Thanorim
Basic Information
Anatomy
Thanorim possess an upright humanoid frame, typically matching the height and build of standard humans, yet display slightly more pronounced bone density and a subtle ash-gray undertone to their skin. An extra ring of vertebrae offers them resilience for heavier armor, and their skeletal structure often showcases faint necromantic runes along the ribs—an inherited adaptation said to bolster warding connections. While they maintain the usual four limbs, their muscle fibers exhibit a degree of oxidative efficiency, allowing them extended endurance on the battlefield.
Genetics and Reproduction
Thanorim reproduce in a manner akin to humans, with gestation lasting around nine months and births occurring singly or in rare cases, twins. Genetic inheritance of necromantic traits—like the ashen skin tone or bone-runic potential—follows a dominant pattern, ensuring nearly all children manifest at least one morphological sign of their undead-adjacent lineage. While in utero, faint necromantic auras envelop the fetus, sometimes used by elders as a marker of the baby’s future affinity to wards or necromantic arts.
Growth Rate & Stages
Infancy lasts roughly two to three years, during which a child’s bond to local wards forms through gentle necromantic rites. Childhood extends to around age twelve, culminating in minor apprenticeship tasks, while adolescence runs until the late teens, with formal adult roles sealed by a coming-of-age vigil. They reach physical maturity soon thereafter, yet remain in their prime for several decades, with men and women showing minimal aging until around fifty. Beyond this, elder Thanorim slow physiologically but remain surprisingly hale, often living past ninety if not claimed by battle.
Ecology and Habitats
They thrive in the cool, mist-wreathed regions of the Dominion, marked by damp forests, crypt-scarred hills, and plateau grave-towns. These environs feed their cultural reliance on subterranean necropoleis and constant warfare drills. Thanorim cultivate small, ashen-fertilized plots for essential crops, using undead labor to manage tilling. While they can adapt to other climates, they prefer places steeped in gloom and shadows, believing such atmospheres strengthen their connection to spirits.
Dietary Needs and Habits
Thanorim subsist on a diet similar to human omnivores, though they supplement typical grains and meats with a unique array of fungus and sour-berry byproducts that flourish in crypt-adjacent soils. Undead laborers streamline agricultural chores, ensuring ample grain production. Some squads in the field pack dried fungal discs enhanced with faint necromantic wards, sustaining them during prolonged watches in tomb-laden terrain.
Biological Cycle
Seasonal shifts rarely faze them, aside from a slight uptick in necromantic energy during autumn, when leaves fall and death imagery abounds. In colder months, their system adjusts by increasing caloric intake, aided by robust metabolic processes linked to a modest arcane energy. They do not hibernate, but intense battlefield service or mandatory crypt vigils can prompt short recuperative periods, where they enter a meditative rest, suspended between wakefulness and necromantic resonance.
Behaviour
They are stoic yet resolute, shaped by a culture that reveres death as a tool rather than a terror. Bonds to necromantic wards spur a calm acceptance of mortal peril and the inevitability of serving beyond the grave if called upon. Social cohesion centers on loyalty to the Entombed King and clan crypts; betrayal or neglect of tomb duties triggers community backlash. While they can be fiercely protective, they’re rarely rash, treating each conflict as a balance between measured aggression and spiritual duty in a realm where life and death continually intertwine.
Additional Information
Social Structure
The Thanorim social structure revolves around necromantic tradition, ancestral reverence, and carefully delineated roles. At its apex stands Catithryn Starborn’s silent monarchy, interpreted through the watchful oversight of the Throne. Below her, a network of Crypt-Voices translates minute fluctuations in her aura into kingdom-wide policy. Knightly orders serve as the Dominion’s frontline might, often led by women trained from youth in martial and necromantic arts. Male guardians maintain wards, oversee crypt shrines, and raise children, though some enclaves allow more flexible roles. Scholarly tasks fall to the Eldritch Council, whose necromancers refine and regulate life–death boundaries. Interwoven into this hierarchy is the spirit of communal accountability: even the humblest caretaker is expected to uphold essential rites. All in all, every living—and reanimated—figure within the Dominion stands bound by a pledge to preserve Catithryn’s legacy.
Beneath the Throne’s broader influence, each Thanorim settlement embraces a blend of local councils and necromantic guidance. Larger cities convene monthly “crypt gatherings,” where important family representatives and delegated necromancers assess issues like ward upkeep, bone-lantern shortages, or disputes over crypt expansions. Though official decrees can come from higher authorities, locals wield modest autonomy, shaping decisions through reasoned debate rather than rash confrontation. Emphasis on unity underlines every policy, with participants referencing ancestral wisdom or heroic lineages to support their stances. Once consensus is reached, announcements are typically made by softly chiming bone gongs, signaling the end of deliberations. Family tomb-wards, each anchored by genealogical obelisks, feed into these councils, ensuring that day-to-day matters never stray far from Dominion values. Young novices often observe these proceedings, learning how measured speech and reflection preserve harmony. Through these layers, the Dominion keeps local voices prominent while aligning them with Catithryn’s overarching will.
Gender norms within Thanorim society follow traditional lines, with women frequently commanded to the battlefield and men tasked with domestic guardianship. Girls demonstrate swordsmanship, strategic thinking, and necromantic synergy as soon as they can hold a training blade. Boys, meanwhile, focus on crypt maintenance, daily ward upkeep, and caring for younger siblings, weaving domestic stability into the realm’s necromantic tapestry. Though some enclaves permit deviations—letting a talented male become a knight or an especially adept female manage wards—older communities cling to assigned roles. This can produce tension when youthful ambitions clash with ancestral expectations, causing some to seek enclaves with more flexible practices. Strongly traditional families stress that abiding by fixed roles affirms loyalty to the Entombed King, believing it vital to ensuring no part of society fails. Even so, subtle change is creeping in, shaped by younger generations and more inclusive enclaves who see skill over dogma. Contention persists, but those adept at bridging differences remain invaluable to the Dominion.
Central to local cohesion is the concept of the tomb-ward: a cluster of interrelated households sharing a particular crypt entryway. Each tomb-ward fosters a sense of unity, where extended families worship together and celebrate births or commemorations in the same subterranean alcoves. Communal tasks—mending wards, cleaning shared bone-lanterns, or hosting seasonal feasts—are distributed evenly. During festivals, tomb-ward gatherings turn vibrant, with quiet laughter, soft music, and the gentle glow of ghostlights illuminating ancient corridors. Disputes may arise, whether over inheritance or a slight perceived against an ancestor, but they’re settled by elders trained in necromantic ethics. Should a matter escalate, it reaches the local council, which handles it with unwavering calm to preserve the tomb-ward’s harmony. These micro-communities ensure that nobody becomes disconnected from ancestral memory. Even the humblest peasant’s voice has weight when backed by the lineage that stands behind them in the crypt halls.
Gathers occupy a distinct niche in this social tapestry, bridging the living and the lost with perilous determination. Relegated to retrieving bodies from active battlefields—Thanorim or foe—they ensure no spirit is abandoned beyond crypt walls. While widely viewed with a mix of pity and awe, Gathers earn respect for confronting unending dangers with minimal gear. Survival requires grit, swiftness, and a deep reverence for the wards protecting them. Those who live long enough develop skills rivaling knights in agility and bravery, yet they never fully shake the outcast label. Rumors abound of certain families nudging a child into the Gather path for the chance at a unique sort of renown. This stigma reflects how the Dominion continues to grapple with roles outside the traditional warrior–guardian binary. Regardless of the scorn or admiration, Gathers hold an unassailable station at the thresholds of life, carting each broken body toward a final—and hopefully sacred—resting place.
Economic distinctions manifest in parallel with these social roles, although Thanorim resist letting wealth overshadow unity. Merchants dealing in bonecraft relics or advanced necromantic wards can amass considerable prestige, but the overarching Dominion philosophy prioritizes collective well-being. Taxes, tributes, and earnings funnel into communal projects like crypt expansions, necromantic research, and military fortifications. Because the realm rejects overt displays of personal opulence, individuals who do profit heavily often channel resources back into charitable endeavors—like sponsoring necromancer apprentices or building ward-lantern factories. Merchant guilds collaborate closely with the Eldritch Council to ensure no one hoards crucial necromantic secrets. Hard-working blacksmiths and bone-artisans can rise swiftly through these ranks, sometimes rivaling lower-level knights in influence. Even so, ambition must remain tempered by reverence for the dead; a tradesman who neglects shrine duties or treats necromancy as mere commodity risks swift social backlash. Thus, commerce is always nested within spiritual context, binding profit to Dominion ethics.
Another organizational facet is the interplay between local governance and the Eldritch Council, spanning mundane disputes to arcane crises. Everyday quarrels—like contested farmland or alleged theft—stay within local jurisdictions, but supernatural anomalies, lich threats, or ward malfunctions demand Council intervention. Council necromancers arrive, consult ancestral records, and convene with local elders to address the problem methodically. On rare occasions, the Throne’s Crypt-Voices might dispatch specialized knights if they sense broader corruption that endangers the Dominion. These interconnected layers foster a system where no single cluster or guild can function in isolation. Everyone benefits from a stable necromantic network, from the smallest tomb-ward caretaker to the grandest regent. Yet discipline is upheld: punishments for revealing necromantic secrets or defiling tombs range from public censure to permanent expulsion from crypt access. This delicate balance between local autonomy and central oversight maintains order amid the hush of the Dominion’s catacombs.
All told, the Thanorim social structure functions like an intricately woven tapestry, in which each thread—warriors, Gathers, necromancers, merchants, and families—reinforces every other. The monarchy stands silent, a focal point around which devotion pivots, reminding all of the realm’s birth from suffering and unwavering defiance. Councils unite communities through measured dialogue, ensuring daily stability while preserving the spirit of Catithryn’s ancient vow. Assigned gender roles carry both tradition and friction, evolving slowly beneath the weight of centuries. Tomb-wards provide the bedrock of communal life, forging emotional support networks that anchor everyone to their ancestors. Gathers, though stigmatized, protect the final dignity of each fallen body, embodying the intangible boundary between living breath and crypt-lantern glow. Commerce, research, and enforcement operate in sync, channeling resources into a robust, necromantic society where wealth must serve more than ambition. Together, these elements shape a culture that merges unwavering loyalty, respectful tradition, and quiet resilience, woven seamlessly through death and beyond.
Uses, Products & Exploitation
During the period of Beastkin domination, Thanorim captives found themselves brutally exploited as labor, placed in punishing conditions to mine metals or farm the black-soil fields at the Beastkin’s command. The Beastkin quickly realized that these newly emerged humans had robust constitutions and could endure long shifts in harsh environments, making them ideal for exhausting tasks most other slave populations might not survive. The Thanorim’s repeated attempts at revolt only hardened the slavers, who turned to more inventive cruelties—often branding or mangling rebellious workers, only to discover that some Thanorim, specifically Catithryn, would inexplicably return from the brink of death. With each subjugated generation, the Beastkin began harvesting whatever they could—human hair, bones from fallen bodies, and even small amounts of blood—for their own rituals or artifact crafting. Such practices not only drained Thanorim physically but also bred a deep-seated rage and sorrow within them, as they felt the sanctity of their very flesh was violated. Beastkin overlords fashioned trinkets from Thanorim remains, fueling a gruesome economy of “human byproducts,” which further dehumanized their captives. Long before the earliest rebellions took hold, these atrocities wove into the collective Thanorim memory, teaching them that outside powers saw them as raw materials to be used and discarded.
Following their liberation, the Thanorim’s necromantic affinity shaped another side of exploitation—this time at the hands of those who sought to harness undead arts without scruples. Foreign powers, curious travelers, and even some unscrupulous Beastkin attempted to coerce Thanorim mages into revealing the secrets behind bone-lantern wards and reanimated labor. When straightforward threats failed, black-market circles emerged, kidnapping or bribing wayward necromancers for exclusive knowledge. Meanwhile, certain liches or dark sorcerers viewed Thanorim cities as prime hunting grounds, believing they could siphon from the Dominion’s wellspring of undead energy for their own ends. The Eldritch Council reacted with severity, tightening secrecy around necromantic research and punishing any who divulged it to outsiders, thereby preventing new waves of exploitation. Even so, tensions persist; zealots who abhor undead arts frequently label the Thanorim as profaners of natural death, while those enticed by necromancy’s power see them as keys to unbridled dominion.
This dual reputation—once enslaved for their physical resilience, now coveted or reviled for necromantic prowess—continues to shape perceptions of the Thanorim. Individuals who travel outside the Dominion might encounter admirers seeking to recruit them for arcane tasks or, conversely, mobs that equate their bonework with heresy. Markets in borderlands occasionally traffic in stolen crypt relics or captured Thanorim children rumored to possess “death-touched” potential. Such grim realities reflect the lingering echoes of Beastkin cruelty, reminding the Thanorim that others still see them as resources to be exploited rather than as a sovereign people. Although the Dominion has grown stable and formidable, maintaining walls and wards cannot erase the fact that some dark corners of the world yearn to resurrect old patterns of enslavement for personal gain.
Geographic Origin and Distribution
The largest concentration of Thanorim thrives in the heartland of the Thanorthic Dominion, a region characterized by rolling black-soil fields and labyrinthine catacombs that stretch beneath its many fortified cities. Despite high population density in these central strongholds, each settlement holds direct links to the Deeproot Necropoleis, ensuring that their ancestral spirits remain a constant presence and a unifying force.
Beyond these core territories, smaller Thanorim enclaves dot the harsher borderlands, where knights maintain vigilant outposts against lingering Beastkin threats. These border enclaves often incorporate additional fortifications and rely heavily on rangers from the Scaled Cloaks to navigate rugged forests or marshes. Though life at the perimeter can be grim and isolating, many families accept the challenge, seeing it as an honorable duty to protect the Dominion from external incursions.
Farther from the Dominion’s center, scattered clusters of Thanorim have emerged in trade-focused regions, forming modest enclaves near major caravan routes. Here, they meld their necromantic arts with local commerce, offering wards and bonecraft items to travelers who might otherwise never step foot in their distant strongholds. Over time, some of these enclaves gain enough stability to become semi-autonomous communities, still loyal to the Entombed King’s silent will.
Smaller groups of Thanorim can also be found well outside their homeland, especially in pockets where once-enslaved humans fled long ago. Although these distant cells never grew large enough to form true city-states, they preserve core cultural tenets such as crypt-reverence and necromantic ceremonies. Whether residing in bustling trade ports or remote mountain havens, these far-flung Thanorim maintain a vestigial connection to the Dominion, often traveling back to the heartland for major rites or to replenish the treasured ward-lanterns that sustain their ancestral links.
Perception and Sensory Capabilities
Their primary senses mirror those of humans, albeit with notably sharper night vision that allows them to perceive dim shapes and movement in near darkness. A faint empathic link to undead energies grants them early warnings when wards or restless spirits are nearby. Though not telepathic, they can sometimes sense mild vibrations through the ground when an intense necromantic ritual is underway. Most develop a subtle, intuitive awareness of grave-bound energies, aiding them in crypt explorations and burial rites.
Civilization and Culture
Major Organizations
The Throne of the Entombed King
The Throne of the Entombed King represents the bedrock of Thanorim society, binding them all under Catithryn Starborn’s silent but enduring authority. Even though Catithryn seldom offers direct commands, her presence radiates through courtly officials called Crypt-Voices, who interpret tiny shifts in her aura as kingdom-wide edicts. Through these Crypt-Voices, day-to-day policies—like how many undead workers to animate or which border regions need extra vigilance—are coordinated across every Thanorim settlement. The Throne serves more as a unifying symbol than a human-style monarchy, reminding all that no matter how scattered their strongholds become, they share a common protector. Families from every walk of life pledge fealty by lighting bone-lanterns at city shrines, each lantern representing an ancestor who supports the living cause. Thanorim leaders often consult these Crypt-Voices before embarking on expansion or forging alliances, ensuring Catithryn’s quiet will remains central. Though critics claim the Throne imposes a rigid societal order, even they respect its role in uniting a once-enslaved people. Most Thanorim look to the Throne as a living promise that their freedoms, purchased with such cost, will endure.The Eldritch Council
Acting as the Thanorim’s intellectual and arcane core, the Eldritch Council is a collective of bone-scholars, necromancers, and ward-crafters. They interpret cryptic phenomena, oversee training for new necromancers, and maintain the labyrinthine Deeproot Necropoleis. Council members continually refine necromantic techniques, ensuring that every newly animated guardian or reawakened ancestor adheres to the Dominion’s fundamental purpose: protection rather than mindless aggression. Their debates often shape the course of technological progress among the Thanorim—determining everything from ward-lantern designs to whether soul-binding can be shared with outside allies. While the Throne of the Entombed King offers overarching guidance, the Eldritch Council handles the intricate details of day-to-day governance, from magical regulations to crypt expansions. Admission to the Council is a lengthy process, requiring recommendations from at least two master necromancers and a demonstration of ethical necromantic craftsmanship. Their scholarship ensures the Thanorim never lose sight of the delicate balance between revering the dead and using necromancy as a cornerstone of survival. Many Council mages spend their later years developing new wards or unraveling the darkest corners of lost bunkers, ever seeking knowledge to shield their people from looming threats.The Cloak of Spiders
This covert intelligence network operates in silence, using illusions, stealth, and subterfuge to guard Thanorim territories from internal and external sabotage. Although rarely seen by everyday citizens, the Cloak of Spiders is vital in rooting out betrayals and potential Beastkin infiltration. Those who join train to slip into crypt shadows and attune themselves to necromantic signals, making them near-invisible in gloom-laden corridors. Their missions range from uncovering corrupt Council members dabbling in forbidden rites, to intercepting foreign spies who might exploit the Thanorim’s necromantic secrets. Each operative wears a distinctive web-embroidered cloak and answers only to select Eldritch Councilors and, through them, Catithryn’s unspoken directives. In times of crisis, they form the kingdom’s first line of defense, unraveling threats before open warfare ignites. Because they operate in secrecy, rumors of hidden watchers and spectral webs run rampant in border towns, ensuring even potential traitors think twice about disloyalty. While some Thanorim fear the Cloak of Spiders’ power, most respect its vigilance, believing it a necessary layer of security in a land where undead magic must remain carefully controlled.The Order of the Crimson Cloak
Dedicated to protecting every inch of Thanorim territory, the Crimson Cloaks are chivalric knights bound by oath to defend crypts, shrines, and border settlements against any hostile force. They draw their name from the vibrant red surcoats they wear over plate armor, each cloak embroidered with bone motifs or stylized skull halos. Training focuses not only on martial prowess but also on necromantic synergy, teaching them to channel the wards that animate lesser undead into surging battlefield strength. Many recruits come from families who lost loved ones to Beastkin raids, fueling a fierce devotion that continues long after their mortal bodies would have tired. In peacetime, Crimson Cloaks roam the Dominion as peacekeepers, ensuring local disputes don’t escalate into dangerous feuds. They’re known to hold midnight rituals in the fields before battle, calling on ancestral guardians to march alongside them when dawn breaks. Their combination of religious fervor and disciplined necromancy has turned the Crimson Cloaks into living symbols of the Dominion’s fortitude. While some outsiders see them as ominous zealots, no Thanorim questions their unwavering commitment to home and heritage.The Scaled Cloaks
These rangers and scouts roam beyond the Dominion’s heavily patrolled cities, scouring crypt-forests and rugged highlands for emerging threats. Their hallmark is a hooded cloak patterned with reptilian scales—crafted from specialized leather or chitin—to grant silent movement and near-invisibility at twilight. A well-tuned synergy with necromantic wards lets them sense subtle shifts in underworld energy, signaling intruders or aggressive spirits. Often traveling in small teams, Scaled Cloaks chart new passageways in the Deeproot Necropoleis, retrieving lost relics or subduing rogue undead that might destabilize crucial wards. While the Crimson Cloaks confront open battle, the Scaled Cloaks excel at infiltration, precise strikes, and gathering intelligence. Recruits endure grueling training to handle crypt-lanterns in absolute darkness, bypass spectral guardians, and slip unnoticed through overgrown catacombs. Though they rarely interact with large city populations, their findings shape everything from the Eldritch Council’s emergency protocols to how crypt expansions are designed. In many ways, their quiet vigilance helps the Thanorim sleep easier, confident that watchers prowl the far edges of every forest and ravine.Knights of the Jade Cloak
Where the Crimson Cloaks enforce the Dominion’s front lines, the Jade Cloak knights serve as guardians of historical continuity, patrolling tombs, mausoleums, and the ancient forests intertwined with crypt entrances. They believe deeply that each newly interred body nourishes the Dominion’s spiritual wards, so any desecration threatens not just the dead but the living as well. Their armor, tinted with a gentle jade hue, often features carvings of leaves or vines merging with skeletal motifs, symbolizing harmony between life and death. In times of war, they can be formidable warriors, summoning centuries of martial tradition shaped by vigil over the necropoleis. However, their main role lies in preservation: ensuring ancestral relics remain intact, genealogical obelisks remain unbroken, and crypt expansions are sanctified. When not guarding ancient sites, these knights mentor younger Thanorim in necromantic history, passing on lessons gleaned from centuries of vigil over revered tombs. The Jade Cloak’s presence offers a blend of solemn duty and gentle scholarship, reminding everyone that while undead guardians are formidable, reverence for the fallen sustains the Dominion’s very heart. Their emphasis on respecting the dead fosters unity across the species, uniting families under a shared devotion to the past and its ever-watchful spirits.Beauty Ideals
Among the Thanorim, beauty is intimately tied to calm poise and a sense of devotion to their necromantic heritage. Physical features that suggest fortitude—like refined bone structure, gracefully tapered limbs, and smooth angles reminiscent of crypt architecture—appeal to many. Marks of experience, such as subtle scars or faint necromantic etchings on the skin, inspire admiration rather than unease, as they hint at unwavering dedication to defending their people. Jewelry or attire that references bone motifs—like circlets carved from fragments of polished vertebrae—adds a serene elegance, framing the wearer’s face in a way that invokes reverence for their shared ancestry. Expressions that reflect stoicism and steady resolve often catch a potential partner’s attention; outward confidence mixed with understated courtesy resonates powerfully in Thanorim culture. They also value spiritual alignment: someone who diligently tends shrines or upholds vigil in the Deeproot Necropoleis radiates a quiet appeal that outshines mere physical traits. In day-to-day life, a thoughtful presence—seen in the way one carries themselves amid crypt-fog or addresses an ancestor’s memory—can be just as captivating as classical beauty. Ultimately, Thanorim find true splendor in the seamless union of humility, silent confidence, and steadfast loyalty to the ideals that bind their people to Catithryn Starborn’s eternal watch.
Gender Ideals
In Thanorim society, many traditional enclaves hold that women should train as the primary assault warriors—overseeing raids, patrols, and frontline campaigns. Young girls showing aptitude for battle are singled out early, often receiving focused lessons in necromantic warfare and swordsmanship. By contrast, men are expected to serve as domestic or community guardians, dedicating themselves to tending wards, raising children, and preserving crypt-shrines. This is not considered a lesser role; rather, men’s steady presence and spiritual caretaking are seen as pivotal to sustaining the Thanorim’s ancestral ties. Breaking these expectations can cause social tension: a woman declining her battlefield duties risks suspicion, and a man insisting on a martial career might face family censure. However, Thanorim do recognize a third space known as the Gather—an often-perilous assignment for anyone who cannot or will not follow the traditional paths. Gathers retrieve bodies from battlefields and see them interred, facing dangers that few envy yet earning a grim respect. Although strict, these customs have softened in certain regions, where clan leaders value personal skill and devotion more than gendered tradition. Even so, many Thanorim families believe that by preserving these distinct roles—warrior, caregiver, or Gather—they uphold the careful balance that guards both their living settlements and the spirits who dwell just beneath the surface.
Courtship Ideals
Courtship among the Thanorim begins in a setting that feels more pragmatic than romantic, with both families carefully assessing how well each prospective partner’s strengths align with the household’s necromantic responsibilities. Traditionally, a young woman destined for frontline warfare is expected to find a mate who demonstrates the steady composure needed for ward upkeep and family defense. Early encounters are rarely private; watchful elders and discreet necromancers might be present, silently gauging each suitor’s devotion to family shrines and crypt duties. Small gestures—like sharing a battered gauntlet or a prized relic—symbolize the couple’s willingness to shoulder each other’s burdens and guard one another’s lineage. Many parents value these ritual exchanges more than any flowery declarations, believing genuine loyalty speaks louder than flirtation. As the bond deepens, the pair attend necromantic ceremonies side by side, reciting short prayers that emphasize unity between living partners and the ancestral spirits who guide them. Once the elders deem the union beneficial, a solemn vow is made in the presence of revered bones or quiet catacombs, binding the couple’s future to the Dominion’s unending cycle of life and service. Should any doubt linger, families typically halt proceedings rather than risk forging an inharmonious match, convinced that a balanced partnership upholds not just personal happiness, but the sacred network that sustains their entire people.
Relationship Ideals
In Thanorim society, marriages and partnerships prioritize an unwavering commitment to household harmony and ancestral duties. Many couples align with the traditional warrior-guardian dynamic—one partner excels in outward defense, the other in safeguarding the family crypt and wards—yet flexibility exists as families increasingly value the unique talents each partner brings. Through every season of life, they strive to maintain open communication and mutual accountability, aware that a breakdown in either role can endanger not just their union but the community’s spiritual balance. Public disputes are discouraged; if tensions flare, discreet mediation by necromancers or elders ensures conflicts don’t undermine broader responsibilities. Neither partner is seen as subservient, since both share a solemn vow to shield present and future generations from the darkness beyond their borders. Among most Thanorim enclaves, the memory of old enslavement fuels a collective understanding that mutual trust and cooperation strengthen everyone’s resolve. As a result, genuine devotion—demonstrated by small, everyday gestures or steadfast support in crisis—carries more weight than fleeting passions. Whether through traditional roles or modern adaptations, couples seek to embody a resilient unity, mindful that their private bond echoes through the crypt halls and impacts the very wards that watch over their loved ones.
Major Language Groups and Dialects
Within the Thanorim homeland, nearly all speakers grow up with a shared linguistic foundation, each dialect or specialized tongue reflecting a different facet of their necromantic heritage. High Speech—often just called Thanoric—resonates in formal ceremonies and solemn occasions, where its drawn-out syllables and measured pacing evoke reverence for centuries of ancestral tradition. Children learn this register through clan rituals and midnight vigils, then hone their diction under the watchful guidance of elders. By contrast, Low Thanoric flows in daily conversation at markets or tavern gatherings. It carries the same core vocabulary as High Speech, but spoken with faster, more direct phrases, highlighting humor or practical matters. Although less ritualistic, Low Thanoric still bears echoes of the Dominion’s necromantic undercurrents in the way key words—like “bone,” “grave,” or “spirit”—hold deeper historical weight.
Despite the proud preference for Thanoric dialects, many Thanorim are taught Scarren from a young age, if only to understand the old language of their onetime Beastkin oppressors. Few speak Scarren willingly among themselves—its guttural tone and harsh connotations still stir uneasy memories of captivity. Yet to know Scarren is to guard against hidden threats on the border, to decipher coded messages, and to ensure the Dominion remains vigilant. Once individuals muster enough courage to handle its abrasive timbre and jarring phonetics, they find it invaluable for negotiations and scouting missions, especially when traveling across the Beastkin frontier or intercepting possible raiders.
Common stands as another essential tongue, bridging the Dominion to the wider world. Caravans bearing foreign goods, or refugees seeking sanctuary, typically speak Common first, so it has become a unifying medium for trade and diplomacy. Though some staunch traditionalists argue that too much reliance on outside languages diminishes the majesty of Thanoric culture, most appreciate Common’s practicality. In bustling strongholds, you’ll often hear the crisp intonation of Common interspersed with Low Thanoric, especially in lively market exchanges or diplomatic parley. As the Dominion’s reputation grows, so too does the influence of this shared speech, encouraging even reserved enclaves to practice enough Common for polite greetings and barter.
Beneath both public and private discourse lies Mortec—or “Bone-Speak”—the cryptic language of necromantic ritual. It manifests less in everyday conversation and more in spine-tingling invocations or advanced ward-crafting. Learners describe Mortec’s cadences as faintly echoing, as though multiple voices resonate behind each word. Scrolls etched in Mortec glyphs are safeguarded by the Eldritch Council, accessible only to trusted scholars and their most diligent apprentices. While many Thanorim accept that Mortec sustains the intricate frameworks of the Deeproot Necropoleis, few outside necromancer circles fully grasp it. Still, its presence lingers in moments of crisis—softly chanted when calling a fallen hero’s spirit, or woven into the final lines of a funeral prayer.
All these languages form the home region tapestry that binds the Thanorim across social tiers. Even those who rarely travel understand the necessity of bridging tongues—High and Low Thanoric link families, Common opens trade routes, Scarren wards off old foes, and Mortec anchors the Dominion’s mysterious power. For a people once enslaved and then reborn through necromancy, every dialect speaks to an aspect of their collective journey: the solemn vow they’ve made to protect their land, their devotion to ancestral memory, and their enduring hope for a future unshackled by fear.
Common Etiquette Rules
In everyday interactions, Thanorim custom discourages loud or ostentatious greetings. A simple bow of the head—one hand pressed over the chest where an emblem of the Entombed King often rests—is enough for a cordial “hello.” In formal circles, they hold the bow a moment longer, lowering their gaze to show respect for the other’s lineage and ancestral guardians. Swift, polite small talk might follow, though the Thanorim rarely dwell on frivolous chatter. They prefer a measured pace in conversation, pausing to allow silent reflection before adding their own viewpoints.
When addressing someone of higher station, it’s polite to murmur a brief necromantic blessing—just a phrase that acknowledges the watcher-spirits who guide the Dominion. Among friends and family, forearm clasps or soft-spoken inquiries about each other’s recent rites and crypt expansions are far more common. Thanorim expect visitors to maintain a similarly subdued manner. Raised voices or abrupt gestures can be taken as a subtle breach of courtesy, especially inside sacred spaces like necromantic shrines or family crypts.
Arguing or interrupting abruptly is looked upon with caution. The Thanorim try to keep their voices calm and moderate, even when emotions run high. Pauses in discussion—where individuals might “listen” for ancestral input—are not unusual. If an argument becomes unavoidable, speakers reference elders’ wisdom or the memory of long-departed knights to lend gravity to their stance. In the same vein, shaming someone’s family relic or crypt upkeep is deeply insulting. Such personal mockery could cast doubt on the target’s spiritual purity, a slight the Thanorim do not take lightly.
Hospitality follows a similar pattern of quiet respect. Offering a guest bone-steeped tea or a place at the hearth near the crypt-lantern stands as a gesture of goodwill. Accepting that hospitality without flinching at necromantic energies earns trust; showing discomfort too visibly might offend the host. When crossing a threshold into someone’s home, it’s courteous to utter a quick blessing over the wards. Observing these small rituals demonstrates both humility and a willingness to honor the spirits lingering in the walls. This approach, combining gentle introspection with steady politeness, allows Thanorim communities to function smoothly under the watchful presence of the living and the dead.
Common Dress Code
From an early age, Thanorim children see garments that blend functional layers with an undercurrent of ritual significance. Simple everyday tunics often feature a muted palette—charcoal grays, black, or off-white—traced with small stitched motifs evoking crypt arches or skull halos. These subtle designs remind everyone, even during mundane tasks, of their ties to the Entombed King’s enduring watch. For added warmth in colder regions, citizens wear shawls or cloaks pinned with a tiny bone icon, usually shaped like a stylized crown or skull fragment. Light metallic accents—such as riveted clasps or arm bracers—are common, hinting at a readiness to protect hearth and heritage without straying into excessive ornamentation.
Those with higher status or martial responsibilities, however, adopt a more imposing look. Knights layer themselves in broad-shouldered armor plates etched with swirling lines that converge on a bone crown motif. Over these pieces drape half-tattered capes in deep crimson or stained bone-white, embroidered with ghostly skull outlines. Some keep bone talismans or small reliquary boxes affixed to their belts—a constant statement of devotion to fallen ancestors. Even in these grand designs, gauntlets or masks often maintain the Dominion’s austere character: the lines are crisp, the ornamentation severe, and the overall effect one of measured power rather than gaudy pomp. Whether dressed for household chores or a solemn necromantic ceremony, Thanorim garments consistently balance function, grim elegance, and an ever-present hint of reverence for the spirits beneath their feet.
Culture and Cultural Heritage
The Thanorim build their identity around a belief that death is not a termination but a gateway into a new kind of service. From childhood, they learn how ancestors dwell in the catacombs beneath their feet—vaults called the Deeproot Necropoleis—ever-ready to protect or advise the living. This closeness to the dead shapes not only solemn rites but daily tasks: children might descend with parents to place small offerings on a grandmother’s crypt, or consult an elder’s spirit before forging a sword. Because each generation expects to join that same cycle eventually, families feel a profound interconnectedness, honoring those who have gone before as if they still walk among them.
Such devotion spills into the broader landscape of Thanorim towns and architecture. Buildings often rise above necromantic conduits, bridging the mortal realm with the labyrinths below. The design leans toward carved bone motifs, smooth arches reminiscent of crypt entrances, and stone plazas that commemorate heroic ancestors. Yet the atmosphere is not perpetually somber. Many Thanorim find comfort in bright dyes, laughter, and lively market banter, all balanced by the hush of death. Children grow up surrounded by these dualities: vibrant festivals in the open air, and quiet, reflective evenings in candlelit crypt passages.
Ancestral lineages anchor the Thanorim sense of self. Most households maintain a carved obelisk detailing feats and magical accomplishments, a genealogical record that helps younger members discover their calling—be it necromantic craft, martial prowess, or artisanal skill. Creative forms of expression, like eerie wind-chime music or half-living sculptures adorned with bone filigree, pay homage to both life and death in equal measure. By weaving together fresh innovation and ancestral memory, the Thanorim continually craft a culture that never forgets what once was, yet remains open to new possibilities.
Common Customs, Traditions and Rituals
Among the most treasured communal practices are the Midnight Vigils, held monthly under the new moon. Entire neighborhoods dim their lanterns and gather at crypt entrances, where gentle chanting invites ancestral spirits to roam briefly among the living. Children are encouraged to attend, learning early that their departed kin are near—never truly lost. Twice a year, more elaborate Bone Lantern Festivals fill the streets with lanterns fashioned from polished fragments of bone, each light symbolizing a loved one in the Deeproot Necropoleis. These festivals end with lanterns drifting on water or glowing softly in the breeze, a poignant reminder of the delicate bridge between life and afterlife.
Birth and coming-of-age ceremonies also reflect Thanorim values. Infants receive midnight blessings called the Midnight Welcoming, marking their bond to the Dominion’s wards within hours of entering the world. As they near adulthood, youths undertake the Vigil of Flickering Wards, facing lingering spirits by lantern-light in a test of mettle and humility. Anyone who perseveres is recognized with the Binding of Shadow and Bone, reciting solemn vows to uphold the Dominion’s necromantic heritage. Whether by bone-chimes that ring in the night or quiet toasts of spiced tea, each milestone in a Thanorim life underscores the unbroken cycle linking newborns with the spirits of ancestors.
Funerals and memorials often revolve around grand communal crypt systems. Families bring coffins to the Deeproot Necropoleis within a day of death, aided by robed officiants who chant incantations that tether the departing soul. Many relatives periodically descend underground, using specially crafted lanterns to converse with or summon ancestral spirits for counsel. Seasonal rites like the Obsidian Sunset, honoring knights and statesmen who have passed in recent months, remind the living that those who shaped the Dominion remain close at hand. The result is a culture that sees no shame in referencing or even collaborating with the dead, weaving these customs into every aspect of community life.
Common Taboos
The first and most severe taboo involves oathbreaking, particularly when vows are made under the Entombed King’s silent authority. Betraying a sworn promise—like deserting one’s post or revealing necromantic secrets—incurs swift and unforgiving condemnation. Oathbreakers are barred from communal catacombs and public shrines, symbolically denying them the protective network of the Dominion. Equally offensive is any disrespect aimed at the Entombed King’s image or name. Insulting the silent monarch, or defacing her iconography, is said to unravel the delicate balance holding the living and dead together.
A second category of prohibition centers on desecrating ancestral remains. Tinkering with or stealing bones from crypts is a grave offense, disrupting the wards that safeguard entire cities. Since every corpse could potentially become a guardian spirit, burning a body without official clearance is also frowned upon, unless extreme circumstances demand it. Even lesser infractions—like failing to properly tend a family shrine—can raise suspicions of spiritual negligence, a mild form of betrayal in Thanorim society.
Lastly, Thanorim necromancy stands on strict ethical ground: certain practices—particularly the use of holy or “celestial” magic that might cleanse or destroy undead—are considered incompatible with the Dominion’s fundamental pacts. Anyone trying to wield purifying energies within Ashenborn borders quickly learns that such powers are neither welcomed nor tolerated. Sharing necromantic lore with outsiders without permission from the Eldritch Council is likewise taboo, stemming from a fear that misused knowledge could turn the very wards meant to protect them into instruments of ruin. Across the board, these taboos unite Thanorim communities under a shared understanding that loyalty, respect for the dead, and reverence for established necromantic norms preserve the fragile harmony they’ve fought so hard to achieve.
History
When the ancient bunkers finally opened, the Thanorim emerged into a world they barely recognized. They had lived generations in dim corridors, clinging to fragments of knowledge about the old Earth that once flared under a dying sun. Outside, the Beastkin held absolute sway, hunting stray humans as if they were fresh game waiting to be harvested. The Thanorim were unaccustomed to unfiltered skies or the sight of dense forests that stretched toward misty horizons. Their capture by Beastkin bands replaced the safety of bunker walls with cold iron chains. Many Beastkin viewed them simply as a new resource, malleable and appetizing if handled correctly. Yet a flicker of determined spirit held fast among the Thanorim, refusing to yield to despair. In those first months, they learned that surviving above ground would demand a fortitude they had never before tested.
Among the enslaved Thanorim stood a woman who died far too often for the Beastkin’s comfort. Each time her body failed under torture or exhaustion, it rose again days later, weaker in limb yet fiercer in will. She was Catithryn Starborn, though few knew her name in those early days of shackles. The Beastkin inflicted cruelties reserved for monsters, believing repeated death would eventually still her heart. Instead, dawn after dawn, she revived, her eyes burning with silent rage. Whispers spread through the slave pits that some mysterious power lingered about her, an echo of all who had perished unjustly. Overseers grew uneasy, labeling her presence a wicked anomaly, but they lacked the resolve to finish the job with finality. Her stubborn defiance was a beacon, lighting the way for an impossible rebellion.
In darkness, the first covert uprising began: Catithryn rallied a handful of weary Thanorim who yearned for any shred of hope. Though their “weapons” were little more than stolen farm tools, they struck a Beastkin worksite at midnight, catching the slavers off guard. The victory was small yet resonated far across other camps, breaking the myth of Beastkin invincibility. As more pockets of revolt erupted, Catithryn’s uncanny ability to reawaken from death became their secret catalyst. Slavers found themselves haunted by rumors of a woman who could not be permanently slain, fueling dread in their ranks. Each freed group joined the swelling wave of resistance, forging alliances bound by desperation and righteous fury. The Beastkin responded with terrifying crackdowns, but those who had tasted freedom refused to be driven into submission. Step by step, the Thanorim wrested control from their captors, forging a new identity as liberated souls.
After the dust of battle settled, the Thanorim discovered something profound lurking around Catithryn. Fallen friends sometimes stirred at her slightest presence, lifted to a half-life that chained them not to endless torment but to a shared will. At first, they recoiled at reanimated corpses, fearing the monstrous unknown. Catithryn, however, recognized it as a gateway—death might not sever a person from serving and protecting their kin. The notion of harnessing necromancy was terrifying, yet it offered a means to ensure that every sacrifice could continue defending future generations. Through trial and error, the Thanorim learned to shape these energies, weaving them gently around corpses so that the spirits remained loyal. This practice, once taboo, became a lifeline for a people too small in number to defeat the Beastkin by conventional means. What started as a grim necessity blossomed into a core principle: death should not silence devotion to the living.
Other human survivors from bunkers caught word of Catithryn’s unkillable presence and gathered to her cause. Over time, small refugee bands found the Thanorim less savage and more principled, abiding by a code that demanded loyalty and protected the weakest among them. Catithryn oversaw the creation of makeshift crypts, ensuring every new corpse had a place of respect rather than being left to rot in fields. Those crypts evolved into sprawling catacombs where reawakened allies guarded the corridors, ready to defend the living at a moment’s call. As they gained territory, the Thanorim scouted ruins, uncovering the partial history of humanity’s flight underground—artifacts from a once-great civilization that had known the final days of Earth. Their technology was crude in comparison to legends of the old world, yet necromantic insights fueled a different kind of progress. The Beastkin assaults wavered against a unified force that mingled living flesh and spectral guardians. Through perseverance and a willingness to embrace the unthinkable, the Thanorim carved out a fragile dominion for themselves.
In time, a formal leadership arose among the Thanorim, though it bore no resemblance to typical monarchies. Catithryn remained the central figure, a silent force bridging the gap between the living and the departed. She rarely spoke, relying instead on her presence—and the undead who rallied at her side—to convey her ironclad will. Newly freed humans pledged their oaths, vowing never again to submit to chains, forging a solemn bond with Catithryn’s uncanny power. Towns grew over repurposed strongholds, each with an underground nexus devoted to the crypt-lantern wards that channeled necromantic energy. Knights armed themselves with swords etched in bone script, while artisans developed contraptions powered by pliant undead labor. Despite the eerie hush that often settled over these enclaves, laughter still rang through courtyards, and children played among bone-carved effigies. The Thanorim had found a way to transform slavery’s memory into resilience.
Oppression continued in pockets where Beastkin warlords refused to accept defeat, leading to periodic skirmishes across borderlands. Yet the Thanorim held firm, buttressed by the knowledge that every fallen comrade could return in spectral form. Over the decades, these undead guardians became integrated into daily life, assisting with menial tasks or patrolling city walls under watchful crypt-lights. Blacksmiths honed steel that resonated with necromancy, forging armor that needed no living squire to polish it. Scholars devised wards that maintained the uneasy balance between respecting the dead and harnessing their protective might. When wandering humans from other bunkers arrived, they found a society that, while somber, offered safety and mutual purpose. Freed from Beastkin exploitation, communities flourished around grim catacombs that symbolized defiance rather than despair. Catithryn’s unwavering calm guided them, reminding all that the line between life and death could be shaped for collective defense.
Over time, the Thanorim referred to themselves as Ashenborn, embracing a name that hinted at their origins of dust and rebirth. Outsiders who stumbled upon their strongholds often felt unsettled by the mingling of day-to-day activity with necromantic echoes. Yet the Ashenborn found dignity in acknowledging mortality, weaving it seamlessly into social structures and traditions. Each city rose atop underground tombs, forging an unbreakable link between ancestors and the living. Midnight vigils turned into communal gatherings where families openly conversed with departed relatives summoned by quiet incantations. Markets bustled with trade, offering bone-talisman souvenirs or crypt-lanterns that warded off restless spirits. Although wariness lingered, the Beastkin threat waned significantly, allowing the Ashenborn to refine their cultural identity without constant warfare. For a while, peace reigned in this land that had once been drenched in the blood of captives.
Even so, not all accepted necromancy with open hearts. Dissent arose among some who felt uneasy about raising their ancestors to guard city walls. A handful of breakaway sects formed, denouncing the undead as unnatural meddling in the cycle of life. These voices of opposition found no persecution, only gentle admonishment and unwavering attempts to educate them about the necessity of necromantic wards. Catithryn presided silently over these debates, offering no direct commentary, yet her presence seemed to nudge the Dominion toward tolerance rather than tyranny. Rituals like the Midnight Welcoming for newborns bound families closely, bridging generational gaps with solemn blessings. Over centuries, these structured rites became cornerstones of Ashenborn life, ensuring that each soul found a recognized place among the living or the departed. Gradually, skepticism mellowed into cautious acceptance, forging a society that valued unity above ideological disputes.
As decades rolled on, the Dominion cemented itself with a network of labyrinthine catacombs called the Deeproot Necropoleis. Engineers harnessed subtle gravitational magic to carve new tunnels deep into the earth, creating sanctuaries for the remains of countless generations. The deeper they ventured, the more they discovered pockets of ancient bunkers, hollow spaces that reminded them of their earliest captivity. Rather than fear these dormant relics, the Ashenborn saw them as mirrors of how far they had come. Scholars documented inscriptions left behind by their bunker-dwelling ancestors, gleaning faint echoes of a world that had once orbited a dying sun. Each crypt vault contributed to an evolving mosaic of lore, bridging the centuries with the newly awakened arts of bonecraft and soul-binding. If the Beastkin had once used these people as stock, the new Dominion used knowledge, forging an empire built on devotion to Catithryn’s hush. By acknowledging the scars of the past, the Thanorim found renewed resolve to prevent future enslavement.
Tension occasionally simmered at the Dominion’s edges, where Beastkin remnants and suspicious foreign powers tested the Ashenborn’s defenses. Undaunted, squads of necromantic knights repelled raids, each warrior’s armor etched with wards that harmonized living movement with the vigilance of ancestral spirits. Ashenborn villages fortified themselves with gates that whispered warnings at the approach of intruders, the swirling essence of centuries echoing in the steel. Merchants arrived from other lands, only to marvel at hearing stories of the Hollow King who had once been a slave but now presided over an entire realm without uttering a single decree. While some dismissed these tales as myths, those who walked the necropolis halls felt her presence in the hush that settled over every candlelit archway. Diplomacy expanded slowly, for the Ashenborn guarded their necromantic secrets like precious lifeblood. Still, an undercurrent of curiosity drew in outsiders, and sporadic alliances were forged with societies who respected the Ashenborn’s complex synergy of life and death. Every negotiation hammered home the same truth: that a people once imprisoned had transformed themselves into something unbreakable.
Generations of Thanorim children grew up hearing bedtime tales of Catithryn, the unstoppable queen who had been undone by the whip a hundred times yet rose each dawn. They studied genealogical obelisks in city squares, where lines of ancestry stretched back to bunkers, Beastkin brutality, and the forging of a new path. Parents reminded them that each name chiseled into those stones had left a legacy, either through living achievements or vigilant service in un-death. Grave lamps hung on every street corner, casting a gentle glow that encouraged reflection rather than fear. Poetry and music in the Dominion often wrestled with the concept of mortality, weaving haunting melodies that resonated in crypt corridors. Yet daily existence remained vibrant: farmers tended black-soil fields, craftsmen shaped bone filigree into art, and children laughed in communal squares where reanimated caretakers watched over them. The hush of necromancy did not stifle joy; it underscored a reverence for the fleeting breath that fed their determination. Thus, the Dominion pressed on, forging each new era with the memory of shackles still burned into their collective soul.
Over centuries, the Dominion’s ethos reached a refined state of acceptance. Death was not an ending but another station in a grand tapestry woven by Catithryn’s quiet vow to protect her people. The monarchy was no conventional lineage; each new leader simply pledged fealty to Catithryn’s silent watch, committing to the code that wove necromancy into daily life. Ritual gatherings blended solemn prayers to the dead with community feasting, merging sorrow and gratitude into an unshakable unity. Some leaders focused on architectural wonders, erecting bone-cathedral spires that shimmered with ghostlight. Others championed trade or cultural exchange, hoping to show outsiders that the Ashenborn’s necromantic discipline came from heartbreak, not mere curiosity. Throughout it all, the one constant was Catithryn, motionless on her ebon throne, beckoning neither life nor final slumber. Her presence reminded them that every downfall, every humiliation, every betrayal could be transformed into a shield against further domination.
Strife would occasionally erupt—rival undead lords or zealots wishing to cleanse the “blasphemous” arts sometimes threatened the Dominion. Each time, the Ashenborn closed ranks, calling forth lines of spectral knights and forging alliances with communities likewise persecuted for their beliefs. One such alliance with Quietus necromancers expanded their understanding of soul-binding, ensuring unstoppable lines of defense stood at every border. Rumors emerged that Catithryn stirred whenever the Dominion faced dire peril, her aura intensifying to rally the wards. Though no one could confirm these sightings, the faith in her watchful vigilance fortified them each time black clouds of war hovered. Victory or stalemate, the Dominion never ceded its lands, proving that repeated adversity only deepened their communal will. Outsiders gradually learned not to provoke a realm where the living and the dead marched side by side. Over centuries, the Thanorim gained a reputation for loyalty, subdued grandeur, and the unblinking guardianship of an unending queen.
Today, the Thanorim live with a quiet determination as they usher in new generations far removed from the days of Beastkin enslavement. Catithryn remains enthroned in silent vigil, an unspoken promise that no chain will ever bind their children again. Necromantic wards protect villages and cities alike, forging a society where ancestors guide, neighbors support, and each newborn stands within a lineage of unbroken devotion. Farms thrive on black soil sustained by centuries of arcane upkeep, while crypt entrances are visited like any neighborly porch, full of shared history. Craftsmen innovate new ways to harness ghostlight and reanimate labor, freeing more families to study the arts or explore far-off regions. Each midnight vigil across the Dominion reaffirms the same vow: life and death serve one another in an unending dance. In that dance, the Thanorim stand united, shaped by a legacy that turned victims into protectors, forging an empire that endures beneath the hush of its silent queen. Their story began in chains, but it continues on in unison, bolstered by the knowledge that they have forged hope from every fallen bone.
Historical Figures
Catithryn Starborn remains the bedrock of the Thanorim identity—once a slave who died countless times yet rose each morning to defy her captors. Her quiet refusal to stay dead ignited the earliest rebellions, culminating in the creation of a realm where no one need kneel in chains again. Even after establishing the Dominion, she receded into silence, her decaying form enthroned but never decaying fully, an unspoken axis around which the Thanorim revolve. Many credit her with forging the initial necromantic pacts that bind every generation’s remains to a protective network, ensuring that even in death, service continues.
Second in renown is Regent Asdiva Weavergrey, infamous for orchestrating the subjugation of Marottes—sentient constructs who once held a relic granting them free will. Weavergrey saw in them both a resource and a threat, swiftly securing their loyalty under necromantic bindings. Though lauded by her contemporaries for increasing the Dominion’s workforce, later historians regard her reign as a moral crucible that exposed the costs of absolute power. Eventually abdicating, she faded from public view, and rumors persist that she descended into questionable experiments in a hidden tower.
Menara Everhilt Grandveil, Commander of the Jade Cloak knights, also occupies a revered pedestal. Renowned for fusing standard battlefield chivalry with specialized necromantic tactics, she once led a small force against a “ghost-purifier” army and triumphed despite being outnumbered. Insisting on a regulated approach to necromancy, she shaped an ethos that sees undead wards not as mere tools, but as sacred guardians. Generations of Jade Cloak knights credit her for formalizing their training regimens and for demonstrating that discipline and humility can stand side by side with death-fueled might.
Common Myths and Legends
Many Thanorim children grow up hearing whispered tales of the Crimson Rider, an enigmatic knight in blood-red armor who roams moonlit battlefields. He confronts any warrior found straying from their sworn duties, challenging them to silent duels that end with either a nod of approval or a single, debilitating strike. Despite the hush that surrounds his origins, most believe this specter acts on behalf of Catithryn Starborn herself, ensuring no sworn oath to the Dominion goes unheeded. Similar folklore surrounds the Bonewood Blade—a legendary greatsword rumored to merge living tree roots and an honorable knight’s remains. If one of pure devotion finds its hidden shrine and frees the blade, they are said to become a warrior-druid, bridging the Dominion’s crypt-laden forests and the hush of undeath.
Likewise, the Veiled Herald stands out as a figure that appears in moments of critical decision—be it on the brink of war or at a turning point in a young necromancer’s studies. Cloaked in black gauze, the Herald speaks in riddles that foretell either triumph or ruin, yet never forces a path upon those who listen. Some see the Herald as a facet of the Entombed King’s silent will, others suspect an ancient necromancer who found immortality in crypt-shadows. Regardless, dismissing the Herald’s words is considered perilous; even brash knights pause when confronted with a puzzle that might unearth buried truths.
Beyond these cautionary figures, stories like the Requiem of Blood Leaves and Bonefire Pass evoke the uneasy boundary between life and death. Leaves turning crimson each autumn are said to mirror the regrets of restless spirits, while Bonefire Pass warns that meddling in undead energy can unleash dormant horrors. Young Thanorim who first hear these legends learn that no terrain, no matter how ordinary it seems, is free of ancestral echoes. All these myths reinforce a unified message: reverence for one’s vows and one’s dead remains the surest way to avoid a haunting fate.
Interspecies Relations and Assumptions
Historically, the Thanorim have endured hostile relationships with Beastkin, dating back to the days of enslavement. Though the Dominion’s borders are now firmly established, older Thanorim harbor deep-seated mistrust, recalling generational trauma. Some enclaves engage in cautious trade with individual Beastkin tribes—exchanging necromantic artifacts for raw materials—but tensions persist. Diplomatic strides tend to falter whenever rumors of old raids resurface or unscrupulous Beastkin factions probe for weaknesses. Still, pockets of younger Thanorim see potential alliances if both sides can move beyond ancestral grudges.
Interactions with other human groups often start with curiosity. While many surface-dwelling peoples find Thanorim necromancy unsettling, alliances sometimes form based on mutual need or fascination with the Dominion’s intricate wards. Diplomats from foreign lands who venture into Thanorim territory usually receive measured hospitality—provided they show respect for crypt customs and the Entombed King’s silent authority. The Dominion’s Eldritch Council carefully decides how much necromantic lore, if any, can be shared with outsiders, aiming to prevent misapplication or infiltration.
In contrast, undead-leaning societies such as Quietus or other enclaves that also revere ancestral spirits frequently become genuine allies. Shared values around the afterlife and respectful dialogue about controlling restless spirits often pave the way for joint initiatives—like exchange programs for necromancers or combined defenses against zealots who would “cleanse” the dead. When these alliances hold, the Thanorim find acceptance and reciprocal growth, reinforcing their fundamental ethos: forging a realm where death is both shield and companion, free from the fear of future enslavement by friend or foe.
Genetic Ancestor(s)
Scientific Name
Homo thanorim
Lifespan
Roughly 80 years.
Average Height
Often 5–6 feet.
Average Weight
Typically 150–200 lbs.
Average Length
Varies significantly
Average Physique
Thanorim appear as robust, human-like figures generally standing between five and six feet tall with physiques shaped by practical labors and periodic martial duties, creating a blend of lean builds among those handling daily ward upkeep and sturdier frames among frontline warriors; their skin often carries a faint pallor, reflecting the close resonance with necromantic energies, while subtle lines or ritual etchings can accentuate limbs or torsos, hinting at ancestral bonds rather than purely decorative aesthetics.
Geographic Distribution
Related Ethnicities
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