Stirlander

Descended from the Asoborn tribe of old, Stirlanders are a short, thickset people, much like their Ostermark neighbours. Dark of hair and suspicious of strangers, their bloodline has remained one of the most pure within the Empire. Some folk point out this is because they’re inbred peasants, but, as the Stirland Nobility are keen to point out, even the most baseborn soul can trace their line back over many generations. Famed for their superstition, Stirlanders are a cautious lot. Also said to be overly rural and backward, Stirlanders are often mocked by the rest of the Empire for their slow pace of life and speech.[1a] For their part, the folk of Stirland are proud of their preservation of ancient customs, and of their “long view” of life. At their best, Stirlanders are calm, thoughtful, and practised at taking their time about things. Fond of long, ribald tales, the local tavern is the heart of any Stirlander community. Here people gather to hear their favourite stories, the local gossip, and occasionally news from the outside world. Racing is also a firm favourite of the Stirland people—though not the traditional foot or horseback racing liked by the rest of the Empire.
As most communities are based about arable farmlands, geese, cows, pigs, and ratting dogs are frequently raced against one another in local competitions. Usually held on a festival or market day, the winning beast is often awarded “ribbons and reprieve,” meaning it will never be destined for the table. At their worst, Stirlanders are isolationist, suspicious, and highly conservative. Stirlanders, however, see themselves as simply keeping traditions: “They’ve worked in the past, so no sense in changing now,” as Stirlanders like to say. They find it hard to make friends—often taking years to accept newcomers within their communities. Most of the Empire regards them as savages, simply for their custom of drinking hot ale.
There are many other odd customs; for example, when strangers approach a village in the Stirhügels, children will throw pig droppings at them in the belief that this will drive away evil spirits. They believe that a person hit with tossed pig excrement is especially protected. In the villages near Sylvania, houses and windows are lined with an especially pungent strain of local garlic to ward of what are euphemistically called “the Count’s Men.” When someone vanishes, locals swear that the fault lies with old garlic, not that the folk belief itself is wrong. Stirlanders within the central territories of the province are known for their dislike of Halflings, for they still resent the 1500-year-old decision that tore away their best farmlands and gave them to “the Shorties.” Although this resentment rarely breaks out in violence, the belief that Halflings are thieves at heart is stronger here than in any other part of the Empire.
In Wördern there is a tradition, when celebrating a child’s birthday, to make a straw-man the size of a Halfling and stuff it with candies and treats he “stole” from the children. Then it is hung from a branch and the blind folded children whack at it with sticks until it breaks and “gives them back” their candy. Locals deny that drunks have occasionally instead tied up a real Halfling. The people of Sylvania are a dour lot, rarely smiling and not fond of talking to strangers. Doors are kept bolted and people regularly make a sign against the Evil Eye when something unsettling happens.
They are also fatalistic, accepting that life has a dismal end in store for them. So resigned to their “destiny” are the Stirlanders that few ever leave the province—much to the relief of their neighbours. Visitors often find it hard to get round the rustic accent and exceedingly slow speech of Stirlanders, for they often repeat questions, and usually spend a good deal of time pondering before answering. Mummers often use a mocking form of the Stirland accent when representing a slow or rural character in a play

Related Organizations

• The Empire of Man