Regions for Approval / Changes Thread

Brrrekeke is bordered by the Salt River in the North, the Rumbling River in the East, Mrrrumkaro in the South, and the ocean to the West. The Salt River is a slow wide river that turns into an expansive salt marsh as it approaches the ocean. South of that the land becomes a densely wooded mix of swamp and forest that extends across the entire region.

When the majority of the Mist tribe fled after the war, the Foggy Air tribe quickly stepped into the power vacuum to broker peace. They and many of the allied tribes in the area are zabka, but there is a new myrkran minority.

Cling weed is a climbing vine that grows throughout the forests of Brrrekeke. Most of the plant is edible, but the small white flowers especially are collected and dried for use in medicine.

With the population of this large coastal flat being largely isolated loners, Tete-kāno send out their expansion vines into it. At first, they stuck to the coastland and began expanding inward. Over time, it was eventually discovered that - while the area is reasonably fertile - there's little here beyond semi-firm ground. This was of little concern, as this largely means it was ripe for potential. The two small "forests" quickly became the first settlements and soon supported wayward groves of evergreen oaks and smaller flower Toteharu. The rocky and damp berm provided a suitable surface for softer plants and plenty of space for the seaweed & marine flotsam tribes. In their efforts, they naturally took to exploring the small caldera island.

Like its mundanely unappended brethren, the Shadow Flax that grows in the shaded rim of the caldera island seems to have taken on the nature of its environment. Vibrant green stems and lilac flowers have been darkened with a black-green stem and deep purple flower. Linens made from these fibers no more durable than others, but the color may be seen as attractive, as is the dye made from the flowers. But the seeds are considered more valuable. Thick with resin like a poppy, the pressed oil from these flowers seems to be naturally inflammable, but further investment and investigation are better left for the future.

A small tribe of Toteharu has take up the mantle of curating these plants and taking on their characteristics.

Guo-Guo is bordered by the Rumbling River to the North and West. Generally as you travel Northeast across the region the elevation increases. The Southwest is largely wetlands, but as you head West and the elevation increases the wetlands give way to open plains.

Like most zabka, Guo-guo is ruled by a system of confederated tribes. However because the zabka primarily live in wetlands and along the river, there are several human tribes on the plains.

Flax grows in massive quantities across the plains of Guo-guo and is cultivated by the human tribes in the region for both fiber and oil.

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Entering from both the east and west, the Toteharu were already here in small numbers in the western hills. The gradually sloped area peters out to the east before it turns back to the flatlands closer to the Toteharu's original islands. Thin forests run through it, keeping it from being a featureless plain.

Prior to Tete-kāno's expansion into the area, it was far more focused on several sizable human townships, loosely connected and barely organized.

"Highland" mostly due to the western hills, these berries grow in fair abundance; enough to keep these previous small settlements going while they turn their projects to other crops. Sugary, mildly inebriating, and popular for cooking (but rarely eaten raw), they're a decent staple in the region.

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The Toteharu, as a group, are sentient plant creatures. They range in all shapes and sizes, with humanoid members being the most common to interact with other cultures to ease the alien tensions brought about by this. Even among the humanoid members of the race, there is significant deviation. Some weedy and vine-like, others more akin to some culture's legends of treants. But a fair bulk of the race is instead merely plant-like, with additional branches and bulbs to hold organs akin to the brain and arms of other races. This is due to their plant-like nature allowing them to sculpt and graft themselves in unusual ways, an aspect they don't openly tell to others.

The Toteharu are insular people. Although far from xenophobic, they simply - at this time - do not view contact with other races as valuable or necessary to their own survival. They enjoy a small amount of trade, but need little beyond water and just about any organic material to survive. As such, they've turned inward and begun to develop their dogma and plan their eventual expansion.

The three small islands of the Toteharu obfuscate their overall population and reach. What may seem to be three separate islands are instead a three-pronged rocky peak surrounded by mud flats and lagoons. Connected by a thick network of Toteharu communities, they're not three islands disconnected, but a crown of vines that spill into the nearby sea.

Human, Toteharu, and Nanx settle this coast, gathering the bounty of the sea. Small villages send a scattering of shallow vessels each morning, and each return late in the day laden with clams, oysters, seaweed, and fish. The villages also maintain gardens of leafy greens, some for food, and some (the Toteharu) as children. The people are generally weathered and well salted.

Recently the majority of the villages have agreed to join the Nanx Throng. In exchange for the benefits of trade and the offer of protection, the greater Nanx have begun establishing a presence in one of the larger villages in a natural harbor, and constructing docks suitable for ocean-faring vessels.

This region lies on the northern edge of Altarin. Rough, thorny shrubland cover most of the region, giving way to small shrubby evergreens in the slope up the Wyr. Rocky beaches and silty coastal waters are home to a number of water-dwelling flora and fauna, most notably among them the razor clams that give the area its name. Nearer the Wyr, the beaches rise to rocky cliffs.

While the ocean's bounty is not insignificant, the greatest supply is the eponymous Razor Clams. These long, thin clams are tasty, fast-growing, and keep well out of the water making them suitable for trade and processing. In addition, the shells when burned can make a useful white paint that give the villages a unique character.

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The Nanx of the Wyr Foothills are generally found by their neighbors to be either friendly if unpredictable neighbors or annoying pests. Small in stature compared to most, Nanx have a variety of skin colors tending towards green, a variety of ear shapes tending towards long, pointed, and expressive, a variety of limbs tending towards the standard two and two. Gender isn't something they seem to recognize in themselves, and their reproductive habits are relatively unknown except that their young seem to incubate in boil-like clusters on their backs.

The Nanx operate by some kind of self-organizing anarchy, with each individual chipping in as they seem best. Young Nanx wander in bands, visiting different people and trying different things until they find something that fits them and they settle down. The main excepting is when one of the Shamans decides to decide something needs doing, in which case most Nanx will, again, chip in as best they can.

Nanx' idea of personal property is a bit looser than most races', leading to their annoying pest reputation among the more formal  people. This isn't to say they're some kind of automatically thieving bunch of short folk, they understand that others aren't as free-wheeling with that axe that was just sitting there.

The western foothills of the Wyr Mountains see frequent rainfall as the humid winds are ramped up and cool, dumping their water on the mountainside and running down into the river that mostly bisects the region. This region is honeycombed with caves which show a strange regularity in their layout. Within the depths of these caves are found the Shimmerstones that the Nanx both prize and burn. The Nanx shamans make regular journeys to the depths of these caves, seeking insights to help them lead the Throng.

The rainfall supports copses of evergreens along the mountains, sheltering plentiful berry bushes and hunting grounds, while the plains below grow grains which the Nanx are beginning to learn to farm instead of gather, and small villages dot the river for fishing.

This strange resource can be found growing on the walls of the deep caves of the Wyr Foothills. It forms into geometric accretions that flicker with unusual colors, and sometimes repeating patterns, or sometimes layers of flat sheets that can be carefully peeled apart into paper-thin nearly transparent panels.

Nanx shamans prize Shimmerstone that shows high clarity, claiming to be able to see visions of the past, present, and future in their depths. Larger, more robust chunks are used as barter tokens, or sometimes burned for a hot-burning fuel. Smaller shards are woven into jewelry, and worn until their fragility causes them to crumble into sparkly dust.

The Meinos are a peaceful yet peculiar sort of folk, grazing their sheep along the banks of the Avon from the shores of Lake Heddwch to the slopes of Mount Mynydd. Their ruddy complexions and thick, curly hair make them seem almost like bipedal versions of the great, brown, shaggy ruminants they care for. Yet for all their pastoral nature, the Meinos are drawn to the high places in the East when the solstice comes 'round. There, nestled in the foothills, are impossible creations of stonework: huge arches formed from massive blocks. No one living knows how they came to be, yet the people are certain that these structures are at once a message and a calling--a sign, even, of what should be. Every Meinan house is constructed around a miniature version of the stone arch, which forms the entryway into the dwelling.

Mount Mynydd overlooks the foothills below.

The Great Arch, upon the west slope of Mount Mynydd

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The Sugandese people are a mix of human horse tribes in the south and zabka tribes in the north, though the humans tell tales of mysterious mind goblins in the southern woods.

Sugonda sits at a natural low point in Altarin,with marshy planes to the north and rolling plains to the south. Ancient metal ruins dot the plains. Most are corroded shells, but there are some that remain sealed, possibly hiding ancient secrets.

Normal horses. Nothing weird here.

Few people live in the Weak Lands. The vast majority are dead. At some mythological point in the distant past, someone (supposedly the mythological first king When) realized that people possess souls and that dead people continue to possess souls - just trapped in their decaying meat shells. King When then invented a method to free these souls from the bodies - which would normally fade away once freed - and bind their existence to continue through the use of Anchor Stones. A culture of ghosts was thus born.

The Myrkran of New Kaldyr are a hardy people. With the help of the Tribal Council they established several tribes and integrated into the confederacy as equal partners. Not all Myrkran agree on how equal it was though. The zabka have made attempts to learn more about their historical politics, perhaps letting one faction name this new settlement after their homeland was in poor taste?

New Kaldyr is a mostly rolling hills to the north and dense forest to the south. The tribes beyond these lands had many stories of people going missing in these woods, possibly why it had remained so sparsely populated all this time, but the Myrkran put no stock in folk tales.

The Myrkran settlers quickly established a lumber trade.

The zabka of Rrrivit live primarily on the eastern edge of the region near the Rumbling River, but have coastal settlements across the south. Inland nanx tribes maintain the forests and trade with the zabka villages.

The largest zabka settlements are along the river to the east, and the rocky southern coast. Further inland however there are forests that have been maintained as a single massive orchard for longer than living memory by a tribe of nanx.

Hungry for apples? The nanx in the region have maintained these orchards for longer than anyone remembers for reasons no one knows.

Zabka resemble humanoid frogs in many ways. Though they can vary quite drastically in build, zabka share some general traits. They all have long digitigrade legs, very thin waists, and wide heads with almost no ‘neck’ to speak of. This gives them a very triangular torso, but older zabka tend to be heavy set to the point of having more of a pentagonal torso. Generally an adult zabka will stand nearly eight feet tall, but they tend towards a hunched, squatting posture that makes them appear closer to 5-6 feet and accentuates any fat they might have. Their skin is smooth and ranges from light greens to dark browns. They often have patterns of stripes and or spots.

Zabka go through several phases in life, starting as eggs. Villages are often built around a protected lake or pond where the tadpoles will hatch and live for the first few years of their lives until they begin to metamorphosize and make the transition to breathing air. A zabka tadpole starts roughly 6 inches long and will grow to between 2 and 3 feet before transitioning to land.

During this long infancy the young zabka are not given any special considerations as persons. They are barely sentient and will often cannibalize new eggs or each other if the lake is not well stocked with small fish. Adults do not name them or track parentage. The young legged zabka are not much better. Usually upon leaving the village lake they will go into the wild where they are one of the local apex predators. Groups of young zabka will form gangs, usually led by the eldest or largest, that stick together throughout adolescence, which can last upwards of 30 years.

By about 35 years of age a zabka’s tail has fully receded and their mental faculties have fully developed. Around this age they will rejoin society. Most young adult zabka apprentice to an established adult to learn a trade and find their place in the tribe. Because of their complete disconnect to child rearing zabka have unique cultural understandings on what a family is. Procreation is seasonal and communal. There is very little sexual dimorphism between male and female zabka. Adult zabka will take any number of life partners, often based on shared interests. To humans and other outsiders these relationships often seem platonic, but they can be very loving.

On average zabka live to be 120

Mrrrumkaro is a long stretch of wetlands between the western ocean and the Rumbling River. Much of the area is dominated by rolling hills that are effectively islands in flooded fields of marshgrass, especially during the rainy season. Farther south near the mouth of the Rumbling River much of the marshland is brackish. Here the trees are adapted to filter and extrude salt, sometimes forming large crystals in their lower branches.

A wide variety of wildlife is native to Mrrrumkaro, but the most important are the many species of freshwater clams and mussels. They form the backbone of the food chain and are a favorite of many aquatic mammals, fish, birds, and the zabka. Their shells have piled up for centuries leading to the primary export of Mrrumkaro, quicklime. When the zabka learned to cook the shells into quicklime is lost to history, but it is used for both mortar and cement in their architecture.

Members of Sister's Hands are dressed in resplendent white and opening to visitors in their colossal stone structure with enormous colored glass windows and architecture reinforced with wrought ironwork, a place they call the Cathedral of Open Palms. The vast house of worship has hundreds of pews, each with an earthen jug for water and stone channels that guide water poured from the pews to a central channel. More than a simple church the place is built like a fortress, with many highly defensible alcoves and temple guards watching the moves of strangers, as well as being much, much larger than this room alone.

A sparse land with little in the way of proper foliage and life, the eastern shore of Altarian is another not-quite-rolling flatland spilling into more of the same. Drier than the lands west of the mountains, the region was still reasonably hospital to the less watery Toteharu.

Creeping up from the water were large-scale rock formations dotted with crystalline blue veins. Treasure to ships and docking, but sparse enough to not become a problem, these formations were actually ever-growing coral beds of tiny creatures whose shells become endothermic when exposed to air. Thus, their moniker and blue-white coloration make them a valuable commodity beyond the basic trade value of already attractive coral.

Fairies live for 6-7 years, are about 10-13 inches, weigh 4-9 pounds, appear human save the translucent butterfly wings on their back. They’re prone to outlandish claims, can lift 5-10 times their own weight while walking, and fly short distances before needing rest. They could probably glide much further than they fly, that would however require a Fairy to remain still and not become distracted. Fairies do not sleep, they crash when they have no energy left. To summarize: they’re annoying insects living short and fickle lives.

The Faries live in clans with an elder mediating between them. Except that the clans are more defined by individuals current obsessions than their blood and the elder is whomever can starve of boredom the longest while still keeping the others fed. Lilja claims the mediators hold a sliver of intelligence. I am doubtful any Fairy can remember their last thought, far less manage a semblance of logical reasoning.

Dammrök contains a great deal of sand. If you face south there is nothing but gently rolling dunes of itchiness stretching out for as long the eye can see. It would be an empty wasteland, if not for the sound of crashing waves from behind. Don’t look south silly, it's boring. 
Turning north the expanse of Blötöken provides the region with a thin sliver of life, turning dry itchiness into a slightly wetter menace. Besides an abundance of brambles, well more than ten dozen at least - look there’s plenty of them when the only other growing thing around is sand dunes, okay? 
Oh, and sometimes the sand becomes hard. Then we dig into it and make a home but if it’s too close to the water it gets damp from all the fog but if it’s too far away there’s no food and you get hungry. The best is Lagom it’s not too wet but it’s close to the fishes and there’s lots of friends to chat with!

The Fairies have made a game out of selling sand to strangers. There is no discernable difference between the sand in Dammrök or adjacent realms besides the incessant sales pitches for it.

Make sure all your possessions are well secured in Dammrök, otherwise the local insects might borrow them indefinitely.

The Feadhaine are race of anthropomorphic rats, standing on average approximately a foot and a half tall. Living for an average of fifty years, the Feadhaine thrive in tightly packed cities with homes stacked up against hill and mountainsides running along rustic cobblestone paths. They are known for their general adaptability to harsh environments, varied diets, and, of course, their unrivaled intimidation and pure ferocity.

Aite Salach has three main regions: the Airfalbh Islands to the south, the sprawling plains of Reidh in the east, and the rugged mountainside hills known as Righ Dion. While Reidh is far and away the most useful sector of Aite Salach with an abundance of farms and ranches, the capital of Ladirtabh rests up against the mountains in the far west.

Nothing is tastier to a Feadhaine than sticking one's head into a plump pumpkin and gnawing at the myriad of seeds inside. Blasda Pumpkins, a special strain developed over many generations, are grown en masse throughout the Imperium year-round and come in a variety of colors. The most of valuable of these, the cinnabar red pumpkins, are known for their delightfully sweet seeds and gooey flesh that can be used in a variety of baked goods and drinks.

The Akazeg are humans. Strange humans with a little moldy on the surface but humans nonetheless. Specifically, Akazeg are stocky humans that range in skin tone from ochre to oak in complexion. Symbiotic influence from the native fungi and millennia of hibernation have given many of the Akazeg blotches of violet and bioluminescent aquamarine across their frames. These features accompany the asymmetrical growth of chitinous plates, misplaced mushroom caps, and even the growth of extraneous chitenized limbs. Many of the recently awakened have metallic prosthetics animated by the user's symbiotic fungi, creeping mycelium functioning like nerves and blood vessels snaking deep into the steel's lattice. Akazeg often wears perfumes, oils, and incense but care little for jewelry. Tattoos and ritualized burn marks are nearly ubiquitous across all Akazeg adults. These markings portray family sigils, alchemical notes, charms, and mantras.

Akazeg organize themselves in various communes where land and productive property are distributed democratically based on the needs of the members. Communes range between 100-500 doting the isles with hundreds of interconnected villages. Each commune elects a member of the island's Grand Council, which in turn elects an Exarch. The Grand Council directs the productive goals of the various communes and collects taxes but this is in reality, a very decentralized society. Communes can and will disobey the grand assembly.

The Bulbancha archipelago lies just off the coast of eastern Vaire Ven. Once, the islands were imperious basalt plateaus spawned by ancient gouts of magma. However, a sudden rise in sea level would convert these stalwart formations into hilly islands covered in deep caves and arid savannahs. The fierce currents isolating Bulbancha from the mainland have given the isles unique flora and fauna. A wide variety of cacti, evergreen trees, thorny shrubs, and watapana trees inhabit Bulbancha's rolling hills, steep canyons, and rocky valleys. Numerous caves that dot the island are filled with hundreds of species of fungi lighting these abandoned magmatic caverns with pale blue-green light. Roaming the skies is a robust population of seagulls and pelicans.

Meanwhile, the interior of the island hosts a strange reflection of the lands beyond. Dwarf camels, emu, ground sloths, long-legged jackels, and terrestrial crocodiles make the archipelago their home. The fauna that venture into the caves often become infected with parasitic fungi with effects that range from standing in the sun-baked hills to exhaustion, and extra bioluminescence.

The Akazeg's main product is Blue Truffle Oil, an alchemical oil derived from the naturally occurring hallucinogenic blue Truffle. The oil can act as a drug and preservative.

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Description: The Null Foothills were not named for their features - the region is nowhere near barren enough to warrant such a moniker. Instead, the Omega named it upon learning the region's history, or rather how that history was largely eliminated by void cultists, leaving only a sad excuse for a warlord behind. From an ecological perspective, the region is almost insultingly normal, flanked as it is by the soaring mountains to the northeast and the enchanted forest of Root on the other side. Nonetheless, it serves as host to coniferous forests, scrublands, and plains, getting flatter as it moves farther away from what the Omega call the Pathway Mountains.

People: As mentioned, much of the culture from the Null Foothills is lost, including the region's original name. What remained were scattered hunter-gatherer tribes briefly united under Joseph the Breaker, which went back to being scattered tribes after his untimely demise. Still, a few traces do remain - various Moon-related shrines, ruins of temples once dedicated to the Vayuri, the occasional streak of metallic matter that could only have once been the Essence of many Omega. The machine people have been working to integrate the disparate groups into their own amorphous culture, resolving inconsistencies or rough edges where possible, as well as flooding the area with inquisitive constructs. As far as species go, the tribes included humans and a few Zoroans, though whether they were originally settlers or outcasts is hard to say.

The scrublands and forests are home to Highland Berries. The juices of these very dark berries stain well enough and lastingly enough to make a particular shade of violet dye, and are poisonous when eaten raw. As such, the animals of the region will not touch them save for the local Gold-Striped Oriole, which is biologically immune. These birds do not venture into the mountains where larger predatory raptors dwell, so the clusters of berries grow thicker and thicker as elevation increases (to a point), giving the berries their name. Ecology aside, the locals discovered that Highland Berries can be macerated or fermented to produce a kind of jam or berry wine, respectively, and this knowledge was not lost along with so much else.

Mostly of human descent, it is a smattering of small culturally weak tribes kept at peace by the simple idea that they don't have the resources to war with one another. The Rikathi will bring a representative of each of the tribes back to Mjornduth to help in council. Rikathi are now free to move to Radiant Valley and still remain a part of their heritage, where as before it would have been a shunning or something worse. The mixed Myrkran-Rikathi are hesitant to stretch themselves too thin right this soon after being accepted, and instead opt to remain in Mjornduth.

Radiant Valley is a sea of colorful plant life, but like it's neighbor region, most of it isn't edible crop. Instead, the people of the region hunt the deer that feast on the flower and shrubbery. In the distance, mountains can be seen and there's myths about the waters of the peaks falling beneath the mountains and ending up in this valley, resulting in the gorgeous landscape. 

The deer of the Radiant Valley have adapted to their brightly lit environment through a process known as illuminance. As they mature, their fur takes on an almost translucent color and seems to fade into the tall grasses and wildflowers where they live. The camouflage technique does not continue if the deer is killed and the skin taken, but whatever color it was at time of death becomes permanent.

Some hunters seek the perfect deer skin, one that is almost completely color-negative and nearly translucent.

The deer's antlers carry a symbiote relationship with a local moss, giving it budding flowers in the autumn and winter and helping the males attract mates.

Where Zavestra butts against the western slopes of the Lirath Marn and its newly constructed observatory, its eastern summit rests in the newly settled city-state of Cosnora. The lands that surround Cosnora are prominently wetlands due to the frequent rains, tapering off into proper marshlands as one progresses further toward the coast.

In no small part, this, combined with pocketed tribes of human nomads that number far too sparsely to be called a true population, has been the key factor stalling Cosnora's initial growth. Much of the first few years has been spent staving off infections and disease, earning the trust of these sparse groups, and sending the brightest and most willing of Cosnora's inhabitants to the Zavestran observatory for tutoring--all to pave the way for a brighter future.

Early architecture has seemed to favor the use of yurts and thatched roofing to help keep out prominent rains, while canals and other drainage systems have been a slow, but steady process to make farming a more tenable prospect. Currently, the diet of the mixed Zoroan-human settlers has been one largely dependent on wild rice, select root vegetables such as taro, and various small game.

Malachite. While stores of Malachite have been found within the eastern reaches of the Lirath Marn, these deposits have been less common in the lowlands of Cosnora due to its humid environment and lack of copper-rich soil. Given ongoing research into the region, the mining of this semi-precious stone may not be long for this region as its chief export.

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A pure, crystallized form of magic often found in fertile grounds after a harvest. It seems to have rejuvenating properties and helps to ward against disease and rot.

The Omega are an eclectic bunch, to say the least. No two look or act exactly alike, but in some ways they are all the same.

Biology comes to mind. An Omega isn't born so much as it coalesces. They believe themselves to be empowered by the Weave of Life, a "thread" that drives the Omega to act, an abundance of which causes an Omega to excel. But thread alone does not an Omega make. It infuses rocks, vegetation, the strange hard materials that make up the deep parts, the water in lakes and rivers and seas, the animals that prowl the forests and sweep the sky, even ongoing processes like the flame and the wind. These are crucial to an Omega's wellbeing, and if the body or the thread is interrupted severely enough, the Omega will die. Nonetheless, this unique physiology is why other species refer to them as the Elementals.

They share certain beliefs, mostly driven by their shared cultural memory: Technology must advance. Civilization must advance. Knowledge must be shared. Goods must be produced. It is a philosophy that is at once materialistic and sublime.

But within those constraints, given Omega may come to wildly different conclusions about what is to be done and how it is to be done. To combat chaos, the Omega practice Encapsulation. Omega of different talents and predilections form groups of related individuals in their craft, not entirely unlike the guilds or craft halls of old.

The most intriguing part of the culture, though, is how absorbent it is. Omega are found wearing clothing or heraldry, writing despite the near-perfect memory most of them possess, wielding tools even if their physical makeup is better suited for a task, and sometimes even consuming - or pretending to - meat or vegetation. Why they do this is unclear. Curiosity? Thoroughness? Insanity?

"Spawn new thread, manage and multiply."
- From the book of Null

With the advent of Moonfall, the Omega have changed dramatically. Their physical appearance has shifted - indeed, every elemental spontaneously disintegrated even as chunks of celestial bodies came crashing down. What arose to take their place were far more recognizably artificial and far more focused. Now more obviously mechanical, a few of the outlying tribes began calling them the Ring-Keepers, as the Omega continue to insist that their singular goal is the fruition of civilization around the Ring, regardless of what form it takes.

The Omega's forms certainly solidified. While they had previously inhabited a variety of animalistic or totemic forms, their new bodies were almost uniformly bipedal, though not necessarily fielding the correct number of limbs, and only rarely capable of other forms of travel beyond simple walking and climbing. Whether these servitor bodies were located or assembled on the fly is unknown, even to the Omega. The Ring-Keepers mostly retained their personal naming convention, taking on the moniker of the place of their 'birth.'

Their mission has not changed, though, nor has their central curiosity and willingness to confront the new and bizarre. Now possessed of greater awareness of their own nature, some reorganization has occurred, and a few things have been re-labeled, but the Omega endure as they always have - in search of a stable and prosperous future.

Root is a land of plenty. It has stone, vegetation, game if it was needed - which in the case of the Omega, it is not.

The locals are fascinated by it. But then, they are fascinated by everything, at least for now. Root in particular, though, marks the original boundary of what they consider their project zone, the place where they will pursue Reconstruction according to their deepest cultural doctrines.

It certainly doesn't lack for charms that other species might appreciate. Soaring trees with emerald spade-shaped leaves provide a thick canopy, opening up in clearings through which one can see the Ring and the Stars. A full terrestrial ecosystem thrives, with the "dark parts" of the forest lit by bio-luminescent insects, fungi, and flowering spores. Strange six-winged birds snake their way through the trees, preying on smaller things and fleeing from larger creatures. The entire thing seems suspiciously like a conspiracy to make the place seem as enchanted as possible.

Wood is available in many places, but the trees here produce a type of Resin that is abundant, easy to harvest, and has a myriad number of uses. This zone's resource is Emerald Resin.

People: The people of Highwall are primarily human, though the Utui form a solid and noticeable minority. Their reluctance to begin widespread agriculture has kept their population low and their forests of Whispering Woods unusually close to their numerous crude but solid fortifications. The coastline is a wild mix of unassailable cliffs and highly accessible inlets and fjords, and in the hands of a more populous people might have been impossible for the pirates to assault, but there simply was neither the time nor the manpower to cut off every point of entry.

Culturally, the Highwallers are as fond of constructions as the name implies. Indeed, it isn't considered a proper courtship without one partner building a home for the other, and marriage officially ends when said home is destroyed through malice or mischance - though a couple that is truly in love will simply build another (with the aid of the community if need be) and marry again in the latter case. "Burning the house down" is a common phrase for a relationship that has met its end there, even if it never reached the point of matrimony.

A longstanding Disciple presence in the area has led to the locals to assume advanced technology over magic in the presence of the unknown as well, with one exception: A great many superstitions surround the Whispering Woods as well, primarily due to their unique properties. Folkloric tales name everything from magic wolves to fair folk to ancient machines within the woods and more, and the dense and dark woods are seen as boon and bane with a frightful and capricious whimsy.

Highwall is named not for a geographical feature or ancient maps, but for its civilization, carried to prominence in the area through the auspices of one man - Robert, now called the Builder. Robert the builder was proficient with the spear and even stronger with the hammer, and forward-thinking, physically powerful, and charismatic enough to become a leader among the scattered humans in the region. He taught them to hunt and build strong walls, and united the disparate groups.

Everything changed when the Vandal Nation attacked. Fog swept in, obliterating the region's economy and sorely pressing the defenders, only to immediately be set upon by the Omega. The mechanical nation had arrived with the intention of conquest, only to find their nascent imperialism blocked by piracy and the ecological catastrophe caused by the pirates' curious fog weapon. In the three way battle that emerged, the Omega were victorious, though not without the temporary loss of both Robert and Kor, the Omega's field leader and hero.

Both escaped and Robert returned to his people to find that his homeland was still cleaning up after the pirate raid. He aided with the effort long enough to see prosperity return before leaving for distant lands, leaving his nation as a protectorate of the Omega, and it remains so to this day.

For all it was named after artifice, Highwall is home to the Whispering Wood. These woods are a truly strange specimen of flora, seeming to be a type of evergreen or pine, save that they are not evergreen, as the needles change color - yellowing at some times and reddening at others before turning green again, all with little to no evident explanation. There's no question the trees are hardwood, though, and they are useful construction materials for buildings, tools, and weapons. More esoteric uses include the bark for insulation and sap to form a kind of bittersweet syrup popular among the elderly and absolutely no one else. It is difficult to set Whispering Wood on fire, but once alight it can burn for a surprisingly long time, making it an efficient fuel source so long as extreme heat is not required.

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Geography: The region consists primarily of brushlands transitioning into more traditional forests to the south. Of course, to the goblins of smaller stature, brush is virtually as tall as they are, making it a forest of sorts! Most of the area is a relatively high plateau above the coastline, resulting in a relatively dry environment.

Natives: The Goblins of the Short Forest are in fact relatively tall and hairy creatures compared to the typical Goblins of the islands with two legs, two arms, and hands featuring thumbs. The coastal region is occupied by the more typical and scaly variety of goblin.

Physiology: Goblins are generally speaking creatures with two legs, two arms, eyes mostly forward facing, ears ranging from long and pointed to internal, covered in scales ranging from a murky green to a bright blue, have webbed feet and hands (generally three mildly clawed fingers and a thumb), sometimes dorsal fins, and almost always pointed teeth. They range in stature from three to eight feet tall. Most goblins have secondary gills, while rare individuals have primary gills and secondary lungs. They prefer to live near coastal environments, but aren't picky if that means along an ocean, a lake, rivers, or hot springs.

Culture: Goblins believe they were put on this planet from a home beyond the stars to experience anything life has to offer. They seek adventure and exploration, and to bring stories of what they say home to be recorded among the Great Star Bones of their holy sites. Particularly memorable events will be recorded on their bodies or their bone arms and armor in ink, scrimshaw, or scaring.

Religion: Goblins believe that while they experience time as a line, the reality is time and causality are a great Maelstrom. Events that happened once will happen again, and the future has already happened. Their drive to record events is part of this, so future generations can use the wisdom of the collective to help solve the issues and crises of their present. Chief among these recordings is the goblins arriving to the world riding upon the Great Star Fish. Or maybe the world they now live upon is the Great Star Fish and is currently swimming in the sea of stars on the way to a new homeland.

Leadership: Goblins generally do not have structured leadership. Deference is given to those who have experience with whatever matter needs to be decided; for example, goblins who have spent more time among humans have their opinions respected more when negotiations are happening with humans. For matters where nobody in a given enclave had applicable experience, a youngling is chosen by lottery to try to keep the wisdom in living memory as long as possible. Occasionally a singular goblin with a wide range of experience becomes a trusted elder across all the communes, one such alive in the current times is Gob the Goblin.

Batholithic cliffs of black stone are a dominant feature on the Island of Slardar, located off the north coastline of Taer Mojr. The gravel beaches are littered with the skeletons of megafish, and these bones are used for construction of shelter, tools, and armaments. Hot springs dot the island and are often used for incubation. Some local legends claim the island was once a star in the night sky which loved the world so much it left the night sky to be with the Great Star Fish.

Starblood, a hot viscous fluid found within the volcanic tunnels and channels of Slardar. Some claim it's the blood of the Great Star Fish (hence the name), others say it's congealed memories and soulstuff, and a few radicals even claim it's molten rock. The heat it provides is useful for cooking and lighting. If only it didn't require stone buckets to transport.

The people of Sig Seg Vee - the Seggens - historically practiced a rigid caste system, much of it rooted in their local creation mythos, which holds that there was a time when all manner of predatory brigands would prey upon the many farmers of the land. One day, a village gathered warriors from across the land to make a stand against these raiders, and these warriors called themselves the samurai. The Seggen Samurai, or Magnificent Seggen - there are different versions of the story - made a stand and brought peace and prosperity to the land, though at great cost.

Little changes over the years, culturally. When the Omega arrived with a message of uplift and societal upheaval for the greater good, they were driven out by the enraged warrior caste. When they returned with gifts and three fewer moons in the sky, the Seggens were considerably more welcoming. Over the course of a decade, they consented to integrating the Omega and their ways with their own, through nothing less than stellar work on the part of Deep Gully, the Omega's diplomat and Still Lake's mouthpiece.

In addition to the warrior caste, there are laborers, merchants, criminals, and elders, who are the closest thing to local leaders. The people of Sig Seg Vee are generally incurious, though not completely uncreative, and the Omega are hoping to make a few more adjustments there before all is said and done.

The history of Sig Seg Vee is a curious one. Portions of Ring-architecture show in the foothills of the mountains to the east, in particular a massive bluff known as the Seg Fault. Before that, though, the area boasts a massive amount of arable farmland.

In the legend, the bandits were after the Barley harvest of the Seggens, and if nothing else there is barley to be had.

The Utui are a race of cove-based merfolk, known for their unique ability to grow gills and fins when submerged in water, enabling them to dive into deeper waters. Their villages are mostly built in coastal areas, as they moor their floating villages in calm cove waters. This network of interconnected communities lead to a deeply familial connection and a deep connection to the nature around them. They worship Gods of the Ocean and the Land, as well as incorporating practices to worship the Five Moons; Dark One, Bright One, Winding Rose, Yolym, and the Little Sister. Despite their reliance on the ocean, the Utui have adapted to life on land in places, choosing to live on mountainsides when there is not a direct access to the ocean. Their history is often woven into tapestries, and there is a focus on more visual methods of keeping history, though as the Utui say, "From the waves we rise, and to the waves we return. The ocean claims all."

Giant ridable turtles

"It is in my Mother's Death that the Utui will be freed from their chains and bondage! We Will Live in the Light of the Sun and fight back the darkness that rests in these lands and in our hearts. I was given a gift by the stars and a calling when the light exposed my faults and failures. Failure to act was one I killed today - we will purify these lands and prepare against the coming night ahead. Join me and we will Bring the Rising Sun forward!"

The Rising Sun has stepped out of the ashes of Ana Kai led by the Sun-borne, the Greater Star-signed child of Shiobyn!

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The Veiled People (Voilese)- The people of the mist shrouded Isle du Voile rule over the petty chiefdoms of Pointe Nord in the northern reaches of Taer Morj. Though ostensibly human, rumors abound over the true nature of the veiled folk who always appear on the mainland cloaked in the pale silver silk of the lotus. Their language is strange enough to the mutually intelligible dialects spoken by the people of the continent to suggest that the islanders are not native to the region. Many suggest a supernatural origin, pointing to their druidic practices, their apparent ability to talk to animals, and their uncanny stealth when moving through the forest.

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Endemic to Isle du Voile, the silver lotus is considered sacred by the inhabitants. While the seeds and roots are edible, and the pale blue flower has its place in ceremony, the plant's real value lies in the silken fibers of the stalk. Though labor intensive to produce, shimmering Lotus Silk has remarkable strength for its light weight, and sheds water easily.

The Rikathi are a stout and hardy people. They have come to love the bright colored dyes afforded them by their region's prismatic display of flowers and their preferred drink is an herbal tea. Every Rakathi bloodline has a closely guarded recipe for the best herbal tea. They are not an emotionally charged race, but they do have a tendencies to mix optimism with the tribulations of everyday life; as seen in their hesitation to see anything as permanent. A burden is also a lesson. A gift carries with it a risk of contentment. 

They rarely stand taller than 5'5" and their distinctive features divide men from the women. The male features tell the story of crossed bloodlines and mixed heritages; their hair is often light shades of sandy browns, blondes, or greys that contrast heavily with their dark skin. Their beards are sometimes used as a sign of dedication to their spouse; they can be seen braided, cut intricately, or left to grow to their navel. But there is also a growing tradition of tightly kept beards and mustaches gaining favor among the younger generations. It's possible this is because of their newfound tradesman ideals and need. Broad feet and bulbous hairy knuckles make for a profile of the Rakathi men that sometimes feels as though they could not accomplish anything but rolling downhill or soaking in a stew, but they have been working as shepherds, farmers, and craftsmen on Taer Mojr for as long as the world has known life. 

The Rikathi women are strikingly different in almost every way from their male counterparts. They are almost universally the tallest in their families, to an astounding height of 5'6". Their skin is pale white granite and they cover it with tattooed patterns to embellish any skin blemishes or uniqueness they may carry. Traditionally these birthmarks are considered a bodily flaw, and all females have them, until a girl grows into womanhood and finds her story to be told. Once the inking have begun, they become celebrated parts of the woman's body. Another distinctive difference in the Rakathi woman is that they do not carry the same girth as the men. She may be as strong, quick, or hearty as her counterpart, but she does it with far less weight on her, nor the hairy knuckles.

Player Knowledge, Not Worldly Knowledge: Another notable difference between the men and women of the Rikathi is the woman's ability to create a substance they call the Living Thread. Through a simple ritualistic act, the women of the Rikathi have the gift of drawing out a thin stringy substance from a puncture in their ribcage (near the armpit). This thread is braided, tied, or otherwise intertwined with any and all materials the Rakathi can imagine to do so. They feel it gives them spiritual relevance, strengthens their craftsmanship, and the thread never corrupts the material with which it is attached. A woman dedicated to the art of her thread can produce a foot of it over the course of a week. Traditionally, all women wear a sash over the shoulder of her thread-side and will wear special colors when she's preparing an exceptionally long thread. There are concerns that one may become barren, but to date no one has ever experienced it for more than a short time, likely due to illness or pregnancy. 

The Rakathi do not hold to bloodline rulership traditions. They are led by whomever has shown themselves to be doing so in the best interest of the people. The burden of the crown knows no different between male and female, it knows only wisdom. The Ota Beyr -They Seated on the Throne- settles social disputes and rules on political matters. Their say is final in these matters, but rarely does the Ota Beyr ever make rulings without first discussion with the elders of Mjornduth. The High Voice, leader of their spiritual lives, has been a woman for as long as anyone alive can remember, but a male High Voice is not forbidden. Between these two powerful roles, Mjornduth intends to thrive beyond the dark age.

The region around Mjornduth are a beautiful landscape of cascading colors in the warmer months, and sharply vivid purples and blues before and after the cold winters. Rolling hills soak up the open sky and dozens of floral species paint every one of them. When the blossoms fade, heather grass replaces it and replenishes the nutrients needed for the next spring. The Rakathi shepherds lead their livestock across the breadth of the region and their charges rarely go hungry. Nor do the abundance of pollen-moving winged insects, flower-eating rodents, and the elusive predator raptor cockatrice that hunts both.

Inside the hills, caves and natural springs are bountiful. As are the healthy population of fissure bats that slumber in them. During certain perfect cycles, the stars are blotted out by fissure bats and redwing owls as they vie to fill their bellies with the cloud of insects.

The coast is rocky and covered in darkstone beaches. The fish rarely come close enough to the shore for any kind of substantial fishing, but they can be coaxed into some of the tributaries with nets and traps. In certain times of year when the skies are clear, one can see a land on the horizon.

Marine creatures have been known to find haven in the cliffside caves, but nests are regularly checked by the rangers to ensure nothing ornerous has taken up residence. Still, there are plenty of nooks and crannies across the realm where beasts, men, and other adversaries of the Rikathi are able to hide.

Through the arts of Bale, and Batik, and Jig dyeing, the Rakathi have invented and sustained a wide colorful range of textiles. Bale is when the cloth is run through a cold-water bath. Batik is the use of waxes and other dye-repellents to ward of over-saturation and provide design. Jig is the stretching and pressing of colored dyed over the cloth, usually through the use of rollers. The Rakathi use windmills and manual-driven spokes to run the jigging. 

Psygodburgh is nominally a Maritime Council with a Lead Admiral as an elected position but in effect is a Kleptocracy ruled by several Piratical powers. The Merlyn fleets around Psygodburgh bend to Merlyn Gul Twir and her pleasure barges and she in turn parleys with the halls of power in Ruin. Fishing villages throughout the island are populated by Myrkran refugees who have been ferried over and lured to a new life in distant lands. They populate the liminal area of safety between shore and mainland where the fishing is reliable and efficient. Merlyn pirates will go through routines of stopping by the villages to collect taxes, leaving a warrior behind if something needs doing, and then wandering off to indulge their own desires. The Order of the Drake, a force of Merlyn knights pariah, has broken some of the villages from this relationship, and established them independently as Towns with Mayors. These villages believe they do not need the protection of the pirates and have armed themselves instead. Lastly, there are a whole swarm of Darkkin who abandoned the Merlyn in the initial colonizing effort. Drawn inexorably to the islands heart they were changed and now stalk the core of the island with an unbroken purpose. To obfuscate and repel.

Psygodburgh is a majestic island a fortnights drift from the shores of Redemption. Cliffs that soar and scrape the clouds overhead, trees as thick as towers, and roaring rapids that can snatch a ship like an errant ant. The constant rain is a source of bounty for the brobdingnagian flora, a jungle whose beating heart lay amidst the shattered site of a great meteorological incident. The impact of some great force or object in the heart of Psygodburgh has lead to a roil of landscape the deeper one goes. The shores are beacons of relative stability, with smooth break lines, easy curves, and consistent footing. When sand gives to dirt and stone the honesty of its golden shift is dashed by confounding rock. Cave ins, rockslides, floods, and more endanger those within the mainland of Psygodburgh. What exactly lay at the heart of this island, none can say for sure.

The rivers of Psygodburgh are abundant with Red Herring. They make the water appear like the blood of a giant when they mate and later when their eggs hatch. Such fish are the namesake of the very island for without their great numbers the mega organisms of the island would starve and so too would the Myrkran and Merlyn in time. Indeed the Herrings are the only example of appropriately sized entities on the island leading some scholars to believe they are not even native to the island initially.

On Ruin there are no people. There is a person. A figure, generally around two meters tall with twisted horns included, and lusciously lithe. Normally pale of skin, with eyes like the bloody moon or the bleeding sun eclipsed in the day, and deceptively sharp teeth. With long pointed ears, svelte grooming, and wrenching fingers to gouge the eye. They are Merlyn. Sometimes they appear a little differently, with slight changes in hair, pigmentation, or sexual organs, and yet they all possess the same fundamental traits. Preternatural strength, reflexes, heightened senses (including minor dark vision), rampant often cripplingly operose ego, regenerative flesh, and seeming agelessness past a certain point of maturity (Or immaturity depending on how you see it). Merlyn are ostensibly omnivorous but flagrantly prefer flesh and blood. Indeed they must at least partially consume some overtime to maintain proper homeostasis. The more blood and choice flesh consumed the stronger and more deadly they become. The flesh and blood of living thinking creatures are like the sweetest ambrosia. They are also extremely infertile, most likely owing to the blasted origins of their kind, and natural births with outsiders or inbred bastards are vanishingly rare. Instead, most Merlyn appear nearly fully formed out of The Blood Pits or underground Eggs, mewling, disoriented, and with genetic memory guiding them to survival. Copies upon copies, mirrors within mirrors, and an endless circle of the soul.

Outside of Ruin, predominately upon Rise or Redemption there exist Elementals. Prolonged exposure and close proximity to Ruin however has left their minds muddled, their "Thread' tainted, and driven to subservience or domination. Their forms appear wrong and their Essence seems sheared towards bedlam and banditry earning them the moniker "Darkkin". The two live in a stratified and tense relationship, with Merlyn often forming roving gangs or warbands with yoked Elementals, and blurred lines of power beyond. Some form into more conjoined and relatively equal structures, which tend to last the longest as a result, and generally center around Cult structures or Bloodbound Oathpacts of bonded Warriors. The greatest of these are Ruin's Ancient Warriors, who roam the Red Wastes in search of Holy Salvage, and sail the sea upon razor-sleek crafts cutting waves like the veins of the world. Ruled by Merlyn Zan Cuddlu, their stylized armor is hobbled together from salvaged materials, and smeared red with the sand and pigment of their treasured wasteland. They maintain the closest thing to "Order" among the three islands and extract tribute from all lesser powers in the region.

"Do not seek the Isles Three, young summer child, for nothing lay there for you but blood and ashes. Ruin be a hollow land, devoid of proper lifegiving soil, and the red dirt that spreads beyond nurtures nothing but the poison weed that strangles the dead. Where the sky be dark and the Bleeding Star hangs heavy in the heavens at night. Look upon its great decrepit works and despair. Dilapidated castles, shattered structures, toppled towers, and bottomless dungeons pock its surface. The grandest of these shambles is Caler Myrfddin at the heart of Ruin. Where I am from. Where hopefully, someday, I will Die.

But not this day.

Rise may on the surface seem more inhabitable but the Darkkin will gut you as soon as I would. Their forests are thick with gnarled roots, foul fungus, and maddeningly babbling brooks. I hear they whisper the secrets of stone and horn to those who listen carefully and for the right price I could show you how. But stray too deep into a cave, too high up the mountains, or too long by the river and you may never come back. No what you seek is Redemption. A pristine land, where the game be plenty, the wind soft, and hope for a new slice of life lay. Something everyone going there will kill to have, in case you wish for services after we lands."

- Merlyn Duh Artur, Captain of the Claw&Caw

Cinnabar Salvage is the most abundant resource in Ruin and by extension the other isles. The reddish crimson metal scraps, pieces of ancient gear, tarnished weapons, and withered armor litter the islands from ages past and are quickly hoarded and equipped by any who find it. A cut from the metal is generally deadly, for its flecks infuse into the wound, and even prove deleterious to Merlyn.

If we speak to the race of those who live in Tancourt, then one would have to, sadly, admit that they are Human. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, on the contrary, they are sort of an embarrassment to humanity. Firstly, there is their local, what kind of man chooses to live among the mud? Secondly, there is their parlor. They are pale, but not in an elven lithe way – instead they are the sort of jaundiced pale that comes from a lack of sunlight and poor nourishment. They are not all poor, although the vast majority of them are poor, but even the rich are shut in their manses, intent on only keeping themselves dry and warm. Thirdly, their fingers are too long and their mouths gape too widely.

The people of Tancourt wear mostly waxed leather to keep themselves dry, Tancourt taking it’s name from the abundant tanneries necessary to keep up with the demand. In fact, much of the wealthy members of the personage are elevated Tanners, wherein the slums and dregs of society are those that work in the tanneries, going insane from the various chemical dyes. Going about dressed in leather, squelching around in the mud, one would think Tancourt was populated by pigs. One would be right.

The geography of Tancourt is Mud. There are hills and fields, caves, craigs, meadows and even groves, possibly, it is hard to tell cause it is always raining. Not enough for the soil or the dirt to all wash away. Not enough for any rivers, inlet lakes, or streams to overflow. Just enough rain for the Mud to be the sole geographical imprint one would have of the area. Thick mud for boots to be squelched into, thin mud for boots to slip in. Greedy mud to suck one down and perhaps steal a coin, prude mud for one to be concerned about the filth that it must hide. Tancourt is mostly Mud.

Tancourt has lots of Mud, but doubtful that anyone wants that. It's not special Mud. It has no healing properties or rare minerals that enhance the smoothness of ones skin. But Mud is what they have.

Sypressans are a mixed bunch united more by shared cultural practices than by race. Roughly half of the population is human, and the other half can be described as a much more varied form of Merlyn. Or perhaps the Merlyn can be described as a single, proliferated instance of a Sypressan wood elf. The similarities end with their elegant and lithe forms, long pointed ears, and exceptionally long life spans. Sypressan wood elves are omnivorous, have a wide range of horn and antler shapes, and usually posses a normal amount of ego. Both the elves and humans of the Greywood Coast have a darker skin tone that blends in with the dappled shade of the forest floor.

The Greywood Coast is renowned for its signature coastal greywoods. These towering evergreen varieties can live for thousands of years and reach hundreds of feet into the sky thanks to the abundant rainfall driven into the coast from the southeast during the winter. In particularly dry summers, wildfires threaten the less-hardy species of the forest. The greywood pine, with its exceptionally thick layer of fire-resistant bark, is among one of the few plants that can survive and thrive after these blazes and thus it dominates the forest. The majority of the region's population lives amongst the trees for cultural reasons, but there are a few small coastal settlements with artificially propagated groves. This shoreline is cold, deep, and rocky in nature, with a flourishing underwater kelp forest.

The elaborate carvings of the massive greywoods result in piles of discarded greywood bark. The bark has a high quantity of fire-resistant tannin, a potent tanning agent. When the bark is boiled, the resulting concentrated broth can be used as a dye to color textiles a deep grey-blue. 

In the time before the Heralds, the peoples of the Banner Holds lived in nomadic groups, following the movement of game or rival clans through the forest paths once known to all. However, over time the majority of the clans settled, learned the wisdom of seed and plow, and began the long struggle to master the forest. To mark their claims, the clans began the custom of placing clan markings on scraps of cloth, a practice that soon evolved to the production of colorful and varied Clan Banners displayed prominently in any interaction between clans, in peace or war. Within a generation, the Banners had become ubiquitous, and their production and care occupied a small but critical part of each clan's social life. Inspired by the oral traditions of their wandering forefathers, the clans began to inscribe the great events in their histories in patterns embracing their symbols, creating living records that watched over the clans even in the absence of sage or soothsayer. The importance of those who cared for the Banners increased commensurately, with those who tended the hearts and histories of the Holds eventually taking the title "Herald." The prominence of some Banners rose, the prominence of others fell, and those few clans that had not joined their kin in the fertile dales became the stuff of folklore and half-truth.

In the days prior to the modern age, the great Hold Rhinnar had risen to such prominence that it seemed none could challenge it. Facsimiles of its proud green Banner flew over a dozen lesser Holds within its reach, a demesne on the cusp of being a true kingdom, with no equal in wealth or power. Thus, they were blind to the emergence of a new power in the forgotten wilds of the Massifs d'Aube's foothills. What seemed at first a roving band of marauders shattered the strength of the area's central Hold, Dran, before setting fire to the Hold, taking its Banner hostage, and forcibly marching its people to some unknown fastness. The refugees of the attack brought word of demons, with granite skin and weapons hewn from the night sky, and were dismissed as mad even by those who sheltered them. That is, until the demons struck the Holds surrounding the ruins of Dran, repeating their unheard-of atrocities and completing the patchwork record of their deeds through the accounts of a growing tide of refugees. Such warfare was unheard of in the Holds - the Banner, even the Banner of an enemy, was sacrosanct, and to hold it in peril to compel service was a violation of every norm. But what else could be expected of demons? Holds farther afield from Dran prepared for war, and even mighty Rhinnar rumbled to uneasy life.

All, it proved, for naught. While the Holds were well-accustomed to the internecine squabbles between kith and clan, the demons' campaign of conquest was wholly outside their experience. Mayors who had, mere seasons earlier, negotiated the time and location of battles as equals beneath each others' Banner now faced the uncertainty of a remorseless foe. One that seemed capable of moving through the forests as the storied Ranger Clans of old. Worse, the already rare appearances of representatives of the woodland clans to warn of impending danger or dire omen ceased altogether, leaving many Holds blind to the threat arrayed against them until it charged screaming from the tree line around their farms. One by one, more Holds fell, but unlike the butchery of Dran some part of them was spared. Though their Banners were seized and their walls torn down, they were not forced to abandon their homes for some uncertain fate. Instead, they were merely required to pledge fealty to the King of Swords.

None knew his ancestry. None knew his age. He had appeared as though fully formed from the forbidden shadows of the wood, a warrior of rare valor and unmatched command. He had gathered a band of devoted followers around him in a campaign of adventure and brigandry, all following his promise of the Holds unified under one rule, one Banner. There had been madmen like him before in the history of the Holds, men whose ambitions quickly consumed them, but by some miracle this man had not only remained beneath the notice of the great Holds - he had uncovered secrets of the ancients. Shirts of woven metal rings deflected any weapon, while blades of tempered iron cut through leather and bone and horn as though they were not there. Here, then, the truth of the demons was finally understood - men of iron, following a man whose drive to rule burned like a furnace. Marching beneath the ragged banners of dozens of sundered Holds, their own blood-red pennant fluttering over all like a dragon from legend, none could stand against them. Attracting dreamers, dissidents, mercenaries, and no shortage of warriors impressed from his conquered territories, the King of Swords perched beyond the walls of Rhinnar with a host thousands strong. Unwilling to sacrifice their burnished jewel to the fires of war, they surrendered, and their proud green Banner fell beneath the power of the red.

With no foe left to oppose him, the King of Swords retired with his hostage Banners and hostage soldiers to the secret seat of his power. The deep wood had been cleared by the captive peoples of Dran, revealing a shining edifice of elder days, the Spire of the Sword. Around it, a new town had been willed into being by the King of Swords and his followers, new homes for the people of Dran who now lived and died at his whim. Secure in his mastery, the King of Swords planted his glittering crimson banner atop the spire, and from the new Hold of Flechebourg began his reign. The talent for war that had won him his crown translated into a brutal focus on the economy of Empire, and none were spared his wrath should his dictates be met with delay or failure. Hundreds died to illness, monstrosity, and misfortune cutting a road from Flechebourg to the mines of Ferstat, and deep in the woods the nomad clans looked on with growing dismay.

During the reign of the tyrant, his loyal inner circle came to serve a new purpose. While conquest of the Holds and control of their Banners had afforded the King of Swords a vast army, only his original cadre had been granted the privilege of iron. As reward for their service, these warrior elite were reorganized into the King's personal guard, the Bright Company, and grated expansive privileges as direct knechts, or servants, of the King of Swords. At first content to keep his Bright Company close, rumor eventually reached the King of Swords of discord growing in the uncharted regions that separated his conquered Holds - the clans of the forest had readied for war.

Where the King of Swords' conquests had afforded him the advantage of initiative, here he found the situation reversed. With the Banners of every Hold under his control, the King of Swords had left only a token garrison in most of his conquests. These garrisons were quickly defeated by the sudden strikes of the Ranger Clans, the survivors straggling back to Flechebourg to report the liberation of peoples uncertain of their desire for freedom. In many cases, fear for their Banner drove even liberated Holds to offer tribute to the King of Swords. But this mattered little, for the King's new and fragile authority had been challenged, and he knew but one response. The Bright Company was mustered, and dispatched on a mission of annihilation.

Years of warfare followed, as the overwhelming might of the Bright Company contested with the Ranger Clans' unmatched knowledge of the battlefield. A few costly battles forced the Company to expand its ranks, each knight of the King of Swords taking on squires from among the captive populace who seemed best suited for service. The original promise of the King of Swords, that of a single Banner unifying the Holds in peace and prosperity, echoed in the rites and rituals invented whole-cloth to induct these young outsiders, the simple act of reinforcing the ideal transmuting it from dream to a transcendent duty. From fireside-declamations to the seeds of a new faith. This promise of a newly-forged homeland sustained the Bright Company through bitter winters and savage battles, and blinded many to the ultimate goal of their campaign. Little by little, the Ranger Clans fell back, unable to sustain their offensive against the genocidal fury of the King of Swords. At last, upon the ash-streaked ruins of Dran, the Bright Company faced the united forces of the Clans' warleader, and in a pitched battle with wailing weirding-women and ice-eyed archers managed at last to break their foe. The people of the forest were forced to flee in makeshift rafts down their beloved River Yser, and the Bright Company turned their eyes to Flechebourg.

During the Bright Company's years in the wilderness, the King of Swords' dominion had grown decadent and cruel. The lives spent in constructing the Iron Road proved only a prelude to the bones littering the foundations of statues raised in his honor, as well as a towering wall of cyclopean stone encircling Flechebourg. In the absence of the Bright Company and their rigorously-chosen squires, lesser men had been recruited into the King of Swords' garrison armies, their venality and greed an accepted fact of the regime so long as the King of Swords received his due. The bright red Banner that had united the land now crackled with fearful energies above the Spire of the Sword, its shadow a harbinger of terror. Sworn to the King of Swords' will, the veteran knights of the Bright Company still recoiled from what they saw, but honor compelled them to silence. Still, the King of Swords was no fool, and he soon dispatched them on the pretense of taming the fearsome peaks of the Massifs d'Aube. Once more the Bright Company set out, and once more their victories came at the cost of treasured friends and years of life. Thus began the King of Swords' spiral towards disaster, though locked in his spire he could not see the fullness of it. For with every campaign the old loyalists grew fewer and fewer, the Bright Company's ranks swelling with fresh and idealistic blood. More than a decade passed, the Bright Company tempered in a crucible of war into the perfect instrument of conquest, but with the will to conquer slowly draining from their ranks. Until at last the Company returned home after two decades of campaign to find their homeland unrecognizable.

Flechebourg had become a cruel parody of a Hold, its people confined to stinking ghettos while the garrison armies of the King of Swords lived lives of easy brutality. The King of Swords was seen less and less, sequestered in his Spire in pursuit of occult secrets. On the Bright Company's return from their last campaign, he did not even deign to grant them audience - instead a sneering bureaucrat relayed new orders, dispatching the Company to unknown lands in the West to spread the dominion of the King of Swords. The scales fell from the eyes of the Company's Knight Commander, and in utter silence he decapitated the awestruck functionary.

What followed was the First Battle of Flechebourg, though to call it a battle would be to show the garrison armies too much charity. Awakened from their lazy stupor by panicked sentry horns, the ranks of the Flechebourg garrison were smashed by the clenched fist of the Bright Company's knights, blood flooding the muddy streets even as the clash of iron and screams of the dying filled the air. Guided by the wisdom of their former commanders, the Company had little trouble breaching the Spire of the Sword, where the King of Swords' "elites" proved little match for the followers he had sent to their deaths so many years ago. At last, the Knight Commander, his lieutenant, and their squires confronted the King of Swords atop the spire. Dressed in nothing save the coiled expanse of his monstrous Banner, the King of Swords proved more than a man in that fateful duel, claiming the lives of both knights and the Knight Commander's squire in the melee, his sword awash with golden light, his every word a thunderclap of doom. But in his moment of exultation, as the Knight Commander lay bleeding at his feet, the King of Swords dismissed the lowly squire whose blade found its mark, slipping through the guardian folds of the crimson Banner to strike flesh. The death cry of the King of Swords was said to shake the very roots of the Massifs d'Aube, and the corpse that sailed to the ground from the peak of his spire shattered the ground where it landed.

Victorious but thunderstruck at what they had done, the Bright Company conducted a full reconnaissance of the Spire of the Sword, hoping to uncover their deposed master's secrets. Deep in the bowels of the Spire, past doors locked and barred in mysterious gleaming metals, the Company uncovered the truth - an enslaved dwarven clan. At the dawn of the King of Swords' power, he and a handful of loyal retainers had discovered the entry to the dwarves' subterranean home through what would become the Spire of the Sword, and through guile and stealth had taken the dwarves' most precious possession, their children, hostage. Threatening to exterminate an entire generation, the King of Swords had compelled the clan's service and the clan, the Cinnabrine, had been forced to acquiesce. It was from them the King of Swords had learned the secrets of iron, and it was their carefully-cultivated agriculture that had sustained the King of Swords' army in the days before the sack of Dran. He had even forced the ruby-skinned Cinnabrine women to surrender their Living Threads to etch them into his Banner, weaving terrible spells with their power, though even the Cinnabrine could not say whence he had gained such knowledge. Reunited with their families outside the threat of violence for the first time in near three decades, the Cinnabrine wept, and the Bright Company wept for the part they had played, however unknowingly, in their captivity.

Beyond the walls of the Spire of the Sword, a similar scene waited to unfold as the citizens of Flechebourg gathered at the edge of the field of slaughter. The Mayor of the Hold, unaccustomed to any degree of power, was forced forwards by the starving multitudes to demand the Bright Company's intentions. Their answer was to throw open the storehouses and granaries of the King, and return to the people the bounty that had been stolen from them. The crowds surged forward in confused elation, but none dared approach the steaming corpse of their fallen despot. The night that followed has forever entered the legends of the Banner Holds, for after hours of debate and silent reflection, the Bright Company voted unanimously to surrender themselves to the peoples' justice. Flechebourg awoke in shock to the sound of chain hauberks and well-used weapons being piled in the square at the base of the Spire, the knights kneeling in their underclothes before a stunned Mayor. Torn between gratitude for the Company's liberation of the land and their anger over decades of oppression, the Mayor ordered the Company confined to the Spire while she debated their fate. A week passed in frenzied discussion as the people gathered in forums great and small, the Mayor running ragged as she sought to re-establish some semblance of civic order even as she weighed the Company's sentence. But before a decision could be reached, alarums were heard from the ramparts of the Hold's great wall - the armies of the King of Swords had come to annoint his successor.

While the greatest part of the King of Swords' garrison armies had been stationed at Flechebourg, thousands more had been posted throughout the Banner Holds, iron nails pinning down the King of Swords' dominion. Those few who had fled the Hold in their sudden freedom had carried word of the death of the King, and his many petty lieutenants were intent on the prize they had secretly coveted for years - the throne. Though little unity existed between them, they had put aside their mutual hatreds in recognition of the fact that none could claim rulership of the Holds without control of the Spire, and that no one garrison army, already bloodied from subduing the others, might prevail against the Bright Company. Seeing retribution and enslavement on the horizon, the Mayor of Flechebourg rushed to the Company's makeshift gaol and begged their aid.

The knights' week of captivity had also drawn the curiosity of the Cinnabrine, and no few of their number had spent the time interrogating the Bright Company on the state of the world above. When the Mayor arrived with her portents of doom, she was shocked yet again to find another people entire who called the Hold home, whose plight mirrored that of her and her people. Apprised of the threat, the Bright Company made ready to march into one last campaign. They did not go alone. Recognizing that the armies beyond the walls meant to slaughter or subjugate all they found, the Cinnabrine took up arms alongside the knights of the Company and the citizens of Flechebourg, and on the following morning the Second Battle of Flechebourg began.

Over four days and nights of fighting, the wrath of the King of Swords reached out from beyond the grave to hammer his traitorous servants. The walls of the Hold were sundered in a dozen places, and heroes arose beyond counting only to fall alongside their brothers. The covetous generals of the garrison armies fell one by one, each death only stoking the fires of ambition in the survivors. The dead were piled like cordwood in the fields beyond Flechebourg, while the wounded and dying choked her streets, until at last dawn rose on the fifth day. The power of the King of Swords, so long nurtured in his poisonous garden, was at last spent as the last general fell beneath the blades of his exhausted and desperate soldiers. The people rejoiced, and the few survivors of the Bright Company surrendered themselves once more. At last, though, the Mayor had reached her decision, refusing to accept the offered sword of the acting Knight Commander, the very man who had slain the King of Swords before his battlefield accolade to knighthood. Celebrated by the people and the Cinnabrine both for leading the defense of the Hold, the Bright Company could not forget the shame they had heaped upon themselves in service to a madman. That night, the victory fires of Flechebourg claimed the battle standards of the Bright Company, their history and glory committed to cleansing flame. The captive Banners of the Holds were retrieved from the treasury of the fallen King, and under a humble black banner the new knighthood set out to return that which had been stolen.

The years that followed were difficult ones, the unity enforced by the King of Swords challenged at every turn by sudden eruptions of liberty. However, even the great Hold of Rhinnar recognized that it had grown too dependent on its neighbors to stand alone. A year of violence and retribution sputtered into reconciliation under the auspices of what had come to be known (somewhat misleadingly) as the Brotherhood of Black Banners, led with excessive restraint by their first Knight Commander Auguste Malore. The ancient order of Heralds was re-consecrated after their suppression under the King of Swords' reign, and a Hall where they might unify all Banners was raised in Rhinnar. The walls around Flechebourg were torn down by the Brotherhood itself in a further act of contrition, and Clan Cinnabrine officially joined Flechebourg Hold even as some of its more adventurous families ventured out into the wider world.

The population of the Banner Holds in the modern day is overwhelmingly human, with fair skin and hair that ranges from reddish through brown to the occasional black. They do not regard themselves as tall, save in comparison to their companions, the dwarves of Clan Cinnabrine. Unlike the dwarves of Taer Mojr, the males of Brenn Tyr sport hair of fiery reds and ochre shades over coal-dark skin, while females of Clan Cinnabrine boast skin of nearly translucent ruby hues. While they may once have shared the tattooing art of their fellows among the Rikathi, the custom was lost in service to the King of Swords. Instead, Cinnabrine both male and female weave elaborate knots in their hair and beards, the patterns denoting significant events in a person's life or the status they boast.

Nestled along the eastern heartlands of Brenn-Tyr, the Banner Holds occupy a stretch of hilly, forested wilderness in the shadow of the Massifs d'Aube. The region's primordial woodlands are broken here and there by palisade-walled towns and villages, the Holds whence the region derives its name, whose influence stretches out to tame stretches of dale and hillside where agriculture and industry strive against the unknown. The extent of this reach, and the state of the paths connecting the islands of civilization, depends wholly on the size and prosperity of the Hold in question. Most are linked only by a tenuous network of forest trails or well-mapped river routes, where travelers take their lives in their hands against the unseen terrors of the wood, but the heartland between the great Holds of Flechebourg and Rhinnar boasts flat packed roads and proud expanses of well-tended fields and pastureland. Further into the mountains, in foothills riddled with the mine shafts of old industry and the hidden vaults of forgotten peoples, Ferstat's vast mines and smelteries command the eye for miles. The road connecting Ferstat and Flechebourg is the sole paved highway in the Banner Holds, constructed at ruinous expense in lives and labor by the King of Swords to supply his forges. Most waterways in the region branch from the frigid, fast-flowing currents of the river Yser, flowing westward towards the unexplored lowlands of Brenn-Tyr. On this course, the network of lesser rivers and streams feeds a scattered array of glacial lakes, whose cold waters are home to pike, carp, bream, and eels. One lake in particular, Yser's Eye, also nurtures a population of particularly beautiful water lilies, whose flowers are gathered for use in the initiation ceremonies of the Brotherhood.

Resource: Iron

The foothills of the Massifs d'Aube have been a source of mineral wealth for the Banner Holds since the first shafts were sunk by a newly-settled Ferstat. However, earlier delving in search of copper, silver, and gold was superseded by the conquest of the Hold by the King of Swords. The King's rapacious appetite for iron forced the miners of the Hold to develop new skills and techniques, and soon they realized the near limitless sea of iron-rich magnetite beneath their feet. While the dictates of the King of Swords initially called for all processing of the iron ore to be conducted at Flechebourg, the liberation of the Holds and the subsequent migration of several families of the Cinnabrine Clan has led to the construction of a number of blast furnaces and smelteries around Ferstat.