Tundra: Into the White

Apologies for the silence, life has rather been in the way these past few weeks...

Also, I'm playing with a slightly different format this week, do you like it?

Into the White

North of the Red Veins lies the tundra, a wild untamed plain that stretches north to the pole. A good two thirds of it is snow and ice, though the southern parts of it are covered in a thin, rough scrub land. Sharoban's scholars refer to lower, middle and upper tundra, each term reflecting how much food and cover there is there.

In the lower tundra, red grasses grow over jutting rocks in wild tumbles. In many ways there is little to distinguish the land above the mountains with that below it, except that it is more scoured by the wind and emptier of human life. Higher up snow and ice start to choke the land, transforming it into a dramatic, but harsh environment that is a struggle to survive in. At the very height of the upper tundra the ground falls away to the sea and pack ice. Few people live in the far north, it is the domain of beasts. Across the tundra, there are almost no communities, even nomadic tribes are rare and those that do spend their lives crossing the tundra are strange and clannish, unwilling to trade or communicate with anyone.

The tundra is bordered to the west by the Ice Princedoms, tiny demenses held in thrall by the Jorvin Empire, which constantly feud among themselves, and to the east by the northern Witch Lands, ruled by Yelena, Queen of the Rapturous Blizzard who has sought ascension to a sort of goddesshood for decades. Between these two features of political geography, lies a vast waste unfettered by anything but shifting borders, open to exploration and in many places frustratingly empty. Despite this there are points of interest in the great whiteness, though they are few and far between. Many lie close to the Red Veins, close enough for some shelter when the storms grow really violent.

Werewolves of the Waste

Followers of the Hunter venture into the north to kill and maim animals, safe in the knowledge they will be unmolested. The Hunter approves, the men and women who venture into the ice fields to kill are often granted his favour, including the power to alter their shape at will, becoming werewolves and werebears. The cost is their sanity, they become obsessed with the hunt and unable to relate to people as anything other than prey or potential mates. They war upon each other, battling and hunting one another with their patron's blessing. Ascended to be the ultimate predators, victory over each other becomes the ultimate prize in such an unforgiving environment.

Few and far between the werewolves never return to more populated lands once they have changed. Instead they stay in the north, indulging in the hunt, limiting their interactions with humans to the nomadic tribes, though this usually takes the form of raiding and pillaging. It is at least partially because of this that the few tribes who travel across the north are suspicious and want little or nothing to do outsiders.

The Caribou Tribes

It is not uncommon for the northern tribes, called Caribou Tribes in Sharoban, to subject anyone who wants to speak or trade with them to insist on a series of tests, which usually involves some element of daring to go naked in the snow. The official reason for this is that it allows the tribesmen to see that the visitor is one with the snow. In truth they are looking for brands and marks that would suggest a pact or service to dark gods, although even the Luminal Pantheon is viewed with distrust and their priests welcomed cautiously. This is a legacy of their dealings with the Hunter's followers. Winter presents a problem, there is barely enough light to check newcomers and tribes close their backs to the world, conscious that the long night makes them prime targets for werewolves. They also have to cope with the occasional Hobgoblin attacks, though these are rare. The Goblins prefer to stay close to their food supplies, even if they are capable of hunting far and wide to find prey; they are a cowardly species and the wide openness of the tundra is alien to them.

The tribes themselves are not farmers or even herders. They follow the caribou for the most part, but exert no control over them; not even attempting to guide their path as the nomads of the steppes do.  As a result of this it can be hard for them to keep contact with other people and whilst they have a great deal of knowledge of the tundra, it is patchy. Their maps might have vast gaps in it as a result of the winding, difficult routes they've taken. Their cultures are often strange too, very individualistic with few ties to the outside world. The only commonalities are a devotion to light as a source of spiritual nourishment and the idea that the spirits of the dead travel with the tribe even after death. It isn't uncommon for children to be considered as the reincarnations of dead tribe members; though it isn't clear what the basis for this belief is.

The most important figure in the tribe, universally, is the shaman. These figures guide the tribe's steps, beholden to the spirits of light and the 'king deer', the leader of the caribou herd the tribe follows. The most skilled shamans are so in tune with their herds they read the future in the caribous' movements as they walk among them, so much a part of the herd that the deer do not shy away at their approach. Shamans are universally male; eunuchs who are chosen at birth, on the basis that they were shamans in previous lives. Often these children seem to prove the belief that they are reincarnated; apparently remembering places and people they could not possibly know if they had not lived before. Whilst the other tribe members dress drably in furs and thick wool, the shaman cuts a colourful figure, clad in garish cloth with unlikely crowns of horns and feathers to symbolise their link to the spirit world perched upon their heads.

The Winter Wolves

Aside from the threat posed by the werewolves, the other main threat out on the tundra is also lupine in nature. The winter wolves are a particular breed of wolf whiter, larger and hardier than their grey cousins. It is unknown where they originate from, but they are fearsome and merciless. Worryingly intelligent they attack tribes and the few caravans throughout the year, showing no fear of the weapons humans wield, or even fire. An attack can destroy a small tribe, or caravan, leaving corpses strewn across the snow; cruelly the wolves seldom eat everything they slay.

Some say they are the get of werewolves, born from a dalliance between one of the Hunter's own and an alpha male wolf; others believe they are simply another group who made a pact that went wrong. Still more attribute them to a mad shaman who sent the spirits of the dead into a pack of wolves, transforming them into a terrifying danger in the process. The truth may never be known, anyone who knows it is almost certainly dead and there are only so many secrets that the reborn souls of the Caribou Tribes divulge.

There is also a children's story about a wolf prince who fell in love with a mortal woman and drew her out into the tundra snows. They married and had cubs, and would have lived happily every after if it hadn't been for a wicked shaman who wanted the prince's power and kidnapped the woman in order to get it. The story says that the wolves are so fierce because they seek their urmother, imprisoned somewhere among the snows.

The Beacon and the Lake

Sitting to the north of the area most often travelled by the Caribou Tribes, the most important place within the tundra is arguably Lake Ajaya, the giant frozen lake that dominates the centre of the tundra. The lake is dotted with islands, bare pieces of rock which rise out of the ice. At the shore groups of pilgrims gather, having hacked their way through the snow and ice. Different groups come from more than one faith, though it is more common for the followers of the dark gods to make their way to the lake. It is said that one of the principal generals of the dark gods' forces in the Eclipse War was imprisoned here and the worshippers are drawn here to reverence the memory of the dark spirit. They make sacrifices on the islands, seeking to find a way to free the general from its icy jail.

The worshippers of the Luminal Gods maintain a watch house, the Beacon, at the southern point of the lake. This battered building stands tall, its light shining through the uppermost windows throughout the winter months, the fire constantly attended to keep it from shrinking or growing too much. It is maintained by the priesthood of Merida after a handful of her priests were motivated to create it when stories of the dark spirit under the ice filtered down to Sharoban. The outpost finds it hard to survive, not least because getting supplies is hard. In addition the spirit in the lake objects to their presence, sending ice warriors, gleaming soldiers made entirely of ice, to besiege it during the winter months. It is said that to die in the waters of the lake binds you to them, and more, it traps you in the demon's power. The ghastly screams that rise from the ice warriors as they fall under mercenaries' blades are said to be those of souls imprisoned in the lake. As a result the priests frequently send requests to Sharoban for assistance and the city's adventuring reputation means that even for such an unpleasant task there are willing blades to travel north with the final wood supply the Beacon receives for the winter.

It is common for the priests to bless fallen ice warriors, hoping the benediction will release them from their bondage. A slim hope, sadly unfounded in fact. The Beacon's custodian, Anya Coldheart, has concluded anyone who dies in the lake's waters is bound there for eternity. Even recovering dead bodies from the waters and cremating them does nothing to alleviate the suffering of the trapped souls; they rise again from the waters, clutching weapons that are as much part of them as their arms and legs.

Anya has invested a great deal of time trying to discover the name of the lake's prisoner, but has only been able to discern that it is an ice demon of great power. She has a theory that the prisoner was responsible for the Ice Walker that attacked Sharoban many centuries ago and has started to offer a reward for anything that might supply proof. The sell swords who venture north to defend the Beacon frequently find themselves sent further north to look for evidence to support Anya's theory.

This may be one reason for the high turnover of warriors at the Beacon, it is rare for anyone to remain there for more than one winter and most swear they will never return when they return to Sharoban. It is one thing to defend a watchtower from silent, eerie hordes of ice soldiers, quite another to risk the perpetual storms in order to find evidence for a lunatic theory most of them do not think matters. Add to that the biting cold, the threat of winter wolves and the Hunter's followers and it is perhaps more of a wonder that the staff who man the Beacon all year remain.

The dark worshippers do their best to steal past the Beacon, heading to a labyrinth of caves on the eastern edge of the lake. Here, they take the path to the lowest caves, where the air is frigid and the water freezing. Long icicles hang from the roof, animal corpses are set within blocks of ice and frozen as offerings to the demon in the lake. Even her acolytes do not know her name, though she associated with a bewildering number of the Shadow Pantheon. The purpose of the long pilgrimage is two fold, many make the journey to offer prayers or sacrifices, others to enter the waters and bind themselves to the demon in a far more intimate fashion. It is an uncomfortable fact that over half the souls that go to create the ice warriors are volunteers.

The leader of the cave community is a hermit, who has dwelt on the shores of the lake for so long he has forgotten his own name, answering only to 'Macka'. His chief function is to prepare the sacrifices for their descent into the watery depth of Lake Ajaya, binding them so they cannot change their minds and guiding them into a trance so that fear will not overwhelm them as they sink below the surface. Under his tutelage the sacrifices cut a hole in the ice and descend, letting the ice freeze over their heads. If asked what happens next he grunts and mutters something about the demon ripping the supplicants' souls free of their flesh, binding them with unseen chains.

Despite their best efforts the staff at the Beacon have been unable to find the caves the dark worshippers operate out of, whenever they get close something intervenes to turn them away. Macka claims that it is the demon in the lake but the pilgrims are not sure. Much as they would like to believe him, most of them do not believe she cares if they live or die. Nevertheless for the moment the community prospers, and without doubt something watches over them, for good or for ill.

Next time: We head east to the Witch Tribes' lands, to uncover their secrets.

Darkness in the Crags

The mountains are home to many things, including the worship of dark gods. Though rare, it cannot be denied that the shadow of dark worship lies in pockets throughout the Red Veins. A lot is discrete, set apart from the towns and villages, secluded in caves and on crags between Giant camps, but not all. Within village lodges and town smithies, elements of the darkness can be found and even the best of intentions can be perverted to dark matters.

Hunters - Giants as the ultimate prize

The first case is the Vigilant Hunters Lodge, operating out of Ruda Gorod though they have small lodges and safe houses throughout the mountains. A hunters camp founded by Sven Lars Son, the Vigilants are dedicated to hunting the most dangerous prey in the mountains, from Giants to Cave Shadows and Sabre Cats. Unbeknownst to the people around them the Lodge is divided into two ranks. The lower ranks are simple hunters, trained in bow, spear and the other tricks of the hunt. The higher echelons of the group are rather different however. To enter their ranks is to take on a different calling, and embrace the Hunter. Only very specific members of the lower ranks are invited to apply for the higher tier; Sven is wary and with good reason. He was driven out by his family when his own inclination to dark worship was discovered and he is determined that nobody should know what the true purpose of the Vigilants is.

When a likely candidate presents themselves they are tested, often harshly. A ritual hunt is undertaken and the heart blood of the slain creature drunk by the initiate to test if they are the right material and to find their 'soul animal', usually a predator, something that Sven has made up as a way to ease the path into the Hunter's service for the unwary. They are tutored intensely and brought in on more and more dangerous hunts, where they are given important roles and praised for their assistance. Often the 'soul animal' is invoked as a reason for hunting, and at first there is a sense of nature to the proceedings. A wolf spirited person will be called on to hunt deer and so on. As time goes on this slips, a death is a death after all and the letting of blood and taking of life is the important part of the Hunter's worship.

The most sacred part of the Vigilant's activities are their Full Moon Hunts, which take place at night and involve either hunting humans or giants. Only the most trusted members of the Lodge are invited to partake and spend the night tracking and slaying for the sheer enjoyment of killing. To make things worse, the slain beings are ritually consumed by the hunters, to funnel their power into the hunter or into the Hunter.

At present nobody suspects the Lodge's participation in these practices; after all their public face is kind, caring and thoughtful. They act as guides for travellers and as defenders when trouble comes. This public face is part of Sven's strategy for ensuring the Lodge's survival, knowing that if the truth comes out most of the locals will turn against them. This is also informs the part of his strategy, to recruit as many locals as he can.

The Dark Makers by contrast keep themselves apart, dwelling in caves under the mountains to work their arts. Smiths and miners, they create weapons and armour, trying to make the most effective offense and defence for the wielder. The only difference is that they do so in a fashion that funnels dark power, using gifts that Baluz and Maradan, the shadow of Korvin, have taught them. This makes weapons more effective at killing, often without regard to the life of the wielder, and makes armour that is tough but demands a price. It is not uncommon for it to be 'consecrated' and bound to the wearer, making the two one. Sometimes this link grows over time, making the suit literally part of the wearer, though this is mercifully rare. They use the mountains as a place to make these twisted weapons because of the Giants. Their blood carries the magic of the pacts that made them, which the Makers unleash through their dark magics, making their creations tougher and more durable. The Makers pay handsomely for blood to quench their wares in.

The Makers have little organisation, they are largely formed of mavericks and crackpots, all seeking answers in a way that had them driven from society and their crafts and to the mountains in desperation. It is not publicly known that the Makers exist but most smiths and artisans know of someone, who knew someone whose master or apprentice's friend's cousin fled to join them. The idea of the dark forge is enshrined in the lore surrounding the working of steel, usually under the command; ''don't do this'. Their 'leader' is a woman, Elena Black Hand, whose name comes from the black gauntlet she has grafted onto her left hand. A testimony to her work, the gauntlet allows her to grip near molten metal without feeling pain.

Lastly the Cloud Shadow tribe of Giants are significant because of their own heretical ways. Dwelling in the lair of a dead dragon, the Cloud Shadow they take their name from, the tribe is ruled by their Queen and her lover, a shaman. Together they have guided the tribe in a new direction, one spurred by the discovery of a small statue at the back of the caves they call home. The image is crude but is also undeniably that of Baluz, the dark God of war and sadism. Something about it spurred them to worship it and at the Queen's command the tribe has converted to the faith. Driven on by the dreams she receives from the tribe's new patron, the Queen has started to direct a campaign against those that would harm the tribe, including the Vigilant Hunting Lodge. They have launched attacks against the neighbouring tribes, demanded martial contests from anyone who crosses their land and taken more prisoners in the past few months than in the entire decade before hand. They have even headed east to battle the Witch Tribes and out onto the frozen plain north of the mountains seeking out enemies.

Their prisoners meet a grizzly death, used as a novel way to mark borders and on the altar in front of the statue. The idea that the humans be made to fight each other is one that is slowly forming in the Queen's head, as is the idea of having her daughter battle the humans as a sign that she is as devoted as her mother. The ulterior motive, getting rid of her daughter and drinking her life essence to preserve her own is something that only rarely rises in the Queen's mind, but she and her lover are slowly preparing for the eventuality. There is nothing very novel about the way the worship of Baluz has been carried out, he is a conservative god and despite everything, rather unimaginative.

The human towns and villages have been slow to react to the Cloud Shadow's rampage, mostly because whilst they are used to Giant attacks, they have seldom been so fierce or coordinated. Used to Giants using captives as food the casual brutality the tribe exudes has also shocked them. The fact that the attacks came in winter has not helped, and whilst they scramble to mount fresh defences and build up their stocks the Cloud Shadows take full advantage. Their only advantage is that the Giant offence is not truly focused, they are fighting both humans and other Giants.

Next time: North of the Mountains

Born of War, the Children of Mountains

The Giants are the oldest of the pact makers. They forged their deal with the spirits of the mountains in the days after the Eclipse War, when the world was young and the thunder of those battles had only just faded. These were the days when the dragons discovered man and they resented the new race. For their part men resented the power the dragons wielded over the world. A new war broke out, the Dragon War, one where the Gods were distant, where dragons and men warred for control of the land.

The precise of details of the pact have long been lost, so gathering scholastic information about it is hard. The Giants have legends certainly, but parlaying with them to get an idea of what they believe is tricky, as enough of them consider men to be a tasty snack that would-be gatherers of their lore usually hire mercenaries for protection. Only one, Professor Griselda Angeladottir of the Jorvin Empire's Schweinestadt University, has managed to gather enough information to create a hypothesis.

Her theory is that in the days of the Dragon War the mountain peoples were particularly hard hit. The dragons claimed the mountains as their primary territory and the mining communities, vital to the development of weaponry, were ravaged by their attacks. In the face of this constant war and the terror it brought. the communities in the mountains saw their young men fall. Too many mothers buried their sons, too many sisters burned their brothers' bodies. A generation of warriors fell to teeth, claws and fire.

Angeladottir believes that eventually an inciting event occurred, an attack so terrible the towns united in the face of the dragons, but that even this failed. In desperation they turned to different methods, recruiting the men who had not been warriors to fight. This path would lead them to many different places, to the sorcerer Marius, to the spirit of Grandfather Stone Face. Whilst it is unclear how it happened, it is certain that the final ritual took place at the peak of the Red Veins' highest mountain. The bargain was struck and the remaining warriors took on the strength of the mountains, growing in size, though they did not achieve anything like the height they enjoy today. Their skins grew rougher, they became tougher, more able to shrug off the dragons' fire.

The dragons that dwelt in the Red Veins were dispatched, their names forgotten except as the names of Giant tribes (which were only ever the names they let humans know), their treasures scattered throughout the world, their lairs claimed. The new race suffered heavy losses during the battles but emerged, bloody and victorious. They were taller and stronger, and the gifts of the mountains grew with time.

Almost immediately new problems arose; the Professor points to a number of folk tales concerning clumsy and/or malicious Giants to show this. One area she has identified was that there were no women for the young warriors to take as brides. Women who had welcomed the idea of the Giants when their lives and homes were in danger had no wish to be married to one. The men were also unable to fit back in, struggling with the tools they had once been so adept with. They became seen as brutish and crude, and gossip began to spread about them. Perhaps it was inevitable that sooner or later this would take a turn for the worst.

Angeladottir's treatise points to a fire that occurred at an Autumn dance in one of the villages, Snegpik. Here, the Giants effectively declared war on their own people by setting fire to the hall where the villagers had gathered and letting it burn. In the following days this group of Giants razed the village and established their own camp, replacing too small buildings with tents of hide that could accommodate them. Word spread and other villages began to have similar problems. The Giants broke away. The most peaceful of the interactions is recorded in Ruda Gorod's lore, where they simply vanished over night.

For the most part the villagers say their ancestors breathed a sigh of relief, glad to see the back of the shambling creatures they had helped to create. The Giants speak of raids and battles as a new war shaped in the mountains for control of ore and mines, one that initially drove them back to the dragon lairs. They took the names of the dragons they had slain and began to fight back, determined to have women and animals, and secure their future. They built forges to their own size in the lairs, hunted the larger creatures to give themselves leather and made clubs out of dragon bones. One early leader is recorded as using a dragon skull as a shield, impaling foes upon its horns. The mountains descended into a long, bloody war. The villagers suffered from the power the Giants wielded and soon had to find new ways to fight them. They sent word to Marius for aid, but none came, their messengers never returned. The alliance that had been forged to fight the dragons splintered as chaos reigned. Whilst the Giants did not present the same threat the dragons did, they were still feared and because they had other motives, all too human motives, they struck fear into the hearts of men in a very different fashion. The dragons had simply been using their might to assert control of what they believed to be theirs; the Giants' grudges were personal.

Attempts to breed with human women proved fruitless, the Giants whilst not above rape, found that their seed took no hold in the women's wombs. If a pregnancy occurred it was short, there were no children and the miscarriage often killed the pregnant woman. In desperation they headed back to the mountain.

It is here that another figure enters the history, one that is reviled by one side and celebrated by the other. A woman, Alina, one of the prized daughters of the Mayor of Ruda Gorod, made her way into the mountains. She was looking for her sister, Dina, who had been stolen by the giants in the spring. According to the villagers she was captured and taken to Grandfather Stone Face, though the Giants insist she followed them up the mountain. Whichever version is true she introduced something that changed the situation fundamentally: she became the first woman to become a Giant. Whether she was forced or willingly took the burden is unknown and both humans and Giants would say that it does not matter. In becoming a Giant she saved the race, and it is said that all the Giants born since are descended from her.

The second pact also strengthened the Giants' links to the mountains. They became one with the stone, developing a sympathetic link to it. From Professor Griselda's notes there is an element that feels pain when mining is undertaken, which would explain why the Giants hate the mining so much. There are also suggestions here that the pact made the new race taller and stronger, compounding the process they had already gone through, but at the cost of their minds and their skills. The early forges they had built in the dragon lairs fell into disuse, apparently because the ways of forging became forgotten.

The pact had another downside; it bound the Giants to the mountains, making it difficult for them to leave unless they carried part of the mountains with them. Those that tried fell sick and eventually died, and as they grew older the process happened faster and faster, until the oldest of the Giants simply fell to pieces a mile from the Red Veins.

Alina became the first Queen of the Giants, forging a nation and claiming Grandfather Stone Face as her own. Owing to the longevity the Giants possessed she lived for over a century, taking lovers among the males she liked and controlling her children with an iron hand. Perhaps it was inevitable that when she died the nation would fall apart and rents soon appeared, as the Giants devolved back into camps and feuding tribes, albeit ones ruled by female because they are smarter than the males. The old lairs had never been abandoned and they became the focus for many of the tribes, just as particular mountains became the focus for others. The old names, the ones they had stolen from the dragons, came back into use. Attacks on human villages soon began anew, though now people were not carried off as potential mates but as food or as slaves to undertake 'small work', the kind of things that require skills the Giants have lost. The slaves made weapons and armour, jewellery and even clothing, as even with immense needles their captors could not understand the ways of sewing or weaving.

One tribe, the Black Fire tribe, even went so far as to enslave an entire village, surrounding it and starving the humans until they begged to serve them. The Black Fire leader went on to become the second leader of the Giant's nation, though on his death they again fell back to tribes and this proved to be last time that unification was possible. Subsequent efforts have either been defeated or short lived. In revenge the villagers eventually poisoned their overlords, sending them fleeing back to their stronghold.

For a long time the relationship between the Giants and humans continued in this pattern, and it was really only the arrival of the Six that changed it. As money for ore and stone flowed into the communities along with mercenaries and other soldiers, the situation began to change. In return for iron, the Six authorised Giant hunting expeditions, determined to drive them back enough to access mines and start to re-establish the mining industry in a proper way. This involved a number of new ideas, including the use of ropes strung with bells that Giants would trip as they approached mines and hidden pits that would slow them down. Blasting powder from the East has been used for this purpose, and as a distraction, on the advice of Professor Angeladottir. The centuries have seen a more equal balance of power emerge in the mountains, but it has taken time for this to have an effect and the gains the villagers make are constantly tested. The Giants hate the fact that they are being constrained, even if they struggle to understand how it is being done.

Within the last decade it is believed that a Giant chief, named Alina after her many times removed Grandmother, undertook a new pact at the peak of Grandfather Stone Face. She asked to be able to understand what the small folk were doing and this was granted, but a terrible price, one that left her unable to leave the mountain. She has tried to impart the knowledge to her followers but to no avail. They simply do not understand what she says. The only thing this new Alina has managed to impart is the need for unity; leading to a fresh round of tribal wars as each chief tries to stamp her authority over all the others.

For the moment it looks as if there is a stalemate in the Red Vein Mountains; mining will continue as will Giant attacks. Sharoban will continue to support the villages and towns, if only because they need stone and metal. For their part the Giants are incapable of doing anything to leave the mountains for any length of time and Sharoban seems to be the extent of their range. The city has been attacked in the past, usually by small groups of warriors who have followed caravans back to Sharoban's gates.

Next time: Step back into the dark as we consider the Red Veins and the dark gods.

The Mountains

The western most tip of the Red Vein Mountains lies two hundred miles from Sharoban. They run east to west and measure 2000 miles in length and 100 in width. The tallest peak, Grandfather Stone Face, rises a good seven miles at its highest point and only slightly shorter at its 'shoulders'. The mountain has particularly significance for the locals, serving as a navigation point as well as having a mystical significance, which has led a group of wizards from the Jorvin Empire to come out to study the mountain's energy. No mining or foraging takes place upon its flanks, and the paths up it are approached only with caution. The weather is tempestuous around the peak and it has a reputation for wild creatures. Wolves and bears are said to inhabit the slopes.

And then there are the giants.

The mountains are home to a number of tribes of the creatures, each of which clings to a territory, usually around a particular peak. Grandfather Stone Face, however, is divided between a number of tribes, each of which controls a section of the mountain. This arrangement came about because of a bloody civil war fifty years ago, where a struggle for control of the tribe that controlled the mountain led to it shattering into a number of smaller, mutually hostile, tribes. They share the mountain, frequently war against each other and make life difficult for anyone who wishes to climb the peak. The summit is particularly fought over: a tall standing stone on the top is held to be sacred by the giants and is believed to be the site of the pact that created them in the first place. A group of elders actually tend the stone and keep out of the way when trouble starts, as their days as warriors are over.

War is the natural state of the Giant tribes, against each other, against the towns throughout the mountains, and against the monsters that also call the Red Veins home.  They are extremely territorial and violence is to be expected when entering their lands, especially if you go close to their shrines, which are always central to their domains. In turn, the borders of different domains are marked by large cairns or other markers. Ignorance is no excuse, and even the most bitter of the humans dwelling close to the mountains does not fault the Giants for their way of marking their territory and will warn against taking them lightly.

These things are just facts of living in the mountains.

The chief industries within the Red Veins are mining, stone quarrying and trapping, with a small amount of forestry and furs , though the trees that grow in the mountains are only slightly stronger than the ones that grow out on the steppes. They are sufficient to construct basic buildings and stockades, and these form the basis of the towns that cling to the edges of the mountain range. Few grow larger than hamlets and villages, though the town closest to Sharoban, Istoynt has begun to construct stone walls and a keep, in part because of the money it has earned trading iron ore with the city, and in part because there are enough people flocking there that the mayor, Bolaslav Blackhead, fears that the number of citizens in the town will attract the attention of the Giants or worse.

There are a variety of mines in the mountains, though tunneling is seen as slightly safer than open cast mining. The latter tends to attract the attention of Giants if carried on too long, and stone quarrying carries similar dangers. Adventurers and mercenaries are welcome here as the mine and quarry owners are always looking for sentries and guards to protect their workers. The pay is not particularly high; most owners prefer to pay in board and lodging with bonuses for Giants slain. Mines within the mountains attract less attention, whilst the Giants do not like their mountains being cut into for reasons that the miners do not understand, they can do little to stop it,. Iron is the most common product of the mines, but there are other veins too, notably silver and tin. Sapphires and rubies are frequently found too, though their quality is usually poor and only attract middling prices. Higher quality gems are usually sent west to the Empire, in the hopes of getting more money.

Mining is a dirty, unpleasant industry. The mines are small and cramped. Many of the miners are children or teenagers, who go on to to operate the smelters and forges when they become too big to work the mines. The profession is open to both men and women, with the latter particularly valued for their ability to find their way into small spaces. Most mines are considered to be haunted, owing to the number of deaths that inevitably occur within them. Small rituals are enacted to appease the ghosts, usually taking the form of small food offerings and salt. Most mines have a small statue of an androgynous figure by the entrance where the offerings are left.

Iron is blessed as it leaves the mines, to make it ready for the road and to protect it from Giants, who often raid the ore stocks and carry off the mountain bounty. More practically, this is another job that mercenaries undertake in the mountains, and they are always in demand, partly because there is a high chance of death.

The people of the mountains are a mixed bunch. Some of them are slight and dark and are believed to the descendants of the original settlers, who made the pact. Other groups have moved in since, from nomads who have settled to people from the western kingdoms and even a few runaways from the Witch Tribes in the eastern parts of the mountains. There is a great deal of intermarriage and families are composed of many peoples. Whilst it is frowned upon by outsiders multi-parent families are not uncommon, though they usually arise from deaths in the family. There is an expectation that widows and widowers will be supported by the rest of the family and the larger community. Marriage is seen as a public commitment rather than necessarily a matter of love or even lust. This being said, it is not that uncommon for sexual relations to occur between a widow or widower and the spouses they marry after their primary partner has died.

The mountains are noted for their smoked meat, goat's cheese and fish which are seen as delicacies elsewhere, but the locals smoke food simply to preserve it. They also drink goats milk, which they ferment with berries to create a strange, sickly liquor.

Besides Istoynt, notable towns are Ruda Gorod, a prosperous mining that has successfully negotiated a peace with the local Giants, though the price has been high. Krazny Mill sits beside a waterfall and smelts the ore its mines provides. Important landmarks at the western end of the mountains include Utyug Ozero, a lake with red water, and the Charodei Rok, believed to be the historic home of an enchanter, Marius. A mysterious figure there are many stories that concern him, including some that name him as the father of magic and the creator of the pact with the mountain spirits that created the Giants during the Dragon War.


Next time: Giants, lots and lots of Giants!

Small Break

Just a quick note to say I've had some technological issues and Sharoban's been on hold because of that.

We'll be back next weekend with a look at the Red Vein Mountains and the uneasy relationship between the miners and the giants.

The week after we'll look at the children of the very first pact, the Giants, and how they came to be.

Winter's Children: The Hobgoblins

Loathsome and terrifying, the Hobgoblins have been a thorn in Sharoban's side for centuries. The tragedy is that once they were human and one of the first tribes to see the city's value as a trading partner for the nomads.

What changed has been the cause of much speculation and argument; entire volumes of scholarly and wizardly thought on the matter sit in Sharoban's libraries. What is plain is that before the coming of the Ice Walker there were no Hobgoblins at all, and afterwards a new scourge had arisen to harry the steppes. There are a number of competing theories; the following is the most common of them.

That winter was especially hard. The Ice Walker's march brought heavy snows and biting winds, which stayed even after the Six had sallied forth to defeat the ice giant. Food became scarcer than ever before, fresh water a distant memory. By the winter solstice the Szytedes tribe were starving, their herds had been slaughtered for hides and meat and their usual wintering places had been lost beneath the blanket of snow. Their leader, Kedves, knew that unless something was done, only a handful of the tribe would see the spring. He resolved to do something to save his people and turned to the Grandmothers for help.

Of the old women the only one who had time for  him, and did not berate him for thinking rather than doing, was Dalma; the oldest of the women in the tribe. Her reputation was as a wise woman, but also as a secretive and condemnatory one. The two of them had clashed frequently over the simplest of things, from marriage matches to the direction to take the herds in. It is not clear what made her listen to his fears, perhaps they mirrored Kedves' own; perhaps something else was at work. Whatever the circumstances, she listened to him and then, hesitantly, she told him of the Fekete Talicska; the Black Barrow.

Little is known of the Barrow in the west. The steppe dwellers shun the area it sits in, citing it as the cause of plagues and curses. They claim the dark gods have a fingertip of power within its confines and that the man who is interred there was not only the greatest leader the steppe tribes ever knew but also worshipper of the dark. In the centuries since his death his name has been lost; only his title 'Veres Kezzel Vezetto', the Bloody Handed Leader, has remained and in most people it prompts shudders of fear.

The barrow sits alone on the plain. None venture near and the land is truly wild and untamed. Once the Veszelosak tribe claimed the pastures and meadows for their herds, but they had abandoned the area soon after the Leader's death. But, despite this, Dalma was sure that the power that had driven the Leader to greatness was still there, waiting for someone to take it up.



If Kedves was sure; if he was prepared to pay the price for calling up the dark, then it seemed to be the only way to survive. The spirits the tribe summoned could do nothing to aid them. The Luminal Gods were distant and had not answered any prayers.

It seemed there was only one choice left, no matter how terrifying the thought of it was. Dalma warned him not to go; to take a shaman with him if he did, but Kedves did not listen. He could see no other way. He had to act, or the tribe would be lost.

Alone, he left the Szytedes and travelled south, to the Black Barrow.  He was half dead by the time he arrived and half mad from the acres of sheer white snow. In truth, it was a dark sort of miracle that he had survived the trip at all.

Kedves entered the barrow and made his way down to the bowels of the earth. He passed the burial chamber of Veres Kezzel Vezetto, pausing only to spit upon the stone sarcophagus the Leader's corpse mouldered in. He made his way through the horde of gold, gems and weapons the Leader had gathered in his life and went down into the darkest place.

At the bottom of the barrow he found the well, a shaft that penetrated deep into the earth. And it was there that he found the Giver. What passed between them may never be known, but can be guessed. In many ways it seems the textbook bargain gone wrong, though the fear that Kedves invited darkness upon his tribe willingly has haunted the other tribes ever since.

Whatever the bargain had been meant to be, its effect was to transform the Szytedes into something new. They gained the power to survive, no matter how harsh the winter, growing bigger and more hardy. Rotting meat would succor them, tainted water would make them strong. Even small stones could be eaten all of a sudden.  Their senses grew sharp, fresh kills could be smelt from ten miles away, further with a good wind.

Other changes were inevitable. They gained a new, feral, perspective. Meat became meat, nothing more. The first human they killed was Kedves own son and they feasted on his flesh. Soon they became a threat to caravans and other travellers, feared not just because of their ferocity and cannibalism but because they killed everything and everyone. Not even women and children were safe from their blades.

They carved a bloody swathe through the steppes; wherever they went the nomads muttered that a new Bloody Handed Leader had arisen. As they became more violent, the Szytedes became less human, their faces became terrifying, their teeth transformed into tools for rending flesh from bone. Within a decade, they had become so steeped in violence and blood horses would not carry them.

Kedves returned to the Barrow and struck one more bargain. Again the details are lost, trapped within the well, but the Giver had grown fat and was generous. New mounts would be found, if Kedves performed one, simple, task. The Bloody Handed Leader never emerged from the Barrow, but in the spring a group of wolves, unnaturally large and ferocious, found the Szytedes and travelled with them. In time, they consented to be ridden.

Since this time the Hobgoblins have become a true menace and the names of their tribe and their leaders have been struck from the horse tribes' lore. Only in Sharoban is there any record of them and those are safely locked away behind the immense doors of the libraries.

The Horse Tribes

The horse tribes are the people who live closest to Sharoban and are the city's first enemies and allies. Their relationship and history with the city is fraught with enough twists and turns, drama and betrayals to make it seem more of a bard's tale than actual events. About fifty tribes travel the lands close to the city, though their routes and customs mean that they are seldom in the area at the same time. Close is a relative term too, the lands the horse tribes range through have their edge five hundred miles to the south and two hundred miles to the north. Their western border touches on the Jorvin Empire's territory and clashes between the two are common, as the tribes raid. This has only become worse as the Empire tries to find more space for its people; campaigns have been waged to try and keep the tribes back.

In some respects, Sharoban is in a precarious position, surrounded by a sea of nomadic barbarians. The city is fortunate, the tribes' way of life make alliances difficult and temporary at best. A few of them might unite for a season, but the feuds and quarrels in their own ranks mean that by the time winter comes a new vendetta is as likely to have been created as their initial goal achieved. This has been the saving of the city on more than one occasion, though the city dwellers are loathe to admit it. It is something of a strange oxymoron. On the one hand, Sharoban derides the tribesmen for their disunity and on the other are determined that it is their superior skill that wins battles against the tribes.

In truth, the steppes people have adapted well to Sharoban's presence. They trade there and take their leave once their business is concluded. Whilst young people will often stay behind, it is also true that the tribes will take people with them. Sell swords and adventurers, young fools in search of a new life or the tentative concept of freedom. Most abandon the life fairly quickly, but at least one of the tribal chiefs started life as a baker's girl in Sharoban's northern quarter. Many of their raids are strategic, designed to get one thing. They know the city will write off minor losses and all but the most hardline chiefs are willing to abide by a sort of level that they can raid up to before Sharoban feels the need to loose the Wind Strikers.

The tribesmen's culture is a strange one to the outsider. They set a great deal of store by honour and are easily offended. However, the things that cause offence in the city will often go past without a word whilst other things, which seems inconsequential to the outsider, will have them reaching for their sabres. The most catastrophic version of this was the so-called Beard War, where the Lotankan tribe felt the Wind Strikers were mocking their beards, and therefore their manliness. A series of short skirmishes followed, culminating in a brief siege which was broken only by the Six's willingness to ride out unarmed to make peace.

These misunderstandings are common, some traders dread the coming of the tribes, even though it makes them a great deal of money. The furs and horses the nomads trade are a cut above the ones that are locally available and have a large resale value. The horses are sought after by Jorvin knights for their destriers. Perhaps the strangest thing they sell, and which finds a market, are jars of tree sap. The sap is used as the basis for a glue that fletchers value highly. In return the tribes buy new weapons, silks and spices and, oddly, pastries which carry a high amount of kudos in their culture.

Culturally family is the key to the tribes. Everyone is related to everyone else and can relate long lines of lineage through several generations. In order to travel with a tribe, you must convince them to 'adopt' you into a family, which then acts to vouchsafe for your behaviour. The families are matrilineal, though the tribal chief can be of either sex. Women have a strong sway in the tribal structure though, and male chiefs speak bitterly of the 'grandmothers' who control the social aspects of the tribe, often to the point that the chiefs are powerless. The women are the ones who decide if a war will happen, where the tribe will travel to and are inveterate matchmakers. When tribes to meet it is rare for there not to be a marriage. On the odd occasions when a grand moot gathers all the tribes together the weddings are so numerous that couples take their vows en masse.

Food is basic, meat and whatever vegetables can be foraged. Some tribes go even further, drinking the blood of their herds rather than waste the meat.  Bread is a luxury and the pastries the tribesmen and women are so fond of even more so.

The other key figure is the shaman. Of either sex, they are the people who treat with spirits and bind dark things that are out of place. They commune with the gods of light, who they refer to as the Greater Spirits and treat with the local, smaller gods, to ensure prosperity. Sometimes this leads to bargains being struck, but only in the direst need. There are enough cautionary tales about the practice of dealing making that it is undertaken only when absolutely necessary and then, under strict limitations. It is understood and drummed into apprentice shamans, that the spirits are different and a slip of the tongue can lead to unforeseen consequences. Most of the time the spirits are called upon for auguries and blessings for the herds and for marriages.

The magic the tribes practice also has an affinity for ice and cold, which leads some people to suspect that they were behind the Ice Walker's rampage. If this is the case, however, there has been no repeat of the incident which raises more questions than it answers.

In the end, there will likely always be an uneasy relationship with Sharoban. The expanding Jorvin Empire causes concern for both groups and has prompted numerous, short lived alliances which have been led by the Lotankan tribe. However, it has been made equally plain that if things go against Sharoban the tribes will scatter and abandon both lands and city to their fate.

The Steppes

We're back!

After about a month's break, we're back and looking outside Sharoban...

Around the city of Sharoban and its fields, stretches the Steppes. A wide, wild expanse of flat ground that expands for thousands of miles, they are filled with tribes of nomads, groups of non-humans and, sadly, monsters. Battered by winds and snow, the ground is frozen for most of the year. The steppe is divided between praerie and cold desert, bound by perpetual snow north of the Red Vein Mountains. This extends up to the frozen sea, cordoned off by eerie black menhirs that form a sort of barrier against the demon rumoured to dwell beneath the shifting ice. Cultists of the dark make their way here in the winter, few return. To the south the Blasted Lands are ruled by the dragon Bright Wing, though he rarely takes a real interest in what goes on in his domain. As a result, the Blasted Lands have become a haven for the people who cannot even find a home in Sharoban. The low lying city of Avryda forms the hub of what passes for society in the region.

The tribes closest to the city have made some peace with Sharoban, uprisings against the city are rare and usually the work of hot-headed youths, desperate for recognition. They ride well established trails across their territories, trade horses and cattle and when they do stop they set up in tents or yurts, even in the winter. Whilst they nominally worship the Luminal Pantheon, far more reverence is reserved for the spirits of the Steppes, which are beseeched for aid.

Beyond the lands of the close tribes the Red Vein Mountains rise, which is the home of giant tribes, whilst to the south the Black Barrow remains the domain of the Hobgoblin tribes who have harried caravans for centuries. These creatures at one point were humans, but they made pacts that had unforeseen side effects.

Beyond this lie the lands ruled by the matriarchal Witch Tribes, who use magic as their chief weapon in all matters, and whose sons are forfeit if the weather turns too harsh. Their magical traditions are blood based and dependent on spirits. Whilst the western tribes only revere the little gods of wind and rain, the Witch Tribes use blood, bones and even sperm to allow spirits to take corporeal form for short lengths of time. Each tribe has its own patron spirit, bound by pacts by the witches. These are tightly controlled and any deviations within the structure of pacts are punished.

This is the last point before the walls that hem in the lands of the East block the way. The wall is punctuated by the Sun Gate, a huge entrance which provides entry to the lands beyond. Not that the merchants know anything about these lands, caravans are met and escorted to the trading camps. Once their trade is done, they are sent on their way, back to the west.

Next we go in focus to look at the tribes that live near Sharoban.

Holiday

Hello,

Just a quick note as I know I'm late updating this week.

Sharoban's taking a month off so that real life stuff can happen and I can get my MA in Writing finished.

When we come back we'll be stepping outside the city and starting to explore the rest of the world, starting with the Steppes.

Have a lovely month and I'll see you at the end of September.

The Balance of Power

Within Sharoban, there are a number of political groups, all vying for some sort of control.

The grandest and oldest is the Council. Founded by the Six, the Council is the only originator of legislation and decrees within the city. The city's rulers sit upon it though their role is largely judicial. The laws the city follows are the ones laid down by the Six. These cover the basic aspects of law and order and the entire record of laws can be read out, in its entirety, over the course of a day. In fact, one of the tenets is that all the laws must be able to be recited over the course of one day and no longer.

Politically the Council does pass laws, usually through a process of debating points amongst themselves, discussing the issues with representatives from the guilds, Church and other groups. The rest of their time is taken up with dealing with groups from outside the city. They meet regularly with the delegates from the local tribes, ambassadors from the nearby western kingdoms and members of rich mercantile syndicates. This involves a tightrope walk of trying to balance the city's interests with the demands of these groups. Merchants want lower taxes, the local tribes want more taxes and a cut from the profits the city takes, as well as being picky about their territories being violated by the trade caravans. The ambassadors want everything from specific ingredients, the ability to put (more) spies into the city and to generally drag the city state into their sphere of influence. Despite all this the current Council has managed to maintain the balance it requires with these groups. It is only when the local giants, or worse the strange figure that calls itself the Dragon's Diplomat and claims to speak for the dragon Bright Wing, come calling that alarm is registered. This might change if an army made its way to the city, but that remains a remote possibility.

Within the city, the real intrigues exist between the guilds and the Church and other groups that want to influence the process of law making.  There is a tug of war between the guild leaders as they try to win concessions for their own crafts at the expense of the others. This creates an atmosphere of low-level animosity and backbiting that goes hand in hand with dirty tricks campaigns and the push towards spying amongst the most trusted aides of the guild leaders.

The merchant houses are similar; their factors constantly jockey in an effort to gain financial advantages. They usually battle via gift giving, each of them trying to curry favour by offering lavish presents to the Council members and their assistants. They often focus on the people who work behind the scenes, hoping to build influence by getting them to owe favours.

The Church has a different plan. They have an agenda to enforce the ideals of the Church. This takes the form of doing things like trying to keep the war season as short as possible and to control the more militant feelings among the Wind Strikers. They also work to encourage alms and charity in the city, and to preserve learning.  They tend to do this by influencing the Council indirectly, using the people as their tool to bring pressure on decisions made in Sharoban's keep.

These three groups, which are by  no means homogenous, in fact in many ways their internal politics are more of an impediment to their goals than their enemies are. However, it can be said that they represent the various voices in the city, excepting the military, and are instrumental to the maintaining the balance between trade, industry and faith. They bring pressure on the Council to enact changes in their favour and to further build influence. Through their machinations they force the Council to act, sometimes to favour them and sometimes not. Despite the power the factions bring to bear, it must be remembered that the Council is still very much in control, and it is hard to steer policy too much.

In all these factors have a piecemeal influence over the city and policy, they stymie each other regularly and often see plans fail. Whilst their intrigues have yet to bring the city to a standstill, it may only be a matter of time before it happens.

Politics: The Problem of Sharoban

Even out on the steppes Sharoban is not immune to the machinations of politics and intrigue. The city suffers from both internal plots and upheavals, and the shifting steps of the Great Dance between nations. This time we will consider the city's relation with the kingdoms of the west.

As Sharoban has become more affluent, it has attracted more and more attention from the western kingdoms. The city has been seen as both a boon and a curse, a place for ideas to take shape and alliances forged without the problems of domestic politics getting in the way. The fact that a good number of these treaties were thrashed out in the inns and taverns in the city was part of the appeal as was the anonymity Sharoban allowed. It was only after a number of rebellions were found to have originated in Sharoban's inns that the western kingdoms started to be more cautious and heading east became a sign for spy rings and assassins to make sure malcontents were caught, captured or killed. The city has become seen as something of a problem as a result.

The coup in Allreyda is perhaps the best way to demonstrate this. Allreyda is a nation that sits in the south of the continent, with its southern border along the shore of the Silver Sea and its eastern edge running along the steppe. To the north and west it is hemmed in by the Greycap Mountains. Twenty years ago a coup took place, killing the king and driving his family into exile, with the exception of the crown prince, Markov, who was held at the capital, Nebyezod. The coup's leader, Anders the Black, the boy's uncle declared himself regent, though most people suspect that this is a fiction designed to appease the peasants; the boy has not been seen in public for more than ten years.

How does this relate to Sharoban?

The conspirators had used Sharoban as a base for their plotting, even going so far to purchase weapons, armour and mercenaries in the city before launching their assault. The financial side of the coup also originated in the city, a number of the backers were merchants and guild leaders who saw a chance and took it. Many of the city's people did very well out of it, the financial backers were paid large dividends, mercenaries were given positions of power. Trade was bolstered too, contracts were signed with the new regent and as his banner fluttered above the palace at Nebeyezod barrels of dye, packs of eastern spices and bales of steppe hay trundled their way to the Allreydan border. In addition, as trade was pushed in the Allreydan ports Sharoban's merchants discovered that they made good money from access to a wider market. Money flowed back to the city, to the extent that there was talk of the Crimson Knights establishing a chapter house in Sharoban.

The fallout of the coup was immense in political terms. Various nations imposed blockades and refused to buy Allreydan goods.The Jorvin Empire went so far as to provide assistance to groups opposed to the new regent, though many observers felt this was simply a way to extend their influence southward in an effort to gain a foothold on the Silver Sea.

Allreyda became isolated.

Sharoban was their only friend and that only extended to the line of credit the merchants and guild masters had extended to the new regent. The Council remained resolutely neutral, despite the rumours that one of their number Feydor Shadow Sword, argued passionately in favour of Anders' cause. Despite this, there was a notable reluctance to close off relations with the Anders. It was only after the Jorvin Empire decided to expand eastward at a place called Merida's Mill, which would serve as a good place to disrupt trade and to mount an attack from, that the city quietly disengaged from Allreyda's political affairs. Trade was not disrupted but quietly discouraged nonetheless. In the meantime, the camp at Merida's Mill suffered a series of quiet acts of sabotage that eventually led to the camp being pulled back 100 miles towards the Imperial border. The culprits were never found and Sharoban has never commented on the campaign of dirty tricks, but it has been noted that a series of Wind Striker patrols swept through the area during the next few months and at least one skirmish was fought.

This encapsulates the issue that Sharoban presents to the west, it is technically part of their world but, at the same time the city sits wild and ungoverned out on the steppes; half in and out of even the Jorvin sphere of influence. As a result, Sharoban is feted for the assistance it can provide, even if that is mostly economic, and hated because it is a law unto itself and has a veneer of independence that allows it to get away with a lot more than other political entities. Sitting alone on the steppes, it is beyond the reach of most armies and the natural environment acts as a deterrent to even the toughest of the Jorvin commanders. Even if one can avoid the winter, one must deal with biting winds, ground that can turn into a sea of mud under the spring rain storms and the general lawlessness of the tribes and other denizens (an army can attract giants and hobgoblins like nobody's business) by the time Sharoban's walls are in sight troops are likely to be demoralised, tired, cold and hungry with little will to fight. Even threatening the city from afar is a delicate strategy, with no guarantee of success.

However, things may be changing. Sharoban can stand alone for the moment, but the Empire has learned to take it seriously and is slowly expanding eastward, under the name of 'living space' and the need for more land to feed the population. A new city, complete with a large temple is being built at Schwarzhugel, under the wolf banner. The southern nations have closed their borders, fearing the consequences of meddling too far. If the trend continues at the current pace, Sharoban will have the Empire as a close neighbour in the next fifty years.

Next time, we'll look how the city dances the Great Dance.

Superstitions

There are stories people tell when the sun goes down. Tales of things in the night, or creatures that lurk in the winter snows. They tell tales of the broken hearted lovers who pined away to nothing at all and who long to get the feeling of love back again, of widows who invited their husbands back in after they were buried and found they had something quite different to contend with. Of men with the beast in their hearts and women with ice in their veins.

And they swear that these are true.

There are beliefs that are passed from generation to generation. Put fresh herbs above your door to ward against sickness, the spirits of pestilence will turn aside at the smell. Don't tread on your own shadow, or you'll only invite the dark gods to reach into your heart.

Call it hearth wisdom, call it the old ways, call it superstition; call it what you like. But never, ever doubt it, for the people of Sharoban are a cowardly and superstitious lot.

The beliefs that drive the everyday lives of the people of the city are frequently nothing to do with their history or religion. The Luminal Pantheon and the Shadow Gods feature, but often wedded to older, more primal beliefs that have survived from older times.  These customs survive because they are so deeply embedded culturally that even the adoption of a new faith cannot wipe them out entirely. Old gods become bogeymen or spirits. Old rituals are diminished, their meaning becomes lost. Even if the old women touch the spinning wheel when they enter the house as a matter of course, the acknowledgement of the craft spirits becomes a private matter.

Superstitions in many ways are the grease on which Sharoban's society runs. From the traditions concerning beds and bonfires to the old beliefs that have been salvaged from the folk traditions everyday life, is bound with these customs. For instance, it is bad luck to wear anything new when a contract is signed. Similarly, it is considered bad luck to mention dead relatives in business matters or when a child is born, to the extent that comments about the infant having a grandfather's eyes or nose are strongly discouraged.

Alcohol-based traditions are common, drinks are used to seal deals and celebrate the traditions. This does lead to drunkenness however, leaving any drink in your glass is considered unlucky as is putting a tankard with drink in it on the table after you've begun to drink. There are rituals covering when to drink and how to drink, often governed by when one arrives or leaves, if one is married or single (married people drink twice, once for themselves and once for their spouse).

Animals are associated with luck as well. From the Jorvin Empire, the tradition of raven blessing has travelled east and it is common for the Council and the High Priest of Merida to bless the local birds. In Jorvin culture, the birds were meant to have led the settlers to the Jorn islands and when the people fled Ember's Rage, the ravens led them to safe shores. Another beast venerated by the Jorvins, wolves, are placated by prayers and blessings to keep them strong, even if the people of the city do not welcome them. More locally the bear is held to be the soul of the land, their disappearance into sleep, a sign that the winter is truly on its way. Farmers will often wait for news of bear sightings before planting crops. Cats are a thorny issue. They are celebrated as both the eyes of Mycra, the light goddess and as defenders against the things in the dark, they have also been accused of being servants of the dark gods. In some places, they have even been burned, for fear of what they're capable of.

Next: We return to the political side of the city, the council and steps of the Great Game.

Life in the Big City: The End of Life, Old Age, Death Rites and the Afterlife

Death stalks the steppes and valleys, the mountains and fields of the world. It always has and it always will; even the dragons are not immune to the grim reaper's scythe.

In Sharoban the traditions of death have grown up from many different sources and cultures. A hodge-podge of customs have been meshed together based on old wives tales, folklore, family ritual and the teachings of the Church. These bear small resemblance to what came east with the Six and their followers or to the cultures that they found and slowly absorbed into the city; though here and there a custom that can be pinned down to a definite point of origin can be seen. For instance the tradition of gathering snowdrops to mourn the dead has its origins in the Jorvin Empire and is reputed to have been brought by them from their island home, whilst the tradition of keeping a small fire burning in the room where one keeps the dead to keep them warm comes from the Salva tribe whose lands lie south of Sharoban. Customs and rituals can vary from quarter to quarter or even from street to street. Despite this, there are a few traditions that carry across the entire city.

The first of these is the death bed. Every home, even the poorest, will have a bed set aside for the sick and dying. In larger homes this is set aside in a private room, whilst in poorer houses it will be a pallet that is taken down and laid before the fire. It is considered most unlucky to die in your marriage bed, to the extent that when that happens the bed will be burned to rid the house of ill fortune. As the deathbed has a specific purpose of sheltering the dying, it does not attract bad luck.

It is believed too that the soul of the dead person cannot move on to until they have been buried, or cremated, or torn apart by animals (as the city has communities that believe all these varieties of funeral to be correct). As a result wills and legacies cannot be discussed before the funeral, to show love and respect to the departed. It is also seen as not only rude but unlucky to speak ill of the dead, and it may result in their ghost haunting the naysayer and refusing to enter the afterlife.

Funerals happen during the day, preferably on days with good weather. Practicality means that a rain storm or strong winds won't delay a funeral unless burial would be dangerous, but most people hope for  sunshine and cool breezes because that is the best weather to ensure their safe journey to the underworld. It's believed that Mycra will guide them safely to the Shadow Fields where they can rest awhile before being reborn.

In Winter the ground is too hard to bury the dead, bodies are stacked in cool cellars and warded; spontaneous outbreaks of 'rising', where the dead walk, are not unknown though they are thankfully uncommon. The other threat to the dead in this season is scavengers both four-footed and two-footed. The Keep makes sure that guards and even Wind Strikers check on the dead, to ensure that nothing untoward happens to them.

Other kinds of funeral go ahead as usual in the winter and the shanty towns find they get extra custom from families who want them to take their dead relatives out to the steppes for the hawks and wolves. The pyres are kept well stocked and burn almost constantly when the winter is hard. Callously, some families 'miraculously' discover that relatives who had wanted to be buried had last minute changes of heart and actually opted to cremation. Whilst this practice is disapproved of there is little that can be done to prevent families doing it and physikers actively support the burning of the dead as it promotes public health.

Before most people reach the stage of being buried, they grow old. The old are respected in the city, mostly because to grow old in Sharoban is to be tough as nails and snake canny. In the extended families, they rule the roost, often deciding what their children and grandchildren will do without dissent. This is particularly true of Grandmothers, who prosper in the city's matriarchal culture. This is mitigated by the fact that there is no retirement, the elderly are expected to keep working unless they become too infirm to. At which point they either enter the care of their families or if their relations cannot care for them, they enter the temple's almshouse or are forced to live on the streets. At which point they die very quickly.

The city does provide some perks for the elderly, however. No public house may charge them for drinks and they may use public fountains with impunity. Many vendors sell food more cheaply to the old as a mark of respect and the gangs, in general, leave them alone.

Next week; superstitions.

Life in the Big City: Courtship, Marriage, and Children

Just as in the real world the people in Sharoban fall in love, marry and have children. For many of them this is their overriding concern, whether because of love, business or the desire to achieve some sort of legacy. There are political and dynastic matches, marriages for love and money, and even revenge. Relationships grow cold, stay warm against all odds, and end in disaster. Some even end in murder or divorce. Some never really start, leaving both partners lost in a world that seems to be set against them.

The beginning of a relationship very much depends on who you are. It is likely that parents, guardians and masters will be involved in the process at the very beginning and most matches are set in motion by older people. A pair of rich merchants might arrange for their children to wed in order to consolidate their fortunes or a guild master might introduce a star apprentice to the right person for the specific reason of creating a match. It is in their interest to do so as it encourages loyalty from their proteges and helps them along with their lives; within a large part of the city there is an ethos that leaving people behind is amoral and so it is the duty of people with more luck, wealth and power to help those less fortunate than themselves. Even within the lower classes this practice holds true and it is hardly uncommon for a young man to come home to find his parents waiting for him with some important news about his future; and his bride. Most matches are made about the age of fifteen, and signals the start of a slow courtship that lasts many years.

What follows is usually a series of chaperoned meetings initially at the families' homes, later in public places. Before these public dates occur there is some expectation of commitment on both sides. Commonly this takes the form of gift giving, usually something that can be worn or carried and ideally something made by the lovers for each other. Scarves are popular as are hats and pieces of jewellery and small knives. After this, the match is presumed to be official and on its way to marriage.

Amongst older people who are unmarried (who are often considered to be ne'er-do-wells, on account of their lack of attachments), the road to marriage is less controlled but more chaotic. Men are expected to take the lead here, pitching their suit to women they like. Women do sometimes make the first move, but it's rare enough to be commented on. Again the couple are expected to exchange gifts before their match is considered official; they are also expected to have a short engagement and if more than six months passes between betrothal and marriage the relationship is considered a dead duck.

Weddings take place in the temple, and group weddings are not uncommon if there are a lot of ceremonies that coincide. There is no official colour to get married, for either sex, but everyone will wear their best clothes. Both brides and grooms wear garlands of flowers and silver bracelets to signify the day. They enter the temple together and stand before the priests with their parents close by. From there oaths are exchanged and, in a throwback to an old tradition, bread and salt are given as gifts. Songs are sung and blessings given. Traditionally these are centred on fertility and prosperity rather than happiness. The newlyweds usually move into the bride's home, living with her family until they can afford a home of their own.

Many couples, especially amongst the poor never officially get married. Instead, they simply move into together and go from there. There is no stigma in this though the priests of Merida will offer a blessing if the couple decides they want to legitimise the relationship. Official marriage is not considered seemly in these circumstances and particularly if there are children (though none of the priests can really point to a specific prohibition on this).

Except in specific cases married couples are expected to have children, and quickly. The usual pattern is that the first child will be born within the first two years of the marriage to much celebration. Street parties to welcome a newborn, especially if the child is couples firstborn, aren't uncommon, as the family splash out to celebrate their good fortune. It doesn't matter if the child is male or female, every new life is considered special and celebrated as such.  Children are born in the marriage bed and for the last few months of any pregnancy this is the wife's bed. The husband will find somewhere else to sleep and must wait to be invited back in postpartum. Some unfortunate husbands never return to the marriage bed, much to their chagrin.

Children are named within the first six months of life at a ceremony where they are presented with a cup of wine and a loaf of bread to symbolise their needs. Often they will be given gifts, most of which will be useless to them for the first few years of life, but which they will grow into. These are often connected with a trade or profession.  They will stay with their mother or grandparents for the first seven years of life, when their official education begins. After this, most children only see their families at high days and when their masters or teachers release them. This is a situation which will continue until they are fully grown and ready to begin families of their own.

Next week we consider the end of life, old age, death and funerals.

Life in the city: Food, Fashion and Tradition

This week we look at what it means to live in Sharoban and be a part of its culture. The lenses we're going to use will be food, fashion and, ahem, frolicking; or carousing and courting if you prefer.

Food

Most people in the city eat simply, with a focus on soups and stews, black bread and porridge. They drink thin wine and mead, saving medvuka (a fermented honey drink with spices) for special occasions and the depths of winter. Kvass, a sort of liquid bread, is also drunk and often forms a sizable chunk of the poor's diet. The drink is so ubiquitous however that it is drunk for breakfast by pretty much everybody, and is supplemented by fruit or meat.

The local farms produce cabbages and root vegetables. There are species of stunted grains that managed to ripen despite the harshest wind, ensuring the city has rye and barley. The fine white breads and heavy fruit loaves favoured by the well off rely on imported grain and dried fruits from the west whilst noodles have been appropriated from eastern merchants and turned into a local delicacy. Local orchards grow apples and pears, which are seldom fermented as they are highly valued as fruit. The most common way for them to be consumed is with bread and honey.

In terms of meat, sheep and goat are favoured during the summer and beef during the winter after the herds have been culled. In times of great distress, horse is eaten, but they are generally considered too important to waste on mere food even when famine threatens. Much of the meat finds its way into pelmeni, meat-filled dumplings which are considered quite a delicacy, and on the city's high days haunches are cooked in porridge.

In contrast, when famine strikes many of the city's burghers are forced to subsist on a diet of birch bark pounded into pulp, mixed with husks and straw. An unsavoury meal at the best of time, it seems to slip the minds of all people that this meal is not uncommon in the shanty towns at the best of times as well as the worst, and only the Temple of Merida makes an effort to alleviate the situation by providing thick broths and hard bread for the people there.

Fashion

Clothing in the city is made from wool and linen and tends to be dyed red, green or, of course, blue. Black and purple cloth is very rare indeed and stands a mark of great wealth as does the presence of a great deal of leather, unless it's armour, or even a small amount of silk. Women wear long gowns that tie in various places with complicated knots and buckles, and head scarves. Men wear hose and long coats that end at the knee. Again, they are tied or buckled, owing to a lack of buttons. They wear round hats, which are often lined with fur. Both sexes layer their clothing, wearing plain linen undergarments under their richer outer clothing. One effect of this is that the outer clothing stays relatively clean as it collects the dirt from the street and the linen garments absorb the odours of the wearer.

In winter, cloaks become an obligatory form of clothing to keep out the cold. Made of the heaviest wool they are often lined to make them more waterproof and brightly dyed and patterned. Fur too, is common in this season and the pelts of bear, wolf, lion, beaver, and tiger are seen in Sharoban's streets as part of one piece of clothing or another. The rarest of these furs is the white wolf and as a consequence it is mostly commonly seen around the Keep and the Old City. The white wolf's fur is a sign of nobility and generally the entire skin will be used for a cloak, rather than simply lining a woollen one.

On holidays, everyone wears blue, especially on the annual celebration of the city's founding. Beyond that there is no particularly rhyme or reason to colour choices, though rich people often sport clothes with gold thread embellishments.

In terms of footwear, both men and women wear boots in the main, reserving less sturdy footwear for dances and parties. It is customary to change shoes upon arriving home, so as not to track the street inside. Most people wear either sandals or soft linen shoes about the house and it is considered rude not to wash your feet upon arriving home. Most households keep a jug and ewer of water by the front door. Apart from during the winter children often go barefoot or wear soft moccasins as it is not being seen as worth the money to purchase shoes that will have to be discarded within a season. In winter they wear hand me down boots, stuffed rags and straw. During the rainy season when the ground is often turned to mud, women wear pattens to keep their shoes free of mud and other things.

Turning to armour, the leather that does not end up in boots or horse's tack is boiled and turned into tough leather jerkins. Metal armour is still quite rare for common soldiers and chain armour coats are reserved for the important soldiers. Whilst there are stories of heavier armour, there is little appetite for such innovations in the city's military: Sharoban's fighting force is designed to fast and light; they depend on the ability to travel fast and anything that will slow them down is viewed with suspicion.

Traditions

Outside of the holy days there are many opportunities for the people of Sharoban to meet, socialise and fall in love. Whilst the winter drives people off the streets, spring and summer are the traditional time to meet and if you are lucky, fall in love. Taverns are permitted to stay open a few hours after sundown, creating a drinking culture that relies on drinking strong liqueur very fast. It's very popular with the young, but the Guard is less enthusiastic, just because of the amount of work it can make.

Dances are popular, whether they recall the traditions from before the city was founded, like the Blessing of the Orchards, where the young women dance amongst the trees until the point where the young men chase them, or are part of the burghers' established social calendars. The guilds hold dances for the journeymen and it is here that the strongest influence to arrange matches comes into play, as the guild masters try to find suitable matches for their proteges and to protect guild secrets. Consequently matches within guilds are the most common, with a few between allied guilds taking place every year.

The nobility hold dances too, but these are much more formal and carry different stakes. It is true that for the young the first dances of the season will often be the ones where their partners are selected by their families, and frequently where they find the people they will have quiet affairs with once they are married. But many of these parties have a political dimension that goes beyond affairs of the heart. Treaties and trade deals are discussed, diplomacy is practiced and the steps of the Great Game, which Sharoban tries so hard to stay out of are danced as deftly as the steps of the rondel.

Within military circles, the focus of socialising is usually the Dinner, taking the opportunity to gather about the table and share food and stories with comrades. Amongst the Wind Strikers there are two grand dinners, one at the start of the war season and the other at the end. Both are solemn affairs, where death is acknowledged  tales of heroism exchanged and, to lighten the mood, games are played.

Next week we'll look at romance, marriage, childbirth and child rearing.

Other Gods, Other Celebrations

Whilst there is no doubt that Merida is the Patron Goddess of Sharoban, other gods are worshipped here, to lesser or greater extents. Of the Luminal Pantheon, only one, Dywz, goes unmarked because his domain, the sea, sits several hundred leagues from the city in just about every direction. Veneration of the other gods often breaks down into small, focused groups that dedicate their worship to the deity through work, knowledge or celebration. Some receive small, but constant worship; for example Naia, the Goddess of Health and Clarity, has no major festivals within the city but her priests receive almost daily visits from the elderly, the ill, the lame and the guardians of people afflicted with madness. They maintain a small asylum on the main trade route, a few leagues west of the city, and it is here that their main temple stands, welcoming pilgrims.

Perhaps the most contentious part of Naia's worship is the way it is often conflated with the small rituals dedicated to the water spirit Liandra, who is said to have been instrumental in the city's creation. The spring Liandra guards bubbles up near Naia's temple and the cult is keen to attribute any healing from the waters to the Goddess rather than the undine. Within the city, Liandra has two days of worship; one at high summer and the other in the depths of winter. Both are water related and quite open. In high summer, people pray that there will be no drought, whilst in the winter they pray for the snow to melt and spring to come.

By contrast to both Goddess and undine, Korvin, the Artisan God, has a shrine in every craft hall and shop. The guilds take their worship of him very seriously and, in addition to a monthly offering, the most promising students are given the task of making 'tithe pieces' which will be offered up at a grand ceremony in the guild halls across the city at New Year. This is a great honour and a mark of both trust and respect in both the students' character and skill, which softens the blow of the ritual destruction the pieces undergo as part of the offering. Whilst the city may turn out for the festivities, the rites and practices surrounding the god's worship are kept secret and are often bound up in guild traditions. These are kept secret and safe from prying eyes, often even between rival artisans.

Equally secretive is the cult of Adol. Sequestered in the House of Fools for the most part, but with shrines wherever knowledge is gathered and maintained, the Knowledge God's worshippers are dedicated to keeping their discoveries secret. Another Guardian God, Adol's life was so secretive that nobody knows what he did to be granted his dominion. The tenets of his worship involve stockpiling information and knowledge to use against the Shadow until the most opportune moment to strike. In practice, this seems to have created a situation where his black-robed priests spy out every piece of gossip, tittle-tattle and rumour and lock it away 'just in case.' Whether anything they hide is of any use, only time will tell, but their reputation is as meddlers and spies; not even the city's leaders like to be around them too long. Like Korvin, their rites are secretive and lore hidden. The fear is that this is for reasons quite unlike the Artisan God's and hides something far more sinister.

Mycra's worship takes place out in the open, often literally. The Lady of Light, Beacon Lighter, Spear of the Sun and other accolades; Mycra is the leader of the Luminal Pantheon, a position legend says she assumed in the days of the Eclipse War. Unlike Alchnor she is not a ruler, but a leader; she gives no orders but pushes others to do their best. Within Sharoban's walls her worship is very much related to fire, with beacons burning through the night to keep the Shadow at bay and her holy days being marked by large bonfires. The tradition of fire leaping came to Sharoban from somewhere in the east and has been incorporated into Mycra's customs. Her largest festival is The Triumph, when the days become noticeably longer after the winter solstice. A large part of this festival now comprises the Wind Strikers and others leaping the flames, whilst bellowing challenges to the Shadow.

Lastly, we turn our attention to the Unnamed God, the Jailer of the Shadow. He is not officially worshipped in any guise, but a small group from all walks of life meet in the midnight hours to maintain the Vigil, a small ceremony that involves specific prayers to drive away evil. Much like Mycra's worship, this is the main focus of his ceremonies and it seems a wonder that the larger cult has not absorbed the smaller. However whilst Mycra is focused on keeping the dark away, the Unnamed God is dedicated to stamping it out. Linked with the moon in many places, including, the Unnamed God's worship is always nocturnal. Each phase has a different meaning to his followers and they are at their most vigilant during the new moon, fearing the Shadow gods will take advantage of the near total darkness to escape and bring ruin on the world. In other places, there are stories of the sun disappearing for the entire winter; here the small cult's vigils last the entire season and it is both an honour and a curse to be invited to participate.

Next time we return to life in Sharoban in general, with a discussion of food, clothing and the traditions that fill the city's life.