Okse Dominion

Beneath brooding, iron-grey skies, the Okse Dominion sprawls - a land where the wind howls through craggy mountain passes and the scent of wet stone and pine needles clings to every breath. Rain and snow fall in endless succession, drumming against wood, slate, and thatched rooftops and soaking the moss-laden earth until boots squelch with every step. In the shadow of jagged peaks, forests stand dense and ancient, their trunks carved with runes and bone charms, while icy rivers gnaw through the land, binding villages in a frigid, unyielding embrace. Here, the world is never silent: the lowing of oxen, the distant crack of axes, and the mournful call of the taglharpe echo through the mist, a ceaseless hymn to endurance and survival.

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  The Okse Dominon is a hardy land of towering peaks, impenetrable temperate rainforests, and deciduous woodlands, grassy highlands and sheer cliffs. This variety of climates and rough terain here makes for an incredibly defensive and strong nation of a population hardened by generations of systematic brutality.   Under skies burdened with brooding clouds, the sun's warmth seldom graces the soil. Instead, rain and snow more often than not, dance their ceaseless waltz across this expanse.   Amongst this unforgiving terrain, craggy mountains pierce the skies, steep hills challenge the bravest souls, tundral plains stretch to what feels like eternity, and icy rivers etch their veins into the soil of dense forests, binding coastal towns, cities, and villages alike in a frigid embrace.  

History

In the turbulent shadows of the Uxifirar family, the Okse Dominion was forged from the rift that cleaved kin from kin. Ralof Gullhyrndr, would forge a new nation under his rule. The golden-horned son, ambitious and fearsome, with a strong, defense-focused and tactical mind, and already in charge of the Vetruxi Kingdom’s armies, would brand Errack's face with the flag of the Okse Dominion. To ensure the might of his father’s land would not falter, Ralof set his eyes on fortifying the nation and developing an industrial machine that could arm his followers. The Oksemun would not rely on importing ores nor equipment.   Meanwhile, Ralof's younger brother, Asgrim, a man deeply attuned to the pulse of their father Torrad Uxifadir’s realm, would birth the Krass Dominion from the soil’s womb. In the wake of the schism, he would ensure that they tilled the land and clung fiercely to the threads of independent culture and the unyielding mindset of the Vetruxi Kingdom. Bound by blood, yet split by divergent ambitions, the two brothers navigated a tumultuous partnership. Each harnessed their unique strengths to pursue their individual aspirations, transforming their brotherhood into a strategic alliance that would carve two distinct destinies.   In a solemn tradition, the Oksmun, like their Krassian kin, would elect their once leader to bear the esteemed title of 'Kóngr Eilífr'. It was a pact born of shared reverence for Torrad, the 'Ox-Father', the mighty Bulwark of the Vetruxi Kingdom. They swore to forever eschew the titles of Kóngr or Dróttning, for their people continued to hold Torrad in the highest regard. He remained their father figure, revered leader, and a figure of living legend, uniting both Dominions under his enduring legacy.  

People

Oksmun Culture

The Oksmun are shaped by hardship and ritual, their faces weathered by biting winds and the glare of snowfields. Each scar is a story, each tattoo a ward against ancestral curses. At night, the air thickens with the sweet, smoky tang of burning tallow and blood, as bone charms rattle on a warrior’s armor and the ground is stained with sacrificial offerings. Children learn to wield a blade before they can read, their lullabies sung in the guttural tongue of old gods. To survive here is to submit to the land’s demands: to kneel in the mud, to bleed in the frost, to rise again and again, unbroken. This isn't a culture for the faint of heart; it's a way of life where combat and defense reign supreme, etching warrior traditions deep into their souls.
  Displays of bone charms, inscribed with ancient runes, adorn their battle-worn armor, weaving protective wards and ancestral blessings into their attire. Their existence is an intricate dance with the relentless metal of war. In this realm of stone and steel, the Dominion's imports are scarce, their self-sufficiency a testament to their indomitable spirit and their enduring alliance with the Krassians.

Submit, and serve

In the shadow of the Halvmane Mountains, a Thrall wipes oil from his brow, the sweet, burnt-charcoal reek clinging to his skin. Above, overseers chant the old prayers, bone charms rattling in the wind. Each swing of the pickaxe sends shudders through his arms, each breath a struggle against the stifling, tar-thick air. He dreams of snow and silence, but the Dominion’s hunger is endless, and the oil must flow.

In the unrelenting churn of Oksmun society, power is an ever-shifting maelstrom, a ceaseless cycle of dominance and submission. Power in the Dominion is measured in scars and submission. Thralls and Ambátts toil in the choking blackness of oil pits and the stifling heat of forges, their backs branded with the sigils of their masters, sweat and blood mingling with the reek of crude oil and iron. The clang of chains and the crack of overseers’ whips are as constant as the wind. Sometimes, a Thrall is unshackled - raised to Leysingi, neither free nor truly kin, their eyes haunted by the memory of the mines. Hope here is a blade’s edge: sharp, but always threatening to cut.
 

by Generated using Midjourney (edited)

Hardy attire

Oksmun garb is armor against the world - a patchwork of coarse wool, animal pelts, and oil-darkened leather, heavy with the scent of smoke and wet fur. Cloaks hang thick and sodden, stitched with crimson thread and ivory beads, tokens of clan and conquest. Even in the dim glow of lamplight, every sleeve and hem is a testament to survival, each stain a memory of storm or battle.  

Resonance within the dominion

Few Resonants emerge from the crucible of the Okse Dominion, yet those born with arcane gifts often embrace either Muld or Svar sorcery. A shadowy legacy of Muld sorcerers, the architects of a bygone era, has bestowed upon the Oksmun a profound mastery of structural engineering. Consequently, an unrelenting decree has reigned for decades: all who show affinity for Muld sorcery must be registered with the Dominion's Jarl in charge of monitoring such individuals, or, face a merciless death.   In contrast, Svar sorcery weaves its fiery threads with more liberty, their wielders laboring in the blistering crucibles of industry or amongst the royal blacksmiths, their powers less regulated, but no less potent.