The Republic of Auclan

Filed under realms and territories: Auclan records. Source documents. Donated in person from one Rhess Vinterbell (alias: Reev). Late spring.   I’ve chosen to log this account not because it is clean, but because it is honest. It does not romanticize the wilds, nor sanitize the people. It stumbles, but it stumbles in the right direction. Toward truth. Toward memory.   And for that, I am deeply, impossibly grateful.

— Arch Scholar Aneas

“You want to write a guide? Then write it. But get it right.”

— Elder Fira Three-Bone

A Guide for the Well-Intentioned Outsider

Entry One: So Where Did All This Come From?

She didn’t pause her weaving. Just kept looping bark-thread and talking like it was a spell. It kind of was.

“First came beastfolk. Tired. Hunted. Done. So they stopped running and started growing. Pennemore woods. Before the Cataclysm had even cooled.”

She shrugged. Like that explained the whole republic. It kind of did.

Entry Two: Who Lives Here Now?

It’s not a clean census. No ledgers, no rosters. Just neighbors. But I’ve met enough of them to sketch this:

  Goblins – Brilliant. Feral. Prone to starting three fires to solve one problem.   Kobolds – Loyal, fast-talking, build everything from scratch—including the rules.   Beastfolk – Root-deep in the land. Some call lightning. Some just knit excellent socks.   Verdwellers – Moss-born, vine-veined, half-plant half-question. I’ve only seen two. Both gave me seeds and left.   Others – Elves, giants, the wandering, the weird. If you help, you belong. If not, the forest forgets you.

“We don’t ask what you are. We ask who you feed, who you’d bleed for, and what you fixed last week.”

Entry Three: Is Anyone in Charge?

  No mayors. No crowns. No oversight.   Villages manage themselves.   Respected folks might mediate, but only if asked.   Try declaring yourself ruler? You’ll be ignored, mocked, or hexed. Possibly all three.

Fira told me about someone who tried to found a militia. Their tents were filled with wildflowers overnight. The symbolism was not subtle.

Entry Four: What About Gods?

  Gods of root, river, craft, and kin—if you believe in that sort of thing.   Shrines are handmade, humble, half-blessed by accident.   Divine magic’s fine, so long as it feeds the land, not someone’s ego.

“No temples. Just groves. And the wind carries enough gospel for most.”

Entry Five: How Do You Pay For Things?

The short answer: you work. The long answer: see below.

  Coins exist, technically—petrified forestwood tokens, carved with maker marks.   Mostly it’s barter. And favors. And reputation.   Outsider gold’s got no weight here. Your name does.

She handed me one. A crow etched into the grain. No explanation.

Entry Six: What Keeps It All Together?

Still not sure if this place is a miracle or a very organized accident. But it works, mostly.

  Everyone contributes. No idle hands unless they’re injured or up to something.   Families teach trade. Skills pass down faster than stories.   A name carries weight. Break your word and it stains like wine on birchwood.

“You want to live here? Fine. We just ask you be useful, be kind, and be quiet sometimes. That last one’s the hardest.”

Entry Seven: What’s Auclan’s Deal With the Outside World?

  There’s a cold peace with the Crown. No warmth. Just space.   Calamity Watch folks sometimes come through. They rarely stay.   Lacliosa brings books. We give back carved truths, and sometimes insults hidden in embroidery.   Most nations forget us. Or pretend to. That’s fine.

“If they ever try to fence us in, we’ll walk sideways into the woods and never be seen again.”