Reth Jaleract: reKindled

[Kindling]

[size=30]~ RETH JALERACT ~[/size]

Click here for the discussion thread.

 [ic]I am like an artist, and my blade is like my brush, tracing a beautiful image in arterial red. I scarcely feel the protest of my burning muscles, my overworked body. I am, I realise, enjoying myself. The Malmur fall back, and I stop swinging my sword. As the furious motion comes to an abrupt halt, I stagger, and then catch myself. The sun is nearly setting, for the third time since this battle started.

Here, in this pass between cyclopean mountains, in this border fort built on the ruins of an Uéllae village, I am most likely going to die. There are far too many Malmur, and they are far too ferocious. When I was a child, in Mahathé, they were almost legendary. They dwelt half a continent away, and their bloodthirsty skill at arms was known only through stories.

Now I can see it in the horrific sights around me, smell it in the carrion stench of the dead, taste it in the blood that fills my mouth. Wait, there's blood in my mouth? I must have bitten my tongue. Odd that I didn't notice until now. It is almost fully severed. As I stand in shocked realisation, the Malmur rally for another attack. I glance around me. Only three others remain beside me, guarding this shattered gateway. I can hear fighting raging elsewhere nearby.

As my attention returns to the charging Malmur, I struggle to lift my sword. I open my mouth to shout my defiance, and the blood cascades down my chin and onto my chest. I realise, as I cleave the first warrior to reach me from shoulder to hip, that it will cause my breastplate to rust if it isn't cleaned away soon.[/ic]

Welcome to Reth Jaleract, a continent where the Human species has just arrived, and is carving a place for itself, wading as it does in blood; the blood of both it's own and of the elder races of Reth Jaleract.

Themes:
Change and the contrasting savagery and nobility of human nature (more savage than noble)

Genre:
Low-magic, mid-to-high-fantasy, sword and sorcery influenced.

Tone:
Dark, gritty and violent.

Conflicts:
Abundant.

Rules:
The setting is written with Iron Heroes d20 in mind, but can be used with any system that can be adapted to it.

[spoiler=Map][/spoiler]

[Kindling]

people
~ THE ADVENTURING GENERATION ~

I has been over three decades since Humans came to Reth Jaleract. Those who are now entering their prime have never seen Mahathé.

They are inured to hardship and loss, for their entire lives have been a struggle. Yet, alongside this, they are people of ambition. In their time they have seen huge tracts of land switch hands from non-Human to Human possession, they have seen Human living conditions flourish from hastily-constructed refugee hovels through militarised war-camps until they now approach some level of stability.

Their leaders hold authority by dint of wit, might or fortune, not thanks to some preordained system. They know that in this newly meritocratic society, if they are cleverer, stronger and luckier, they can rise to have more power than any other.

They are young, strong women and men, of grit and endurance, driven by ambition. They know how to fight, and how to survive. They do not look over their shoulders to the Mahathé they never knew, but forward, to a Human-dominated Reth Jaleract.

In their lives they will not merely be warriors or explorers. They will be that, and also champions, ground-breakers, perhaps, eventually, even legends.

They will be adventurers.

[Kindling]

region
~ THE DEAD MOUNTAINS ~

 [ic]They shun these mountains, they do. The non-humans, the monsters, the natives, whatever you might call them. Faelen, Orc, Uéllae, gRast, none of them come here. The Dead Mountains bear their name for good reason, I'll say. Before we came, there was nothing here, nothing but barrows, tombs and ruins. The Kheb, they were called, or so we're told. Great beetles that walked like men and built and thought and warred and ruled and died in ages past, or... well, a long time ago, anyhow. No one seems quite sure just how far back it was, but they're all dead and gone now, with just these ruins left behind.

It afrights me, at times, to walk in these halls. The shadows seem to jump out, and when my mind drifts, I can almost feel big beetle-eyes watching me, thinking, "How dare this little scrap of flesh walk in our house, how dare he defile our monuments with his pathetic little footsteps."

I would laugh at myself, tell myself off for getting all scared of shadows like a wee one might, but there is something here, something nasty, and you feel it when you're alone. That's why we band together, and why the Families put so much effort into their petty bloody conflicts. Drowning their fear in each others' blood, and ours.

Me, I'm old enough to remember Ournis. Now that was a place to live, not like these barren, haunted, shitheap mountains. I had fun there, so I did. Enjoyed myself. Can't remember a single moment of fun or enjoyment since I came here. The Dead Mountains, eh? Well I may as well be dead too, for all the living I'm doing.

I'm old enough to remember other things, and all. Nights of blood and terror, and ignorant, savage revenge. When the Families came out of the dark and killed and fought and raped and took some kind of power. They're bastards, the lot of them, thieving murderous bastards, but we'd be lost without them, leaderless. The Attendents might have made better rulers, but then they might not. This is a harsh land, and needs must. Perhaps we are better off with the bloody Families.

It'd be nice to have our own places, though, I'll tell you that. I've near enough had it with sleeping in these great beetle-tombs, or rather failing to cause I know their bloody ghosts are watching me, hoping I die.

I won't, though. Die, that is. I'm a stubborn man, me, and I'll not give up easy. The Families might try and kill me, the old Kheb might wish me dead, rockslides and weather and precarious mountain paths might have a go, but no. I'll live, I will. And I'll find some place, some time, when I can have a good life again, so when my time does come, I can be happy for at least a while before I go.[/ic]

Ournis was the greatest city in Mahathé, a city of palaces and wonders, where the Mahathelur held her Immortal Court. But this sprawling metropolis was also a city of slums, gangland murders and black market deals. The criminal Families held power amongst the hovels of the poor districts.

After the Devilwars, when the dying Mahathelur flung the Human race across the ocean to Reth Jaleract, the Ouronii found themselves in the bleak Dead Mountains, studded with the remains of the ancient Kheb civilisation.

Beneath these cyclopean ruins, the Families came into the open. They butchered the Attendents of the Mahathelur, and seized upon the desperate Ouronii as their subjects, the new peasant class under their vindictive rule. Since then they have warred and squabbled, demanding that those bands which they "protect" feed and supply them out of the pitiful harvests they can scrape out of the mountain soil, while they devote themselves to petty power plays.

The Ouronii have been made hard during the reign of the Families. The chaff has been brutally seperated from the grain, and now only the strong, of body and of will, survive. The mountains are inhospitable, and the malignant atmosphere about the Kheb ruins has been known to induce paranoia and madness. To make matters worse, the Ouronii were city people before they came here, and few know the skills needed to cultivate these harsh lands.

But they survive, they cling to life, bouyed up by rumours of the other Human nations in Reth Jaleract, from whom they are cut off by so many miles of Orc, Uéllae, gRast and Faelen lands.

It is only a matter of time, also, until one of the Families finally gains the upper hand, and the incessant bloodshed stops. The Ouronii look forward to this, imagining that it will bring peace and stability, even if it might be under a harsh rule. But the Families are greedy, hungry for power. If one were able to consolidate a power base in the Dead Mountains, the most likely result would be a quest for empire, that would stretch the Ouronii's meagre resources to breaking in wars against the neighbouring non-Human lands.

One thing is for certain, and that is that none of the Families - Cerremen, Tóu, Shaan, Feharr or Slike - care for any but their own. They will show no quarter, mercy or magnanimity in their quest for supremecy. And for the average Ouronii, that means being trampled underfoot to fuel the criminals' ambitions.

There is, however, a single bastion of hope in the Dead Mountains. In the North, the surviving Attendents and their followers have set up a commune. They delved deeper than any other has dared into the Kheb ruins, and in the layers deep below the earth they found riches. Using these treasures, they hired Orc deserters from the Gheddac civil war to defend them against the depredations of the Families.

Every day more Ouronii flock there, though most never make it - the journey is perilous through the territory of the different Families. Once there though, they are safe as they can be, as what food is harvested is shared equally, and they are protected by the Orcs.

[Numinous]

Holy crap.  This is some good stuff.  A primitive world with nice depth.  Multiple races with clear differences, I simply love it.  More in-depth review later, keep up the good work.

EDIT: Damnit.  You need to put up a cleare link to your discussion thread.  A mod'll be by to remove this post though...

[Kindling]

region
~ THE FAELEN BORDERS ~

 [ic]The uneasy peace that has lasted here nearly two years is a peace in name alone. True, there are no more grand advances, no more sieges, epic battles, atrocious slaughters or glorious victories. But soldiers still die, on both sides, in brutal, petty skirmishes between border patrols and spiteful little raids into enemy territory.

The traders who come from the capitol, so-called New Tanalere, they don't understand. They see our grim faces, our use-worn weapons, the dull look left in our eyes after too much fear and adrenaline, and they say to one another, "These border-guards, do they not know the war is over? We are at peace with the Faelen now!"

To the Depths with them! They do not know that we still bleed and die, they do not know of the sacrifices we make constantly to keep these lands secure for this new Tanalese nation.

Perhaps the only people, other than those tough border folk who dwell here along with us, who truly understand are our enemies, the Faelen. That is, if they are indeed people. Their appearance, surely, is more bestial than anything.

Either way, they are foes worthy of both respect and fear. Even unarmed, their teeth and claws could maim a man with ease, and their silent speed through the forest has resulted in many a bloody ambush.

Just last week, I and my comrades were victim to such an attack. A mist clung in the shadows between the trees that day, and visibility was poor. We should have expected trouble, the weather made it far too easy for the enemy to use stealth. It had been quiet, though, just recently, and perhaps we were off our guard. We trudged on, through the woods, swathed in cloaks against the damp, each lost in their own thoughts.

Then the woods came alive with javelins and leonine warcries. Half our number died in the first few seconds, unable to even draw their weapons due to the suddenness of the assault. I wrenched my blade from its scabbard, hunkered down against a tree for cover against the throwing-spears, and then leapt from my hiding-spot as the enemy drew near, to hack through a thick mane of fur, into the throat beneath. Blood fountained from the wound as my sword bit deep. We fought a running battle nearly the entire way back to the garrison, and in the end only five of us made it alive.

I cannot help but admire the Faelen, really. Their prodigious strength, their skill at arms, their maniac bravery. Even their animalistic forms have a kind of savage beauty to them. Perhaps, one day, when there is peace, and by that I mean true peace, I will live among them, learn their ways.

Bah, to wish for true peace! I may as well dream some child's fantasy, a handsome prince stealing me from this place to make me his bride. Foolishness!

Besides, the Faelen are pagans, they revere their ancestors, not the Dead Mahathelur. Learn their ways? What was I thinking? The only thing I will learn from them is the path to the Depths, when one of them finally gets through my guard.

Perhaps that will not be such a bad thing, though. An end to this ceaseless violence in these chilly, rain-doused forests. No, I will be strong, and I will survive. Only two more years until my tour of duty ends. Then I can retire back to the Capitol, and live without a care on my military pension. But will I truly be able to enjoy that, after my experiences here in the borderlands? Maybe not...[/ic]

Roughly half of the Human population of the Faelen Borders is made up of Tanalese soldiers, and the majority of those who aren't officially army personell own weapons and are more than familiar with their use.

Most live in small, tight-knit communities clustered around military garrisons and other defensive positions, although some larger extended families with a good stock of weapons prefer individual farmsteads away from these village-forts.

The people are hardy, clannish, determined and, on the whole, suspicious of strangers. They spend most of their days hard at work, clearing back the forest to reach the rich soil, and farming the plots of land they have cleared. If it weren't for the continued danger posed by the Faelen, this edge of the Tanalese territory would swiftly have been deforested and would provide a wealth of crops.

The religion, as with almost all Humans, is the reverence for the Dead Mahathelur. There is no official government, but the military commanders often assume the role of de-facto governor for the area their troops patrol.

Traders come relatively often from deeper in the Tanalese lands, and some even cross the border, with an escort, to trade with the Faelen. Some, however, do not return. They primarily trade for the timber provided as the woods are cleared, as the rich soil which the forest thrives on has yet to be exploited past the point of simply feeding those who farm it.

There are no Uéllae ruins in this part of Reth Jaleract, as it was Faelen territory, not Uéllae, before the Humans came. There are, however, some Kheb remains, hidden away, unexplored, in the deep forest, overgrown with dense foliage and eroded by rain and the passage of time.

The war the Tanalese fought to obtain this land was long and hard. Although it has not truly ended, has died down over the past few years, as the Humans have gained all the territory they can at present, and the Faelen, for the moment, at least, lack the military strength for a serious counterattack.

The largest settlement in the area is a city by name only, being the size of a large town. It is Samerure. The streets are little more than muddy pathways between the ramshackle buildings, which are mostly of wood, but some also built with stone or thatch.

Two buildings dominate, rising above the single-story shacks and cotteges around them; the keep, and the cathedral. These two buildings, and the men who dominate them, effectively rule Samerure.

General Tashiim oversees the Tanalese army's operations throughout the Faelen Borders, and holds military power in the town, centred around the keep. He is a tall, stony-featured man with greying hair and a long chin. His personality is abrasive and abrupt, all niceties worn away through years of warfare.

Mandrite Kalassen exerts a supposedly spiritual control over the populace, as much as demanding donations to the church, and holding a kind of bizzare, ecclesiastical court in the sumptuous cathedral. He is of average height, with slightly boyish features, and is fond of the sound of his own voice, which he often employs to give long, tedious sermons on the virtues of giving to the clergy.

Life in Samerure is not pleasant, as gangs of armed priests wander the town, enforcing donations, but it is safer than elsewhere on the Faelen Borders, due to the large military presence.

[spoiler=The Faelen]
 [ic]Much as I'd like to think I'm a man, I know I'm not. And these, these are so much more than men. Great shaggy-furred beasts, the Faelen are, like lions that walk as people do. Not that I've ever seen lion.

They come with blades and spears, fangs and claws. Old Uncle Ceraane is next to me, and he is comforting. Tall, strong and stern, the patriarch of our little farmstead is like a titan beside me. Me, slender, short, with the first downy hairs sprouting from my chin. I feel ridiculous. I can't fight the Faelen. They will rip me apart without even thinking about me.

We, the family, hear their sudden chorus of roars as they burst from the treeline, and we brace ourselves. First come the javelins, and I raise my too-heavy shield clumsily. The missile that strikes it was hurled with such power that I am almost knocked from my feet. I stagger backwards, and Grandfather rights me. He gives me a toothless grin, and thrusts me back into the line.

The Faelen are almost at the fence now. I can see though, that in the clear ground, there at least two of them down, stuck with our arrows. I heft the shortsword I am to wield. It is very heavy, and seems overly large to be called a "short" sword.

Then they are on us, and Uncle Ceraane has stepped in front of me, the great axes he holds in either hand chopping deep into the enemy. I try to move forwards, but the blood, the violence, and the exhausting weight of my arms and armour overwhelm me. To my mortal shame, I stagger, try to right myself, and then faint dead away.

I wake. Before me is fur, grey-brown and matted. It stinks of death. I move my head slightly, and I take in the gaping jaws, the terrible fangs, and feral eyes glazed in death. The Faelen corpse is at least twice my size. Then I realise that Uncle Ceraane lies beneath it. Half his head is missing.[/ic]

The Faelen are a race of humanoid felines, huge, predatory and fearsome. They live in deep forest land, in buildings woven from living trees, and decorated with the bones of their ancestors. They beleive that by keeping these remains close, their predecessors can continue to watch over them, and bless them with good luck from their place in the afterlife.

Skill as a hunter is something that a Faelen is born with. They know instinctually how to stalk, chase and kill. However, throughout a Faelen's life, he or she strives to turn this act of the hunt from a basic form of food acquisition to an art. They go from moving simply with stealth to being truly silent, and near-invisible. They learn, as much as anything, the forest itself, and how to be not only in the forest, but of the forest.

The Faelen practice dance extensively and in many different varieties. It is thought that this was started as a way of training to be a better hunter - agility and footwork both are improved through dance.

These dances are accompanied by music, and Faelen music is interesting for its contrast of simplicity and complexity. It is simple in instrumentation, as the majority of it is played simply on crude drums and other basic percussion instruments, with occasional vocal accompaniment in the form of chants and whooping howls. However, the rhythms played involve complex polymetrics and syncopation, to the degree that they can at times even sound arhythmic. Interestingly, however, despite these rhythmic complexities, Faelen music rarely strays from even-metred time signatures.

Humans know the Faelen best as adversaries in war, and in this role they are terrifying. Huge, bestial creatures that use their hunting skills to emerge from the forest without warning in deadly ambushes and then melt away again. Even when forced to a straight fight their size and strength mean that the Human forces need a considerable numerical advantage in order to guarantee victory.

The Faelen make such mighty warriors, also because they completely lack a fear of death. It is not that they do not wish to survive, or that they beleive any great reward awaits in the afterlife. They simply see death as a natural thing - all that lives, must die.

Aspirations of empire have never afflicted the Faelen. They have dwelt in their forests, and danced, and hunted, and fought only when some would-be conqueror has come to disturb them. They trade on occasion with their neighbours, but their almost single-minded devotion to the perfection of the hunt means that others find them hard to relate to, and so no meaningful diplomatic ties with them have ever been established.  [/spoiler]

[Wensleydale]

I don't have much time to comment, but what I've read, I love. Can you describe the gRast? I was confused momentarily there, what with the fiction and the description being in the same place, but the Uellae are well-described there. The gRast, not so much, appearance-wise.

[Kindling]

lore
~ THE ANTELOPE-HEADED GOD ~

The native peoples of Reth Jaleract, with the exception of the ancestor-worshipping Faelen, are united by a common religion, although interpretations vary from race to race and from culture to culture.

This spiritual unity comes from the reverence of a deity with an antelope's head who bears the title Gatekeeper of Reality. To the Orcs he is Krodos, to the Uéllae, Croudhos, the gRast call him Chro-Dossh and the extinct Kheb worshipped him under the name Krotus.

Even in Mahathé he was known, as scholars believe him to be one and the same with the demon Kirtiss, who the Mahathelur battled in one of the most ancient of myths.

The First Book of the Mahathelur describes him as,

"... a vile Demon, yet awful and splendid enough to have been a God. His body was that of a man, but His head ... that of a beast. Unknowable alien wisdom burned in His eyes, and upon His brow were two great horns ... His followers knew Him as the Horned One, and He held the gates of all that is and might be closed firm ... by the force of His will."

Worship of the Antelope-Headed God takes different forms in different parts of Reth Jaleract, and interpretations of his will vary almost as much.

One thing that remains the same is that he is never seen as a jealous God. He allows his adherents to accept the existence of other deities, and while sacrifices are often made to him, he is thought of as accepting them graciously rather than demanding them.

Another aspect of the Gatekeeper of Reality which is agreed upon by the majority of his adherents is that he rules over the afterlife or underworld, and he waits at the end of every mortal's life to welcome their soul as it departs their body.

As a result of it's association with the God, the antelope is seen as a sacred animal throughout much of Reth Jaleract. In some cultures this means that they are left far alone, in others that they are kept and pampered, and in still others they are hunted so that their "holy flesh" might be ceremonially consumed.

The Antelope-Headed God very rarely develops a set clergy in any society, rather "lay" people, either regular folk or those who hold some otherwise secular office, perform ecclesiastical duties whenever they are deemed necessary. For example, the title of prince among the Uéllae implies not only a monarch but also a priest.

The appearance of the God has also influenced a part of many peoples' vocabulary, as the word "horns" in various languages is a widespread exclamation of frustration, anger or surprise throughout the natives of Reth Jaleract. It is used similarly to the way Humans would employ phrases such as "damn it" and "curses."
It is a contraction of "by the Antelope-Headed God's horns," and while the full form has become somewhat archaic, it does still see occasional use.

[Kindling]

region
~ UÉLLAE TERRITORY ~

[ic] The Uéllae are a noble people. In ages past they fought worthily against our own armies, and today they have lost none of their pride or prowess, despite the evil that has befallen them at Human hands of late. For those readers who are not familiar with the Uéllae I will take a moment here to describe them.

They are of what has come to be thought of amongst scholars as the "standard" racial configuration; bipedal, two arms, two eyes, et cetera. Their most fundamental difference from the other peoples of Reth Jaleract is that, where we have two genders, male and female, they have but one, being hermaphroditic.

Due to the similarity between their features and those of our women, and, indeed, human women, we have long used female pronouns to refer to them, and the other races have adopted this practice for simplicity's sake. The one notable exception to this rule is the title Ywaenu which is translated, almost universally, as "prince."

Slim, lithe and entirely hairless, the Uéllae are almost a direct opposite to our own muscle-corded and bearded menfolk, but I have learned, in my time among them, to appreciate their odd, ethereal beauty.

They are nocturnal by nature, although, as they require less sleep than most races, they also sometimes keep awake into the daylight hours when interacting with their neighbours. The dark hue of their skin (most commonly indigo, although I have also seen many with dark burgundy or violet hides) has resulted in many a midnight scare for me, as my eyes are not sharp enough to pick them out from the shadows.

Since the coming of Humankind from the west, the Uéllae have suffered gravely. It was their coastal dwellings upon which the Humans first fell in their insatiable quest for land. Uéllae blood has oiled the gears of the Western Warmachine for the past three decades, and Uéllae slaves have built the foundations of the Human nations.

Still, though, the free Uéllae who remain, away from the coastal lands, are a truly worthy people, strong in war and fine in craft. In my time among them, I have heard talk of vengeance for the rape and murder of their cousins, but they have the patience of the long-lived, and I do not judge a renewal of Human-Uéllae war to be imminent.
           - Excerpt from Journals, second volume, by Cergra of Gheddac[/ic]

The Uéllae territory is geographically divided into two parts, the Hills of Gwulea, a strip of low-liying, scrubby hills that border onto the southern desert, and, at their western tip, become officially a part of the gRast lands, and the lightly wooded flatlands to the north, known to the Uéllae as the Ywé.


[spoiler=The Hills of Gwulea]This part of the Uéllae demesne is the closest to the gRast, who, for reasons mostly unknown to outsiders, have historically always been allies of the Uéllae. Thus the Uéllae clans who occupy the Hills often trade with their southern neighbours, and have adopted some of their practices.

Although nowhere near as widespread as in gRast society, the Hills of Gwulea have seen their fair share of honour-duels, but the Uéllae tend to fight such contests to first blood, rather than to the death, as is traditionally the case.

Such contests are usually fought only when the dispute either falls outside the bounds of traditional Uéllae law or when no decision can easily be reached.

The governmental system for the Hills stays fairly loyal to the typical Uéllae model, of a hereditary prince, or Ywaenu, (who can be replaced, under extreme circumstances, through a majority vote) leading a clan, and the princes of each of the clans in the locale forming a council.

The only divergence from tradition is that two elected representatives from each regional council also form a council for the whole of the Hills of Gwulea.

Farming on step-terraced hillsides is the primary industry for the Uéllae of the Hills, although this diet is supplemented by a small amount of hunting and trapping, and there are also artisans such as woodworkers and blacksmiths, as in any developed society.

The primary crops are peppers, tomatoes, wheat, olives and grapes. Gwulean wine has a reputation as some of the finest in Reth Jaleract, especially the rich reds of the eastern Hills.

Music is widespread throughout the Hills, and is loved by the Uéllae there as much as those anywhere else. Almost all Gwuleans start singing at an early age, and by adulthood are accomplished vocalists. Most of the music in the Hills is either purely voice-based, or heavily lead by the singer(s).

[spoiler=The Hunt of the Gwulea]There is a ritual, known as the Hunt of the Gwulea, which each clan in the Hills performs on Midsummer's Eve. In the rite, one Uéllae, chosen after the previous year's ritual by the clan's elders, is sent out into the wilderness near the clan's dwelling, and then chased down by her fellows. Once the victim has been captured, she is taken back to the dwelling, where the prince, masked and costumed as Croudhos, cuts out their heart and eats it. She then casts the body down from her podium into the rest of the clan, who tear it apart and devour it raw.

In the rare instances where the victim escapes the Hunt until dawn, they return in triumph as the sun rises, ritually slay the prince, in the same way they themselves would have been slain, and take her place as head of the clan.

The origin of this savage, cannibalistic ceremony is lost to the mists of time, even the Uéllae who perform it have no clue as to it's significance. They know only that it must be done, or else a mysterious and terrible doom will befall the whole of the Hills.[/spoiler][/spoiler]

[spoiler=The Ywé][ic]Night is my cloak, my loving and mischievous sibling, my armour. We move, wraith-like, through the blissful chill of the small hours. The sound I make, loping through the long grass, is indistinguishable from that caused by the wind.

The darkness is my closest companion, but my other comrades are not far away. They are circling around to attack from other directions. When we strike, the Human encampment will be entirely surrounded.

The brilliance of their campfire contrasts painfully with the midnight gloom, but I must focus on it, pick out the figures around it, work out which are sentries, and which are sleeping.

My feet carry me closer.

One of the silhouettes around the fire drops, suddenly, and there is a commotion. Either I am slower than I had thought, or one of my comrades is overeager. I lengthen my stride, and within seconds I reach the edge of the camp.

Fighting has already started, most of the sentries are dead or dying. Those who were sleeping are scrabbling for their weapons.

One by one the Humans die, until there is only one left, struggling, and failing, to breath with my hands around his neck. The Prince touches my shoulder.

"Show mercy, for this one shall be our messenger."

I grudgingly release my grip, and step back as the Human gasps in lung-fulls of the sweet night air.

"You will go back into the mountains," commands our Prince, in the shuddersome, gutteral tongue of Humankind. "You will tell your kin not to return to the Ywé. Death awaits you here."

The Human's scarred face, contorted with fear, shows comprehension, and he babbles something under his breath, too quickly and softly for me to understand, as he scrabbles about the corpse-littered camp, grabbing supplies for his solitary return journey.

We step back into the darkness, becoming invisible to the Human's weak eyes, as he begins to walk fearfully eastwards. He glances over his shoulder often, but all he can see is the embers of the fire where his comrades died.

A small victory, on our part, I suppose.[/ic]

::placeholder::[/spoiler]

[Kindling]

city
~ URUALYEY ~

[ic]The Crawling Towers. The City of Renegades. Cannibal-Town. The Unholy City. Urualyey is called many things, in many tongues, but I am proud to call it Home.

I love this place, ugly and shuddersome as it is. Many things about life here are - let us say, distasteful - to those who dwell Outside. Our meat comes not from beasts but human beings, our rulers have at once died and defied Death, and have been in this state of non-life for hundreds of years.

We have no laws, and need none. Here, loyalty is a stronger force than justice.

We welcome any and all to come, join us, become Hoi-Urualyeyn. This is a place that is apart. A place that is Ours, as much as it is the Necrarchs'; for they give us freedom within their tyranny, liberty within our subjectivity. I cannot fully express it with mere words, it must be experienced to be understood.[/ic]

The Crawling Towers

It is said that Urualyey is the last of it's kind, the last of the Cities That Walk. In time immemorial some people, wise beyond modern ken in the magics of automatonurgy, built their whole civilisation on these mobile metropolises.

Physically, Urualyey is a vast ellipse, carried on innumerable scuttling metal legs. Atop this are the monolithic, blocky towers that make up the city proper.

Thousands of years in the past, perhaps even longer, when the City-Makers' society was waning, the Urualyeyn came and conquered the last of their Cities That Walk.

Soaked in the blood of its masters, that ticking mechano-thaumaturgical mind went insane. Ever since it has scurried according to its own demented whims across the face of the world, bearing its new masters with it - first across Mahathé and then, after the Devilwars, Reth Jaleract.

The City of Renegades

The Urualyeyn Necrarchs rule without laws. This anarchistic form was unique in Mahathé, and as such, the city has for centuries been the refuge of the wanted, the criminal, the deranged, and the divergent.

Oddly though, despite the mismatched cultural origins and tumultuous nature of those who come to the city, once they have lived there a while, and truly become Hoi-Urualyeyn (that is, citizens of Urualyey who are not of purely Urualyeyn genetic stock) their loyalty to the Necrarchs and the city itself grows almost organically until it surpasses all but the most patriotic denizens of more conventional nations.

Cannibal-Town
There are two castes of pureblooded Urualyeyn - the Necrarchs, and Meat. Those Urualyeyn who are fully alive are reproduced en mass in the bowels of the city by archaic cloning magics, and slaughtered to fill the bellies of the Hoi-Urualyeyn.

No crops can reliably be grown on a city that constantly moves, uncontrolled, from one climatic zone to another, so other than the treats gathered from the surrounding landscape by forage parties and the few fruits and vegetables grown in the city's glasshouses, the only food available is the flesh of the magically grown Urualyeyn.

This sacrifice of their own kin to feed the Hoi-Urualyeyn is, perhaps, part of what inspires such fierce loyalty in the Necrarch's subjects.

The Unholy City

The Urualyeyn were a cruel and barbaric cult when first they seized the city from it's creators. Since then, over the centuries, their philosophies grew only more bizarre, until they decided that their leaders were the chosen to be immortal, and live forever, guiding Humanity slowly towards ultimate enlightenment.

To this end they studied Urualyey itself, and the masterful magics that animated it, until finally they knew enough to imitate them. Then, they turned their newfound power on themselves.

They made their own bodies into magically animated constructs.

Time still took its toll, their bodies still decayed, but while there was matter left, they would never halt. They had themselves mummified, that they might last through eternity.

The only problem now, was learning how they might keep their souls from escaping their technically-deceased bodies. And so the concept of the Meat caste came into being. Originally they were sacrificed not for physical food, but so that the Necrarchs might consume their souls, thus sustaining their own un-lives.

[Kindling]

people
~ VOIDSEEKERS ~

[ic]Fighting, running, killing, feeding, rutting. Those are moments of perfection - when all thought is lost to physicality and instinct. When muscle, not mind, sinews, not synapses, dominate.

Enlightenment comes not through contemplation, but complete thoughtlessness.

Perfection is animalism; Animosity.[/ic]

The Voidseekers are a mystery cult founded in darkest antiquity. There are ambiguous references to what many scholars believe are Voidseekers found in the pages of the early Books of the Mahathelur.

Initiates are put through a ritual shrouded with mystery, which no outsider has ever learned the details of. All that is known, is that it lasts at least a month, and when they come out, fully-fledged Voidseekers, their hides are adorned with a unique pattern of lurid scarification.

Their creed is one that requires them to attempt to transcend the Human condition, and try to escape higher thought processes and such concepts as reason or logic.

To this end they seek to achieve, as often as possible, situations in which they operate on a purely instinctual and animalistic level. The void that they seek is a mental one, and within it, they believe, lies perfection.

For the past few centuries, in Mahathé, they lived apart from the rest of society, in roving bands that made a living through banditry in wilderness areas.

Since the Devilwars, the Voidseekers have been warily accepted due to their martial ability. Today, in Reth Jaleract, almost all of them serve as soldiers or mercenaries.

Voidseekers are some of the most fearsome warriors at Humanity's disposal. They are frenzied and berserk in battle, almost entirely unfettered by morals and almost entirely without fear.

They are masters of brutality, and will never retreat. Many commanders regard them as the perfect troops.