great sands that lay beyond, and only once they had overtaken half of the Barrier Mountains did they seem to lose their momentum.
Do not make the mistake of thinking this meant an end to their wars, as even seven-hundred years later they fight, but rather an end to such terrific and unprecedented expansion. With their northerly and easterly movement halted, the power of the Ostland embarked on the campaign to expel these newcomers, and the elves themselves began to settle in the lands they had taken. While Khallatia and the Worldspine are easily the most successful of these efforts, khallic elves and their communities can be found all across the western hinterlands. By 630 AC the active khallic warbands had been pushed from the land of the League and into Khallatia or the mountains, where the League was keen to leave them be. For man, the wars of the Elven Invasions were over, but for the Dwarfen Empires they were still in their infancy.
Throwing themselves utterly against the dwarfen realm of Myrspov, the elves began to slowly push the ancient empire back on itself, overtaking several of the dwarves most holy sites. It was in the mid 7th century AC, once they had largely ceased their wars with man, that the elven people began to split. While not hostile, there were definite differences of opinion - many wished not to dwell in the mountains, having taken rather well to the southern steppe and open plain, preferring the horse and the bow to th spear and the sword. So came the dhallic, who would go on to forge a mighty power of their own upon the steppe, in due time.
But the khallic lingered in their old ways, settling along the Worldspine and making a new realm for themselves. Some oster scholars would argue their invasion a failure - as they secured only a fraction of the Ostland - but to the khallic and those who understand them, the invasions - or migrations in the khallic mind - achieved their ultimate objective: the elves yet live.
The Dhallic Khanate:
The Dhallic Khanate
Capital: Icharum
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Dhallic (official language)
- Oster
- Khallic
- Dwarfish
Official Religion:
The Twin Riders
Government: Absolute Monarchy
Monarch: Bailar Khan
Currency: Tughrik(s)
Naming Convention: Mongolic
The dhallic hail from the same source as the khallic - the Hallii, though the dhallic and their ancestors had always welcomed the open plain more than the confining valleys that their cousins prefer. So too were the dhallic brought to the Ostland by the same reason as the khallic - the Great Migration - but from there the differences begin to mount. While both elven people, the dhallic culture long ago broke from their khallic mother. While homogenous for much of the invasions, at least in body, it was once the impetus of the the invasion was lost that the divide began to grow more evident between the two. Where the khallic were keen to settle and till their newfound lands, the dhallic’s bloodlust had yet to be properly sated, knowing that a few southern cities were not enough for themselves or the Gods. So did the dhallic split, leaving the khalls to their mountainous hinterland. No sooner had the dhallic went their separate ways from the khallic that they resumed their war on the League, but without their forward momentum their efforts were largely futile. Bitter and resentful over lost opportunity the dhalls turned on each other and the khallic, entering into a period of civil war from which they did not emerge for centuries. Only with the coming of the 11th century and the one known as Khan did the chaos cease. With a sharp mind and ruthless ambition, Khan unified the dhallic tribes under one banner - his own - and purged those schools of thought responsible for the wasteful and pointless bloodlust that had possessed his people in the past.
In the intervening centuries the League had reclaimed what it cared to from the squabbling dhallic, easily dealing with what resistance manifested in the face of their aggression, the dhalls far too consumed in their own personal war. With the dhallic united under him, Khan’s first act as lord was to reclaim what was their by conquest and show the dhallic people that anger, even bloodlust, had its proper place when kept in check. Khan’s leadership, while certainly an invaluable contribution towards victory was not all they owed success to, for they had long since abandoned the khallic ways of war, instead having come to live in the saddle and by the bow. The trained and regimented ranks of knights and pikemen were an ill match for the horsemen and lancers of the southland. Unsuited and unprepared to face such a foe organized in this alien manner, what oster forces that had the good sense not to meet the horde of the Khan on their native terrain retreated to their castles and the protection of the river.
Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to dislodge these stubborn osters on the shores of the great river, Khan instead turned his attention southward and consolidated his control of the steppe, pushing into realms known only to elfkind and the boldest nautical hearts. It was in this endeavor that he passed from this world and his firstborn son, Ausda, assumed the office left vacant by his father. He was challenged, however, by his brother Blegan. The realm was spared a return to the period of strife that had preceded Khan’s rise as the two settled on a challenge of single combat, with Asuda emerging as the victor. Through Asuda was the Khanate born properly, and the Dhallic Code vindicated - for while this was far from the last time that a duel of succession would decide the fate of the Khanate, it did provide a stable precedent on which future struggles would be based upon.
Through Asuda the Khanate took form for the future as a stable and long-lasting regime, as he added to the Dhallic Code first drafted by his father. Rites and methods of succession and inheritance, along with the foundation of Icharum as a base of power, did more to solidify and stabilize the southern realm than all of his father’s warmongering. Thus it was of little surprise when Asuda’s son, Hilim, went unchallenged when his time came to take up the throne. While not the strongest ruler, Hilim did both commit the codes to the written word and establish vast swaths of farmland along the river Tulk, in the shadow of Icharum’s walls. Hilim’s memory as Khan is marred by the rebellions of the south however, and his contributions to the Khanate are often overshadowed by his inability to curb the embarrassment which they have yet to recover from.
Five generations hence have the Khans ruled the open steppe, some reigns more illustrious or successful than others, coming to the ambitious Bailar Khan. Having participated personally in his father’s bold move to strike against the League in the wake of the Battle of Kulpin, Bailar is eager to cut his teeth as Khan and prove to the dhallic that he is as capable and cunning a leader as his late father. Though the Khanate still possesses the land taken in the wake of Kulpin, it is less clear if this is because of Bailar’s leadership or the League’s preoccupation with the Order and the northern raiders. Should the Khan prove unable, or incapable, to hold or build upon such gains, many surround Bailar with ambition to rival his own.
The Republic of Qalyut:
The Republic of Qalyut
Capital: Qalyut
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Siruk (official language)
- Dwarfish
- Oster
- Old Tongues
Official Religion:
The Twelve Pillars of Siruk
Government: Republic
Shophets: Izavel and Zibqet
Legislative Body: the Council of Ten
Currency: Sekel(s)
Naming Convention: Semitic
To many, the Great Blight is a thing taken as a natural constant - the sky is blue, the stars are without number, and the sands stretch for as far as the eye can see, without end and without check. It is, as the name would imply, a wasteland, filled with the desperate, the dying, and the dead. But for all those that have walked its sands and returned to tell the tale, there is a place there amongst the sands quite unlike any other in the known world - Qalyut, the Bronze City, a place whose wealth flows not from coffers or from the point of a sword, but from the priceless font of knowledge. As magnificent as the gilded city may prove, there is no place more decorated, more exalted, than the Great Library of Qalyut. One could mistake it for a palace - and in some ways it very well may be - such is the importance and the honor that the Osiruk place on their greatest achievement, the sum of all their efforts.Some say that the osiruk are older than the sands they cross with practiced ease, postulating that perhaps, once in the distant past, the Great Blight was a verdant land, not unlike the Ostland or old Averia. Certainly there are tales of wide, dessicated riverbeds, mightier in breadth than any found in the Ostland, that may have once spread life as freely as the water it carried across the vast expanse beyond the Worldspine - and this is to say nothing of the ruins, the remnants of things-that-once-were, that seem to wax and wane as the sands cover and expose them in turn. Only the osiruk know the truth of the Blight and those that make their lives upon its sands, and it is knowledge they do not share.
What is known for certain is that the averians, on their incredible treks across the Great Blight, knew of Qalyut and the great republic, and declined to make war upon their peoples. Even the nigh-unstoppable might of the averian legions hesitated to engage in mortal contest with the sorcerers of the Bronze City, and were keen enough simply to trade and to barter with the scions of the sands. Many were hired on as scouts and guides, helping to established the now long-lost Averian Road which allowed the Empire to maintain its dominion in the east. To say that Qalyut and the Republic was ancient, even then, would be an understatement.
They have had dealings with the dwarfs, the ancient osters, and far older peoples whose names are lost to the sands of time, save for the whispers that linger in the pages of the Great Library. Indeed, all are welcome in the Bronze City so long as they do not bring war, whether they be exiles from distant lands or caravaneers on a long and arduous trek, at Qalyut they will find commerce, shelter, and, perhaps most importantly, water - all that the Osiruk ask in return is that they share what they know, from the mundane to the magnificent, to see if it is worthy of record.
For such is the eternal quest of the osiruk - the pursuit and recording of knowledge. No other people take so eagerly to the tome and the quill as they, for while many on Pteia take so much for granted, the osiruk, most certainly, do not.
The Northern Realms:
The Northern Realms
Capital: N/A
Primary Language(s) Spoken:
- Old Tongues
- Dwarfish
- Oster
- Khallic
Official Religion:
The Old Gods
Government: Decentralized Freeholds
Legislative Body: Various Localized Things
Currency: No standardized currency, hacksilver is fairly common
Naming Convention: Nordic
To imply that there is any form of overarching authority north of the Barrier Mountains is incorrect. An anathema to all southern folk, even the fiercely independent khallic elves, the northmen are something of an anomaly in their conduct. There is not a single northman that is not the captain of their own fate, as they are a folk of freemen, unfettered by lord and liege, bound only by the laws of their land and fellow man. Only the various Things held across the north resemble any sort of government, though the laws that they have passed are enforceable not simply by any singular lord or their men, but every man and woman across the frigid tundras of the north.But the frozen north is not a place that is kind to those who hide behind badges of office or ranks of hired swords - truly, it is a land kind to nothing at all - as the snowy wastes make quick work of those who cannot survive by their own means. Such land has produced a people and a society that is steeped in a culture equal parts independent and violent. While the more southerly reaches of the northern realms may support agriculture, there is scarcely anything that grows along the icy coasts of the far north, and once more has mankind turned to the hunt for survival.
Whether it is upon the dark and foamy waves of the northern seas or the bleak depths of the snowy tundra, the northmen strike out boldly with harpoon and javelin in hand, and blood in their eyes. While a great many things call the northern wastes home - and not all of them natural - there is little debate that it is the northmen who have become, once again, the apex predator. It was by the strength of their arms and their sharp wits that kept them from being lost to their frozen exile. But there are places that man was not meant to dwell…
As many the world over have come to discover, the northmen’s predatory tendencies do not end with beasts alone. But whether they come as merchants or as vikings, know that when a longship approaches, everyone on board is there of their own accord. Amongst their traders there are none who are not there for a reason, and amongst their warriors there are none who do not wish to fight.
Amongst the northmen there is little distinction between men and women, as both must fight for survival in this untamed, brutal land. If you can keep your hearth, your family, and your land, then it is yours - as is your place as a landowner in the Thing. There is no greater symbol amongst their people than a sword, as it is the mark of freedom and survival. Indeed, weapons as a whole are held in high regard, often proving to be of remarkable craftsmanship - even if they are only looted from their victims - passed down, on occasion, for centuries. It is by such tools that the northmen ensure their continued survival, no matter what form it takes.
Major Lore Concepts
Pteia:
Pteia
In some distant corner of the Milky Way, a small emerald orb slowly dances around a massive blue jovian. Such is the world upon which Endzeiten takes place - Pteia, the moon of Maia. While still just as large - if not larger - than Earth itself, Pteia is a world of varied climates and ecosystems, and though Endzeiten will focus on the Ostland and its surrounding lands, the very nature of Pteia has grave effects on the setting as a whole.
The Dragonfires:
The Dragonfires
A cataclysmic, almost mythical event that was the catalyst for the world that now is. Despite the occasional variation from folk to folk, the Dragonfires remain an apocalyptic event in every telling of the myth, where the mighty dragons of primordial history laid waste to the land, sowing death, destruction and fire in their wake wherever they went. None now live who remember it, but traces of the Dragonfires - and what came before - are still being found today.
The Long Night:
The Long Night
Every three months, Pteia slips completely behind Maia, and the darkness that envelops the world has come to be known as the Long Night. Lasting only for about three days time, it is a period of complete darkness, where no light from the sun reaches Pteia. For millennia, the mortal races of Pteia have had to build their lives and their societies around this orbital oddity - as the dead, and things far worse, do not rest easily when no sunlight falls on the world.
There are few truly isolated places to live in the world, as there is always some form of barrier erected, in order to prepare for the inevitable encroachment that heralds the changing of the seasons.
