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.