N. Tolesh Sociopolitical

In the days now spoken of as the Present Age, Northern Tolesh is less a single land than a great loom on which many peoples weave their fortunes in thread and steel. Kingdom presses upon kingdom, and between them ride free clans, trade-companies, and wandering folk who bow more readily to custom than to any distant crown.

The Kvassi Empire

Foremost in power and in pride stands the Kvassi Empire. Its banners fly over a long sweep of country from the western grass-plains to the misted shores of the inner sea. The Empire is not a single kingdom, but a great house built of many smaller halls: realms, marches, and lordships bound together by oath, coin, and the memory of long struggle.

At the heart of this house lies the Kingdom of Kvass, cradle of the Empire. There, among rolling fields and wooded hills, the Imperial court sits in white-stoned splendor, and from its Alabaster Garden the Emperor’s word runs out along road and river. Kvass is rich in grain, horses, and craft, and its nobles are as skilled in marriage and bargain as in swordplay. To most common folk in the Empire, “Kvass” and “the Empire” are spoken almost as one.

Around this heart are set other kingdoms, each proud in its own right:

• Corasine guards the Empire’s eastern front, peering warily across the bogs and fens toward its ancient rival. Its marshes are haunted by border-riders and hidden watch-towers, for the peace there is uneasy at best.
• Easler watches the northern forests and hill-country, a land of hardy folk and stern lords, famed for axe and bow. Its allegiance to the throne is old, but its people remember well their own kings and their own colors.
• Southern Riddari and other border-kingdoms stretch along the plains, where the horse-clans and farmsteads mingle, and Imperial law must bend a little to the wind of the steppe.
• To the west and south lie gentler realms such as Ellakallas, the Gentle Shores, where merchants, sailors, and fisherfolk look more to harbors and rivers than to banners and bloodlines.

Each kingdom keeps its local customs, laws, and councils, yet all are bound to the Imperial throne by oaths sworn and battles shared. The Empire’s strength lies less in iron chains than in a web of loyalties: noble houses intermarried across borders, city charters granted by Imperial writ, and the promise—sometimes kept, sometimes not—that within the peace of the Empire, trade will flow and fields will be left unburnt.

Yet unity is seldom without strain. Old rivalries between the peoples who first raised Kvass—the Goance of the Old World and the Goldmane settlers who once contended with them—still echo in song and insult. Some lords remember that the Empire was forged as much by a queen’s cunning as by any general’s sword.

The Kingdom of Bine

Eastward, beyond marsh and moor, lies Bine, old in honor and quick to anger. Bine is a single, mighty kingdom, not an empire of parts, and its folk are proud of that distinction. Its rich farmlands and gentle downs are counted by many as the fairest of Northern Tolesh, and its long coasts are lined with harbors, shipyards, and fortified headlands.

The Binish are famed sailors, bold on storm and calm alike. Their ships roam far, bearing grain, timber, and crafted goods, and wherever a Kvassi factor sets up a counting-house, sooner or later a Binish trader will appear to bargain him down. In the taverns of port-towns, disputes between the two are common enough to be almost a sport.

Bine remembers the days before Kvass rose to power and does not easily bend the knee in thought or speech. Publicly, its kings speak of “rightful influence” and “guardianship of the eastern lands.” In plainer terms, Bine would see its power stretch westward, over marsh and river, until no banner of Kvass flew along the eastern shoulder of the mountains.

Thus, between Empire and Kingdom lies a long frontier of unease. Raids and skirmishes flicker like brush-fires along the Moors and marshlands: never quite open war, never quite peace. Captains and marsh-lords on both sides gain glory (and sometimes ruin) in these shadowed conflicts, and tales of lost patrols and ghostly lights in the bogs are told in both tongues.

The Horse-Kingdoms of the Riddari

Between the high western mountains and the lands of Kvass and Bine spreads the great plain called the Riddari, sea of grass and wind. Here ride the horse-people, whose lives are tied to their herds as surely as shipmen to their keels.

In former ages, the Riddari were divided among many wandering clans and war-bands, whose feuds shook the plains like thunder. In these latter days, the clans are drawn about a few great banners, and chief among them is the Kingdom of Riddari itself, ruled by the Twin Horse-Queens, Allie Morvi and Mare Dumur. Under their watch, the scattered clans have been coaxed or compelled into a loose unity, though clan-pride and old grievances still simmer beneath the surface.

The horse-kingdoms hold a curious place between Empire and freedom. Some Riddari lords have sworn oaths to Kvass, trading grazing-rights and river-crossings for coin, iron, and the Emperor’s acknowledgment of their titles. Others keep their distance, guarding the high steppe and the old ways, welcoming Imperial caravans with courtesy but not with obedience.

Where the plains run down toward Imperial farm-country, there are many who owe fealty twice: to a distant Emperor by law, and to a nearby clan-chief by necessity. In those borderlands, politics is written not only in decrees but in horse-gifts, marriages, and the silent language of the clenched fist over the heart.

The Northern Marches and Akultok

Far to the north, where the winds bite and winter never wholly loosens its grip, lies Akultok, the Ice-Land. There the forests thin and the plains harden, and the folk are few but fierce.

In the midst of that hard country stand the holdings of the orcish realm called Akuluzg, the Ice-Nation. Its towns, set upon old stone foundations whose first builders are half-forgotten, are ringed by palisades and watch-fires. The orcs of Akuluzg are no longer the wandering raiders of older tales, though such bands still ride their frontiers. They keep councils, strike treaties, and send embassies when it pleases them.

Between Akuluzg and the southern realms there is a restless balance. In lean years, war-bands may ride south in search of plunder or pasture; in years of plenty, traders come instead, bringing furs, ivory, and metals in exchange for grain, cloth, and worked steel. Border strongholds in Easler and other northern marches face northward with wary eyes, knowing that a welcome guest and a feared raider may wear the same fur cloak and carry the same axe.

The giants and other great folk of the deep north keep largely to themselves, though tales of them are told in every hall from Kvass to Bine. Wise rulers remember that the north is not empty, but watching.

Lesser Realms and Free Folk

Beyond the might of Empire and Kingdom, many smaller powers shape the affairs of Northern Tolesh.

In the Red Hills to the south and west dwell halfling clans and small hill-realms, old as many of the great kingdoms but less boastful. Their holds cling to slopes and ridges, and their banners seldom fly far from home; yet their caravans thread the land’s great roads, and their merchant-princes have a quiet weight in distant courts. Gnomes and other small folk share these lands, lending craft and cunning to hill and town alike.

In the mountains—Ingens and Ortus and lesser chains—dwarven holds delve deep. They care little for surface borders, marking instead the lines of ore and stone beneath. To Emperors and Kings, dwarves are at once valued allies and troublesome neighbors: their forges supply arms and tools of great worth, but they bargain hard and yield little, and they obey no lord who does not dwell under the same rock.

Along the forest-margins and in river-vales live many free communities of humans, elves, and others who owe scant allegiance to distant thrones. Some send token tribute when tax-collectors come; some shut their gates and trust to bow and hedge. Yet even these wild folk are drawn into the wider web of the world, for no village can stand wholly apart from roads, rivers, and the yearly turn of trade.

Over all of this, like a net that cannot be easily seen yet is always felt, lie the powers of guild and temple. Merchant-guilds count coin in Kvassi cities, Binish ports, and Riddari markets alike, and their ledgers often bind lords more tightly than oaths. Temples and shrines uphold the honor of the gods and lend blessing—or warning—to the deeds of rulers. A wise king minds his priests and his treasurers as carefully as his captains.

Thus is Northern Tolesh in these days: a land of many crowns and more ambitions, where empires rise from kingdoms, kingdoms contend for rivers and roads, and between them all ride and wander those who owe little to any but their own people and their own promises. What it shall become in the years to come, no sage can yet say, for in a land so closely bound by oaths and rivalries, even a handful of new deeds may turn the course of many lives.