Tharneskari
Naming Traditions
Feminine names
Tharneskari feminine names are strong, often ending in -yn, -a, or -dis. Many are derived from weather, stone, or animal totems.
Examples: Erthyn, Kaelra, Bryndis, Halda, Sarnka, Yrga
Masculine names
Masculine names frequently end in -ar, -en, or -grim. They often derive from ancestors, titles, or mythic beasts.
Examples: Jorvar, Marnen, Skalig, Drogrim, Harkal, Vaelthur
Family names
Family names are patronymic or clan-based. The most honored include a stone or mountain reference.
Examples: Stoneborn, Tharnsson, Icehold, Vaelundr, Grimkeld, Hrothskar
Culture
Major language groups and dialects
The Tharneskari speak Tharnic, a language born from the union of Old Fahryte roots and Cetandari structure, forged over generations of isolation and intermingling. The language's core vocabulary—words for stone, fire, kin, and the gods—comes directly from Fahryte stock, rugged and dense with consonants. However, its grammatical framework and phonetic assignments were gradually restructured under the influence of the Cetandari language, especially during early days. Their secluded region, however, causes their tongue to adapt in a different direction to much of Cetandar, and so their sayings and speech are often seen as strange or difficult to understand by other Cets. Tharnic writing uses a runic alphabet adapted from the Fahryte script: a chiseler's language built for engraving into stone or wood. However, the phonetic values assigned to these runes often reflect Cetandari sounds, making Tharnic a true linguistic hybrid.
Spoken Tharnic is throaty, slow-paced, and deliberate with a preference for compound words, hard consonants, and low vowel tones. It carries a sense of weight, as though each word is laid like a stone. Long pauses between phrases are common and respected, often used to indicate care in choosing one's words. In song or oration, the language becomes chant-like, echoing through mountain passes with resonant syllables. The written script emphasizes vertical lines and angular strokes, built to withstand the erosion of stone and time. Text is typically carved in vertical columns or coiled spirals on round tablets, with decorative flourishes marking lineage and authorship.
Common Tharneskari Sayings
- Stone does not forget the chisel. - A warning that all actions leave lasting marks, whether intended or not. Often used when someone tries to walk away from past misdeeds or broken promises.
- Sit by my fire. - A subtle invitation or closeness or reconciliation. Saying this to someone signifies the desire to resolve tension or invite them into one's inner circle.
- Cold hands bind tighter. - A romantic or intimate expression meaning that bonds formed in hardship are stronger than those formed in comfort. This is typically used between partners or comrades.
- You've eaten from my bowl. - A sharp accusation of betrayal from someone once trusted. Implies shared hospitality was met with dishonor.
- Even the cliffs bow to time. - A reflection on patience and inevitability. Reminds the listener that even the most unyielding forces eventually wear down.
- Wind has no kin. - A saying used to describe someone who cannot be relied on—flighty, unrooted, or unwilling to stay. Considered a poetic insult among the Tharneskari, and not one taken lightly.
- Three steps, no frost. - Used to signal tentative trust. It means "I'll give you this chance", with the unspoken understanding that it may be revoked.
Culture and cultural heritage
Among the Tharneskari, the past is not simply remembered—it is carved into stone, as enduring and immutable as the mountains themselves. Lineage is recorded on glyph-stones, oblong slabs etched with runic symbols that detail the births, deeds, unions, and deaths of each family line. These are kept in clan-halls or ancestral cairns, carefully guarded and ritually cleaned before major seasonal festivals. Only stone is considered worthy to carry such truths; parchment and wood are seen as too fragile to contain the weight of legacy. Aside from ancestry, glyph-stones also record sworn oaths, named witnesses to great deeds, the outcomes of significant feuds, and the locations of sacred or buried places. To lose a glyph is to lose part of the soul of the clan, and to alter one dishonestly is a crime of spiritual magnitude.
Each settlement—whether a remote cliffstead or a mountain city—houses at least one longhouse council, formed of the eldest representatives of the founding families and advised by lorekeepers and hearth-mothers. These councils act as living repositories of law and tradition, handing down judgments in the name of both past and present. They do not merely govern; they interpret legacy, ensuring new decisions align with the stone-recorded precedent of those who came before. Disputes, bannings, oaths of fealty, and even marriages are often brought before the council, who then consult the glyphs and recorded oral accounts before rendering decisions. A person welcomed into the clan has their name added to the edge of the most recent glyph-stone; a person exiled has their name struck through with a double-cut line, the most shameful of marks.
Oral storytelling is sacred and deeply ritualized, a duty passed down through priestly lines of trained lorekeepers, known as the Voarhsen. These figures memorize vast epics and ancestral chants, reciting them during key festivals, rites of passage, and moments of communal decision. Stories are not merely entertainment—they are law, warning, history, and praise. A tale mistold is seen as a fracture in the truth of the people. Storytelling follows strict cadence, and each tale has a specific rhythm and formula, passed with care from master to apprentice. The Voarhsen begin training in childhood and are required to complete a three-night recitation trial, where they must sing or chant continuously from dusk to dawn without error. It is said that to forget a story is to weaken the bones of the mountain, and the mountain, like the people, must never be allowed to crumble.
Shared customary codes and values
Do not flee the storm. Among the Tharneskari, hardship is not an aberration—it is a crucible. To face suffering, toil, or danger with resolve is considered not merely courageous, but sacred. It is believed the gods send only that which a soul is capable of withstanding; thus, to run from pain, to avoid trials, or to shirk duty is to spit in the faces of the divine, denying the strength gifted at birth. Children are taught early to stand still in a blizzard before they are taught to shelter from one. Heroes are remembered not for their victories along, but for how steadfastly they met defeat. To be Tharneskari is to endure—and to do so without flinching.
The stone remembers. Memory is sacred in Tharneskari culture, and nothing is considered truly lost so long as it is remembered. The people believe that stone itself carries echoes—that carved names and sung tales preserve the essence of what came before. Lorekeepers, known as Voarhsen, dedicate their lives to the memorization of vast oral histories, composed in hundreds of epic songs. These are supported by physical archives: etched stone slabs stacked in shrines and council-houses, bearing genealogies, oaths, victories, betrayals, and griefs. Forgetting is more than a mistake—it is a sin. To lose a name to time is to let a soul fall silent in the halls of the dead.
Forge bonds as you forge iron. Trust, like steel, must be tempered over flame and struck with intent. The Tharneskari do not give companionship lightly. To call another friend—or kin—is a long and deliberate process, built on repeated acts of loyalty, hardship shared, and resilience tested. One must prove themselves not once, but many times, to be counted as worthy of closeness. Relationships formed too quickly are treated with suspicion, and betrayal is considered among the gravest of cultural crimes. Once a bond is forged however, it is nearly unbreakable—enduring through distance, silence, and time. As a smith reforged iron until it rings true, so too must a person shape their trust.
To be alone is to be cold. Despite their reserved natures, the Tharneskari do not value isolation. On the contrary, they believe that strength is born not in solitude, but in the firelight of community. Every longhouse thrives on the shared labor and mutual support of its members. Meals are taken communally, burdens are divided evenly, and even the most private grief is acknowledged by the collective. Those who spend too long without companionship are said to go "ice-hearted", losing the warmth of empathy and will. While independence is respected, withdrawal is not. To live well in Tharneskari eyes is to live with others—to share the warmth of voice, of hands, and of hearth.
Common Etiquette rules
Among the Tharneskari, speech is considered sared, and interrupting another without dire cause is a serious breach of courtesy. Words are treated like stones laid in a foundation—each must be set carefully, and interrupting is akin to knocking a wall apart mid-construction. In public councils, family gatherings, or even casual conversation, each speaking is allowed to finish their thought, no matter how long it takes. The only accepted reason to interrupt is imminent danger—a fire, a falling rock, or blood drawn. Even then, the interrupter is expected to acknowledge the breach afterward with a gesture of apology, such as tapping their own lips while bowing the head. Children are taught from an early age to sit quietly and wait their turn, learning to weigh silence as heavily as speech.
Every meeting between Tharneskari begins with a gesture of respect and mutual recognition: the hand pressed firmly to the heart. This greeting is performed regardless of age, rank, or familiarity, and is seen as an offering of truth—your heart shown openly to the other. To fail to return the gesture is a silent insult, implying distrust or hostility. The duration of the gesture adds layers of meaning: a quick gesture indicates formality; a slow one with a deep gaze suggests kinship or apology; and skipping it entirely suggests unspoken hostility, unable to be mended. In moments of grief or tension, the gesture is sometimes made with both hands to the chest, signaling mourning or vulnerability.
To enter another's home—be it a high hall or a hunter's lean-to—is to cross a sacred threshold, and doing so requires a gift. This offering is typically modest but meaningful: a carved stone, a tool of bone, a shaped piece of wood, or a scrap of worked iron. The gesture honors the host's hearth and acknowledges the guest's own resources and respect. The gift need not be valuable, but it must be deliberate and sincere. In turn, the host is bound by custom to repay the gift with food, drink, or warmth—often a place near the fire, a bowl of stew, or shared mead. To give a gift and be turned away is rare and considered a declaration of estrangement. To seek entrance into a home without a proper gift requires the would-be visitor—if accepted in—to repay this overstepping with a gift three-fold. The first must be of wood, given to burn and grant warmth. The second must be of meat, freshly hunted. The third must be of drink—typically pure water or berry mead.
Common Dress code
Tharneskari clothing is designed first and foremost for survival in cold, harsh climates, but it is also layered with meaning and tradition. Most garments are made of thick wool, fur-lined leathers, and woven flax, often waterproofed with animal grease or resin. Tunics and coats are long, reaching the knee or lower, and often layered over trousers or, in warmer regions, skirts with high boots of treated hide. Cloaks are near-universal and commonly clasped with a clan-brooch or a knot of carved antler or stone. Colors tend toward muted earth-tones—gray, pine green, stone blue, and charcoal—but are sometimes accented with embroidered glyphs in ochre, red, or white, marking family, trade, or personal achievement.
Tharneskari men typically dress in heavier, reinforced layers, particularly around the arms and shoulders. This style reflects their traditional roles in labor, building, and combat. Their outer tunics often have padded quilting or stitched leather across the chest and upper arms, used for both warmth and protection. Many carry thick belts with tool-loops or hammer-hooks, and wide-brimmed hoods lined with wool or elk fur are common among laborers. Beards are a point of personal pride, and are often bound in metal rings or bone clasps matching their clan sigils—though a beard must never be braided, as doing so is seen as greatly disrespectful. Among warriors, a sleeveless over-tunic called a dretskarn is worn above the base layers, embroidered with symbols of their past battles on the front and their family line on the back.
Women wear garments equally suited to weather or work, though often tailored more closely for movement in domestic or spiritual spaces. Their coats and tunics favor wrapped closures, often fastened with decorative pins, and are typically designed with wider sleeves and tighter cuffs to preserve dexterity. Many wear shawls or braided sashes, symbolizing their role as hearthbearers or lorekeepers, and these are often decorated with runic script and colored thread. Jewelry is understated but significant—bone and jet beads are worn around the throat, with each piece often gifted during specific rites of passage. Veils or headwraps are rare but not unheard of, typically used only in ceremonial roles such as mourning, blessing, or the preparation of the dead.
Children wear simpler versions of adult garments, often hand-me-downs from older siblings or cousins, adapted and patched for growing bodies. Their clothes tend to be looser, easier to layer, and typically lack the clan-specific embroidery of adult attire. Instead, children wear small carved tokens made from wood, stone, or bone hung from cord around the wrist to represent their family and stage of life. Before the coming-of-age trial, a child's clothing is marked by plain cords in place of belts or sashes, symbolizing that they have not yet fully woven into the fabric of Tharneskari society. Upon returning from their mountain trial, their first personally chosen garment—traditionally a cloak or tunic—is gifted by the community and marked with their family rune.
Art & Architecture
Tharneskari art is carved, woven, and etched—not painted or written. It favors permanence and texture over color and illusion. Stone and bone are the most honored mediums, used to create relief carvings, scrimshaw, and runestone panels that depict ancestral tales, oaths, or legendary events. Longhouse interiors often feature tapestries stitched with runic narratives or mythic symbols, passed from one generation to the next. Metalwork is equally revered, with smiths crafting ornamental clasps, brooches, and decorative inlays into weapons or tools, all marked with clan signs or family runes. Even mundane objects such as bowls, knives, or combes may be inscribed with protective or devotional script. While not necessarily art, music and song are considered nearly sacred, performed in deep, rhythmic chants or call-and-response storytelling, often accompanied by carved wooden lyres or bone drums.
Tharneskari architecture is a reflection of their values: durable, rooted, and unshakable. Most settlements are built into the faces of cliffs, mountain slopes, or deep crags, using stone quarried from nearby rock and sealed with a mortar of ash and lime. Buildings are often partially subterranean, protected from wind and snow, with thick supporting beams of pine or spruce. Longhouses are the standard dwelling, rectangular and sloped, with central hearths and shared sleeping alcoves along the walls. Doors are low and narrow to conserve warmth, and windows are rare, replaced by smoke-vents and skylights. Sacred sites, such as cairn-halls and ancestor shrines, are marked with stone arches or columns carved directly from the mountain itself. In all structures, function dominates form—but where space allows, artistry flourishes in stone-carved friezes, knotwork lintels, and the sigils of honored builders etched beside their work.
Foods & Cuisine
Tharneskari traditional cuisine is shaped by necessity, preservation, and sustenance, relying heavily on what can be stored through long winters and foraged from the harsh mountain environment. Root vegetables such as turnips, parsnips, and mountain carrots form the staple of most meals, alongside hardy grains like black barley and stone-milled oatcakes. Meat is typically preserved—salted goat, smoked elk, and dried fish—and added to slow-simmered stews that remain cooking constantly over the hearth in a communal pot known as the Stonefire, to which ingredients are added daily. Cheeses made from goat or sheep’s milk, along with pickled pine shoots and fermented mushrooms, round out many meals. Seasoning is sparse but deliberate: salt, juniper, ash-root, and sometimes bitter berries for tartness. Meals are hearty, simple, and eaten communally with flat wooden utensils or carved hornware.
While much of their diet is self-sustained, the Tharneskari do trade for and export various foods, creating a small but valuable flow of goods into and out of their mountain enclaves. From the lowlands, they import olive oil, dried fruits, fermented honey, and dark wines—luxuries used sparingly and often stored for winter celebrations. In return, they export salted meat, aged cheeses, smoked fish, frost-preserved herbs, and glacial ice, which is stored in carved stone crates packed with pine sawdust for transport. Strong pine spirits distilled in high-altitude stills are highly valued in coastal towns, while the Tharneskari themselves prize dense loaves of lowland nut bread and vine-fruits too delicate to grow at their elevation. Trade routes are long and treacherous, but carefully guarded and respected by all who rely on their continuation.
Certain foods are reserved for rituals or special occasions, steeped in tradition and symbolic meaning. During the Winter Vigil, each longhouse prepares a blackbread known as garnak, made with ash-root and animal fat, symbolizing survival in darkness. At weddings, a layered root-and-meat pie called Vaelsarn is served, with the new familial rune carved into the crust. Mead is common throughout the year, but Red Hearth Mead—fermented with bloodberries and firehoney—is drunk only during funerals, to honor the heat of the life now passed. Each spring, the community shares in the First Boil, a communal stew using the first foraged greens and thawed stores, symbolizing renewal and the year’s first shared labor. These meals are not only nourishment, but memory—eaten in rhythm with the stories they carry.
Common Customs, traditions and rituals
The Stonebirth Festival is held during the early thaw of spring, celebrating lineage, endurance, and the ongoing memory of the clan. During this festival, each family brings forth their most recent glyph-stone, carved over the winter with updates to births, deaths, and notable deeds. These are presented in a public square or longhouse before being ritually sealed with a mixture of ash and resin. Youths are encouraged to carve their first personal rune into soft slate, symbolizing the beginning of their story. Songs honoring founders and ancestors are sung in slow, deliberate verse, and feasts are held atop flat stone tables carved for the purpose. It is said that no clan truly lives until its name has been etched into stone, and thus the festival serves as both a renewal and a reckoning of identity.
The Winter Vigil takes place during the longest night of the year and marks a time of reflection, silence, and spiritual stillness. From dusk until dawn, the longhouse hearth is kept burning, watched over by silent sentinels who change shifts every few hours. During this night, no unnecessary speech is permitted—only the necessary words for fire, food, and safety are allowed, and even these are spoken in whispers. The silence is believed to honor the dead and the mountain spirits, who listen closely during the darkest hours. Families gather to prepare garnak—a bitter blackbread symbolizing survival—and offer slivers of it into the fire as part of a collective prayer. The end of the vigil is marked by a single chime of carved stone, followed by shared song and mead as the first light crests the peaks.
The Anvil Blessing is a rite performed for those who take up a craft, most commonly smiths, masons, and carvers, though it has expanded in recent generations to include weavers, brewers, and bone-artists. When a person formally begins their life’s trade, they are brought before the community to strike a cold anvil with an untempered piece of their chosen medium—be it iron, stone, or wood. The sound that rings out is said to carry the true name of the craftsperson, which is then carved into a master-stone kept in the hall of the artisans. This ritual symbolizes that creation must begin from force and will, not simply inspiration. The initiate then works for one day under silence, watched by their teacher or elder, after which their first completed item is gifted to their clan. These first works are rarely kept, as they are considered the last things made in ignorance. If they are of a flammable material, they are often cast into the communal fire, said to burn away the ignorance that once clung to the craftsman. If they are not, they are buried beside—though never within—a clan cairn.
Birth & Baptismal Rites
The birth of a child among the Tharneskari is both a cause for celebration and a moment of solemn responsibility, for every soul born into the mountains is considered a new vessel of ancestral strength and divine burden. Central to this rite is the crafting of a hearthstone, a small, polished piece of granite selected based on the child’s gender: gray granite for males, symbolizing enduring strength, and red granite for females, symbolizing inner fire and blood-bound wisdom. The stone is prepared within the first three days of birth and must be carved by both parents together, each taking a turn to shape the runes of the child’s name.
Once the carving is complete, the name must be whispered into the stone three times, each time under a different elemental condition. The first whisper is spoken as the hearthstone rests upon iron or steel, symbolizing the burden of mortal conflict and the strength the child will need to withstand the harshness of life. The second whisper is given while the stone sits against raw stone, usually the hearth’s foundation or a sacred slab, anchoring the child to their ancestral line and to the mountain that bore them. The third and final whisper is uttered as the hearthstone is held above a flame, signifying vitality, spirit, and the sacred fire of will. These three whispers are said to bind the name to the soul, ensuring that neither wind, war, nor time can erase it.
After the whispers, the hearthstone is bound with animal tendon, most often sinew from a hunted deer or goat, and tied gently around the infant’s leg. This talisman is worn through infancy, kept close to the skin to protect the child and anchor their spirit to the world. Only when the child learns to walk—proving their will to move forward—may the hearthstone be transferred to their arm, now worn as a bracelet of identity and first symbol of independence. Many Tharneskari continue to wear their hearthstones into adulthood, often setting them into metal or horn for protection. To lose one’s hearthstone is considered an ill omen, and the ritual of replacing it is long, difficult, and deeply sorrowful.
Coming of Age Rites
At the age of fourteen winters, every Tharneskari youth must undertake the Trial of the Mountain, a sacred rite of passage marking their transition from child to adult in the eyes of their clan. The trial begins at dawn, when the youth is sent alone into the high peaks with nothing but their clothes and their hearthstone. For three days and two nights, they must survive unaided—securing warmth, shelter, and sustenance by their own hand. To return before the sun starts setting on the third day is to be seen as weak-willed, having not endured the full crucible of solitude. To return after nightfall is considered a mark of recklessness or poor judgment—still acceptable, but watched carefully in the years that follow.
During this solitary ordeal, the youth is expected to perform a task suited to their intended calling, drawing from the natural world as both test and teacher. Those who seek to be warriors or hunters must track and bring down a beast—not necessarily a large or fierce one, but through skill and patience. Aspiring craftsmen must climb to the crown of a pine tree and cut a living limb, to prove their will to shape the world from its heights. Priestly initiates are taught the sacred herbs of the region beforehand and must locate, harvest, and preserve them, often from cliffside groves or hidden hollows. Others find unique trials that suit their future path—gathering rare stones for builders, luring and catching birds for scouts, or listening for the wind’s voice for those drawn to storytelling or spirit-work. These acts are not assigned—they are chosen, a declaration of who one wishes to become.
Upon return, the youth must craft a single item from the materials gathered during their trial. This item may be a weapon, a charm, a tool, or a token—there is no mandated form. A priest may craft a dagger from the wood of a sacred tree, just as a warrior may string a necklace from the claws of a slain beast. What matters is not the function of the object, but the act of creation itself. It is believed that in the shaping of this object, the calling of the soul becomes fixed, and the child becomes truly Tharneskari in spirit, not just in blood. These first-crafted items are to be kept for life, worn on cords or belts, or stored beside the hearth. Some become heirlooms. Others are buried with their owners. But all are sacred—not as symbols of skill, but of choice.
Funerary and Memorial customs
Among the Tharneskari, death is not an end, but a return—a passage back into the stone from which all things are believed to come. The bodies of the departed are never burned or buried, for fire scatters and earth forgets, but stone endures. Instead, the deceased are laid within stone cairns or cliffside ossuaries, built high upon wind-scoured ledges or deep within sacred crags. These cairns are carefully constructed with interlocking slabs, forming eternal resting places that resist the weather and weight of time. Beside them, carved stone guardians—depictions of ancestral beasts, gods, or stylized masks—stand watch. These guardians are believed to ward off wicked spirits and to signal to the dead that they are not alone.
Every fallen Tharneskari has their name, deeds, and family-line engraved onto the public walls of remembrance, great slabs of stone maintained in every longhouse and settlement. These walls serve as the communal memory of the people, cataloging the lives that have shaped the present. Once per decade, during a solemn gathering known as the Rite of Reknelling, the community gathers to recarve the names, deepening the runes to ensure they do not fade. This act is both practical and spiritual—a way of preserving identity against erosion, and a declaration that the dead will not be forgotten so long as even one hand remembers how to hold the chisel. The Rite is performed in silence, broken only when each name is re-etched, followed by a chant of remembrance from the Voarhsen.
To be denied a cairn or engraving is the gravest dishonor, reserved only for traitors, oathbreakers, or those who bring shame upon their bloodline. Even in such rare cases, a stone is often left anonymously nearby—a quiet rebellion by kin who still grieve. The Tharneskari believe that as long as the name is remembered and the stone remains intact, the soul has not truly passed beyond the reach of kin.
Common Taboos
Among the most sacred taboos in Tharneskari society are those concerning the braid, which is considered a physical manifestation of lineage, honor, and personal history. To cut one’s own braid without cause, such as grief, disgrace, or ritual mourning, is seen as a declaration of exile from one's past. More egregious still is to unbraid or touch another’s hair without permission, an act viewed as an unforgivable intrusion—akin to opening a sealed grave. Even within families, braiding is done only by trusted kin or ceremonial weavers. Falsely altering one’s braid—by adding rings or markers not earned—is considered not just vanity, but fraud, and those caught doing so are often marked and shunned until amends are made through public confession and a trial of penance. Cutting another's braid off is seen as one of the greatest dishonors, and such an action, when uncalled for, can even lead to exile from the clan.
Equally grave is the desecration of stonework, particularly that which holds memory. To deface or intentionally crack a glyph-stone, hearthstone, or wall of remembrance is not only an insult to the dead but a spiritual violation that invites ancestral wrath. Even idle vandalism—such as carving one’s name into sacred or unmarked stone—is deeply frowned upon. Tharneskari children are taught never to step upon engraved stones, and to speak softly when near cairns or ossuaries. Any act that diminishes the stone’s ability to “remember” is treated as a severing of communal ties, and punishment is often accompanied by ritual rebuilding under silent labor.
Another foundational taboo is the abandonment of kin in times of hardship. To flee a battle without cause, to leave a companion injured in the mountains, or to turn away a traveler during a storm are all considered acts of moral rot. The Tharneskari do not glorify martyrdom for its own sake, but they believe firmly that no one survives alone, and to place one’s life above the bond of blood or hearth is a betrayal of the very identity of the people. Those accused of such abandonment may be banished, or forced to live for a year in solitude—a punishment considered far worse than death by many, and one that often leads to death all the same.
Finally, there are deep social taboos surrounding the misuse of names and memory. To speak the name of a dishonored ancestor is to invite their shame back upon the living. Such names are struck from glyph-stones and left unspoken for generations. Likewise, to lie during a ritual of remembrance, forge a record, or invent a false legacy is to attempt to deceive the stone itself—something the Tharneskari believe cannot be done without cost. The mountain is said to “hear such lies and crumble beneath them,” and it is not uncommon for natural disasters or misfortunes to be blamed on hidden violations of these sacred truths.
Common Myths and Legends
The Iron Cradle tells of the first Tharneskari, born not of flesh, but from a cracked stone egg warmed by the flame of Atashak. The tale says that when the mountain wept for compansionship, Atashak was the first to respond, forging a child within its heart and leaving it to cool in an iron basin at the summon. When the storm split the peak, the egg cracked open, and the first of the stoneblooded emerged, walking down the slopes with the flame of Atashak keeping them warm against the freezing cold. This figure is believed to be the common ancestor of all Tharneskari clans, and Atashak is worshipped by these people to this day as a generous giver of life and warmth.
Yrlak the Firebound is a famed smith of legend who was said to have chained a dying star to the earth to forge the first blade worthy of a people. According to the tale, Yrlak sought a grand flame from Atashak, who provided one on the condition that Yrlak wrestle it from the sky itself. Yrlak was said to have wrestled the grand flame for seven nights, finally binding their essence into a black iron anvil. From that forge, he created a sword with no equal, but refused to wield it himself. Instead, he buried it in the mountainside, declaring that only Atashak himself could wield the blade, and none but Atashak's own chosen were worthy of the anvil any longer, which was said to be buried alongside the blade.
The Weeping Cairn is the tale of a great chieftain laid to rest with a high stone tomb after breaking an oath to his bloodkin. Though buried with the full rites, his cairn began to weep frozen tears with every generation, a reminder that his betrayal had never been cleansed. No vegetation grows near the site, and those who camp nearby report dreams of falling stone and cold voices. The tale warns that even the dead may remain restless if remembered in shame.
Granneth and the Nine Wolves recounts the saga of a hunter-priestess who, during a cursed winter, was hunted by nine dire wolves—each the embodiment of a forgotten sin of her people. One by one, she confessed ancient wrongs to the beasts, laying bare her clan's unspoken truths. Moved by her honesty, the wolves let her live, and their spirits became her guardians. Today, she is invoked by those seeking protection from both natural predators and hidden guilt.
The Rootbound King tells of a warrior who, after years of conquest, sought immortality through legacy rather than war. He asked the mountain spirits how to be remembered forever, and they bade him plant a pine tree atop each cairn he had ever built or caused. He did so, and then vanished into the forest. In the deepest woods, there is said to be a king with a heart of stone and bark marked with his rune. It is believed that the king sleeps beneath it, dreaming of peace.
Ideals
Beauty Ideals
Among the Tharneskari, hardship and survival are the most beautiful things in a person. Weather-beaten skin, calloused hands, and the subtle lines etched into skin by cold winds and long toil are marks of deep respect and are highly desired by these people. A face creased by frost and labor tells a story of years endured and burdens carried. Strength is not defined solely by musculature but by the bearing of the person—how one stands tall despite storms, how one's voice carries over a gale. A visible scar is not hidden but often honored, especially if earned defending kin or carving through the mountain's unforgiving paths. Those who appear too soft, too pampered, or too untouched by the world are typically met with polite doubt or quiet pity.
Much like their Fahryte ancestors and neighbors, the Tharneskari adorn their bodies with runic tattoos—not for decoration, as such a thing would be wasteful, but as records and symbols. These tattoos are ritually inked into the skin using soot, bone ash, and mountain herb oils. Their designs are carved to match old clan glyphs or ancestral tales, and are also used to mark those who have been exiled, using bright red powders made from rare mountain flowers. A jagged line beneath the eye may mark a night alone in the blizzard; a spiral etched over the right ribs honors a life saved, while one over the left ribs marks a death mourned. Warriors may bear protective wards on their arms and necks, while artisans wear craft-runes across their backs. Unlike the more mystic-oriented markings of the Fahrytes, Tharneskari tattoos are narrative: a skin-bound saga that speaks of one's place in the community and the world.
Of all personal adornments, braids are the most revered and encoded. Hair is braided not merely for style but to reflect lineage, status, and achievement. Each braid is a thread in a tapestry; one thick braid for each parent still living, a warrior's knot to signify an unbroken oath, silver or iron rings woven in to represent major deeds or titles. Children are taught to braid as soon as they can speak full sentences, and their first self-made braid is celebrated as a step toward adulthood. To unbraid another's hair without permission is an act of intimate trust—or deep offense, and to cut another's braid off, even in a duel to the death, is seem as a great misdeed or taboo. The most honored elders may have their hair braided by members of the entire clan, forming living archives of their lives readable only by those familiar with this custom.
Gender Ideals
Tharneskari society acknowledges traditional gender roles but treats them as guidelines of legacy, not chains of obligation. From their Fahryte ancestors, the Tharneskari retain a lingering expectation that men will take on physically demanding labor—such as stoneworking, blacksmithing, timber hauling, and martial defense—while women, often seen as more observant and composed, are raised to be the keepers of stories, rites, and ancestral wisdom. These roles remain culturally embedded, particularly in rural or older clans, where many children are still raised to see their gender as entwined with duty.
Yet the harsh realities of life in the mountains often override tradition. In times of need, roles bend without question: a woman with the strength to swing a forgehammer or draw a hunting bow is not turned away, and a man with a head for numbers or names may serve as a lorekeeper or spiritual counselor. Strength and clarity of thought are praised where they are found, and competence always takes precedence over conformity. As a result, most Tharneskari communities prize balance—a pairing of physical and mental labor between household members, regardless of strict gender expectations.
Courtship Ideals
Among the Tharneskari, courtship is a quiet, deliberate undertaking—rarely driven by fleeting passion, and almost never by ornament or charm along. In the high places of snow and stone, affection is not measured in flattery or flirtation, but in reliability and shared burdens. A partner is someone who will stand beside you when the fire dies or the trail grows treacherous. Emotional expression is reserved and often subtle; gestures of care may be as simple as setting aside a share of stew, repairing someone's boots, or walking in protective silence beside them through sleep. Love, when spoken aloud, is rarely declared directly. Instead, phrases like "You are warm in my thoughts" or "I would build beside you" are seen as deeply intimate.
Traditional rituals of courtship revolve around quiet acts of proving one's worth through gift, trial, and endurance. One common tradition is the stone token: a hand-carved stone, usually etched with a personal rune or family mark, offered to the one desired. If accepted, the recipient carries it for three days to see if affection deepens or fades. Others show interest by presenting crafted tools, simple songs composed in private, or shared meals cooked from personally hunted game. Some groups favor a trial of weather, wherein one suitor endures a night exposed to the mountain's edge while their intended partner watches from a distance, judging resolve. These rituals are not tests of dominance or strength, but rather demonstrations of commitment and constancy with many believing only a bond forged in the cold can endure the colder seasons still to come.
Relationship Ideals
Among the Tharneskari, marriage is not a matter of fleeting romance or social convenience—it is an eternal lifebond, forged with the same deliberance and care one would use to craft a stone hearth or carve a family rune. A true partnership is expected to endure through hardship, silence, and the passage of years, grounded in mutual respect, labor, and understanding. Love may blossom slowly, often long after the bond is first proposed, but it is never expected to be immediate or poetic. Lifebonds are solemn, public commitments, witnessed by the clan and affirmed by the hearth-mothers or clan lorekeepers. Once made, they are unbreakable save by death, and the Tharneskari have no concept of divorce or separation, whether by distance or conflict.
The symbols of such a bond are deeply woven into Tharneskari life. Partners receive matched runic tattoos of a customized familial rune, combining parts of each of their previous familial runes, leading to those many generations later often being complicated. Each is placed on the right shoulder blade. They are inked by a ritual tattooist with a drop of each partner's blood mixed into the sot used. Additionally, each wears a marriage braid, woven not by themselves but by the partner's closest kin, who threads a single gold ring into the braid, and a bone bead is then added each year by their partner, each bead symbolizing a year spent together.
Should one partner die, the survivor is expected to remain unbonded for the rest of their days. To remarry is seen as a betrayal—not just to the lost, but to the very spirit of the union, whose echoes are believed to linger long after death. However, widowhood is not treated with pity or isolation; it is a station of honor and sacred remembrance. The surviving partner becomes a bearer of memory, keeper of their bond's story, and is often called upon to counsel younger couples or witness future lifebondings. Their braid is worn looser, and their gold ring is replaced with a wooden ring painted blue—the only time the color blue is used by the Tharneskari due to its rarity, and thus many associate the color with loss as a whole. The deceased's rune-stone is fitted into this wooden ring, marking them as one who has loved deeply and lived on. In this, Tharneskari see not tragedy, but endurance—the ultimate proof that a bond can outlast even death.
This is a rare option
This option requires special permission to take. In the case of spells, psionic powers, and similar options, this option must be found in the world and cannot be taken upon level-up.
This is a stub
This article will be expanded upon in the future
This is a
Good Article
Related Myths
Related Locations
Comments