Nan

The Nan, the non-existent, continues to live within the shadow of greatness. They are a people without great renown, as many others, nor do they hold any strong allies in these difficult times. Yet, where they lack, their devotion more than covers. Breaking away from the rest of their people was only the beginning. They have sailed from their island home, leaving the estates and titles inherited, all done in search of the simplest truths which have purposefully been forgotten. Where others have sold themselves, the Nan remain pure. The cost of power, that accursed bargaining chip which the Trel and the Kjurvog use, forged from the most precious things a man holds, can never be worth the cost. Others have embraced a life of deception, entangling themselves within the intricate webs of their intrigue. Yet, the schemer's fate remains the same, no matter how many safeguards are placed upon themselves. It is only a matter of time before they are strangled in their own webs. The Nan refute both those fates.

Where those who chose to remain with the Otan have failed, the Nan vow to rise. Wealth is meaningless to them, as are the noble titles that others lay down their lives for. It is the dream that remains, the thing which summons them across the dark waters. Though they stand in the shadow of greatness, they proudly hold the last remaining light of a time before the Heavens fell; the fire burning forever more. They retain the four ancient truths, the word, the sword, the contemptuous eye, and the bile that spews from frothing mouths. It was conviction within the simple blade that raised mankind from the ground, and the selfsame cause that presses these people forward.

Laughing in the face of dark gods and the Outsiders that lay claim to the north, trapped in their endless cycle of death against the undying, the Nan refuse to be taken in. As time bends, assailed by things that should never be, as the ancients are dredged from her embrace, the Nan remain firmly grounded within simple truth.