The Bones
Hard-Earned Life
As a mantle laid upon the shoulders of the Dream, the Bones loom over every northern horizon. As one leaves heartlands, old wilds, and dry steppes behind, the Bones drain the color from the vibrant south. Stony foothills swell beneath ominous gray clouds. Bare granite and deep shadows fill yawning canyons. The colors are never truly gone, but like everything else in the Bones, they have to be uncovered. Unearthed. They have to be earned. Nothing comes easy in the Bones, and those who live here are hard.
Those who come to walk the Bones are humbled or challenged by vast fields of buttes and broad-headed plateaus that balance like inverted mountains atop their own pointed peaks. Jutting terraces are linked by both natural and crafted bridges - bone, petrified wood and vine, and the ever-present magical marble of the Empire’s reach. Valleys swallow city-states cut by the rivers that give the Dream its very life. Along these rivers, destinies are formed. The same waters feed into the Galasteri lake, the roots of the Old Wilds, and the roaring falls of the Scarlet Coast. The highest peaks hide many impossible calderas, volcanic basins where untold kingdoms of fancy, wonder, and chaos beyond even the Dream’s logic reside. These are ruled by mad giants, epic abominations, and legends too vast to walk the mortal ground. And from these storied heights, a brutal tide of icy storms flow up and down the peaks to roughly feed the region’s thirst.
This is the Dream’s final border, its beginning and its end. Beyond the Bones? There is only wilderness and death, wild marches and monsters without names and thus without limits. The people of the hills claim to have come from these marches once in a grand exodus, facing the deadly peaks, the giant-brewed sagas, and the daunting queen of northern dragons, but whatever path was struck open by their ancestors has long since crumbled closed again, perhaps never to re-open. The Bones are a wall.
Many of the dwarven clans claim their heritage from this same legendary migration and most still remain in the cities, mines, and temples cut into the sides of mountain faces and along the ribs of deep ravines. Their human cousins ranged further south, raising cities and nations from the river basins, mossy hilltops, and pastoral herd routes. The Bones are rich, vital, and steeped in a wealth of resources, history, and culture, but none of these are obvious or easy for outsiders to claim. Dragons watch from above. Giants keep to their corners. Horrors beyond all name and reason have tried and failed. On moon-cursed nights, they still writhe underneath the rock. The Bones do not bow - one must bow to the Bones. Those who survive may even flourish. Those who fall? Feed those who continue climbing. Such is the law of life.
Themes. Ambush and awareness, endurance and evolution, challenge and respect
Geography
For all of its extremes, the Bones are far from bereft of flora, fauna, or folk. Instead, those who remain there become more carefully robust. Food and water come and go with the seasons. The beasts and plant life have to be hardy, full of magic and medicine to better survive the frequent avalanches, southward winds cool enough to snap cheap steel, their own peers and predators, and occasionally worse. Chief among these are the white monsoons of early spring where mist, wind, blizzards, and tumbling snowmelt converge to paint the Bones white, to recede in summer, only to reverse in autumn.
The hilly lands at the feet of the Bones are unkind to the unprepared. The weather gives few warnings. Clever predators have long since learned the difference between an armed, wary caravan and a band of disorderly, disorganized victims. Havens from the climate are few, far between, and rarely unoccupied. Towns and cities live under a curtain of rock, by large bodies of water, or anything to keep the worst of the weather at bay. Most hold to a strong sense of hospitality for mutual survival, but others extort the weary with talk such as ‘You should have known better. And now? You do. There, a priceless lesson.’ The dwarven clans above keep mostly to themselves unless eager to trade for valuables - at least, what they consider valuable, which has confused more than one merchant who was coaxed out of a private journal of poetry and returned overstuffed with gold - her silks, wine, and other goods untouched.
The peaks themselves are home to some of the hardiest creatures in the Dream and every one of them hunts. Most creatures capable of thought, at least, are willing to take tribute in exchange for spared flesh. Such is the law of life, as demanded by the dragon queen of the north, cruel or kind by the season.
Travel
Travel within the Bones relies on Intelligence (Nature), Wisdom (Survival), or Intelligence (cartographer’s tools) checks for wayfinding, but comes with a number of caveats. Without weather-appropriate gear, access to local lore and hunter’s reports, or route maps from after the last white monsoon, these rolls are made at disadvantage. At least one workweek’s worth of preparation and at least 5 gold per traveler are required to negate these significant risks, and that’s just to begin the journey. Once you pass the high hills into the rocky buttes and valleys of the region’s center, reduce the result of all rolls that are not a 6 on the Wayfinding chart by 1. Once you’ve reached the mountains, navigating narrow switchbacks, near-invisible goat trails, and cavernous passages requires another two workweeks of equally expensive preparations to negate disadvantage. Otherwise, all use of maps and cartography automatically fail and only your raw skill and personal knowledge will be of any use. Worse, results of rolls on the Wayfinding chart that aren’t a 6 are reduced by 2. Dark and dangerous legends linger in the crags and crannies.
There is a small silver lining. Due to the traditions of hospitality and tribute pervasive to the region, most intelligent creatures will accept a bribe roughly equivalent to 25 gold multiplied by the challenge rating of the strongest threat among their group. Successful diplomacy might cut this down to 20 gold or lower, while missteps and insults might double the fee. Hostile creatures without additional aggravating factors (such as a personal grudge, being directly insulted, or specific conflicting goals) can be reduced to a neutral attitude by this method, and the next Wayfinding result cannot be hostile, as bribed creatures provide safe passage for part of your journey.
There’s one final complication. The Bones are constantly whipped by northern winds, which are met by the warm southern swells of the monsoon season. During early spring and late autumn, ‘white monsoons’ scour the land with severe cold, wind, and precipitation. While within the storm, all creatures and objects are treated as lightly obscured for up to 10 feet away, and are heavily obscured beyond it. Wisdom (Perception) checks based on hearing or smell are rolled at disadvantage. During white monsoon seasons, roll a d100 every 8 hours. Any result lower than 35 results in hazardous weather. For the rest of the year, roll daily. Rolls of 10 or lower mark a severe storm. During these storms, all wayfinding checks are rolled at disadvantage. Roll for mishaps on all wayfinding attempts not fully covered from the elements. Bribes that aren’t supplies are rarely accepted in a storm, and evil or desperate creatures are just as likely to kill for them, leading to disadvantage or other complications in negotiating for one’s life.
Peoples
Cooperation and respect lie at the heart of life in the Bones. Honor and hospitality aren’t just customs, but survival skills. Those who cannot be trusted are a waste of supplies and a risk to hard-earned winter stores. Those who give nothing to those in need will find nothing when need finds them. In major cities, such folkways are laxer, leaving room for innkeepers and grocers to make their premiums, but out in the wilderness, these rules are law and grounds for a quick, brutal punishment if ever refused or forgotten.
After survival comes comfort and success, and for that, the Bones turn to barter. Few communities can sustain experts of all stripes, and fewer have all of the resources they would need to thrive. Trade is the common language that human, dwarf, giantkin, and goblinoid can all respect, even if they don’t always respect each other. While gold remains the common standard, services and boons by oath or geas have their value enforced by aggressive gossip and word-of-mouth. As sure as you’d hear about a collapsed river bridge or a roving owlbear, you’re sure to hear if Devna or Jasdev are dealing dishonestly to elves.
If gold and labor are the common language, then food is the common religion of the Bones. Access to rich herbs and spices from the south combined with the robust meats, fish, and dairy products of the middle Bones nations and the vegan practices or food-scarce alchemies of northern sages and survivalists, there is a variety and vigor to local food that is a fair challenge to any other region. Speaking during meals is considered rude in most communities unless complimenting the chef, hunter, or supplier (and not the host unless they are also one of the above). Instead, raucous sounds of approval, even those considered vulgar in other cultures, are seen as proof that the meal is truly an irresistible gift.
Roads of Conquest and CultureGalastaire is more than a city-state, but defies the traditional idea (for some) of an empire. Until recently, there were no great conquests. Tribute, tariff, and mercantile supremacy are imperium to the Galasteri. What they cannot buy, they broker. What they cannot broker, they raid. What they cannot raid? They isolate. The symbol of the Galasteri Empire was never their professional soldiers, however capable. Instead? Great roads of white marble cut through the hearts of mountains, bridge islands of the bogs, and provide a glorious upraised view of the sky lines of the simmering Steppes. Waystations, forming walled grids off of a broad central avenue, provide safety and a commonality known across the dream. Wealth, lore, and people flow across the Galasteri Empire from these veins… and they are starting to fall apart. Ghost towns loom with a cold, military precision. Once-sacrosanct paths are infringed upon by nature, horror, or more clever exploiters. The first taste of antiquity has set in. |
Places and Faces
The Gaze. A massive chasm deep in the largest mountain of the central range of the northern Bones hosts the heart of the old dwarven clans, the chief redoubt of the Seeker expeditionary order, and the Throne of Life itself. Below the source of the many rivers that give life and conveyance to the nations below, the ruins of an ancient keep looms over a steaming hot spring caldera. Miles of broad walkways, balconies, and bridges line the walls of a cavern that was once open to the air and travel from the ground in forgotten eras. Here, the eldest clans appear to be mining out these ruins, which are smooth, varied, functional, and of no clear known cultural or racial character. If asked what the Seekers are seeking, ‘truth’ is the best translation of the dwarvish answer. Members of the clans less than a century old, or part of clans younger than a thousand years know even less than that. The gold, gems, and other treasures unearthed at the Gaze are traded away for pittances to those with the tenacity to ever reach it.
Highrock. At the very center of the middle reaches, due south of the Gaze, lies the Highrock. The winter home of allied nomadic nations of the highlands and jutting stones, the Highrock is maintained by a diverse clan of its own, maintaining the grounds as priests, warriors, traders, and artisans in the summer months where all other clans rove. Even these Hearth-Handed must walk the lands for one out of every four annual cycles. To these human, dwarvish, gnomish, and dragonborn nations, the Highrock is a haven for children, safety for the infirm, and home to others with reasons to ‘remain unwalking’. Those who sleep there are visited by vivid dreams, said to be the ancestors, local spirits, or even the Highrock itself imparting prophecy. The Highrock has been raided, but the combined vengeance of the clans is a terror to behold. They’ve fought on as half their numbers starved before abandoning a campaign of total war.
Ven Draria. The northernmost imperial city of the Bones serves as a crossroads into the Steppes and a river path down to the Capital and deeper to Centerley in the Delta or even the Tooth at the edge of the sea. It serves as the beginning and end to a popular trade route as a result. The hunters of Ven Draria are renowned for their capture or kills of great beasts, monstrosities, and wanted mortal folk alike. Inns and gardens are lined with strange bones or armor as trophies, and the storytellers of the city can make a king’s living if they’re good enough to hold a crowd against their rivals. The line between boasts and lies grows blurry here, but anything goes along the cobbled streets and slushy gutters so long as it isn’t boring. Boredom is the one beast of winter that comes for all people, and Ven Draria is built to fight it.
Ang Pasang Tshe-Wang. Once an honored bride-prize to a raider prince, Ang rose as a self-made widower warlord in his own right once his path was his own to set. He’s united six families under his banner with a mix of clever tactics, a flair for noble banditry, and utter fearlessness. So long as his families are given tribute, there is only one fear in his subjects’ lives - his disappointment. Unsmiling, but not unkind, he’s made a name for himself as one to respect and fear at the young age of nineteen. He’s already adopted 15 warrior daughters and two sons, each said to be his equal in some peerless skill or grand virtue. The Daughters of Ang Pasang feature in urban legends across the Bones, and each of them has been tasked to forge a family of her own and begin a dynasty in Ang Pasang Tshe-Wang’s honor. The details are up to them.
The Dwarven Elders. A strong meta-culture exists among dwarven clans and dwarven respect falls along the line of age. This leads to an awkward, if evasive deference to elven dignitaries and frequent conflict with humans and other youthful races. Guessing the wishes of any elder is difficult, but few remain for long among their number without a conservative, isolationist mindset. The weary or wary are taken by the Seekers for reasons unknown even to other elders. At most, they say that wisdom must never be lost.
The Winter Queen. The greatest dragon of the Bones bears the title of Winter Queen, first among many, endowed with both chill and the commanding voice of great, mountainous thunder. In her season, she is given tribute by nations and monsters alike for the honor of her absence. When the Winter Queen has silver scales, one might find her dragonborn scouts scouring the wilds for fiends and other common threats. But when the Winter Queen’s scales are white? Hunger and cruelty find the enemies of the Bones, along with any who provide less than the finest prizes for her tribute-takers. Twenty years ago, a silver Queen ended a brutal siege of the undead led by a power-hungry sorcerer and his beautiful collection of leaping vampires. To this day, the sorcerer remains bound in ice in the foyer of the Winter Queen’s palace, watching and waiting for a chance to escape, though the silver Queen herself has not been seen in years. For now, a brutal white Queen rises to power, but dares not claim her palace. Yet.
Regional Practices
The struggle to survive and thrive, along with recognition of the mutual need of one towards another, has created a common belief in cycles of destiny and fate among the varied peoples of the Bones. All who meet have been fated to meet, and each will take something from the other. Sometimes, this is an exchange of gifts. Often, it’s merely the knowledge of each other’s names and forms. In its most extreme forms, the exchange ends in life through birth, community, and flourishing or in death through predation, conflict, and war. There is no escaping these fated meetings, as each sets the stage for the next. There’s nothing to escape, in fact, as the only way to have no fated meetings is to have no future. To encounter nothing is to be nothing. Better to seek out a fate of some value than to have no fate at all.
This emphasis on accepting what lies ahead and seeing its place in a larger flow has led to societies built upon legacy, glory, self-sacrifice, and surrender on your own terms to whatever may come. The wise sage bends to meet fate at an auspicious angle. The vain paragon plants her feet and smiles as she is overcome. The conservative become fatalistic, believing that all things have already been foretold, while the rebels and revolutionaries of the Bones see portents of a new season on every horizon. In the end, it isn’t just who survives that determines victory. Victory is the achievement of a vision. And from this view, it is a common belief that the Galasteri Empire ‘below’ is not just primed to fall, but has already fallen.
Cup of “Hot.” Only the rudest of foreigners would engage in a business or social visit in the north without first offering tea, coffee, milk, or another warm beverage. It is the host’s job to provide, but the guest owes a minor favor for this warmth - at the very least, to hear a request or to share news from their travels. This is also a polite way to begin the negotiated shakedown of a tribute payment from unwary travelers. Only the crudest and lowest of beings would turn down a nice cup of tea, after all.
Brag Duels. While fights to the death are rare between warriors or communities, as they waste vital resources and thus call for steep reparations paid to the victors, brag duels or counting coup are far more common. One starts by mocking the opponent in public, claiming superiority in some shared field or revealing a real or imagined vice, perversion, or flaw. The challenged may offer their own version of events, setting the challenger’s integrity into question. One or more skills are then tested before an eager crowd. In a tie? The best narrative wins the day. Whichever story sways the assembly is the truth. Barring some consensus on who had the right? Riots may and often follow.
Ballads in the Blood
The peoples of the Bones are many and disparate, but a few constants pull these groups together into multi-racial clans and communities. The Hill-blooded folk dominate the Bones with their lighter skin and straighter hair, but few peoples are completely absent.
Dwarf.The High Clans of Ven Draria once descended from the Bones themselves with similar human allies, adding a new populace to the Dream. To this day, their castles, monasteries, and cities stand as the most common agrarian cultures of the Bones.
Elf. Most elves of the Bones have left the Old Wilds due to one or more strictures of the Ways. A tiny minority of Hill-blooded elves also have their own practices and beliefs, but largely keep to themselves among the evergreen glades and mountains.
Halfling. The Families almost seamlessly blend between the folk of city bastions that rely on the rivers for life and the traveling clans who benefit from trade and scouts along the waterways. Smallfolk of every hue and tone can be found thriving in the Bones.
Human. There are two major ethnic groups maintaining an uneasy peace in the Bones. Hillfolk are more prominent in the cities like Ven Draria, but are far from absent in the nomadic clans. Folks of flame-blood are more common among the nomads, but many extended families have made their lives and left their mark upon the cities, defying stereotypes.
Dragonborn. Few dragonborn remain in the Bones, as the Winter Queen is not partial to the clans as servants. A few adherents to Draconic philosophy use the harsh land as the perfect ascetic training ground, and dragonborn are a common sight in monasteries.
Gnome. Native gnomes of the Bones have frequent, but not ubiquitous ties to the Concerns. Valuable resources abound in the cold North, but so do people who just want to mind their own business. Managing someone else's business affairs rarely appeals to them.
Half-Elf. Half-elves of the Bones tend to be more strongly tied to their lifestyle than their blood. Nomads strive to be exemplary, as do cityfolk or isolated survivors in the far north. Some nomadic tribes have half-elves without known elven ancestors die to cultural exchanges over the years.
Half-Orc. Half-orcs, though rare, tend to fare well in the Bones. Far from the war on the southern coast, they can carve out their own identities without Galasteri or Horde influences.
Tiefling. Tieflings are a relatively common sight in the Bones - they're survivors by nature, and their appearance is often second to their utility. In fact, many tieflings find themselves revered beyond their actual abilities, in hopes of drawing out a new patron.
Ideal. Children of the spirits of the Bones have a reputation for cruelty - hunting hunters for sport, seducing the cold into a frigid death, and other such tales. The reality is that Ideal of the Bones are likely to be born and abandoned, or left as boons to peoples who do not understand their nature. If this makes some cruel, it is perhaps understandable.
Refined. Every couple of months, someone comes back from the high peaks... different. This has gone on for well over a century, but few people found it worthy of remark until it started happening in other regions as well. Is this where the Refined began?
Places and Faces
Regional Practices
Ballads in the Blood
Seeking the Horizon
A recent tale has been passing from skald to bard, sage to storyteller, in the last twenty years. It challenges both the veneration of the past and tireless planning for the future, to the point where some dwarven communities have banned it as dangerous obscenity. And yet? It spreads...
There once was a cruel spirit, a fearless woman, and a land without sunrises. This cruel spirit stalked every shadow-clouded crossroad, a shadow itself with a thousand tails. Determined and lost souls alike would catch the flicker of smoke and fire from these tails, and hear voices from their futures and their pasts. Those who dared to listen? Found only flame, claw, and fangs where the voices beckoned. Compelled by lust and terror within the smoke’s confusion, the prey fell still to be devoured. Hunters fell. Soldiers fell. Heroes fell to the scent and shadows of this spirit. Until finally? A young woman grew tired of these lurid, brutal ends. She’d been born in the farthest north, in a land beyond all sunrises, and thus she paid no mind to shadows. “Why don’t they run?! Why don’t they fight?!” she shouted. The sages’ answers infuriated her. 'Patience. Taking any path is folly, but leaving any path behind could be worse still.'
She’d heard enough. “I have arrived,” she said, as she found herself at a crossroads. “I am here, and this is where I wish to be. Not ahead, and not behind. Not tomorrow, nor yesterday. I want no praise, nor prize, nor vengeance! I am here because I wish to be here, and the nature of you irritates me! Face me, shadows! I go where I wish, and to the hells with both ahead and behind me!” And upon hearing this? The shadow with a thousand tails receded, revealing a spirit’s beautiful form. They adorned her in a robe of fiery furs and smoky silk and took her up into their many arms. In knowing who she was, where she had come from, and what she truly wanted, she had seduced the horizons. And so, they could do naught but love her.
Some say that she was blessed with a guandao that blazes like dawn along the cliffs. Ohers end the story with a detailed, extended tryst. A few spirit-touched families claim that her name was Suriya, and that she’s mother to their clans. Hillfolk insist that she had no children. But the truth? The truth is not here and now. And those who seek out the horizon warrior are certain to find smoke and shadows instead.
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