The Proud kingdom of Velandria

Past the north eastern borders of the Empire, below the mountains and lakes of the dwarves, the Pride capital of Velandria, the city of Iverna. Sitting under a tundra of ice and frozen stone, vast savannahs of frost surround it for hundreds of miles, dunes of snow, a natural defense to keep out nearly all. The people of this melancholic land fight on and persevere through any horrors the world throws at them with an ice in their souls that slows their hearts, expands the lengths of their lives, and which keeps them ethereally beautiful for over fifty years longer than the longest lived men of the south. Their pride expands from this, like the snow lions of the ice plains they have tamed, they fight as one, and both the men and women amongst them fight with sword and shield of unbreakable adamantine material only found in their lands.
Human masters of defensive warfare, their armor is unscratchable, their spirits unbreakable, their will indomitable. But their pride may yet be their downfall. Refusing the aid of the rest of the world, they reject the Empire to their south, preferring to remain independent. Willingly ignorant to the plight of the dwarves to their north, they spend their lives with the gates of their city shut to all visitors from the outside world. Roaving Orcs of the Blue Bones tribes have only learned through countless defeats to avoid the city at all costs. When the world begins to end, their decision to remain isolated may prove to be the bitter, quiet, and lonely end of them they so ironically chose for themselves.
The men of this land are descended from those who slew the giants of yore. The most advanced race on the planet fell to them, elder even to the elves, these men slaughtered behemoths one after another until the whole east of the world became littered with the bones of the giants and intelligent elder dragons. Now the east is referred to only as "The Boneyard", and all that comes from it are waves and waves of undead legions. Skeleton armies arisen by some great necromancer who lives among the bones of the forgotten portions of the world.
But in times recent, the gates of Iverna have opened, if slightly, to allow for trade. Unwilling to part with their hold on the supply of adamantite, as they revere it with importance to their god, instead they venture into the Boneyards to recover ancient artifacts, broken machines of a primordial and long dead race. Occasionally, the men and women who return from these excursions come back with a darkness penetrating the ice in their hearts, and a shadow begins to take root deep inside their souls. Outcasted from their society, branded cursed, they are exiled from Velandria. Stripped of their adamantite armor and weapons and given only the essentials, they are forced to make the journey to find a new home for themselves elsewhere in the world. But where else could fit better for them than the isolation of their home? especially with such a darkness rooted in their hearts, driving them to near madness if left untreated, who would be willing to accept them anywhere else in the world? The risk is too great.
Some of these outcasted men and women scorn their home, never looking back, in their corrupted nature they isolate their hearts from even the lion's pride they once praised. These men have vengeance in their hearts, hate and bitterness, enshrouding the sorrow of their loneliness. Most often, they end up withering away as the darkness in their hearts overtakes them, corrupting their once powerful wills to turn them into roaming husks of humans, never needing to eat or sleep, they have gone mad long ago, their ethereal beauty now necrotic and grey, they attack any unfortunate enough to cross paths with them.
Others, though outcasted, retain the constitution and willpower of their people, their determination to be at one with their pride again set in stone they press forward. They are the warriors who press far into other lands, looked down on strangely by many as foreigners of beauty from a land cold and harsh to outsiders. They go in seek of a cure, or some other way to lift the curse of darkness they are poisoned with, in the desparate hope that they may be able to return to their own land once again and see the inside walls and experience the safety of their great adamantine and stone city.
It would be rare for any Velandrian to want to leave their home for the outside world for any reason, although there may be exceptions if they are born of necessity, such as trading to bring goods home to their families and to support the pride, or if they were cast out for many potential reasons.
Regardless of where they are in the world, they are known to pray to their feline god, the great frost lion, Othur the Icemane. The kings of Verandia are known as the Pridemasters, and they are always deemed the strongest of the men. When a king dies, it is said that the most prestigious warriors of The Order of the Mane step forward, and are chosen by Othur himself. They then engage in ceremonial ritual combat, and the knight to come out victorious is blessed by Othun to become king. Any citizen may challenge the king for position of power, but it is usually unwise, as the battles are to the death, and so the men of Velandria's unusually long lifespans make for very long reigns of power.
The men of Velandria, or at least what few there are that leave their home, have usually spoken with quite a direct and sharp manner of speech. Their words are noble and prideful, wise, intelligent and strong, but cut straight to the point. They have no use for frivolity, especially when speaking languages other than their own, and will tend to speak only when they deem it necessary, preferring much to observe and think before speaking.

an excerpt, from the 8th member of the council of Eldemarchs' report on the kingdom of Velandria for the purposes of recording history.