At the fore the Riftkith-Lands were one, unsullied by the idle hands of terrene artifice. The eithuszar of the eldest recount this time in their way, when the woodland winds are right in their whistling and the bones of all the earth show through skin pulled tight: a deadwood glimmer beyond the ken of even the wizened lucerne. Theirs is a place of moth-flutters and cetonine rippling, and in those days the first were of the land and were within it, unhewn ground anon Tenya when called at last to nascent breath.
The land had not yet learned the permanence of rote eons, and as the stone will not breathe until through great labor the secret of its graven-face be laid bare, so too did the Riftkith-lands part for the thunder of the heavens. So split the chisel of the sky, whence came the first blooding of the heavens and fell as numinous rain upon the land. Earth and stone and root drank of blood spilt for names that were not their own, for this is the binding covenant of the soil which is written in hymnal rain and ink-eddies the skin of all that we were. They drink it still, keeping compact when all others have forgotten their part.
And where the thirsting of the earth was quenched there came forth Kith without end who were of the land and were upon it, knowing neither the beat of mothwings nor the days before their bones were spoilt, proclaiming with flesh-made tongues the virtue of their five-and-one shapes. Into their corners they went, for the land was all asunder, and they called themselves one by kinship of the thusz, which is of our memory, and shut their ears to its whispering. They built their houses by different names, osseous all, and in each corner where the heavensblood pooled they set their longing.
For one-and-five ages the Kith crystallized in their mazes, ramified and liquid, until from the very land there rose the voice of the heavens, which said:
“Ye hagionymphs, who have blindly risen and yourselves kin yclept in tongues your own, who are of this land fractured and mirror it in ways more one for your breaking: Of this land make something true-entire, and the corridors of your bone-houses set in pattern. Do this and return, for you are upon the land and of the heavens, and this disseverance becomes you not.”
Hearing this, the Kith rose up in their corners, rhizomatic and begemmed with their phratry. The eldest recount a right-whistling then, and an eleucresis of the dawn, and the land gathered itself in fistfuls and scratching-claws and the coils of fifty-and-ten shapes hence unreturned. By mouthfuls and wingbeats and dread skittering it became as one: a vibrant bonework where the corners of all houses are upon the land and are within it, a tower which is of our memory.
We came to dwell in our tower, the hypocotyl of the mundane, and there we remained when the heavens once ruptured knit together in love to crown our houses. There we remained still, having learned the lessons of permanence, when they opened again to a new blooding and fell beyond our patternings and bonehalls. And so we went out, for the covenant of the soil binds the land to the drinking of blood wheresoever it should fall, and ventured far until our land was vanished but for the fistfuls we bring, which are the point of puncture, maw anon Tenya. Here we remain: hoarding eldest bones lain crystalline in our fold, listening for mothwings.
The Imperial heartland: The spires and crags of Niva Pontos are but vague shapes on the eastern horizon, but even so far from the center of the Empire her highways remain crowded. The broad path teems with travelers drawn from all corners of the realm. Heavily-perfumed flood-barons swerve to avoid dour processions of Godbury monks roaming toward the capital while locals both rich and poor meander this way and that, tending to their daily errands. Each and all freeze in place at the command of a dark-armored sentinel, one of many escorting a colossal carriage down the center of the avenue.
The coach is sculpted from a single piece of deep black stone, its only visible opening a circular window on one side whose curtains remain drawn. An unmistakable relief carved above the window betrays the occupants of the vehicle: The emblem of the at-Rega Simfonya, the royal diabolists and their keepers. Travelers avert their eyes, spitting and curling their fingers into warding shapes as the edifice rolls past, conspicuously silent for such a large transport. The crowd remains still until the carriage has dwindled in the distance and the guardsmen wave them along dismissively.
So the process repeats when a new crop of wayfarers draw near. Sentries stride forward in an arc before the carriage and raise their hands in unison, issuing their command in shouts that cut through the relative calm of the afternoon.
Deuce nodded in the anachire’s direction. A hatch in the bottom, good to know. As he continued his careful path in pursuit of the cart, his ally of chance vanished again into the crowds. The Nightingale exhaled a quick puff of breath, his muscles tensing a little. Well, he was as ready as he could ever be. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Deuce kept alert for any changes. He could feel his chest tightening, so he breathed in and exhaled, deeply.
Fortunately, he did not have to wait much longer. Chaos unfolded before him, travelers and locals scattering this way and that. Though Deuce would have liked to ponder upon if the anachire had helpers in the crowd, or if this was the result of some kind of magic, he quickly spotted his opening with his keen eyes. No time for second guessing.
Keeping low, Deuce picked up the pace, weaving between the panicked passersby. He twisted around a father scooping up his wailing child, and slid between a few monks who had stumbled out of line. And in a moment, he ducked down between the gap in the line of guards, and slipped under the stone carriage. He kept his sharp ears pricked as he felt along the bottom, searching for the hatch that his ally had mentioned. His long, gloved fingers traced the edge and finally caught upon a handle, flush with the bottom. He wrapped his hands around the handle, and gave it a firm tug.
The handle resists for a moment, but soon lurches into motion. A narrow opening in the stonework of the carriage falls open with a snap that is mercifully lost beneath the sounds of the surrounding chaos. The interior of the vehicle is opulent if gloomy. The circular window veiled by crimson curtains serves as the sole source of light, with the sparse sunlight that passes the narrow gap between the blinds illuminating a thin band across the center of the space. The room itself occupies the full size of the carriage, large enough to humble the accommodations of most inns and swaddled from wall to wall in velvet of the deepest crimson. Censers suspended at either end of the chamber sway gently and cast wisps of fine-smelling smoke into the air, while a shelf built into the furthest wall houses a thin sheaf of parchment– orders for the diabolists, perhaps, or at least a clue as to their purpose.
Most curious of all, though, is the object that stands in the center of the carriage a scant few paces from where the hatch has fallen open. Its overall shape resembles a tree of sorts, although it is composed of a multitude of filaments that range from dense and sturdy to impossibly fine and fragile. Stranger still, the entire structure is carved from an oily, red-black stone that seems to waver or tremble in the sunlight. A cursory examination suggests that the sculpture has been broken in some way, as several of the larger strands end in abrupt, jagged shapes that stand at odds with the rest of the piece.
The sounds of chaos begin to fade as order is slowly restored. The window of opportunity is closing rapidly; Deuce must act quickly lest the carriage resume its journey with its guard restored and him left on board.
The Imperial heartland: The spires and crags of Niva Pontos are but vague shapes on the eastern horizon, but even so far from the center of the Empire her highways remain crowded. The broad path teems with travelers drawn from all corners of the realm. Heavily-perfumed flood-barons swerve to avoid dour processions of Godbury monks roaming toward the capital while locals both rich and poor meander this way and that, tending to their daily errands. Each and all freeze in place at the command of a dark-armored sentinel, one of many escorting a colossal carriage down the center of the avenue.
The coach is sculpted from a single piece of deep black stone, its only visible opening a circular window on one side whose curtains remain drawn. An unmistakable relief carved above the window betrays the occupants of the vehicle: The emblem of the at-Rega Simfonya, the royal diabolists and their keepers. Travelers avert their eyes, spitting and curling their fingers into warding shapes as the edifice rolls past, conspicuously silent for such a large transport. The crowd remains still until the carriage has dwindled in the distance and the guardsmen wave them along dismissively.
So the process repeats when a new crop of wayfarers draw near. Sentries stride forward in an arc before the carriage and raise their hands in unison, issuing their command in shouts that cut through the relative calm of the afternoon.
The other parties tailing the cart did not escape Deuce’s sharp-eyed notice; he kept a mental note of them in the periphery, especially as the Simfonya forced them to abandon their pursuit. He chewed his lip and concentrated. As such, he soon became aware of the anachire at the edges of his vision, drawing closer as the fruit barge neared. Deuce’s left hand twitched. But in the midst of the crowd would be a difficult place for anyone to attack him without causing chaos or unnecessary damage, let alone attracting the attention of those guards. The anachire also did not seem to be in a threatening posture. He bottled the instinct to touch his weapon beneath his cloak.
As soon as the anachire approached, he was able to get a better look at him. Ethtine robes…Deuce surmised the anachire hailed from Exted, a region in the southwest of the Empire of Astveil, one that was not all that far from where the two now stood. Or, at least, that was the guise this individual assumed. Exted was a place of secret societies and intrigue, and though Deuce rarely traveled down that far, the way this person presented themselves certainly was enough to get the Nightingale to raise a brow.
What came next did not at all surprise him. Deuce acknowledged the anachire with a glance and a slight tilt of the head. An intriguing proposal, to be sure, and an opportunity to gather the information he so desired. But it raised questions, many many questions. Why did this anachire not pursue the information himself? Was he unable to reach it himself, or unwilling to risk his own hide? Did this person know who Deuce was, even so far outside Gaveroe and Everzyn? And say he did give this information away; what would this individual do with it?
There were too many questions, and not enough time to fully consider the ramifications. But a plan had begun to form in his mind, or at least a course of action should he succeed. As the sluggish fruit barge began to pass, he looked out of the corner of his eye at the anachire.
As the tail end of the barge sails by, the anachire flashes a quick grin in response, silver-plated teeth glinting in the sun.
“Lovely,” he acknowledges before nodding in the direction of the carriage. “Now these transports, they’re mostly magical these days. But say, hypothetically, something goes wrong and the mages are missing. They need some way to unload the thing, yes? More often than not they’ll build a hatch into the underside.”
His course diverts to make way for an oncoming procession of monks. As they file past, some chanting and others deep in meditation, the stranger emerges from the crowd on Deuce’s other side. When the guards begin their shouting anew, he gestures subtly in their direction.
“These poor few guards have been at this all day long. They’re growing tired, careless, but they’re still Simfonya and that makes this a two-man job. At least. I’ll cause a scene, give you some cover.”
And with that he disappears into the masses. A minute elapses, then two, then several with no discernable change; the massive cart silently trundles along and its escort cuts cleanly, if slowly, through the traffic. And then, all at once, a series of coincidences unfolds. A rickety cart veering to avoid the oncoming transport breaks a wheel and overturns, spilling silks and spices into the street and whipping the crowd into a panic. A man stumbles forward from the crowd and bumps into one of the advancing guards, who shoves him back with a shout and reaches for his sword. An overripe plum– likely stolen from a passing merchant– flies through the air and strikes another guard square in the chest.
Chaos erupts. The carriage slows and its guards shout back and forth to one another as they struggle to establish a perimeter around the vehicle and calm the bystanders. And then, an opportunity: A pair of guardsmen abandon their post to help free a disgruntled elf from beneath the capsized cart, leaving a gap unnoticed by their cohorts in all the commotion.
The Imperial heartland: The spires and crags of Niva Pontos are but vague shapes on the eastern horizon, but even so far from the center of the Empire her highways remain crowded. The broad path teems with travelers drawn from all corners of the realm. Heavily-perfumed flood-barons swerve to avoid dour processions of Godbury monks roaming toward the capital while locals both rich and poor meander this way and that, tending to their daily errands. Each and all freeze in place at the command of a dark-armored sentinel, one of many escorting a colossal carriage down the center of the avenue.
The coach is sculpted from a single piece of deep black stone, its only visible opening a circular window on one side whose curtains remain drawn. An unmistakable relief carved above the window betrays the occupants of the vehicle: The emblem of the at-Rega Simfonya, the royal diabolists and their keepers. Travelers avert their eyes, spitting and curling their fingers into warding shapes as the edifice rolls past, conspicuously silent for such a large transport. The crowd remains still until the carriage has dwindled in the distance and the guardsmen wave them along dismissively.
So the process repeats when a new crop of wayfarers draw near. Sentries stride forward in an arc before the carriage and raise their hands in unison, issuing their command in shouts that cut through the relative calm of the afternoon.
Though The Nightingale - or Deuce-’s main duties were on the streets of Gaveroe, in the heart of Everzyn, at times he had been known to wander, the wind at his back and his feet taking him where they willed. But this time, one of his jobs had taken him into the Empire of Astveil, nearly clear across the continent of Auldenon. While the denizens of Everzyn enjoyed a beneficial relationship with the Empire, Deuce had chosen instead - masked and cloaked in drab colors different from his usual attire - to slip across the somewhat porous border with Sumarfold.
The mercenary, light pack upon his back, padded down the streets of the nearby town. He followed the flow of civilians at a relaxed pace, his golden, faintly glowing eyes peering out from behind the dull green and brown phoenix mask upon his face. Deuce could not help when his eyes wandered, taking in the humble stone architecture of the town and the people of all walks of life. The smell of yeast and baking bread wafted from a nearby bakery, and the scuffing of feet against the cobblestones and dirt could be heard throughout.
But, cutting through the relative calm of the afternoon, Deuce’s sharp ears picked up upon the harsh shouts of imperial sentries as they pushed through the crowd and commanded the locals to clear the way. The Nightingale’s head turned, and he caught sight of a massive stone carriage in the distance, gliding silently and smoothly down the road behind those sentinels, strangely so for the uneven road and size of the carriage. As the carriage drew closer, he spotted the seal of the at-Rega Simfonya emblazoned upon the side.
The crowd parts with little resistance. The size of the wagon, the incisive commands of the sentries, and the sinister reputation that precedes them act in tandem to clear wide swathes of space as it approaches. In its wake, the more superstitious folk mutter prayers under their breath and dispel any ill omens to the best of their ability while the cynics merely shrink away from the guards’ notice before continuing on their way. The gap in the mass of people closes as soon as the sentries move on, and with that motion comes opportunity.
A handful of figures– a smartly-dressed elf sporting the banded paint of the floodlands; a gruff man half-hidden beneath a heavy cloak– take advantage of the renewed chaos to follow after the cart at the fringes of the crowd. One by one, a lapse in judgment or erratic movement brings the attention of the guards to bear on their pursuers, and one by one they are identified and forced to retreat. The clever curious, Deuce included, weave deftly enough through the passersby and lurk far enough from the fore to evade notice, but the Simfonya are disciplined and permit no openings in which to approach the carriage.
Perhaps the unified front stymies some fellow pursuers who slink away unseen, but at least one is not so easily deterred. A young anachire wrapped head to toe in cloaks of Ethtine make dances nimbly through the crowd in the Nightingale’s periphery, rarely more than a few paces away. He passes near enough to make contact at an opportune moment when the mysterious vehicle is all but obscured from view by a passing Chordian fruit barge, tapping Deuce’s shoulder and nodding pointedly to the cart with an inquisitive expression.
“You’re following too?” he murmurs, mirror-eyes reflecting an image of Deuce’s own mask back at him. “I can help. I see the way. But you must tell me what you find inside.”
The Imperial heartland: The spires and crags of Niva Pontos are but vague shapes on the eastern horizon, but even so far from the center of the Empire her highways remain crowded. The broad path teems with travelers drawn from all corners of the realm. Heavily-perfumed flood-barons swerve to avoid dour processions of Godbury monks roaming toward the capital while locals both rich and poor meander this way and that, tending to their daily errands. Each and all freeze in place at the command of a dark-armored sentinel, one of many escorting a colossal carriage down the center of the avenue.
The coach is sculpted from a single piece of deep black stone, its only visible opening a circular window on one side whose curtains remain drawn. An unmistakable relief carved above the window betrays the occupants of the vehicle: The emblem of the at-Rega Simfonya, the royal diabolists and their keepers. Travelers avert their eyes, spitting and curling their fingers into warding shapes as the edifice rolls past, conspicuously silent for such a large transport. The crowd remains still until the carriage has dwindled in the distance and the guardsmen wave them along dismissively.
So the process repeats when a new crop of wayfarers draw near. Sentries stride forward in an arc before the carriage and raise their hands in unison, issuing their command in shouts that cut through the relative calm of the afternoon.
As we look for new ways to introduce writers to the @auldenon rpg setting, we’ve decided to start generating various open starters and prompts for folks to interact with. These posts will take place across the vast and diverse locales of Auldenon, where your character can partake in independent adventures and meet a variety of figures who coexist with them. We invite anyone to respond to these posts in-character as we hope it’ll be an easy, lowkey, and immersive way for you, the writer, and your character to find footing within the setting. One open starter will be posted at a time, as we intend to resolve the events of each thread and want to give your writing the time and attention it deserves and allow your characters to explore and exist within the world.
This is a community effort, though– that means we also need you! If you’re interested in participating, please drop a like on this post to help give us an idea of what we’re in for!
And as always, we’re ready and eager to help out where we can. If you have questions, comments, or would like a crash course on anything related to the setting, please reach out to @aldoreth or @hazriel and we’ll see what we can do!
A brief summary of the major regions within the Empire of Asteveil, their histories, and their cultures.
NIVA PONTOS
The central region of the Empire was once a series of disparate kingdoms and estates that stretched from the southern coast of Auldenon to the foothills surrounding the Godbury Mount. The Astevei clan’s rise to prominence first as courtiers and eventually as the rulers of Niva Pontos itself, however, began an era of consolidation. Through expert political maneuvering and more than one bloody campaign, the independent kingdoms surrounding Niva Pontos swore fealty one by one and the heartland of the Empire was born.
The land itself is generally flat, with rolling hills that become more severe as one travels toward Godbury or Uhel. The forests of Godbury and Auchord give way to wide, temperate plains near the city of Niva Pontos itself, with a few large rivers running from the upper reaches toward the coast. The Empire’s characteristic floating isles are a relatively common sight, with smaller islets drifting overhead and the larger populated islands remaining fixed in place.
Decades of strong commerce and proximity to power have made Niva Pontos the most affluent region of the Empire. The roads throughout the region, carefully-maintained by local officials, are broad and smooth, allowing the bountiful harvests of the southern plains to be distributed easily. Ornate garments dyed with expensive pigments, precious jewelry, and valuable enchanted items are a common sight in the cities and even rural homesteads enjoy greater prosperity than their counterparts in other regions. While the inhabitants of Niva Pontos are considered by some of the outer regions to be effete and spoiled, they have garnered a reputation in other corners as calculating governors and capable stewards of the Empire at large.
Echoes of lost Pontos abound in the styles and architecture of the Imperial heartland, though they have been altered over time as humanity came into contact with, and was influenced by, elves and anachire. The result is a blend of fashions and motifs, most readily apparent in Niva Pontos itself where ancient buildings in the Pontic style stand beside their more contemporary counterparts.
GODBURY
The northwestern region of the Empire is home to rugged hills, deep forests in the southeast leading toward Sumarfold, and wide stretches of grassland along the Rauthite border. The Godbury Mount, a towering peak of immense significance in Tresceian doctrine, lies at the center of the region surrounded by major temples connected by smaller towns and roadside inns.
The region was established early in human history as settlers expanded further upriver from Niva Pontos, with the resulting villages near the foot of the Godbury Mount proving a popular destination for pilgrims and priests alike. Temples sprung up quickly as places of intense worship and study, while the burgeoning towns enjoyed great prosperity as a result of the constant traffic through the region.
Being so closely entwined with the Tresceian orthodoxy, the culture of Godbury came to emphasize qualities valued by the faith: Godliness, honor, honesty, and loyalty. It was their commitment to these traits that led Godbury to align itself with the nascent Astevei dynasty, seeking to ensure the continued virtue of the Empire that would follow.
Godbury is the source of many of the Empire’s high-ranking priests, with temples and abbeys officially sanctioned by Niva Pontos dotting the landscape. Unlike their brethren in many other Imperial regions, inhabitants of Godbury remain largely in touch with their Pontic roots and the pious spirit of their forebears. To the rest of the Empire, they are considered blunt, hardworking, loyal, and devout above all.
When it comes to clothing, northerners tend to dress simply, foregoing the elaborate or colorful dress of neighboring regions in favor of ascetic, functional garb well-suited to their mountainous surroundings. Holy symbols are often worn on one’s person or woven into their clothing as a measure of devotion, but the garments themselves are generally unremarkable.
In matters of architecture, however, Godbury excels. The most ancient temples ringing the foothills of the Godbury Mount have been repaired and added to over time, becoming towering monuments adorned with statues and reliefs of the gods and their exploits, as well as the prominent saints and heroes of the faith. Each temple is a unique labor of love maintained by a throng of dedicated acolytes and masons, and echoes of their work can be seen throughout the region: Roadside inns maintain walls of carvings detailing popular myths, town squares are overlooked by stately buildings bearing the gods’ likenesses, and even the most humble farmer keeps an effigy of their favored god at their doorstep.
HAEMATHIA
The second region to take up the Asteveil banner and the first kingdom to culturally distinguish itself from its neighbors, Haemathia carries a long and storied history in its own right. Situated in the drainage basin to the south of Uhel, the region has historically been blessed by bountiful harvests that attracted opportunistic settlers who were dissatisfied by the growing influence of elves and anachire in Niva Pontos. These homesteads eventually banded together and officially established the realm of Haemathia, proclaiming themselves the heirs to the ways of lost Pontos.
In many ways, the attitudes of Haemathia are similar to those of Godbury, albeit more secular than religious: The historical values of old Pontos are revered and outside influence is met with mistrust and hostility. This worldview extends to the art and architecture of the region, which are consistent with the most ancient structures in Niva Pontos. To the dismay of many, this lends some legitimacy to the Haemathians’ claims of having preserved Pontic culture against the forces of change.
The kingdom’s early efforts to establish itself as the true successor of Pontos were seen as a provocation by its more influential neighbor, leading to the Hegemonic War between the two regions ca. 250 PC during which the Haemathian armies were decimated by the forces of Niva Pontos (who, it should be noted, included no small number of the very elves and anachire the Haemathians resented.)
The terms that ended the war were restrictive and rendered Haemathia a vassal state of Niva Pontos in all but name, ensuring that it would never regain the same level of prominence. In the intervening years, the region stagnated as it continued to cling to the ways of old Pontos. Efforts to modernize the kingdom were made after the formal establishment of the Empire but were met with mixed success, leaving the region a more traditionalist, more impoverished echo of its ancient counterpart.
Today, the language and architecture of Haemathia are the region’s most distinctive features. Large, square structures dot the landscape, supported by ornate pillars. The citizenry dress with none of the finery of Niva Pontos, preferring a more old-fashioned and neutral style, and the accent and phrasing with which they conduct their business are considered quaint– if not outdated– by the rest of the Empire.
UHEL
Uhel, roughly translated to “the high place” in the old dialect of the Olenfolk, is a region overlooking the sheer cliffs that border Vranir. Originally settled by the first clans to separate from the Host of King Olen, Uhel boasts a sizable population of Olenfolk and the influences of Vranic culture are apparent in all facets of life.
A rocky region situated high above the Rrelash Floodplains to the north and Haemathia to the south, Uhel stretches from the cliffs along the edge of Vranir to the foot of the Godbury Mount. It is home to the Empire’s most expansive quarries and deepest mines, providing the raw materials for everything from construction to enchanting.
Villages in Uhel strike an uneasy balance between the architectural styles of the Olenfolk and their Pontic counterparts. Entire settlements are constructed along cliff faces or over mountain passes, connected by a continuous series of walkways and bridges that unite the township in a way reminiscent of Vranir’s renowned megastructures.
Once an independent series of chiefdoms, Uhel fell victim to Imperial expansionism in the wake of the Hegemonic War. Opportunistic clans on the border of Haemathia took advantage of the conflict to pillage the small settlements along the border, drawing first the attention and then the wrath of the Empire. The disparate clans posed little threat to the united forces of the Empire and were quickly conquered. The edicts that followed were far less restrictive than those imposed upon Haemathia and were largely limited to imposing Imperial language and currency upon the region. Local leaders remained in place after being administered an oath and promising periodic tribute to the Empire, allowing Uhel’s insular clan-based society to continue without further disruption.
The region's inhabitants are seen as coarse and resilient by the Empire at large, and they cling tightly to their Olenfolk customs. Honor is paramount in Uhel, and any slight against one’s character or prestige demands recompense. Duels, both lethal and otherwise, are a common practice for honorably settling disputes, as are tests of skill or intellect. Likewise, the region’s common styles of dress and art reflect their old traditions: heavy cloaks and garments of simple, martial severity are the favored style and piles of charred offerings smolder outside of temples until the soot can be used to darken each home’s threshold. Meticulously-metered poetry is the favored means of recording true events and myths alike, and the two often blend further into each other with each telling until the boundary becomes impossible to discern.
RRELASH FLOODPLAINS
Named after the River Rrelash that runs from the Godbury Mount to the coast of Srathas, the Floodplains are home to several large rivers and tributaries that swell in the summer and drain into a number of small lakes and ponds as the water recedes. The land slopes gradually downward the further east one travels, leading eventually to the steep cliffs of Vranir and the rainforest of Srathas beyond. Since its soil remains wet nearly year-round, the region has proven a reliable and productive source of certain crops including berries, taro, and rice. As a result, agriculture remains a profitable endeavor and the harvests of Floodplains frontiersmen are relied upon to sustain the neighboring regions of Uhel and Godbury.
The Rrelash Floodplains are considered an isolated backwater by much of the Empire, far north enough to be beyond the immediate concern of the more influential regions and carrying enough Nsoni influence to be practically alien to outsiders. The recent rise of the Heir in the border settlement of Menath’vha has only contributed to this sentiment, leading many to dismiss the region as little more than a dangerous marsh.
Despite this reputation, the Floodplains are an old and integral part of the Empire. Little by little, what was once a scattered collection of independent farming communities submitted to Imperial rule in the interest of maintaining their trade relations with the principalities of Uhel– jeopardized by the Imperial conquest of that region after a brief and bloody campaign– and gaining protection from marauders flowing into their lands from Vranir.
The art, attitudes, and customs of the Floodplains are deeply influenced by the region’s heavy Nsoni population. Perfumes and incense are fixtures of many villages across the region, as are the quirks of ilseiss architecture: Tall, narrow doors and windows adorn the buildings that line the paths, scented smoke coiling lazily from censers suspended above each threshold. The citizenry go about their business wrapped in drab, simple garments and a veritable mist of fragrance, with brightly-colored markings carefully applied to their throats and arms.
AUCHORD
Situated between Exted and Sumarfold, the province of Auchord remains a foreign and mysterious realm to much of the Empire. Large portions of the land are concealed by the dense forests native to Sumarfold, which make travel a confusing and potentially dangerous venture should one wander beyond the major towns and groves at the region’s edge.
More familiar than most with the elemental rifts of Sumarfold, Auchord has historically enjoyed fair weather and unnaturally fertile soil brought about by their close proximity to the climate-shaping magic of the rivtenya. A small sect of mages proficient in this art have existed for many years since receiving instruction from the court of Aphoset, but the distance between Auchord and the rifts limits their influence over the land.
Magic and astronomy are common pursuits in Auchord, which has styled itself after the courts of Sumarfold with expansive libraries in each city housing esoteric knowledge and a long line of philosopher-sovereigns steering affairs with a stern hand. Stately observatories and greenhouses line the streets, illuminated in strange colors by captive ghost lights. With mundane concerns such as agriculture managed through arcane means, an appreciation for all things opulent has taken hold of the Chordian populace. Though the study of arcana is a frequent path, citizens find themselves free to pursue any path they please. The result is a vibrant region of artists, scholars, and craftsmen that revel in the strange and grandiose.
Intricately-embroidered garments and hands covered in colorful tattoos are as synonymous with Auchord in the rest of the Empire as tales of travelers lost to the woods or mistrustful rumors of dark magic at work beyond the treeline. The style carries clear influence drawn from the lavish fashions of neighboring Sumarfold and Exted, but remains unique and distinctive. As a result, Chordian garments are sought after by the upper crust of Imperial society as symbols of status and erudition.
BARLOVIA ISLAND
The largest of Auldenon’s islands, Barlovia is a sprawling, sleepy expanse of meadows that rise in a series of plateaus as one travels further inland. Small hamlets dot the lower reaches, while Imperial fortifications and boroughs loom in the mist that covers the upper levels.
Barlovia is known as a quiet isle, serving as an inconspicuous and efficient nexus of Imperial bureaucracy. The settlements lining its lower regions tend to be peaceful fishing villages, merchant ports, or farmsteads, none of which operate with any particular urgency. Time moves slowly on Barlovia and its inhabitants are untroubled by the outside world.
Barlovian fashion differs little from the styles of Niva Pontos, albeit constructed of cheaper materials and half-hidden beneath thick cloaks that ward against the rain and fog. Likewise, religious practice on the island seems to borrow from Exted, with each citizen revering the spirits and deities that most directly impact their own lives. However, the innumerable cults and webs of intrigue that define Exted are noticeably absent on Barlovia.
EXTED
If Godbury styles itself as the moral center of the Empire, then Exted has fast come to represent its heart and passion. The rocky shores and verdant plains are home to innumerable small towns, linked by narrow roads that spread like cobwebs from the major cities near the region’s center. The Ethtine cling tightly to their ways and customs even in the face of Imperial efforts to homogenize culture within its borders. Indeed, the freedom to keep to their traditional way of life was among the terms struck when Empress Herachia rode to the capital of Lepris armed with her chalice.
Ethtine culture is something of an anomaly, having developed in relative isolation for most of human history. The result is a shockingly vibrant and broad-minded region whose practices seem all but alien to foreigners. Inhabitants of Exted tend to eschew organized religion, with individuals instead electing to worship a particular deity or group that holds personal significance, essentially creating their own personal pantheon of gods, saints, and minor spirits. Small cults dedicated to these figures are commonplace, each with their own unique rites and practices.
In keeping with the Ethtine fondness for small, tight-knit groups, secret societies flourish in the region. Membership in one or more of these groups is common and associates make their affiliations known through a variety of symbols ranging from distinctive jewelry to secret gestures or phrases. Conflict between these hidden groups is inevitable, though, and intrigue has become a fact of life in Exted. Indeed, plain aggression and outright warfare are frowned upon as barbaric; unseen schemes are the method of choice for dealing with one’s opponents, whether political, social, or economic.
A stunning blur of color and motion belie the turbulent undercurrents of Exted. Citizens dress in many layers of colorful, flowing garments accented with the characteristic jewelry and cosmetics of their secret societies, banners and flags of all shapes and colors line the streets, and the disparate cults hold frequent festivals dedicated to obscure spirits. As a result, many of the more conservative regions tend to view Exted as a province of libertines and heathens. Despite this reputation, though, the vibrance and passion of Ethtine culture have quickly left the region’s mark on the Empire as a whole.
Third day of the Year of Still Tides, now celebrated as a holiday across the Empire.
Parents:
Empress Herachia ul-Gyremnon per-at Exted Astevei and Lord Consort Jirhane of the Godbury Mount.
Marriage:
Wed Lady Consort Degnea of Bether on the hundredth day of the Year of Tame Isles.
Children:
General Thalea of the Rose Tower, born on the 207th day of the year of Pale Fire.
Nilosse, Castellan of Whithere, born on the 340th day of the year of Broken Stone.
Acchos, born on the 92nd day of the year of Root and Brick.
A Brief Biography:
For the first two decades of his life, Orimaeon was instructed by the Empire’s greatest minds in subjects ranging from mathematics and astronomy to law and philosophy. These were coupled with extensive lessons from his mother and father on the practicalities of ruling and the finer details of the Tresceian faith.
In the Year of Crossed Valleys, Orimaeon ascended the throne at the age of 27 after the sudden death of Empress Herachia. He inherited an Empire at peace, and his shrewd stewardship led the realm to continued prosperity even as he dedicated large sums of coin to the arts and magical research.
Shortly thereafter, in the Year of Tame Isles, Emperor Orimaeon wed Lady Consort Degnea of Bether atop the first floating isle to be successfully steered and developed by imperial magi. This isle would soon come to house the mobile portion of the imperial palace.
In the decades that followed, life in the Empire remained stable under Orimaeon’s leadership. He fathered three children, the eldest two of which have since assumed positions of authority in the imperial military and administrative sectors in preparation for an eventual vacancy on the throne. Following a thwarted assassination attempt in the Year of Sallow Feathers, the Emperor became increasingly reclusive, relying more and more heavily on the council of Paerarchs to govern effectively.
Seeking to follow his mother’s example and bring new lands into the fold, Orimaeon launched an invasion of the neighboring nation of Entari in the Year of Bent Spokes. Support from Syldor was quick to arrive, drawing the conflict into an uneasy stalemate which has become a blemish on the Emperor’s name.
“Conventional wisdom and the odd personal encounter both hold that all fae are known by two names, similar in composition but vastly different in meaning and significance. The first of these is the name by which they are known to the greater world, referred to by the fae themselves as a Blindname. Barring an exceedingly rare exception, the Blindname is traditionally used for the purposes of introductions and interactions with the mortal races. The second name, and the one from which the Blindname is derived, is an abstract account of the fae’s lineage and hue known as a Bindname. These are a series of layered metaphors describing the history of an individual’s ancestry, typically only able to be parsed by other fae who are well acquainted with that peculiar dialect. While not as all-powerful as the fabled concept of a true name, Bindnames are nevertheless guarded carefully in interactions with mortals, as much for the sake of privacy as that of tradition.”
“I have had many a lesson in the terrible art of ruling and many more in the state of violence. Would you like to know the truth? They are one and the same. A ruler has no need of a weapon; she slaughters men by the score without a single impulse. Such is the nature of leadership. The secret that makes a true sovereign is in crushing the fallen foe beneath one’s tongue and pulling a cowed companion from the wreckage.”
- The Heir, in an audience with emissaries from the Empire of Asteveil
“The Intemperate Art of Ereus, more commonly styled as simply the Bard’s Art, is an exceptionally rare style of combat developed in the cabaret district of Cipha, which at that time was little more than an artist collective besieged by the city’s burgeoning criminal element. Seeking some recourse and finding none, the bards and poets took up the tools of their craft and turned to increasingly mysterious practices in order to drive away their aggressors.
The Bard’s Art was the result: An artful mastery of angles that renders feather quills as sharp as blades and stacks of paper as solid as iron when wielded in the right hands.
Unlike other styles, the Bard’s Art is not taught formally and prospective students must instead seek out an existing practitioner. With such a small initial group of masters, this has become virtually impossible in recent years as both the need for and interest in the style dwindle ever further.”
- Excerpt from Killing Blows and the Hands That Strike Them
"NOTICE TO ALL PERSONNEL: On the day of her elective coronation, Queen Edelgarde Magfir-Vencaryn proclaimed the commitments her crown would weigh in the first years of her reign. Today, the decreed division of Syldor's national army is formally announced and justifiably authorized for immediate operation.
Below, active military members may consider the new branches and ascertain their placement. Commanding officers will confirm their subordinates' new assignments within the week, and every member shall be equipped with updated identification and uniforms in the following five days.
RADOMIR; the somatic militant division. The principled land force of Syldor will be composed of voluntary enlistments who do not rely on arcane properties for their positions.
All tactical advisors and high-ranking officials will be known as Sanctionik going forward. See debrief file A5RS0. Cartographers, ranger divisions, and soldier regiments will be reassigned as Auspicesnik. New locations along with uniforms to follow. Prepare a 5H window before departure. Political consuls, medics, weapon engineers, and scientists have been recalled to the capital for Phrenik reassignment.
MORANENE; the arcane militant division. The thaumaturge force, an involuntary service branch under the Queen's decree. Those who do not serve are restricted in practice and by permit. Those who evade service or permission will be punished by law.
Service members who can bleed, heal, or perform necromancy will see the Cruoralka division. Senior officials have already received assignments. Channellers, animancers, and elementalists are recalled to the capital for training and Auralka reassignment. Enchanters, fabricators, transmuters are recalled to the capital for Primalka reassignment."
- Syldor's Official Notification of Military and Augur Reallocations
“Those we once trusted betrayed our people the day the destructive lure of power took precedence over duty, over the blood and autonomy of our people. No child shall worry for the corruption of their warden; no citizen of Syldor will suffer a day as grim as we have. Today, it’s this ill-deed we lay to rest along with the fear of slaughter in our lands at the expense of unrestrained augury.”
- Excerpt of Edelgarde Magfir-Vencaryn’s Coronation Speech
“Specimen 00X took two weeks of tracking, is no larger than a rose in bloom, possesses a slimy texture when dormant and takes on a kinetic flow state when “activated.” Shockingly, it’s displayed the ability to consume more than fifty times its mass with no visual consequence of growth or overconsumption so far. Not only can it continuously devour, but it also seems to have very few limitations on the substances that afflict it. However, it does become more aggressive under certain conditions, feeding being one of them.
The most distressing of all is its magnetic-like properties. The specimen, admittedly, breached containment and made contact with another metal specimen. It was reportedly highly challenging to separate as it displayed a magnetic pull-like reaction with increased destructive force. At the same time as this incident, the substance contacted human skin and caused a caustic burn-like wound that hasn’t seen improvement in 5 days.
Since then, Specimen 00X has been shown to take on more and more discernible and increasingly complex shapes."
- Dr. Rowan Zajec, an uncovered excerpt from “The Darkened Fields of Darnelis: Field Notes”
”Language, as an aspect of the more general marriage of fixed identities to abstract concepts, forms the basis of magical principles up to and including the underpinnings of creation. And just as mortals make use of a crude imitation of the language of the gods, so too so Abyssal creatures speak a myriad of tongues underlying and defining their state of unbeing. These languages are incomprehensible to mortal ears; being creatures of the terrestrial world, we can never know what it is not to exist. However, certain Abyssal dialects are distinct enough that they may be used to identify and classify otherwise unknowable entities. In this way we may begin to draw back the veil and shed some light on the greatest of all mysteries.”
“The knightly orders of Alanach are widely varied in conceit and function, with membership being the highest honor to which the average commoner might aspire. The origin and purpose of each order may be traced back to one of the Illyri Saints, who function both as governing bodies and religious authorities and established their individual circles of knights as extensions of their own influence. The knights function with the full support of their Saints, with the various orders vying for dominance amongst themselves even as they enforce the laws set forth by their masters. What follows is a brief account of the prominent orders, their patron Saints, and their appointed functions.
Founded by Ethrad, the patron Saint of plots and poetry, the Saccadic Knights are the eyes and ears of the Church. They are spies, brokers of information, assassins, and secret police who uncover dissent and monitor events across the continent. Of all the knightly orders, Saccadic Knights are most likely to venture beyond the walls of Alanach, although such expeditions only last long enough for the Knights to complete their obscure tasks.
The Amaranthine Knights were created by Acameine, the patron Saint of salves and threnodies. They are half-living, composed of reanimated or magically-preserved warriors. As a result, a penchant for necromancy and a certain degree of magical talent are ubiquitous within their ranks. Amaranthine Knights operate alone or in small groups and are typically assigned missions that have proven to be beyond the abilities of the local garrison.
Vicious in combat and all but bestial in demeanor, the Gnathic Knights are the invention of Ourn, patron Saint of vintners and the harvest. They are juggernauts, trained and equipped solely for the shedding of blood and the gnashing of teeth. In contemporary times they occupy themselves with exterminating the horrors that dwell in the furthest corners of Alanach, for what else is a creature born of war to do in times of peace?
Knell Knights are the most amicable of the major orders, a testament to their founder Corragh’s place as patron Saint of law and sequence. Knell Knights live in the belfries of Alanach’s shrines and monasteries, where they are tasked with the protection and maintenance of the structures and their grounds. Despite the size of their order, the sheer number of temples that dot the land means each Knight must take responsibility for several locations, traveling to each as the need arises.
The Didactic Knights are as pious and scholarly an order as one is likely to find. Charged by Ander, the patron of vaults and history, with challenging the perceptions of the people and encouraging ever greater devotion among the masses, these Knights exist for the sake of philosophical debate. Prone to speaking in parables and half-truths to turn matters in their favor, the Didactic Knights attend their function with glee, seeking to spread the Church’s teachings and encourage deeper study wherever they go.
Solstice Knights are the true wanderers of the orders. Their travels carry them across the full breadth of Alanach, consuming their days so fully that they return to the same place no more than once or twice in a year. Their Saint Sairne, the patron of congeries and consequence, understood that there would inevitably be occasions in which the other orders would be unable to entirely fulfill their missions and established the Solstice Knights as a remedy. They exist to aid the other orders where possible and perform whatever duties avoid their notice.
Suffering is the heart and essence of the famed Auspice Knights. Assembled by the patron Saint of paupers and ruin, Rairan, they live in poverty and squalor. They exist simply to struggle, placing themselves against insurmountable odds and perils in order to surpass the bounds of mortal ability and compel a metamorphosis into something more. Under such conditions, failure can only mean death. That any Auspice Knights survive their training and live long enough to accomplish anything of note is nothing less than miraculous; that none have been called to arms in recent memory is nothing less than a blessing.
Although these are the largest and most famed, it should be noted that numerous other knightly orders exist. Among these are the Sagittate Knights who walk the walls of Yghaal, the Reservoir Knights who plumb the secrets of Alanach’s wells, and the Cuspid Knights who maintain the Cold Gates.”
Upon that perilous snow crusted frontier
there is a Queen that the boreal people revere.
Enemies forewarn her silver arrow resounds,
for she is the patron of salts and hounds.
If in the North a sound follows you at night,
I warn you dear reader, it’s not her bark, it’s the bite.
Land on the western coast carved like a rune,
find the sundry presiding council of noble Leastrune.
A small but mighty nation who’s happy to provide:
freedom, enlightenment, the comforts of their great tides.
But deep in the jungle and under the green
there’s a perpetual fog, a half-truth kept keen.
Carry down wind, southern radiance of Sumarfold,
espy their ruling archon; boy king, dipped in gold.
He revels amongst his ancient bacchant subjects,
edacious, lecherous, shouting with intoxicated glee,
“Go on! Get out auspex! Your prophecies demoralize me.”
Relax, again dear reader. Worry not of fox-spirit canes, or the left eye he shares,
dread should only arrive along with your dinner invitation to the state of affairs.
- An excerpt from the children’s poem “Where the Continent Ends” by Nuru Mondragon
