Northern Tolesh

Of the Northern Realms of Tolesh
A description fit for travelers and lore-keepers alike

Far in the West of the world lies Tolesh, and of Tolesh the North is broadest and most various. There the lands bend from ice to reed-choked shore, from thunderous mountains to wide green seas of grass. Men of the East speak of Northern Tolesh as a rough-hewn triangle of earth, its base set along the Galene Sea, its long sides rising northward until they meet in cold and shadow beneath the auroras of Akultok.

What follows is the common lore of sages, merchants, riders, and mariners who have walked these ways and watched these horizons.

I. Akultok and the Wall of the North

Beyond the last farms and forested uplands, beyond the final towers of man and orc, the world rises into the Ingens Mountains, a long, grey wall that bars the far North.

On their northern face, the Ingens stand against a bitter wind. Snow lies upon their shoulders for most of the year, and the rock falls steeply into the white plains of Akultok. There the land is wide and bare, a realm of hard earth and harder ice. In summer the snow loosens and cold rivers run in braided streams across the tundra; in winter all is locked and still beneath iron skies.

Here dwell the orcish folk of Akuluzg, about the deep bay they name Tholfatoft, and here also roam the great beasts of the elder world: horned shaggy cattle, tusked titans, and prowling hunters whose tracks no man measures lightly. Forests in Akultok are few and stunted, clinging in sheltered hollows, for the wind rules there more than the leaf.

On the southern face of the Ingens the mood is gentler, though still stern. Tall black pines and thick conifers clothe the slopes. Valleys open down toward the south, cupping cold lakes and stony meadows. Many streams spring there and hurry away, young tributaries that in time will be gathered into a single mighty flow.

Thus the Ingens stand between ice and grass: a high grey hinge upon which the seasons swing.

II. The Great Plains of the Riddari

South of the Ingens the land falls away into the Riddari, a vast country of plains and rolling hills that men of the South call simply “the Horse-lands”. To ride out upon the Riddari is to lose all measures but sky, wind, and the slow curve of the earth.

In the heart of the plains the ground is open and far-sighted. Tall grasses sway in long waves, green and gold by turns, and in the evening the sun draws fire from a thousand slender blades. Herds move there like living weather: wild horses in uncounted numbers, lean and swift; horned cattle; wool-heavy bison; shaggy, slate-coated beasts not seen in gentler lands. Following them come the wolves and lions and the great striped cats of the steppe, each hunting the weak and the unwary.

Rivers from the mountains have, in elder ages, strewn this country with sand and gravel, and then carved again through their own gifts. Thus the Riddari holds many hidden shapes: long ridges and shallow ravines, broad terraces, and sudden cut-banks where the soil falls away to show its bones. From afar it seems level, but the wise rider learns its folds and hollows as another might learn city streets.

The folk of the Riddari say that no man truly owns such land: it is too wide, too old, and too free. They dwell in riding-camps, scattered townships, and rare cities where river-crossings or hill-spurs make a place that can be held.

III. The Mountains of Ortus and the Eastern Shoulder

From the midst of the Ingens a younger branch of stone runs southward: these are the Ortus Mountains, which men of the east also name the Eastern Shoulder of Tolesh. They do not climb so high as the Ingens, nor are their peaks so cruel, but they are long and steadfast, running like a spine between plain and sea.

On the western side of Ortus the land falls quickly into the Riddari—first in forested foothills, where oaks and beeches cling to broken slopes, and then in wide, river-fed plains. Many a stream is born in the shadow of Ortus and hastens west to join the greater waters.

On the eastern side the descent is slower and gentler. The heights settle into long ridges and green valleys. This is the beginning of the Fairdowns, where the soil is deep and dark, and the rain comes kindly more often than not. In the hollows lie rich fields and orchards; on the slopes stand villages and watch-towers that look out toward the eastern sea.

The Ortus range shapes wind and weather. Storms rolling in from the Satara Ocean break upon its eaves; some cast their rain upon the Fairdowns, while others leap the ridge and pour their strength out over the plains. Thus do the mountains decide the fortunes of farmers and herdsmen who may never set foot on their stony paths.

IV. The Great River Palasar

All the flowing waters of Northern Tolesh bear, in the end, toward one lord, and that is the Palasar, whom men often call simply the River.

Born from many snow-fed streams in the Ingens, the Palasar gathers strength as it runs south. Lakes are strung along its early course like cold blue gems, and whole forests drink from its banks. In its middle reaches the river becomes a thing of breadth as well as length: not a narrow road of water, but a wide, slow-moving realm in its own right, with back-channels and oxbow lakes, reed-marshes, and islands thick with willow.

Along one long stretch, the Palasar serves as the eastern boundary of the Riddari, a shining, ever-moving wall between the horse-plains and the more settled lands beyond. Ferries and bridges are few, for its currents are strong and its temper uncertain, yet where the crossings are, there grow towns and cities; for all roads of trade and travel must sooner or later reckon with the River.

At last, as it nears the southern shore, the Palasar narrows and quickens again, shouldered between rising ground. There, at Point Royal, it leaps down to the Galene Sea in three mighty falls, throwing up spray that can be seen for leagues when the sun is right. Cliffs of old stone stand about these cataracts, and the roar of the water is a constant thunder beneath which all other sounds are small.

V. The Southern Shores and the Galene Sea

Along the lower edge of Northern Tolesh spreads the Galene Sea, a great inland water that many tongues name differently: the Gentle, the Shimmering Lady, the Lover, and more besides. To most who dwell upon its rim, it is simply the Sea, for few have need to sail farther.

The Galene is broad and usually mild of mood, though when storms gather, they do so with little warning and great fury. Its coasts are varied: some are straight and sandy, others broken into bays and inlets; elsewhere the land rises into bluffs from which one may look far out over the glittering plain of water.

To the south-east, where the land slopes down from the eastern highlands, lie the Moors. There the rivers that run from forest and hill grow slow and troubled, spreading into black-water channels and wide fens of reed and tussock. In places the earth becomes deceptive, a skin of grass over sucking mud. Pines stand upon the firmer patches, and mist creeps low even in summer dawns.

Many tales are told of the Moors, of lights that wander where no lantern should be, and of travelers who stray from the known causeways and do not return. Yet for all that, men endure there, for the soils are rich, the fishing is good, and the hidden channels of the coast give shelter to trade both lawful and otherwise.

VI. The Red Hills and the Western Arm

Westward, as Northern Tolesh leans toward the farther seas, the land rises once more in long lines of stone and soil. These are the Red Hills, set along the eastern slopes of the great western range men often call the Left Arm of Tolesh.

In the north, the Red Hills lie in the rain-shadow of higher peaks. They are dry and open, cloaked in hard grasses and thorn-bush, with bare, rust-colored stone showing through like old scars. Here the wind carries dust and the sky seems very broad, and only the tough-rooted and sharp-eyed endure.

Further south, the mood of the hills softens. Forests of oak, ash, and maple spring up in folds and along streams. Small, bright rivers thread their way down toward the lower country. Still further, beyond where most men of the North have reason to roam, the land grows warmer and wetter, shading into deep green jungles and steamy vales.

These hills are the ancient home of the halfling folk, who have tunneled and terraced and tended them from time beyond the memory of men. In the central Red Hills there are scattered, peaceful communities; in the far south, sterner tribal kindreds; and in the high cliffs of the southern reaches, whole villages set like swallows’ nests upon the rock. Gnomes, too, are said to favor the north-central hills, dwelling in hidden workshops and curious burrows.

The Red Hills are not only fair to look upon; they are also rich beneath the skin. Veins of ore and seams of stone lie there, and more than one realm has cast a longing eye in that direction, measuring the worth of the hills against the will of those who claim them.

VII. The Fairdowns and the Eastern Sea-Lands

East of the Ortus, the land tilts gently toward the Satara Ocean in a wide, generous slope known as the Fairdowns.

Here the world seems kindly made. The winters are less cruel, the summers long and green. Rain comes often enough to keep the fields fat and the orchards heavy with fruit, but not so often as to drown them. The soil is dark and deep, making easy work for the plough. Valleys open like cupped hands between low, rounded ridges, and in each such hollow there is room for a village, a farm, or a small town.

To the east, the Fairdowns meet the sea in a coast of many moods. There are places where high bluffs stand over the waves like watchful giants; there are places where the land steps down in broad salt-marshes; and there are inlets that carve deep into the shore, making harbors where fleets can rest at ease. Upon these harbors stand cities famed for their shipwrights and sailors, and from their quays goods and tales pass between Tolesh and far lands across the water.

It is said that there are few places in all the world where life is as gentle, or the earth so ready to reward the hand that works it, as in the Fairdowns. Perhaps for that very reason, men there are seldom free from the shadow of other men’s desire.

VIII. A Sense of the Whole

Thus, if one were to look upon Northern Tolesh from the high airs where only eagles and spirits fly, they would see:

• In the north, the white waste of Akultok and the dark spine of the Ingens, standing guard against the polar winds.
• Below them, the immeasurable Riddari, grass-ocean of riders and herds, with the Palasar shining like a vast, slow serpent along its eastern edge.
• To the west, the rust and green of the Red Hills, leaning upon the greater western mountains.
• To the east, the long green fall of the Fairdowns, flowing toward the bright line of the Satara shore.
• And along the south, the gleam of the Galene Sea, with the Moors half-drowned at its margin and the thunder of the Palasar’s final plunge raising mist against the sky.

Such is Northern Tolesh as the learned describe it and as travelers of many lands have seen it: a country wide and manifold, where ice and forest, hill and river, plain and sea each have their appointed place, and where the deeds of men must always reckon with the long will of the land.