[hider=Dokkir - (WIP)] [center][b][h1]Dokkirvidbjodslegur[/h1] “The Dark, Quiet, Wood”[/b][/center] [center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/4c/14/8b/4c148bf1b7fd9cf20db09e387d2ccfcc.jpg[/img][/center] [center][i]More of a place than a nation, more of an idea than a people. Dokkir, as many in the world call it, is a darkness that few tales emerge from. It is the story that haunts the dreams of children when their parents tell them of the night.[/i] [/center] [center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eR4jI_qT0_Q]Whispers in the Rain[/url][/center] [center] - --- ----- - [/center] [list][*] Anarchy and ruin exist below the [b]Canal of Vajl[/b] - A curse is set on those forests, ethereal beasts attack any who speak - The people have abandoned speech and go to great lengths to ensure others abide [*] [b]Vajl[/b] is the capital and quasi-City State which rules the satrap clans of the Northern Moors [*] [b]Viscount Naezerios[/b] is the despot ruler of these lands and only remaining elf -He resides in Vajl -All literature not written by him is outlawed [*] The Northern Moors are home to humans, orcs, ogres, bugbears, kenku, and tuskarr - The populations of these minority races predominate far north - Humans are the primary holders of clan power - Clans have no race, they intermingle and interbreed freely between species [/list] [hider=History] [center] ------- [h3]The unconquered.[/h3] [img]http://conceptartworld.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Fan_Ming_Art_010b.jpg[/img][/center] There once was a great kingdom in these woods. Its people were vibrant and their valor in life and in battle was known throughout the world. A proud people, that stood to the last as the elven masters tore into the lands of men. They fought unendingly in the deep woods. The carcasses of elves and men alike rotted in every stream of the nation. It was an attrition that was bound to end or take the life of the wood with it. At the ancient mountain fort, Mount Grjuvjkar, the human kingdom made their last stand against the elven host. Their valor was the harbinger of their fate. They were slaughtered to a man. Yet in the dying thralls of this nation emerged a plague. Conjured by the greatest magi the land had ever known. It is said that every ounce ounce of his being went into the spell as a spear rent his gut. In his last breath he would protect his people from ever taking heel to the elven scourge. That night, wolves that folded in and out of smoke tore through the elven ranks. Every breathe from a sentient tongue drew them to their feast like sharks in blooded water. When struck they would cry out into the night and vanish just as they came, in dark pungent smoke. But it is said that with each kill their ranks grew. These were not mindless fiends. They were hunters. They prayed on the weak. Those who went to relieve themselves, embraced loved ones at night, children playing in the fields. The monsters did not discriminate. Those who spoke words called them to the hunt. And so they spread. Entire villages and cities vanished in a slow leak of violent death. The elven masters, seeing the rotten fruit that this nation was, left them to the curse. The battle for freedom against flesh was won, but at what cost? [center] ------- [h3]The Hearing.[/h3] [img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9a/81/2b/9a812b7a8a9cc741ca817b2e8f66393e.jpg[/img][/center] Voices called them. The fiends could not see, they could not smell, but they could hear the soul behind a tongue for miles. The understanding spread too late. Thousands had joined the blackness, cities were in ruin. Anarchy had consumed them as long-winded nobles tried to stay their people's fears, summoning more death in its stead. The once great kingdom of men had become a feast. There was no hope but to leave. And so they did. Countless souls fled to the south and east. At the crossing of each river was salvation from the haunting. These creatures, aberrations, were tied to the land of the original kingdom. Their magic coming from the very soil of its existence. An entire nation of refugees fled to all corners of the map. Most perished, still others clung to homesteads as far afield from Mount Grjuvjkar as they could. They marched miles with women and children and all the precious things of civilization in their arms. Those that could not or would not abandon their homeland attempted to adapt. They became voiceless. A silence that was enforced by the price of horrors they had witnessed. The tongues of children were often removed to keep them from acting, playing, speaking as children do. It was a half-life, but it was life. They still walk the forests; silent, both hunter and hunted. [center] ------- [h3]The Surge North.[/h3] [img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/002/030/477/large/stefan-kopinski-dl-cover-final-lores.jpg?1456237970[/img][/center] The last great men of the land did not flee piecemeal. The eastern shores which had fed the lands for time immemorial rallied a fleet under one banner. It is said that a foreign people crashed ashore there with a great arc. They sallied the remnants of their nation, the body of the slain king, and tore northward. The truth of this tale is unknown, but the people of this coast landed enmasse in the Northern Moors. There they were met by the beastkin and monsters of the isthmus. With death behind them and death before them, the men landed and slaughtered the natives. There push into the north lasted years. Their lives became a war that lasted generations, but against a foe that they could see, fight, and conquer. As harsh winters claimed more lives than war, an uneasy pact between the men and beastfolk was forged. They began to commingle, cohabitate, and even comary as social and political bonds became easier to hold than freezing steel. To this day the Northern Moors is boiling stew of cooperation and conflict at every table. But one thing is sure, they answer to Vajl. [center] ------- [h3]The Great & Marvelous City of Vajl.[/h3] [img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/000/541/482/large/bruno-gentile-01.jpg?1518343957[/img][/center] A trading metropolis. This city was once a stronghold and commercial lynchpin for the great elven empire. Located just north of the only navigable waterway between the Ice Bridge’s carving of East and West. This port city was an invaluable asset and with it came the riches of its worth. By the time of imperial collapse, it was already an indomitable scar on the land. With ease it shirked off the beast hoards that attempted its walls. The haughty refugee swine from the south crashed upon her gates and made meals for crows. The elven host ruled the land under the bedazzled hand of Viscount Naezeiros. In time, the people of the region were brought to heal. Incursions into the Northern Moors were swift and profitable. At the bore of wasting their own soldiers, the Viscount began to buy the heathens' loyalties. Pitting rival clan against one another, corrupted the Jarls of every court, and seized their culture within his divine authority. All literature was outlawed. Only the words directly written by him could be transcribed. With the men of this land too afraid to speak and the beasts too dumb to read, their minds and mouths were his alone. The elven host of Vajl were less inclined to forfeit their freedom of thought. And so Viscount Naezeiros, May His Myrth Reign, had them killed. One by one, the immortal flesh of his elven kin was sacrificed for the living novela of his power. The Viscount began surrounding himself with those he could trust, a number that slimmed with each night. Before long every elf, every threat to his power, was dead. Viscount Naezerios became obsessed with his writings, the only intellectual company he could now muster. He imported his food, wine and pleasantries from the corner of the globe and so too did he pick his company. Dwarves from the far East, the Morjakjn Guard, became his harem. He was seldom seen without some forty of them in his company at all times. He claimed to be enthralled by them, creatures who could think and speak and live long enough to truly understand. Under pain of their oath, they were also the only souls in this land who did not wish him dead. He despised the mortal swine infesting his city, but like a feral child they would be kept warm and read to at night. His fatherly reign continues to this day. [/hider] [hider=Territory][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/626749891649208341/628633799139393566/Dokkirvidbjodslegur_1.jpg[/img][/center][/hider] [hider=Terrain] [center][h2]The Deepwood.[/h2] Thick maples and pine. The roots that weave between her black soil are home to lush moss and ferns. In the wake of sentient life being torn from her womb, populations of elk, moose and caribou cover the hollows. But with prey comes predators, and they are many. It is said that even the trees have begun to fight back and return the forest to harmony. [img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/000/240/297/large/sebastian-gromann-mirwood-fanart003.jpg?1443930327[/img] ------- [h2]The Northern Moors.[/h2] An unforgiving land of wind and fog. Warm currents from the south leave it predominantly thawed but a dampness hangs like cold rags. The moors have always been the cauldron of strong souls and harry beasts. It is a land of refugees and one that only those without option would find suit to call it a home. Its soil is poor and so those who work this land make use of the herds: buffalo, sheep, pony, and mammoth. All of the creatures have their place in this tenuous cycle of freezing rain and snapping frost. She plays host to clusters of birch and aspen trees where the humans cling in huddled clans. They are an oasis of bark and a peoples last link to home. [img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/004/769/064/large/quentin-collet-realiste2.jpg?1487811991[/img] [/center] [/hider] [hider=Culture] [center]------- [h2]The way of the wood.[/h2][/center] The culture of the Dokkir varies by region. Of exceptional note, those to the south, embedded in the haunting of their lands, use no spoken language. Their customs of ancestral rites, communion with the forest and soil, homage to wyr stones and other such rituals from before the collapse are very much alive today. It is said that observing these traditions is the only cure for the curse set upon their lands. Many feel that the sure is retribution for destroying their soil with the blood of so many slain in their fight against the elven tide. Still others have abandoned the old ways, claiming that their deliverance should have come by now if their gods were truly worthy of worship. Their constant dance with death from the Hearing has sapped them into little more than small villages, migratory bands, and marauding briggands. [center]------- [h2]The way of the hill.[/h2][/center] The Northern Moors have merged their human customs with the more “primal” tendencies of their beastkin compatriots. Drinking and violence are the norm. Testosterone is proven in parts per million by hunting game, winning challenges, and siring children of every breed. They still respect the earth, but when the soil is frozen they find their delights atop of it. [center]------- [h2]The Great and Marvelous way of Vajl.[/h2][/center] The Great and Marvelous City of Vajl, a hedonist dream. Though this land is held under staunch rule by the Viscount Naezerios, it remains a lucrative and cultured city in an otherwise intellectual wasteland. Novels and novellas written by the Great and Powerful Viscount Naezerios adorn every shoppe and trade stand. Plays written by the euclid playwright, Viscount Naezerios, are mimed at every street corner. Even the vestments of government figure from tax collector to gatehouse guard are wreathed in the compelling and provocative poetry of the humble genius that is Viscount Naezerios. It is an oasis of literature from one voice, the Greatest voice, Viscount Naezerios. [/hider] [hider=Religion] [center][h2]Gods[/h2] [h3]The Tonnikala [/h3] Represents bounty, good fortune, food, glory, and health. The god is personified by heroism in defeat, just as the fish must die to give the hunter life. [h3]The Vulture [/h3] Selflessness, suffering, rebirth, duty, belonging, rest. She is personified by heroism in victory, the vulture mercifully cleans the world of death and decay so that new life can grow. ------- Together they are symbolized by a vulture carrying a dying fish in its talons; wings pointing downward. The Tonnikala reaches upward snaring the wing in its mouth. The picture creates a circle, a continuum of victory and defeat bound by the struggle for life. [/center][/hider] [hider=Military] [center][b]The Immortals of Vajl[/b][/center] [center][hider=Vajl Oathsworn] [img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/017/411/639/large/gabriel-blain-gabriel-blain-4.jpg?1555884700[/img][/hider] [hider=Vajl Levies][img]https://sun9-3.userapi.com/c840130/v840130670/465a7/lVWNrJYZgtM.jpg[/img][/hider] [hider=Vajl Druzhina][img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/06529978-05ab-4cb2-8ea3-dc97b9163a96/d8ae904-0b152282-52ef-4a72-be86-f1b27b26682c.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzA2NTI5OTc4LTA1YWItNGNiMi04ZWEzLWRjOTdiOTE2M2E5NlwvZDhhZTkwNC0wYjE1MjI4Mi01MmVmLTRhNzItYmU4Ni1mMWIyN2IyNjY4MmMucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.vCEcLbNaCUl2d6srVIigtIi0a2emkb9jJOa1jIs7e1o[/img][/hider] [hider=Vajl Mammaluts][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/20/20/f2/2020f2522c24447532294a53f6ec1288.jpg[/img][/hider] [hider=Oprichniks][img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/4e/86/01/4e86016ff87486cbb52ac32d5aab2f5f.jpg[/img][/hider] ------- [center][b]Northern Moors[/b][/center] [hider=Elk Cavalry] [img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/001/246/369/large/josu-hernaiz-playmat-quebec-2015.jpg?1442923937[/img][/hider] [hider=Moorish Jarls][img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/018/771/501/large/tomasz-ryger-druwian.jpg?1560672429[/img][/hider] [hider=Moorish Huscarls][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/1d/0c/e7/1d0ce7892fccd0807edcc2a045024d77.jpg[/img][/hider] [hider=Moorish Oathspears][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/f8/a3/8d/f8a38d32c85ee5bfd19f9d27285084e6.jpg[/img][/hider] [hider=Moorish Warband] [img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/06529978-05ab-4cb2-8ea3-dc97b9163a96/d88s8d8-bc8de986-77f2-4ed8-9247-16e9c08dce59.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzA2NTI5OTc4LTA1YWItNGNiMi04ZWEzLWRjOTdiOTE2M2E5NlwvZDg4czhkOC1iYzhkZTk4Ni03N2YyLTRlZDgtOTI0Ny0xNmU5YzA4ZGNlNTkucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.xc2IUdYafhc7O24rwVBrBTC0DlYjuOBphRlolS5SNnY[/img] [img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/73/e0/8b/73e08b5b773281f033bde1a574595556.jpg[/img][/hider] ------- [center][b]The Deepwood[/b][/center] [hider=They Who Whisper][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/f6/64/39/f6643996bcf40ab433cae2e9ba125e64.jpg[/img][/hider][/center] [/hider] [hider=Characters] [center]------- [b]Viscount Naezerios[/b] [hider=Appearnace][img]https://sun9-25.userapi.com/c840324/v840324400/3ff98/XwAZawFMWgo.jpg[/img][/hider] ------- [b]Our Mother[/b] [hider=Appearance] [img]https://sun9-49.userapi.com/c850432/v850432397/15f01c/dyGOmYH7saA.jpg[/img][/hider] -------[/center][/hider] ------ [hider=Government][/hider] [hider=Factions][/hider] [hider=Economy][/hider][/hider]