Vunstimil
Encompassing the mainland of the Brassic nation, Vunstimil has long tilled the dependable, if hard, lands that fed and clothed the Isles. The people are stoic workers, often spending long stretches in solitude amidst the Lowstones, or herding sheep across the long plains of southern Vunstimil. This vassal land is ruled entirely by local Lawspeakers, who are a middle-class citizenry of the Brassic Isles, serving as a de facto nobility, and enforce Brassic rule over the common people on the mainland.
Nation Info
Official Name: The Dominion of VunstimilCapital: Kilead
Population: ~650,000
Government: Brassic Kritocracy
Leader: Kotryna Lazaric
Leader Title: Jarl
Demonym: Vunstimish
Major Exports:
- Lumber
- Iron
- Wool
Military
- 40,000 Combatants
- Warships: 20 Longships
Breed Distribution
Religion Distribution
- 60% - The Sentinel
- 20% - The Guardians
- 10% - The Highlord
- 5% - The Undevoted
- 5% - Other
Do not go gentle into that good night...
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas