Castillians
The Last of the Imperials
Castillia refers to the dominion of the Redcastle monarchy, sprawling across the misnamed “Isle of Man” and extending southward to the brink of the Forgotten Wastes. Though a peninsula at the northern helm of Kalladonia, Castillia is perceived as an island not by sea, but by siege; it is encapsulated on nearly every frontier by treacherous mountain ranges, and where the peaks give way to coast, the freezing waters teem with forgotten life that deters even the most driven invader. The only points of ingress into Castillia are two narrow land-bridges, natural chokepoints that cross the vast lakes severing it from mainland Kalladonia. These junctures are fortified with fanatical vigilance, for it is no exaggeration to say that they alone are the reason mankind still persists in the north. It is widely believed that all other civilizations in Kalladonia have fallen. The last known communication with an external polity occurred decades prior, and now the southern wilds offer only silence, save for the occasional refugee tribe or lone vagabond drawn northward in desperation. The Castillians are a people forged in siege, their character defined by attrition. They are the standard-bearers of the fallen Old Empire of Man, the last stewards of its great knowledge and ambition; and in that role, they hold fast to their heritage with fervent pride. Many among them believe it is their divine mandate to shepherd what remains of humanity and its companion races—an often arrogant and dangerously misguided conviction. They echo not only the glory of the Old Empire, but its corruption; within their cities, behind redbrick walls, the wicked thrive in plain sight, cloaked in piety and respectability. Though the Gods no longer answer the cries of man, religion has flourished in the centuries of darkness that followed the fall. In their bleakest hour, the cries of man grew loudest. The Castillians now adhere almost universally to the Orthodoxy of Seven, a zealous religion built around seven divine aspects representing the so-called virtues of mankind. Worship of older gods is punishable by fire and iron, for the Prognosticii - an inquisitorial order under the authority of the Red Banner in Avalon - are tasked with rooting out heresy with brutal efficiency. The Prognosticii are equally ruthless toward magic. Among Castillians, magic is seen as a dark herald of the world's undoing. During the Golden Age, magic was all but forgotten - viewed as myth, fairy tale. Its re-emergence occurred in concert with the return of monstrous beings and horrors from beyond the veil. Though no formal link has ever been proven, this synchronicity has fueled widespread superstition and fear. Unorthodox magical practice is persecuted with fanatic intensity in Castillia, where spellcasters are hunted as if they themselves were monsters. The only condoned to practice magick are the Prognosticii themselves, who are said to be able to wield the very fury of the Gods. In spirit and deed, the Castillians are among the darkest hearts left in Acarus. They have endured a perpetual crusade—one stretching across generations—against the horrors that press unceasingly at their gates. Weekly, nightly, they repel monstrosities born of other realms. They have buried kin beyond count and glimpsed truths best left unspoken. Such relentless exposure to darkness has wrought a transformation; even the land beneath their feet seems twisted, as though the soil itself has absorbed the taint of so much blood and sorrow. Yet none can deny their mettle. Castillians possess a tenacity unlike any other; a grim, inexhaustible resolve. They have stared into the abyss and endured. In the eyes of outsiders, when catastrophe looms and all hope falters, it is the Castillian hand that one hopes to find at their shoulder—resolute, unyielding, and all too willing to bleed.
Not all Castillians have witnessed the worst horrors firsthand. The borderlands bear the brunt of the nightmare -besieged by monsters, torn by nightraids, pillaged by brigands and mad wayfarers. But all Castillians know of the Forgotten Wastes. Even in the relative safety of Redcastle, the tales are etched into every street corner and whispered through every alleyway. It is likely that any Castillian character has lost someone - if not to the claw or fang of some unspeakable horror, then to the consequences of their existence. Farmsteads vanish overnight. Groves of healing herbs are swallowed by unnatural growths. Each loss on the fringe bleeds inward, worsening the conditions in the heartland. Food becomes scarce. Disease festers. The people suffer. As a result, Castillians are often either hardened or broken. Some become cautious, observant, ever wary—a breed of pragmatic wardens who trust only in preparation. Others unravel, becoming unstable, bitter, or paranoiac. Trust is rare; society has whittled away community and camaraderie like rot through old wood. Each man and woman must be honed to a bladepoint, or else be cast into the gutters among the vast slumbound refugee class. And yet... in each of them lingers a smothered ember - an irrevocable yearning for a better world. Many cling to the belief that under the Imperial banner, that world might yet be forged. Whether delusion or destiny, this hope stokes the flames of Castillian manifest destiny, and shapes even the most jaded soul.
The Castillian people are the aggregate remains of countless old-world civilizations that once stretched across the breadth of Kalladonia. As such, their physical features are diverse from province to province. Yet there exist common traits that mark the average Castillian across the peninsula. Their complexion tends toward darker hues than their Northern kin of Jotunfir, shaped by the temperate sun of Castillia’s swamps, hills, and highlands. Skin tones range from light beige to olive and deep amber. Brown eyes dominate, typically set deep and beady, lending a watchful, calculating gaze. Hair is most often dark - black or deep brown being prevalent - though the nobility and wealthier classes may exhibit rare recessive traits: golden blondes, coppery reds, and lighter shades indicative of ancestral mingling with other peoples. In terms of build, Castillians are of average height and frame. They are neither as tall nor as broad as the Jotunfir Northmen, but their bodies are lean, wiry, and weather-tested. Their martial tradition does not emphasize brute strength but rather endurance, precision, and tactical efficacy. Intellect, not might, is the Castillian’s favored weapon. A typical Castillian might resemble a Roman of ancient Terra - stoic, sun-bronzed, and sharp of countenance - but their deep lineage and multiracial inheritance allow for wide variation, particularly among the border provinces.
Castillia refers to the dominion of the Redcastle monarchy, sprawling across the misnamed “Isle of Man” and extending southward to the brink of the Forgotten Wastes. Though a peninsula at the northern helm of Kalladonia, Castillia is perceived as an island not by sea, but by siege; it is encapsulated on nearly every frontier by treacherous mountain ranges, and where the peaks give way to coast, the freezing waters teem with forgotten life that deters even the most driven invader. The only points of ingress into Castillia are two narrow land-bridges, natural chokepoints that cross the vast lakes severing it from mainland Kalladonia. These junctures are fortified with fanatical vigilance, for it is no exaggeration to say that they alone are the reason mankind still persists in the north. It is widely believed that all other civilizations in Kalladonia have fallen. The last known communication with an external polity occurred decades prior, and now the southern wilds offer only silence, save for the occasional refugee tribe or lone vagabond drawn northward in desperation. The Castillians are a people forged in siege, their character defined by attrition. They are the standard-bearers of the fallen Old Empire of Man, the last stewards of its great knowledge and ambition; and in that role, they hold fast to their heritage with fervent pride. Many among them believe it is their divine mandate to shepherd what remains of humanity and its companion races—an often arrogant and dangerously misguided conviction. They echo not only the glory of the Old Empire, but its corruption; within their cities, behind redbrick walls, the wicked thrive in plain sight, cloaked in piety and respectability. Though the Gods no longer answer the cries of man, religion has flourished in the centuries of darkness that followed the fall. In their bleakest hour, the cries of man grew loudest. The Castillians now adhere almost universally to the Orthodoxy of Seven, a zealous religion built around seven divine aspects representing the so-called virtues of mankind. Worship of older gods is punishable by fire and iron, for the Prognosticii - an inquisitorial order under the authority of the Red Banner in Avalon - are tasked with rooting out heresy with brutal efficiency. The Prognosticii are equally ruthless toward magic. Among Castillians, magic is seen as a dark herald of the world's undoing. During the Golden Age, magic was all but forgotten - viewed as myth, fairy tale. Its re-emergence occurred in concert with the return of monstrous beings and horrors from beyond the veil. Though no formal link has ever been proven, this synchronicity has fueled widespread superstition and fear. Unorthodox magical practice is persecuted with fanatic intensity in Castillia, where spellcasters are hunted as if they themselves were monsters. The only condoned to practice magick are the Prognosticii themselves, who are said to be able to wield the very fury of the Gods. In spirit and deed, the Castillians are among the darkest hearts left in Acarus. They have endured a perpetual crusade—one stretching across generations—against the horrors that press unceasingly at their gates. Weekly, nightly, they repel monstrosities born of other realms. They have buried kin beyond count and glimpsed truths best left unspoken. Such relentless exposure to darkness has wrought a transformation; even the land beneath their feet seems twisted, as though the soil itself has absorbed the taint of so much blood and sorrow. Yet none can deny their mettle. Castillians possess a tenacity unlike any other; a grim, inexhaustible resolve. They have stared into the abyss and endured. In the eyes of outsiders, when catastrophe looms and all hope falters, it is the Castillian hand that one hopes to find at their shoulder—resolute, unyielding, and all too willing to bleed.
Roleplay Advice: Castillian Characters
Not all Castillians have witnessed the worst horrors firsthand. The borderlands bear the brunt of the nightmare -besieged by monsters, torn by nightraids, pillaged by brigands and mad wayfarers. But all Castillians know of the Forgotten Wastes. Even in the relative safety of Redcastle, the tales are etched into every street corner and whispered through every alleyway. It is likely that any Castillian character has lost someone - if not to the claw or fang of some unspeakable horror, then to the consequences of their existence. Farmsteads vanish overnight. Groves of healing herbs are swallowed by unnatural growths. Each loss on the fringe bleeds inward, worsening the conditions in the heartland. Food becomes scarce. Disease festers. The people suffer. As a result, Castillians are often either hardened or broken. Some become cautious, observant, ever wary—a breed of pragmatic wardens who trust only in preparation. Others unravel, becoming unstable, bitter, or paranoiac. Trust is rare; society has whittled away community and camaraderie like rot through old wood. Each man and woman must be honed to a bladepoint, or else be cast into the gutters among the vast slumbound refugee class. And yet... in each of them lingers a smothered ember - an irrevocable yearning for a better world. Many cling to the belief that under the Imperial banner, that world might yet be forged. Whether delusion or destiny, this hope stokes the flames of Castillian manifest destiny, and shapes even the most jaded soul.
Physical Features
The Castillian people are the aggregate remains of countless old-world civilizations that once stretched across the breadth of Kalladonia. As such, their physical features are diverse from province to province. Yet there exist common traits that mark the average Castillian across the peninsula. Their complexion tends toward darker hues than their Northern kin of Jotunfir, shaped by the temperate sun of Castillia’s swamps, hills, and highlands. Skin tones range from light beige to olive and deep amber. Brown eyes dominate, typically set deep and beady, lending a watchful, calculating gaze. Hair is most often dark - black or deep brown being prevalent - though the nobility and wealthier classes may exhibit rare recessive traits: golden blondes, coppery reds, and lighter shades indicative of ancestral mingling with other peoples. In terms of build, Castillians are of average height and frame. They are neither as tall nor as broad as the Jotunfir Northmen, but their bodies are lean, wiry, and weather-tested. Their martial tradition does not emphasize brute strength but rather endurance, precision, and tactical efficacy. Intellect, not might, is the Castillian’s favored weapon. A typical Castillian might resemble a Roman of ancient Terra - stoic, sun-bronzed, and sharp of countenance - but their deep lineage and multiracial inheritance allow for wide variation, particularly among the border provinces.
Race Navigation
Old-World Allies
CastilliansDwarves
Elves
Jotunfir
NorthmenHalf-Jotuns
Vessos
The VesseseThe Places Between
BeastkinOutlanders
In Mankind we Trust.
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