The World of Terrima

Several months ago I got hit by a major bolt of inspiration regarding a D&D campaign world a friend and I had created many many moons ago. I expanded it, polished it up, removed many inconsistencies, and so on.

The problem is, my gaming friends all love it, but our schedules for gaming are so at odds that I don't know when, if ever, we'll ever be able to actually play in it. Le sigh. :(

So I thought I'd post it here, just so it doesn't go to waste. Perhaps people will find it interesting and/or be able to mine things out of it. Feel free, just don't make money off of it. :)

I've got a gazetteer of sorts intended for the players to read; a description of the dominant religion; a piece on calendars and holidays (calendrical systems are a hobby of mine); and a short-short story illustrating one of the more unusual groups.

I've only got one crappy hand-drawn map (I can't draw) and no scanner, so I'll just describe the orientation of the major areas below.

I'll post the story first, then the gazetteer (in several posts, it's long), then the religion stuff, then the calendar stuff.

Enjoy! Let me know what you think. And feel free to visit my Mutants & Masterminds story hour, "The Shadow Knows!"

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Just a few quick notes to get things started.

This campaign was originally intended for D&D 3.0, but I found myself adding so many house rules from d20 Modern and M&M to get it just the way I wanted that I eventually decided to switch it over to M&M if, in fact, I ever got to actually run it. These notes still reflect the original system, however.

The "elf" race from the PH is used to represent humans with large amounts of elf blood - half or a quarter. Their favored class is sorcerer, not wizard. The "half-elf" race represents humans with a smidge of elvish blood in the last eight or nine generations or so. (I made a few tweaks to the racial packages to reflect these interpretations, but I can get into that later if anyone's interested.)

Actual full-blown elves are mysterious, alien in outlook, and have a bit of a level adjustment. They are not open to PC's unless the player convinces me they are up to the considerable challenge of depicting one.

Halflings and gnomes do not exist, though there is a half-legendary "forest gnome" NPC race lurking about the edges of civilization. Half-orcs also do not exist. Well, I suppose they do, sort of, but trust me, you don't want to play one. :) And if you still do, I don't want to run that sort of game. :)

Geographically, the campaign area mostly consists of the western quarter or so of a huge east-west continent, about the size of Eurasia. This western portion is mostly cut off from the rest by a huge, near-Himalaya-size north-south mountain range, called the Worldspine. (A major cultural center for dwarves.) This western portion is called Occida, while the eastern part (which I haven't done much with save for hints and teases) is Orienta. South of Occida there is another Africa-like continent called Sirisa. There is no land bridge; the sea between Occida and Sirisa is dotted with plentiful islands, though.

Southern Occida is sometimes called Antiquus (it's the cradle of "western civilization") and a large chunk of northern Occida is often called Novalis. (The "newer lands".) Between the two is a big stretch of Waste that got formed in a magical devastation about 300 years ago.

The nations of Novalis (the main campaign area) are situated around an enormous semicircular bay called the New Sea. The bay breaks up a coastal range of mountains (called the Sentinels) into northern and southern sections; a chain of islands called the Stepstones bridges the bay.

Novalis comes to an abrupt end at the Elfwoods, a stretch of primaeval forest that doesn't quite exist on the same plane as the rest of the world. You'll hear more about this. :) North and west of the Elfwoods along the New Sea there are some other, less "civilized" human lands.
 
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[This unfinished manuscript was found among the effects of a prosperous Alaronese burgher, much-loved in his neighborhood for his kindness and acts of charity. His body, when prepared for burial, was found quite unexpectedly to bear the brands of a Tear-monk.]

Among the Tear-Monks​

If I thought that by recording these events in my memoirs I should do any harm to the monastery on Tear, I would gladly cut off my hand and never touch pen and paper again. I owe them an incalculable debt. But I well know that no words of mine, nor of anyone, could do them harm; the silence of the Way swallows up words and transmutes them into timeless being and pure actions. I still consider myself a servant of the Way, even if I did find in my Wanderings that I was called to marry and sire children. Elder Brother gave me his blessing, and, in typically inverted fashion, gave me a final command to tell one person about my time there rather than swearing me to secrecy. I told my wife, rest her soul, and now I tell you who read my memoirs.

Sealord Rikko had promised me gold if I brought back information that could be used against the Tear-monastery. "You know what they say, boyo - 'Know thy stinkin' enemy.' " I was young and stupid, having gone to sea after a disagreement with the woman's husband. The gold looked good, and it looked even better when compared to the life of a Islander slave. For some reason he hadn't branded me with the rest of the crew when he took our ship; he took me on and tried me for a couple years, and I kept my nose clean. I came to enjoy a buccaneer's rough-and-tumble life. Once I screwed up the courage to ask him why he'd spared me, and he just said, "Better not to stick your nose where it might be cut off, eh, boyo? But I'll say this much - you have an honest face, though no god knows where you came by it. Might be I have a use for that." Then with a chilling laugh, he added, "And it's not too late to warm up the branding irons if you don't hop to!" You can believe I "hopped to" with a will for the next few months, until he finally let me know what "use" he had for me.

His ruse was elaborate - "Those Tear-jerkers have more eyes than thee and me know of, boyo." I cleaned myself up and signed on as a cabin boy - for I've always looked younger than my age - on a legitimate merchant vessel out of Lucia. I played my part well - none suspected me. (Cap'n Rikko, for his part, amused himself greatly by playing the part of my own dear father come to see me off to sea.) I sailed with them for several voyages before Rikko arranged, through many intermediaries, for them to carry a cargo to Festburg. Naturally they watered at Tear on the way, and Rikko hit them shortly thereafter. I leapt overboard in "terror" during the fighting - and I hear that the old snake later actually tearfully demanded compensation from the owners for the loss of his "own dear son".

I washed up on Tear, quite sincerely miserable. The villagers, like coastal villagers anywhere, took me in and cared for me as a castaway. My pathetic thanks to them were not wholly feigned, and in my heart I felt rather the cad; but I reminded myself of the gold and the branding irons, and hardened it. I moved slow, not wanting to appear too eager. I made myself useful among my hosts and waited for the Way and the monks to be brought up in conversation. It didn't take long; they would often look up to the Height and talk almost as if they were praying. I asked many questions about the Way and they gave me some vague, nonsensical answers - and, pleased with my interest, added, "If you would know more, go up to the Height!" I hadn't dreamed things would be so easy. (And now I can only laugh ruefully at my ignorance...)

I pounded on the monastery door, and Brother Porter answered. Giving me a slave's traditional obeisance to a freeman, he asked, eyes downcast, "How may this slave be of aid to you, young master?" "I wanted to know more about this Way of yours, sir." "Are you making a jest, master? If so, please forgive this ignorant slave for not understanding it." He was even more obsequious than most slaves, which is saying something. "It is not for a slave to instruct a free man," he continued, "especially in matters that you already know far better than I. We know nothing of the Way here." Confused, I asked, "But don't you teach it here?" "Of course not, master. You have been misinformed," and apologized for his inability to help with apparently sincere distress. Then he invited me into the vestibule, brought me some rather fine food, and sank into impenetrable silence. After I'd shuffled my feet for a while, he finally said, "Are they not expecting you in the village, master?" I took the hint and left.

I surmised, correctly as it happens but for all the wrong reasons, that I was being tested. I went to the monastery each day and pounded on the door. Each day Brother Porter greeted me and fed me and protested the monks' inability to teach me anything at all, but especially the Way. Finally, in impatience I said, "Yes, yes. Maybe I should teach you then!" He smiled widely and said with total sincerity, "How good and kind of you to offer, master! Please, do come in! We are deeply honored by your selfless desire to teach mere slaves about the Way!"

I felt considerably bewildered as I was led deeper into the monastery for the first time. I was shown to a spacious but rather bare chamber. "We apologize for the lack of luxury, master; we have few resources here. Is it convenient for you to begin lessons tomorrow at dawn?" "Of course," I said, wondering what on earth I was going to say. Fortunately I found the next morning that I was not the only "teacher". There were three other "masters" - an older man, a lad about my own age, and a woman of middle age. The entire community of monks sat crosslegged before us; I noticed with a shudder as I entered that many of them bore vicious welts on their backs. They started bombarding us with eager questions, but always one by one and waiting for us to reply. I noticed that I got questions like, "What is the Way?" and "How may we learn more of it?" while the others were asked things like, "What is this First Posture of Attainment of which we all have heard so much?" and "Can you explain the Method of the Still Mind to us, master?" When it came to be my turn, I tried the truth: "I don't know." I tried faking it, producing long impressive answers. I tried pleading with them and cursing their lack of cooperation. Everything I said was treated as if it was of the most incredible profundity; they hung on each word. It was quite unsettling. My fellow "teachers" were still and impassive when I spoke, giving no clues to me as to what was going on.

After an interminable interval, the monks rose as one and left, save for one merry-eyed older man. "I am Brother Servant. The others, alas, have duties they may not shirk, but I have been given permission to tend to your needs and learn from your wisdom." He then asked humbly for us to "correct" his posture and poise in various exercises. We all imitated him as best we could, I quite clumsily. After a while I caught on to his method: He would ask me things like, "Should I be holding my left arm as high as you are, master?" and I would answer it in the negative and lower it until he stopped asking. It was a maddeningly circuitous way of learning; I often wished he'd just tell me what to do and be done with it. But soon I was so exhausted that I stopped wondering and just went with the flow. I felt like a limp rag by the end of the day, when Brother Servant humbly thanked us for our instruction - and, offering me a small box with eyes averted, he said, "I believe you forgot these, master." Inside were a ring and a small knife in a sheath - now that I thought of it, just like those the other teachers wore. Brother Servant, just like any ordinary slave, would not so much as look at the knife as I took it and belted it on.

Over the next few weeks, I gradually learned the rules of the place:

If I did not show up on time to "teach" in the morning, or if I left off "instructing" Brother Servant before he was good and ready to stop being "instructed", I would be commended on my devotion to meditation and spiritual things, with which they would cooperate by respecting my desire to fast. In other words, I wouldn't be fed that day.

I was to bathe only in the privacy of my room. "Surely it is not for a free man to expose himself like a slave, master?" Indeed, I was not to show any of my body at any time save for face, hands, and feet.

I was to wear the ring and the knife at all times, a sign of my status as a free man. Living in surroundings where everyone paid such obsequious respect to those signs, I came to feel curiously dirty wearing them.

I was "encouraged" to confide privately to Brother Servant each evening any thought or action of mine that I believed contrary to the Way. These little confidences, you see, were to buoy up his flagging spirits and show him that even one so exalted as I had difficulties. He would mournfully assure me that he did far worse things at all times, and did I think that this minor penalty would be sufficient mortification? I soon learned to take his hints... and even sooner learned that if I tried to stay silent or gloss over my peccadillos, that somehow he would always manage to bring them up, always as things that he, poor slave that he was, was subject to, of course. That old man's eyes and smile seemed to penetrate into my very soul... Once, he brought up the subject of "deception" and turned a smile on me so bland that my heart froze and I thought, "He knows!" But he changed the subject, uncharacteristically, shortly after.

At the turn of the year, the lad my age - his name was Odric, if I recall correctly - didn't turn up for "lessons". We were told that he had left us, but a few weeks later he turned up again - as one of the monks, branded and bare-chested. He would not speak to me nor even look me directly in the eye, nor would he answer to Odric, so I finally gave up. Brother Servant assured me, "We have no brother here named Odric, master." Still, it was clear he had gotten "in", when somehow even the older ones hadn't. What was his secret?

It took quite a while, for I was quite dense, but I finally realized that my original answer to their first question "What is the Way?", namely, "I don't know," was actually the correct one. The Way cannot be known, cannot be expressed in words. Trying to "know" it is a waste of time. Trying to "teach" it is utter folly. When the day came that I realized that "free man" - free of the Way, that is - in their vocabulary was a synonym for "fool", I started to make real progress. By the time that day came, I hadn't thought of Rikko, or of gold, in some time. Not so much because I had grown virtuous, as because it had become too uncomfortable to think about.

Finally one day, surprising even myself, I blurted out the whole story to Brother Servant in one of our little evening chats. I confessed that I was a spy, a liar, a cheat, one who had sold them out for gold. For the first time in my memory, Brother Servant frowned. "This is most serious," he said, not calling me "master". "I believe you should repeat this story to the entire monastery." The monks were assembled, and, trembling, I made my confession, awash in tears. It would have been easier if they had hated me, cursed me, beat me, but they just stared at me - all of them - with the most serenely cool disapproval and rejection you've ever seen. "Clearly," Elder Brother said, "you are not worthy to be here. Do you wish to leave?" I hung my head. "I'll go immediately." "That is not what I asked. Do you wish to leave?" "...No." "Then remain. But we will consider what mortification is necessary to expiate your crime. Attend us in the hour before dawn."

I didn't sleep that night. Not a wink. I thought about running. In fact, I blush to admit, I actually tried, but found the door bolted and guarded by Brother Porter, unsmiling. I slunk back to my room.

My worst fears were realized. When I showed up in the courtyard, several burly monks seized me and stripped me of my clothes. I was frogmarched into an inner courtyard I hadn't seen before, where there was a whipping post, and ominous dark stains about it on the ground. They tied me there securely as I trembled and sweated. The monks filed in slowly and surrounded me in a half-circle to observe my punishment. Already terrified, when I saw the viciously barbed cat-o'-nine-tails in the hands of one of the monks, I would have wet myself if my bladder hadn't been dry as a bone. I'd seen men die from the application of one of those, and it had struck me as a singularly ugly way to die.

The barbs whistled in the air behind me, then fell with a great CRACK! I screamed before I realized they hadn't touched me. Nine more great CRACKS came, and in the silence that followed, Elder Brother said, "Well, brother, I certainly hope you have learned your lesson."

I have no idea what I said in reply. They released me, and then brought forward the glowing brands. That really did hurt, but I don't remember much of it.

After I had spent a few days recovering from the burns - apparently it was given out that I was unwell, which was true enough - they presented me with my old shirt, ring, and knife. Bewildered as I hadn't been since my first day, I said, "But aren't I a monk now?!" Brother Servant merely informed me with a smile, "It is most fortunate that your terrible injury has marked only your body, master, and not caused your indomitable spirit to flag." Knowing his ways by now, I figured out that my spirit needed to be similarly branded.

And so I went back to my room, back to relative luxury, back to endlessly maddening "teaching" that I knew to be futile and thus found even more intolerable than before. By the time the first of the year came, I had tasted the bitterest dregs of being "free". At that time Elder Brother gave me my new name and my old life came to an end. The real learning began.
 
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[A Word to the Wise: Not everything in the following treatise - excerpted and condensed from the work of a famous Hadronese sage - should be taken as wholly reliable. While all the basic facts are correct, the slant and interpretation of the facts may at times be misleading. The further from modern Hadron, whether in distance, time, or significance, the more objective he is likely to be.]

Peoples and Nations of Occida and Sirisa

Peoples:

Roughly from south to north:

Sirinese: The ancient Sirinese civilization was centered around the great river Sirin, which gave its name to the land, to the people, and to their most beloved god, though their ruling god was Shams, the sun. Mighty Sirin, ultimate sign of life, death, and rebirth in its annual flooding, dried up over a thousand years ago when the last Son of the Sun (the formal title of the Sirinese God-King), blasphemed against Shams, and the Sirinese culture has never really recovered from the blow. They have become a nomadic people, inured to and hardened by the Sun's Anvil desert that covers the northern coast of the continent of Sirisa. (Little is known of Sirisa south of the Anvil. The jungles are dense and the Sirinese do not explore there, believing the land to be haunted by demons. It is known that the people there have very dark skins and languages unrelated to any others we know.)

While some tribes deep in the desert still follow the old Sirinese faith, most Sirinese have accepted the Light... after a fashion. A great Prophet ('Pro-phet' was actually his given name, meaning “Bright Eyes”; it has since become a title) arose among the desert tribes, leading those who would listen along the dry streambed of Sirin down to the coast, which the tribes had previously shunned as accursed. (It was in the great capital of Siris-Akar on the delta where the curse descended upon the nation.) There they found a small but thriving Minaean colony, which they promptly conquered and made their own. The Prophet's visions of an inner light streaming from an inner sun within the heart found resonance with the teachings of the priests of the Light, and he accepted and imposed on his people those doctrines that suited his vision.

The Sirinese version of the Light (the theologians call it the "Prophetic Heresy") involves the expectation of successive Prophets who are sent to teach the truth, which the hardened hearts of men constantly distort and corrupt. St. Phosphoros is accepted as such a Prophet, and a smattering of the other great saints are as well... though it is held that their teachings have not been faithfully transmitted in all respects. To prevent this from happening to the words of their own Prophet, fantastically elaborate precautions are taken in copying the Writings and in quoting from them. They believe that if they faithfully transmit the teachings of the Prophet (and those of any other prophets who arise) one day Shams (they retain that name for the God in their language, explaining that their ancestors worshipped him in ignorance of his true nature), their nation will once again become great, and the waters of Sirin will flow.

Those teachings emphasize the importance of constant battle against the darkness in the heart, and downplay the importance of the hierarchy. Indeed, the Sirinese repudiate the offices of Patriarch and Bishop (though they pay respect to such figures when visiting other lands) and consecrate priests for fixed terms of time, choosing them from among the literate men of the community by casting lots. They use only the Rites of Enlightenment (initiation) and Evensong, referring all else to private prayer. Their primary liturgy consists of nothing more elaborate than public readings from the Writings. On the other hand, spiritual gifts of a variety of sorts are fairly common among Sirinese laypeople.

A unique Sirinese institution is that of the Seekers. The Sirinese believe that Prophets may arise among people of any nation, and indeed of every nation, since the God abandons none of his children. They wish to catalogue and record the words of every Prophet, and so some Sirinese are moved to take the Seeker vow - to travel through the world in search of wisdom among other peoples in strange lands. Most commonly the Seekers are young men who take a temporary vow for a period of years; but people of all ages and all walks of life - even women on rare occasions - have been known to take the vow, and some make it a way of life, sealing their vow permanently. Thus Sirinese can be found far from their homeland, asking questions and seeking hidden knowledge.

Physically the Sirinese have dark brown complexions, with straight black hair and dark eyes. The roles of the sexes are sharply distinguished, though women's roles are not considered inferior, simply different. The men are expected to lead and protect, the women to advise and nurture. The wisdom of Sirinese women is a byword in their culture - a common saying is, "The man who ignores his wife is deaf to the Writings." The sexes are usually segregated - it is considered scandalous for men and women to mingle, much less be alone together (if not married to each other) save under the most tightly controlled circumstances.

The Prophet's son, who continued to lead the people, was named "Khalif" ("chieftain"), and this has become the usual Sirinese title of royalty.

Sorcerers are feared and despised among the Sirinese. They are believed to be descended from the jann - capricious desert spirits - and thus dangerous and untrustworthy. (The desert tribes tend to be more forgiving - the Sons of the Sun were often sorcerers.) Nonetheless, sorcerers are born frequently among the Sirinese, more so than among any human people known save for the Kells, and they have formed something of a subculture of their own. Wizardry is little known, and considered a foreign and suspicious art, but is more acceptable - unless there is any summoning of extraplanar beings of any kind, which is believed to be accursed and carries the death penalty. (Ignorance is no excuse.) Psionics is quite unknown among the Sirinese, and would probably be confused with sorcery.

Minaeans: Along the southern coast of Occida, and on the islands stretching between Occida and Sirisa, the ancient Minaean culture arose. Their land being mostly rocky and mountainous, they turned to the sea and became among the greatest mariners and traders in the world. They have never been politically united save by outside force; to this day, Minaeans take fierce pride each in their own city. Though their culture spread throughout the south (and even influenced the Sirinese at their height), this was more by example and diffusion than by conquest. (Though they claim the great but ill-starred empire-builder Kyrion as their own, in fact he was the son of a Parmedi satrap and a Minaean concubine, though he did dabble extensively in Minaean ways.)

The old (wildly polytheistic) Minaean religion has vanished without a trace. Everyone knows the story of how St. Phosphoros the Light-Bringer, at that time a priest of the pagan god Samos-Photion (a minor sun-deity doubtless imported from the Sirinese), was Enlightened by the Eternal Flame he had tended in his ignorance of its true nature as a relic of the God. The True Light spread like wildfire throughout Minaea and beyond, and, remarkably, all the little cities of the mountains and islands adhered to it within a few generations.

Even before the First Light, though, it must be said, the Minaean religion was in decline. This was due to the influence of that unique Minaean institution, the philosopher. Though the usual run of Minaeans are hard-headedly practical and concrete, it became fashionable among the circles of the comfortably rich to speculate on the nature of being and thought. Logic was invented... and quickly showed up the old myths as being contradictory and irrational. By the time of St. Phosphoros, few among the ruling classes still believed in the gods save in a highly metaphorical way, and that only to avoid scandalizing their believing neighbors. Various philosophical schools, and, compensatorily among the lower classes, secretive new mystery religions, were the order of the day. In some cases these fused in strange, syncretistic combinations - worth mentioning only because some of them have persisted, in highly altered form, to the present day.

One of the greatest philosophical schools was that of Agathism, the contemplation of “The Good”. The Agathists believed that the Divine Principle manifested itself in Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, as such, of which true thoughts, beautiful forms, and virtuous actions were but partial and limited attainments. They sought to bring all elements of the human person into harmony, to correspond as closely as possible to the perfect Form of the Good. (Along the way, especially during the time when Minaea was conquered and disarmed by Kyrion, some Agathists developed a curiously potent martial art form.) There is no denying that the prevalence of Agathist ideas made fertile ground for the Light, nor that the early Theologians borrowed heavily from Agathist concepts and vocabulary to express the faith... but half-truths can be the hardest to discard, and some Agathists clung to their outmoded and incomplete beliefs, and continue to do so to the current day. Worse yet, some of the Agathist-influenced mystery religions also survive as secret societies throughout the western world. But worst of all, some Agathists, embittered by repeated conquests and other setbacks - even the success of the Light - twisted their beliefs into the perversely Dark, left-hand path of “Cacothism”, the way of Evil - of Lies, Destruction, and Immorality. The less said about them, the better!

But of course, the best-known achievement of the philosophical schools was psionics - the inner discipline of the mind. Only the Minaeans, of all peoples, are known to have developed this Art. Psioncists are held in great respect as wise and enlightened individuals. Magic, on the other hand, is considered a contemptible Parmedi art, a distortion of the Form of the World. Sorcerers are rarely born to the Minaeans; in the early days they were seen as having a “divine madness”, now they are regarded as having madness simply, and are sent to powerful psionicists to be “cured”. (Leave it to the Protectorate to take things to the next level...) Wizards, who more deliberately go about attempting to alter the cosmic order, are treated as beneath contempt.

Some cities still maintain the uniquely Minaean practice of “democracy” - of letting the mob decide affairs of state. While this bizarre custom seems not to cripple those cities too badly, it is clearly impractical for any larger political unit. (Even the Sophists in the Protectorate use it only in a very limited way.) Other cities practice nearly any mode of government imaginable.

Minaeans typically have olive complexions, dark curly hair, and dark eyes. Their quietly smug assumption of superiority over other cultures is offset by their drily ironical senses of humor and keen curiosity about the customs of others - and indeed, about just about everything else. It is difficult to generalize about their laws and customs, as they vary from city to city.

Parmedians: The Parmedians are believed to be descended from steppeland horse-nomads who settled down in the Parma gap of the Worldspine Mountains. Fiercely warlike, they established several successive empires throughout the south in ancient days, most notably that of Kyrion. They were assisted in this by the fact they were among the first humans to make use of iron, and for long had a higher grade of steel than anyone else. (It is believed that this was not due to efforts of their own, but from overrunning several dwarven settlements in their early days.)

The Parmedians scarcely exist as a distinct people any longer, having long interbred with others. Their land is still known for its fine horses and for the touchy tempers of its inhabitants, as well as for the unusual hats worn by the men. Their language survives, though much influenced by Aurelian. Their curious religion, a mixture of horse-nomad ancestor-spirit and wind-spirit worship with fire-gazing rituals (and ordeals of fire), has largely died out save in remote settlements. They retain a custom of keeping a bonfire burning in their temples, which has occasionally prompted investigation by the Patriarchs. Today it is generally recognized that the Parma region has its own acceptable Rite.

The main reason for mentioning the Parmedians, other than for historical completeness, is to note that they were the very first to codify magic, though in a crude way. Holding sorcerers and riddle-lore in high esteem, they had wonder-working "riddle-men" who experimented with and preserved a remarkable array of magical “rules”. To this day, the Parma region produces many fine mages - both sorcerers and wizards.

The Parmedians proper had dark complexions and wavy black hair and beards, which they often braided in elaborate patterns. Nowadays fair hair and lighter skins are not at all unusual among the Parmese. Many sages argue that the wandering Terrino people are of fairly pure Parmedian stock - they fit the profile and retain a predilection for horseflesh. Furthermore, all etymological speculations deriving from wandering "the earth" aside, “Terrin” faintly resembles the Old Parmedian word for “outcast”. Others reject these arguments as superficial and point to other origins for the Terrino.

Aurelians: There never really was an “Aurelian” people - only an eclectic group of peoples welded together by Aurelius into a nation of single-minded purpose. “Southern” or “Classical” Aurelians have the olive complexions of the Minaeans, but with straighter hair. (Aurelius himself was of this stock.) “Northern” Aurelians betray a more Kelhic strain, with blond and even red hair not uncommon among them. The Aurelian Republic, and later the Empire, was generally quite free of any kind of discrimination between bloodlines. Discrimination between cultures was, of course, quite a different matter.

Ever since their founder, the Aurelians believed themselves naturally suited to conquer and rule others. Their hard-headed practicality led them to discard any traditions that kept them from their goal, and to borrow shamelessly whatever worked from other cultures. Thus they inherited both the philosophical (and psionic) tradition of Minaea and the magical tradition of Parmedia - in part, even before conquering them both. Lacking the Minaean contempt for practical applications and the Parmedian sense of superstition and obfuscation, they rapidly applied Minaean logic and system to the Parmedian rules of magic... producing the world’s first wizards.

It was the wizards, just as much as the discipline of the legions, that made Aurelia unstoppable. It must be remembered that sorcerers in those days were even more feared and suspected in most lands in those days than today - many of them were isolated and mad. Most of all, they were few and scattered, and seldom did they attain to useful war-magics. The disciplined spell-research of the war-wizards made entirely new strategies possible, strategies no other culture within reach was capable of countering effectively. It took only decades for the Aurelian Empire (the end of the Republic was, in fact, partially precipitated by the social upheaval resulting from the invention of wizardry) to conquer nearly all of Occida, and even those parts of Orienta (east of the Worldspine) where there were people sitting still long enough to be conquered!

True, the Empire did try to snuff the True Light periodically for several centuries. It was seen as a threat, since the Empire’s official “religion” was to honor impartially the “gods” of all its far-flung peoples, while of course the Light taught that the God was the Supreme Creator. But once Lucius II converted (becoming St. Lucis "of the Light", whence our modern name Lucas), the Imperial Eagles carried the Light with them to every corner of the continent, save of course past the impassable barrier of the Elfwoods.

What caused the Empire’s fall? Sages continue to debate. But it is generally agreed that, along with all the factors of economics, decadence, self-absorption, and even renewed invasions of the horse-nomads through Parma, the development of subtle mind-affecting magics was much to blame. Factions developed among the wizards, who attempted to influence Senate and Emperor behind the scenes, manipulating them like puppets. The prevalence of less-than-savory secret societies and cults - some perhaps even Cacothist in origin - also must be given its due. It is perhaps inevitable that the heartland of the Empire would turn on itself and tear itself apart, leaving the northern provinces to fend for themselves as the legions were withdrawn. Few at the time could have foreseen that they would succeed as well as they did in founding the Nova Imperium.

Today’s Aurelian “Restored Empire" covers only a small portion of what was once “Classical Aurelia” - the city itself, still admittedly glorious, and some of its environs, the whole scarcely larger than our own beloved Kingdom of Hadron. Some call it the "Undying Empire" given the suspected nature of its Emperor...

Wastelanders: The Demon War ended with the Darknight Devastation that turned the provinces of Borea, Cellia, New Aurelia, and the bulk of Alaron - in a word, the southern half of the Nova Imperium - into the Waste. Along with the withering of some of the continent's finest farmlands, the peoples who dwelt there were horribly changed in a variety of creatively disgusting ways. The most common inhabitants of the Waste have come to be called "goblins" for their less-than-savory dining habits, but they are not by any means the most dangerous or the most vile of the Wastelanders.

Some have claimed that the Wastelanders are really extraplanar beings, or even evils from the depths of the earth, rather than transformed humans... but at least in the case of the goblins, this must be regarded as wishful thinking. The matter has been conclusively proven, but no way is known to restore them.

The less said about Wastelander culture and use of magic, the better. No matter how often you think you've seen the worst, somehow they always manage to top it. However, one worrisome trend must be mentioned - some groups of goblins seem to have formed a "civilization" of sorts, rather than the viciously barbaric tribal life common to most Wastelanders. They are actively engaged in sorcerously-directed breeding experiments to produce useful slaves from their own stock and from that of the less intelligent Wastelanders. This goblin culture could one day pose a serious threat to the entire continent of Occida.

The few native-Wastelander mages seem immune somehow to the Flux - the constant random shifting in magical currents that devils all spellcasters who visit. The good news is that on the rare occasions when they have left the Waste, they have seemed about as confused by "normal" magical currents as outsiders are by the Flux. It is speculated that it is the Flux that is responsible, of itself, for the bizarre happenings that travellers in the Waste often report.

Dwarves: This stocky, ancient people has long dwelt under stone. They are very close-mouthed about their origins and history, but we know that the great cities of the Worldspine stretch back at least as far as the early Sirinese dynasties. The outposts in the Sentinel mountains are much more recent in origin, scarcely going back to the fall of the Republic. Apparently the move to the Sentinels was the result of some sort of severe split among the dwarves, but whether this was of political, philosophical, religious, or some other origin has never been learned by human sages. At any rate, the Sentinel dwarves have been far more open to human ideas and human alliances than their Worldspine brethren. Some have even embraced the Light, though most still follow their ancestral devotion to the Soul-Smith and the Earth-Mother.

The so-called "hill dwarves" are descendants of those low-caste dwarves who were relegated to farming aboveground for the Worldspine cities. (There is some evidence that the Worldspine dwarves occasionally used Kelhic and Thuler thralls for this purpose as well, though they have long since repudiated slavery.) They have long maintained distantly friendly relations with the peoples of Novalis. Some sages have speculated that the mysterious people known variously as "forest gnomes", "brownies", and the "small folk" are hill dwarves tainted by contact with Faerie. This idea, however, is deeply offensive to all dwarves, and is likely to start a fight. It is known, however, that dwarves do acknowledge the forest gnomes - grudgingly - as being in some sense kin.

The dwarves dislike the wild magic of Faerie drawn upon by sorcerers. They are people of earth and stone, who believe in what they can touch and hold and shape; not at all given to high-flown mysticism. (Or say, rather, that their mysticism is more concrete and melded with their craft than most humans can imitate.) They regard the fluid changes of Faerie which the sorcerer bridges forth to This World as repugnant. The rules and balance of wizardry are of more appeal to them - indeed, some have argued that the dwarven rune-mages learned much of their art from the Parmedi riddle-men. (Though this suggestion is yet another sure way to start a fight.) At any rate, the runes of power are a typically dwarven approach to magic - concrete, predictable, and hard as stone.

It is perhaps unfortunate that the dwarves were too distant from the Minaeans to have much contact with them, as their temperaments have much in common. Few dwarves know anything of psionics or Antiquan philosophy, though they have something of a gnomic wisdom-literature of their own. Some have speculated that dwarven culture would take to both like ducks to water, though the experiment has not yet been tried. Likewise, dwarven skill and craft might have balanced the Minaean tendencies toward speculation for its own sake and disdain of practical applications of philosophy.

Little more can be said about the dwarves. They keep largely to themselves, and like it that way. They did, however, stir themselves to aid the humans and elves in the Demon War, and their valor - and the craft of the rune-mages - was instrumental in the victory.

Terrino: The problem with learning about Terrino origins and culture is not, as with the dwarves, that they are close-mouthed about it. The problem is that they are entirely too open-mouthed about it! Extravagant tales will be told, no two the same, to anyone who offers coin or a flagon of mead. For all we can discover, we already know the truth, and have dismissed it with the myriad of lies it is embedded in. It is entirely possible that the Terrino themselves do not know the answers, though their blandly smiling countenances have led many investigators to swear they are hiding something.

The Terrino are a nomadic people who wander all over Occida, and so their geographical placement in this list is somewhat arbitrary. They are moderately dark of complexion, with dark hair, brown eyes, and expressively mobile faces. They travel in caravans of brightly-painted wagons, supporting themselves as tinkers, traders (especially horse traders), entertainers, and, at times, con-artists and thieves. Different bands do vary in the amount of larceny they practice; it depends entirely on the attitude and judgment of the band's "king". (This term for the leader of a Terrino band derives from a common scam of theirs that has passed into legend - to pass off a handsome young man as the mysterious "King of the Terrino".) Occasionally several bands in the same area will converge on the same spot for a festival - the music and dancing and trading that goes on at these is proverbial.

The language of the Terrino is rarely spoken in front of outsiders, so it is difficult to categorize. A few words they do use openly, however - it is known, for example, that the term for non-Terrino is "rube". Nothing is known of their religion, not even if they have one or not, though some individuals do visit temples of the Light they pass with what appears to be sincere piety.

Sorcery seems to occur fairly frequently among the Terrino, and the number who will elaborately fake being sorcerers is even larger; they encourage an air of mystery at all times. Do not believe any Terrino who claims to be a wizard, though, because all Terrino are illiterate - they seem to have a superstitious fear of writing.

While the Terrino certainly do practice some larcenous habits, it is the opinion of this author that they are very often unjustly blamed and used as scapegoats for the crimes of others, and even for objects that have gone missing. Their lack of connections, perhaps even more than their reputation, makes them easy targets to vent anger upon. At some times and places the Terrino have even been formally sanctioned and penalized by the law, but the priests of the Light have been instrumental in removing such injustices. As a result, few Terrino will treat a priest with anything other than an unfailing, and quite touching, respect and deference.

The Devastation sundered the Terrino permanently into northern and southern groups, for they almost never sail and quite wisely shun the Waste. There is a probably a masterwork for some young sage in the study of cultural divergences between these groups, if he can penetrate enough of their culture to discern the divergences to start with.

Fholk: Almost nothing is known of the original inhabitants of the Stepstone Islands; their culture has been largely destroyed by repeated influxes of invaders, outlaws, and pirates of all stripes. They called themselves the Fholk. (The resemblance to the Thulish word "folk" is apparently pure coincidence.) Their language does not seem to be related to any other; philological sages have reached the point of tearing their hair at the way Fholko destroys their neat systems of linguistic descent. The Minaeans record them as a laughing bright-eyed people in sturdy little canoes, reddish of skin and brown of hair, who would trade metal ores and amber to them in exchange for the civilized luxuries of the south. Nowadays, all that remains of them are a few place-names, some strange customs of Island fishing villagers (some of whom still bear a physical resemblance to the Minaean records of the Fholk), and the preservation of Fholko as the secret curse-language of Island shamans. That, and the strange Standing Stones they erected on many of the islands. The present inhabitants tend to regard these with superstitious dread; their purpose is completely unknown.

Kells: Once the Aurelians consolidated their hold over Antiquus (the name often given to southern Occida) they turned their eyes northward to Novalis, the "newer" lands that later would form the "Nova Imperium". (Which was thus "new" in more ways than one.) Those lands were torn by conflicts between the pastoral Kells south of the Elfwoods and the Thuler reavers from the north. The Thuler carved out many small jarldoms and thaneships in the Kelhic lands, and in most parts the two peoples have by now so thoroughly interbred and mingled their customs as to form new nations entirely. Still, the pure Kelhic strain can be found especially in backwoods Melendor, and here and there elsewhere. As well, of course, among the Rover tribes north of the Elfwoods after the Long Retreat.

The Kells are a ruddy people, fair of skin and hair. Red hair is more common among them than among any other people known to us. No other people has ever been closer to the elves than they, who dwelt at the eaves of the Elfwoods. (Though only their bravest dared to enter.) And, as already mentioned, no other (human) nation produces so many sorcerers. It is commonly accepted, in fact, that most Kells have at least a few drops of elven blood.

The Kelhic druids bear such a resemblance to the Parmedi riddle-men that careers have been built and lost in the attempt to show some connection between them. But if there is one, it is distant enough that none can now reconstruct it; certainly there are no historical, cultural, racial, or linguistic links of any solidity. They share the riddler's delight in cryptic obfuscation, in hidden lore, in omens, and in contempt for the written word. But their craft is subtler, in some ways softer - more given to healing, harmony and preservation than to arbitrary rearrangements of the elements. At any rate, among the best of them - the infamous Dark Druids are another matter. Some believe they were influenced by Cacothist exiles...

The Kelhic religion is unique. While they had a typically polytheistic tangle of gods and priesthoods like other peoples, these were seen as simply different faces, different aspects, of the Otherworld (Faerie) as filtered through This World. The druids were those who dealt with the Otherworld directly; thus they were highly respected and not a little feared. The Kells are more open than any other people, even the Aurelians, to the gods of others - the more facets of Faerie to embrace, the better, in their view. Some Inquirers have questioned the sincerity and completeness of the embracing of the Light by mostly-Kelhic villagers to this day - it is suspected that many may have welcomed the God as simply another god, and happily combined our Rites syncretistically with their own. Certainly many superstitious peasant-customs are clearly derived from old Kelhic practices, though seldom so overtly as to warrant grave concern from the Church.

When the Aurelians pressed northward into Novalis, the ancient conflict between Kell and Thuler was thrown into sharp focus. Rival tribes sold each other out to the invaders, and many Kells welcomed Aurelian conquest of Thuler jarldoms... though it quickly became apparent that the new masters were not much kinder than the old. But when the Aurelians began clearing land and pressing toward the Elfwoods, many Kells could take no more and began to fight back. The Aurelians responded with vicious retaliation as was their wont; wizard-fire burned the druid groves wherever possible, and it was possible more often than not.

Thus began the Long Retreat before the legions, a mostly-hopeless guerrilla movement that was constantly pushed ever northward, until those Kells who would not give in found themselves pressed up against the very Elfwoods. There followed the Kin-Sundering of long memory and many sad songs; some elected to brave the Elfwoods, the heart of Faerie in This World, while others resolved to fight to the very end.

Which group made the better choice is largely a matter of taste. The Rovers straggled north out of the Elfwoods after many eldritch wanderings; many never emerged at all. Those that did were strangely changed... more childlike, closer to bird and beast than any others of the human race, they formed the tribes of Kelhic savages that still Rove in the north. The Standers were largely slaughtered by the advancing legions; they were down to their last twenty men (their names still lovingly recorded in song), when the Aurelians finally overreached. They set iron to the Elf-Trees, and sent wizard-fire into Deep Faerie, and the elves responded at last in force.

A third of Aurelia's finest died that day; and a third more wandered hopelessly mad, giving rise to the legends of the Wandering Wits - those strangely wise madmen, soldiers, and minstrels. The remaining third was decimated upon returning for losing their eagles. (Some have speculated that the elves turned the captured eagle standards into a potent charm against invasion from the south - certainly none of the eagles was ever recovered.) Meanwhile the Twenty Who Stood sealed the Pact of Friendship with the elves at the Meeting Stone, and the nation of Melendor was founded. Aurelia threw its legions at Melendor repeatedly, and occasionally conquered parts of it... but never for long. Eventually, ever practical, they built Hadron's Wall and did their best to forget about the other side.

Elves: If there was ever a time at which the Elfwoods did not stand, or when they were not haunted by the Otherworld, no human history records it. Faerie and This World overlap there as they do nowhere else - though some have speculated that the distant reaches of the Anvil desert in Sirisa may have similar outbreaks, giving rise to the jann.

Who are the elves? Are they humans permanently changed by the wild magic of Faerie? Are they natives of the Otherworld who have chosen - or been forced - to dwell on the fringes of This? Or, as one bizarre theory runs, are humans themselves "elves" who have been forced out of the Elfwoods and forced to conform themselves to the more solid rules of This World? None now can say. They are ancient, and their languages subtle and complex beyond any others we know. All of them, in one degree or another, are sorcerers. Rather, perhaps it would be better to say that they are sorcery itself given flesh and blood.

They seldom leave the eaves of their beloved forest. When they do, parted from the fluid nature of their realm, they are little more powerful than human sorcerers. It is known that many of them find the presence of human disharmony with the environment actually painful, a sort of pollution and uncleanness; doubtless this accounts for the periodic Exodus of elves to the Uttermost West, for Deep Faerie seems to be forbidden to them. (It is speculated that one of the motives for the formation of Melendor on the elves' part was to minimize this "pollution" near their own borders. And the Rovers likewise on their northern frontier.)

The elves reckon descent both in the male and female lines, and form elaborate overlapping kin-groups based on both lines. The Queen of the Elves and the King of the Elves come from entirely different kin-groups and are in fact forbidden to marry. According to legend, the King is a wanderer and a seeker and a warrior-bard, a defender of the people, while the Queen is the day-to-day ruler and a mother to her people.

The elves find wizardry to be vastly amusing, "a set of instructions on how to breathe". They cannot seem to agree on whether the Light is equally amusing, or dangerous, or painful, or rather romantic in a provincial sort of way. This vexes the theologians to no end. At any rate, the elves seem to have no gods as the human mind understands such things. They treat natural objects as dear friends and comrades - some of them more powerful than they, some less, but all worthy of notice, praise, and song. Their own word for themselves means, in fact, "the Singers", and they see their role in the cosmic order as to give voice to the songs of praise which to all things are due. A large part of the problem they have with humans, in fact, is that they have not been able to decide what sort of song is necessary for us. "To weave harmony from human discord will require the heart of an oak, the mind of the sea, the eye of the sun, and the voice of the wind," they say. (The sea, always in motion and never the same, is regarded by elves as "thinking" constantly.)

Elves can interbreed with humans, and some do so with a will. Humans with varying degrees of elf-blood (which are quite common in Melendor and among the Rovers) tend to share some of the strengths of both species. They are often powerful sorcerers, and more attuned to the natural world than most. But they are sturdier than their elven ancestors and lack their sensitivity to human ways of life; they often travel widely, seeking for they know not what, perhaps a place to be at home.

A few bands of elves, for reasons known only to themselves, have taken up residence in other forests throughout Occida and perhaps elsewhere. None of these have the eldritch might of the Elfwoods, but all are less than safe for the unwary to enter.

Thuler: As mentioned, the Thuler were in origin reavers from the northern shores of the New Sea, speaking their own guttural language of Thulish. They are as fair as the Kells, but larger and hairier. Competent sailors and energetic warriors, they would raid the Kells and occasionally set up their own petty little jarldoms. Their barbarous descendants in Thule still follow that way of life, though even they have had to band together to protect themselves from the depredations of the Stepstone pirates; nowadays there is a Hoch-Jarl, a High King, who is selected from among the thanes. The Hoch-Jarl actually sends and receives embassies to and from the kingdoms and duchies of Novalis, and so there is hope for peace from the north for the first time in many a long year... it is only a pity that it is at the expense of peace in the west and south.

But the Thuler south of the Elfwoods have long since become fully part of Novalian civilization. In fact, a large fraction of noble families (those not directly Aurelian in origin) are of Thuler blood, and a still larger fraction of the mercantile classes are. Generalizing broadly, one could say that Thuler burghers make up the majority of Novalian townsmen, and Kelhic farmers the majority of Novalian peasantry. But really this sort of generalization is futile, a matter only of degree and emphasis; both peoples have thoroughly mingled by now, and both with the Aurelian strains that settled here.

The tribes in Thule still maintain the practice of their gloomy religion of Wyrd (predestined fate) and the gods who preside impersonally over it. But the Hoch-jarls have legalized the preaching of the Light, which is gaining a foothold on those far-northern shores. Perhaps it is the practice of Wyrd, remembered latently, which is responsible for the fact that so many Predestinationist heresiarchs in Novalis have been Thuler in origin. The Inquirers are keeping a careful eye on the missions in Thule.

The Thuler have always regarded the elves, and above all the Elfwoods, with superstitious dread. They in fact have a series of propitiatory rituals to fend off ill from the "Bright People". This dread tends to rub off onto the wilder Rover tribes, but the more settled bands are considered fair game for raiding and enthralling. (Thule does not share the Novalian distaste for slavery, though this is slowly changing as more embrace the Light.)

Sorcerers are considered "elf-touched" and are shunned. Wizards and psionicists, on the few occasions that they meet any, are considered to be merely variants of sorcerers. On the other hand, they seem to have learned the runes from dwarves in the Northern Sentinels. Thuler rune-mages - the only humans to have mastered this dwarven art - are considered much more acceptable than other users of magic, though still uncanny.
 

Nations of Novalis:

Roughly from north to south:

Kingdom of Melendor
Capital: Omentilmo (Elvish) or Waymeet (Melendrian)
Head of State: King Menellin Skysong of House Fionbarr
Medium of Exchange: "Silverleaves", the Elvish "coin", are legal tender. The Crown also mints more conventional gold "standers"
Coat of Arms: Vert, a Sword argent dexter and a Tree or sinister.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the White Sword: Gules, a Sword argent.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the Golden Tree: Azure, a Tree or.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the Last Stand: Vert, twenty Spears or.

Melendor is not strictly part of Novalis, for it was never part of either Imperium, at any rate for long. Nevertheless its history and culture are so deeply intertwined with the New Provinces that it may be treated as continuous with them. Melendor is perhaps the most purely Kelhic nation anywhere this side of the Elfwoods, though they have long since had influxes of Thuler and Aurelian influence. The Melendrian language can be regarded as a dialect of Kelhic with a great many loan words from the languages of its neighbors, as well as Elvish. Elvish, in fact, is regarded as a language of learning and subtlety equal, if not superior, to Aurelian. It is one of the official languages of the kingdom, though only the learned speak it.

The noble houses of Melendor are all descended from the Twenty Who Stood. However, they have a rather gauche custom of egalitarianism that would never be stood for in Hadron - for the Melendrians say, "Noble is as noble does," meaning that a noble who does not serve his people will be deposed by them and replaced with another more to their liking. This right of revolt, as it might be called, in enshrined in all their customs and is freely recognized by the noble classes themselves; even the King may be so deposed, though this has only been attempted twice, and only once successfully. Furthermore, the noble houses do not pass on their titles by primogeniture, as is proper, but through the unique custom of tanistry - that is, the commons select for themselves who will rule them from among their dead lord's relatives. (Perhaps it is as well, after all, since the nobility actually marry commoners with regrettable frequency!) The King, it should be added, is selected by the great houses from among themselves - so the monarchy does not pass on by blood at all! I say "King" and "lord" but in fact ruling queens and ladies are far from unknown. (Note also that upon coronation, the new King or Queen is required to enter the Elfwoods to renew the Pact of Friendship at the Meeting Stone. There they are given an Elvish name, which they usually translate into a second Melendrian name. A few have never returned; and none has ever returned unchanged.)

It must be admitted, however, that these egalitarian customs do tend to straitly reinforce the pattern of noblesse oblige which the younger generation of Hadronese nobles too often lamentably neglect. Melendrian lords have an unmatched "common touch", sometimes even vulgarly so, to the point of engaging in a trade.

The famous School of Loresong (in the town of the same name, or Noldes-lin in Elvish) is one of the premier schools of magic in the north, the only real rival to the Academy of Vis. Both sorcerers and wizards study there, and indeed, Melendrians are infamous in magical circles for blending both arts. The School also does tolerably well in all other fields of study, though of course not so well as our own glorious University.

A word must be said about the Melendrian orders of knighthood, stemming from a different cast of mind than our own glorious Hadronese chivalric tradition - more northern, more Kelhic, more earthy perhaps. The three most famous Orders have their coats given above. The White Sword knights are specially pledged to resist injustice and indeed, to seek it out. (Several have even made names for themselves as monster-hunters in the Waste.) Those of the Golden Tree are pledged, subtly differently, to protect the weak - which can include caring for the sick and other acts of charity, as well as the clash of arms. (Those benefactors of the state who are not of a martial bent are often made Knights-Companion of the Golden Tree.) The Knights of the Last Stand are the special agents of the Melendrian crown - there are only twenty of them at any one time, and none are less than fearfully competent. They are pledged never to back down from battle joined, though they may refuse challenges if they would interfere with their crown mission.

Patriarchal Desmesne
Capital: Lucia
Head of State: Theophilus III, Servant of the Light, Bishop of Lucia, and Patriarch of the North. (Or sometimes, "of New Aurelia". Also, the title "Guide of the Desmesne" is proper, but rarely used.)
Medium of Exchange: Desmesne "guilders", Patriarchal "luxes"
Coat of Arms of the Patriarchal See: Sable, a Candle argent and enflamed or.
Coat of Arms of the Desmesne: Sable, a cross saltire argent.
Coat of Arms of the City of Lucia: Sable, a cross saltire or.
Coat of Arms of the Holy Legion: Vert, a cross saltire or.
Old Coat of Arms of the City of Enmarina: Party per chief wavy vert and azure, a Star argent chief.

(Note: The cross saltire, in Novalian heraldry, especially when used on a black or green field, represents the "glory" (a technical theological term) of the Light spreading to the four corners of the world. Likewise, one never sees a black cross saltire on a white or gold field - the connotation is blasphemous.)

Originally, Lucia, the City of Light, was called Enmarina, the City in the Sea, for it is built among a myriad of canals as the Trueflood river reaches the ocean. The city's magnificent harbor made it a trade hub, and its setting was so reminiscent of the south that an Aurelian colony was planted there, over a common class of Thuler burghers. It is probably this strong Classical Aurelian presence that moved the Grand Synod to move the Patriarchal residence there after New Aurelia was razed in the Darknight Devastation; also, the Bishops of Enmarina had long had a reputation for learning and orthodoxy.

The noble families of Enmarina did not sit entirely comfortably with the elevation of their Bishop. Many of them had been decimated in the Demon War, and in the absence of an Emperor, the Patriarch of the North was the most potent symbol of authority around. The people constantly turned to him for leadership and guidance, despite his protestations of unworldliness. It is generally conceded by scholars that his protestations were quite sincere, and just as futile.

Fortunately, Lucis IV turned out to be a gifted administrator despite himself. He got rid of the most troublesome nobles by ceding them land belonging to extinct families of Tullia province in exchange for their rights within the city proper. The rest he won over with holiness, shrewdness, and charm, and by the liberal delegation of authority. His work was consolidated by later Patriarchs (not all, it must be said, as scrupulous and holy as he); by the time the dust settled, most of the old Province of Tullia, the northernmost of Nova Imperium, held allegiance to the Patriarchal See - from the Trueflood clear to Hadron's Wall.

The Patriarchs have reigned over the Desmesne with a very light hand; they really have more interesting things to do and there is no real threat to their authority. In effect, the Desmesne is a very loose confederation of cities and estates that look to the Patriarch as unifying symbol. Lucia rarely interferes in local affairs, save (most often) when a local ruler treats the commons too harshly, or if there is a question of heresy.

The city of Lucia itself is another matter. It is, as everyone knows, a veritable hive and maze of bureaucracy and confusion. First there is the whole mechanism of the Patriarchal See itself - the motherhouses of the Orders, the Juris Ecclesia, the Theologate, the Courts of Inquiry, the Legations, and the Holy Legion. Then there are the offices that oversee the Desmesne itself, which the Patriarchs have desired to keep separate from purely ecclesiastical concerns. There are the elaborate web of noble and mercantile families that manage the city itself. Finally there is the constant and bewildering stream of pilgrims and traders from all parts of Occida and beyond. The frequent conflicts between city, Desmesne, and ecclesiastical law and authority means that many individuals can make a living on the fringes between - to be blunt, the place sports more coney-catchers, cutpurses, burglars, mercenaries, and other riffraff than the rest of Novalis put together. Repeated attempts have been made to root out the undesirable elements, but they have never gotten far. (Not least because the City Families collect some truly lucrative bribes...)

The Guild of Thieves in Lucia is indeed a potent force behind the scenes, no matter how much the Patriarchs deplore it. The Guild styles themselves and their actions in mocking and perhaps self-deprecating twisting of ecclesiastical phrases and titles. They refer to themselves as practicing the mock-religion of "Lightening", for example, and their Guildmaster calls himself the Patriarch of the Stealth. His lieutenants are Bishops, and so on. Others of the less-than-savory guilds have taken on this manner of speaking; thus one has the "Begging Brothers" on each corner, and the mercenaries call themselves the Goldy Legion.

Most people in the Desmesne speak a language known as Tullian - it sounds much like Hadronese pronounced with a very thick Thulish accent. Native speakers of Hadronese and Tullian can usually understand each other if they go slowly and often repeat themselves. However, one is as likely to hear Aurelian on the streets of Lucia itself as anything else, given all the clerks present - the one place in Novalis where such a thing can be said.

The inhabitants of Lucia see so much strangeness in a day that sorcerers and wizards do not cause them to turn a hair. The misuse of such magics, however - especially if there is loss of life - is considered an ecclesiastical crime and punished harshly.

Visian League
Capital: Vis
Head of State: Magister Oberlim of the Academy (unofficial)
Medium of Exchange: League "florins", Visian "grams" or "pentagrams"
Coat of Arms of the Visian League: Azure, a Pentacle or.
Coat of Arms of the Academy of Vis: Azure, a Pentacle argent, surrounding an Eye or.
Coat of Arms of the City of Vis: Or, a Pentacle gules.
Old Coat of Arms of the City of Narbon: Argent, a Tree vert.

Originally Vis was simply an Imperial Free City between the provinces of Tullia and Hadron. The Old Imperium, greatly desirous of expanding the knowledge of wizardry for the sake of the northern legions, established the Academy in the town of Narbon and directed the city's revenues toward supporting it. While considered merely a minor frontier school during the Old Imperium, it became one of the jewels of the New, and resources were poured into it. Over time, the Academy was given more and more rights over the city (much to some residents' dismay, but much to the enrichment of others), until it dominated life there. The city was renamed Vis (that is, "Power"), and many wizards began to settle permanently there after being mustered out of the legions.

After the Darknight Devastation, when the Dux of Hadron Province - our own beloved King Leo I the Great - proposed himself, quite logically, to his fellows as the new Emperor, it was the Visians who rejected him most soundly. "You have not the virtus" - that is, power or manliness - "to rule over Vis," came the famous reply. The brief and unsatisfying Magewar, while displaying great Hadronese valor, unfortunately proved them right. The Visians were hurt enough by the attack that they signed a treaty agreeing not to make war on Hadron, so our countrymen went home as satisfied as could be managed under the circumstances. Little did they suspect how many loopholes the Visians would read into the treaty...

They did not make war. Not directly. But they formed the League - banding together with other cities of northern Hadron Province against the power of the Lion Throne. They have also at times connived to cause certain Hadronese nobles to rebel and try to seize the Lions for themselves. At times, it must be admitted, it did not take much of a push; at others, the use of magical mind control is suspected.

The League is nominally an association of equals... but the Visians, all agree, have always been more equal than the rest. They freely depose any League ruler who displeases them; more often, however, they use more subtle means. Surprisingly, this rarely involves the direct use of magic. More often the mere threat of such can bring recalcitrant cities to heel; and more often yet economic levers are applied with great shrewdness. By now the League Lords know who butters their bread, and the Magister of the Academy of Vis is the Duke of Central Novalis in all but name.

Wizards registered with the Academy are quite simply above the law, in Vis itself and to a lesser extent in any League city. They are limited only by the opinion of their fellows, who frown on violent crime and so on as bad for business. They can be tried and punished only by the First Circle of the Academy. Spellcasting by anyone but registered Academy wizards, however, is illegal and punished harshly. Anyone who studied there is registered automatically if they continue to pay a small annual fee; others can register for a rather larger one. Sorcerers who manifest ability while growing up within the League are offered scholarships to the Academy. Those who show no aptitude nor inclination toward wizardry have their powers "quenched" in a ceremony perfected by the First Circle. The wizards desire no competition.

Bowing to political reality, Vis grants priests of the Light the same immunities as wizards, and they are tried by the usual ecclesiastical courts if necessary, not by the Academy. Priests, shamans, and/or druids of other religions have no such immunity.

The common folk of Vis are widely known for their hard-nosed attention to profit. While the mages - most of them - may be most interested in knowledge and esoteric power, they are, by and large, out to make a gram. (The "gram" or "pentagram" is the main coin of Vis.) They display a sneering contempt for the very idea of nobility, though this view is not shared elsewhere in the League - they value power as embodied in magic or in mercantile success. Since the Magister of the Academy often has better things to do than to oversee the minutiae of government, the day-to-day affairs of the city are seen to by a Lord Mayor. The office is often simply sold to the highest bidder - though there is usually more politicking than that would seem to imply, as some who can afford to bid are often "encouraged" not to.

The people of the League speak Hadronese, though in Vis proper there are many borrowings and slang words from Parmese, and even Old Parmedian, since these are traditional languages of magic. Since wizards are inevitably literate, there is also considerable Aurelian influence.

Kingdom of Hadron
Capital: Leonis
Head of State: King Leo XVII of House Hadron
Medium of Exchange: Hadronese "crowns"
Coat of Arms: Gules, a Lion rampant or.
Coat of Arms of the Hadronese Crown: Gules, a crowned Lion rampant or, with the Motto "Eagles to Lions Yield" enscrolled or.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the Lion: Or, a Lion rampant gules.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the Tower: Gules, an embattled Tower or.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the Crown: Vert, a Crown or.
Coat of Arms of the Order of the Flame: Sable, a Flame or.

The province of Hadron was originally named after the glorious Old Emperor who had conquered it as a general before accepting the Eagles. His family was granted certain rights there as a perpetual memorial, and these were confirmed by the Nova Imperium. Thus it was that a distant descendant of his was Dux of the Province when the Demon War broke out. This was Leo I the Great, who distinguished himself in the Demon War. In the aftermath of that terrible conflict, the entire southern half of the Imperium was laid Waste. The Provinces of Borea, New Aurelia, and Cellia were gone forever, and only a rump of Alaron Province remained. Only Hadron and Tullia Provinces survived in their entirety, and the major families of the latter had been hard-hit and their Dux slain. Therefore, it was quite logical for Leo to propose himself as the new Emperor of a Third Imperium. Unfortunately not everyone saw the logic; too many saw an opportunity in the new order of things.

The reply of the Visians has already been mentioned. The Dux of Alaron submitted to Leo only out of urgent necessity, since the remainder of his Province could not survive alone. Patriarch Lucis considered Leo's claim, but was persuaded that the Visians in between would make the exercise of Imperium insurmountably difficult. Even many Hadronese cities - to mention nothing of the Visian League - resisted Leo's word and had to be forcibly brought to heel. It is not for nothing that the legend states that Leo ironically named his sword "Logic". ("Ratio" in Aurelian.)

While the Hadronese Crown has never formally abandoned the claim to Imperium, it also acknowledges that it was never formally installed in the purple. Therefore it does not claim to be an Empire but only a Kingdom. But while our nation may have had its just territorial claims thwarted, we have compensated by becoming the center of culture and elegance of the north, and indeed our reputation extends far beyond. The customs of our court are aped, with varying degrees of success, throughout Novalis - and of course our language is renowned for its delicacy and expressive power. Meanwhile the grand University of Leonis - the first of its kind - attracts scholars from throughout the civilized world, even though it does not sport an extensive magical curriculum.

Perhaps the finest of Hadronese inventions has been that of chivalry, of which our knights are the very flower. It is said throughout Novalis that the word of a Hadronese knight is an antidote to doubt. (We will gladly admit that Melendor also sports a worthy tradition of knighthood, even if the Melendrian knights are somewhat lacking in the proper hauteur.) The Order of the Lion is devoted to righting wrongs wherever they may be found. The Order of the Tower pledges to defend the realm - usually Hadron itself, but at times they have gone into the Waste in the name of defending the entire civilized world. The Order of the Crown are the special agents of King Leo, and are renowned for their gallantry; and the Order of the Flame is dedicated to advancing the cause of the Light. Great scholars, sages, and holy men are often made Knights-Companion of the Flame.

Our Hadronese language is an almost equal mingling of Kelhic and Thulish, liberally salted with Aurelian. This gives it a wide vocabulary with many synonyms, which our poets put to good use. Of course, as is well known, there are little pockets of purer Kelhic or Thuler culture and language here and there in the kingdom, and we are the richer for it.

The Hadronese crown is eager to draw users of magic to its service, and offers generous scholarships to schools of magic in Novalis and even elsewhere. (Yes, even to the Visian Academy, on the principle of knowing thy enemy.) The University has long tried to cultivate its magical faculty, but the fact of the matter is that Loresong and the Academy draw most of the available talent. Casting of spells in public without a license from the Crown is a misdemeanor, and a felony if it does any harm or suborns anyone's will. However, mages are permitted to defend themselves magically freely, using much the same rules as those who defend themselves with physical weapons.

Grand Duchy of Alaron
Capital: Alaron City
Head of State: Grand Duke Vendric of House Aquilae
Medium of Exchange: Alaronese "coronets"
Coat of Arms: Azure, a pair of Wings argent with a Coronet or per chief.
Old Coat of Arms: Azure, a pair of Wings argent.

The Province of Alaron was devastated in the Darknight, with only its capital and immediate environs left untouched. Its Dux was therefore forced to yield to Leo I the Great - however, he demanded, and got, Palatinate status for his duchy in perpetuity. That is, he was to have the same authority and power of the King within his own duchy, while bearing him allegiance and obeying him in all external matters; and his successors were to have the same rights. And so matters stood, with the Duchy of Alaron proving a vibrant and integral part of our Kingdom for generations.

It was Leo VI the Shrewd who, in one of his few miscalculations, began to encroach on the rights of the Duke Palatine shortly before his untimely death. When Duke Alonso presented himself before the newly-crowned Leo VII to swear allegiance, he humbly asked that his ancestral rights be restored in their fullness. King Leo responded by striking him on the cheek and telling him there could only be one King in Hadron. (He was later surnamed "the Mad".) When Duke Alonso, mortally insulted, threw down his gage at the feet of the King's Champion, King Leo had his guard cut the noble Duke down like a cur and made mock of his corpse.

Nobody could reasonably blame his son Andric, the new Duke, for immediately severing ties with the Hadronese crown - at any rate, not on grounds of fairness or ethics or noblesse, but it was a terrible move politically. Leo's troops poured over the Loudrush River into Alaron. By any sane expectation, they should have met no significant resistance. But Duke Andric and his small guard fought like fiends, and the people of the city with him. Defeated at great cost, they melted into the Waste and harried the invading force, which could not gain the cooperation of the locals even with the harshest measures. Eventually, and much to their great relief, Mad King Leo recalled them for others of his projects, and the Alaronese rebuilt their lives.

However, most Hadronese feel that the extreme gestures of conciliation by Leo IX the Pious (his older brother Leo VIII the Brief - sometimes called the Regicide - had been killed by the Lion Guard moments after stabbing Mad King Leo) should have won even hearts made of stone and ice. After sending stupendously magnificent gifts in reparation and offering to pay all costs of rebuilding and weregild, he walked barefoot to Alaron in rags, buffeting himself the while, and prostrating himself before the ducal throne, begged forgiveness for his father's madness and evil. Duke Barto gazed upon him and replied, "We forgive - but we do not forget." (He later made that a motto of his house - the older one being "Borne Up On The Wings Of Eagles" - and altered the realm's style to "Grand Duchy" to emphasize its independence.) King Leo remained prostrate there for hours, until finally the Duke offered him his hand in friendship and raised him up - but he would do no more than that.

Since then the Grand Duchy has led a hardscrabble life, eking out an existence proudly but minimally from the Waste and even more from trade. The Alaronese are renowned for driving hard bargains. They invented the idea of the "joint stock corporation", a concept that still gives the theologians fits in regard to the sin of usury. Alaronese merchants sail far in pursuit of new markets and new opportunities, and are the loudest voices in Novalis for scouring out the Stepstone pirates. Yet for all of that, the Alaronese maintain a strong sense of community - and no doubt this has much to do with the threatening presence of the Wastelanders.

Lacking the armies of Hadron and the swift waters of the Loudrush to protect them, the Alaronese exercise constant vigilance against threats from the Waste. All citizens, no matter how highborn, are required to labor at fixed times on the city's defenses and to man the walls. Thus even desperate rivals in business can find themselves sharing a watch or blistering their hands together on sandbags - and no doubt this is often deliberately arranged. These laws have also given the Grand Dukes - who are not exempt from them - an almost Melendrian touch with the commons, and though we Hadronese may wince at the gaucherie of it all, certainly there is something a bit splendid about it.

Not all the Grand Dukes have been good or wise, of course: The disastrous Loudrush War has also been called Duke Daric's Folly on both sides of the river. Likewise, the Alaronese practice of providing safe haven for runaway Hadronese serfs is a constant source of tension. There seems to be a small war between Alaron and Hadron every few generations; none have ever been conclusive, as the Hadronese crown is wary of exposing its flank to the Visian League. Yet despite it all, the two peoples share a sense of kinship and marriages "across the river" occur constantly.

Adventurers in the Waste should note that the Grand Duchy lays absolute claim to all the land of the original Province of Alaron and all wealth within it. They are willing to pay a moderate "finder's fee" for those who bring wealth out of the Waste, but confiscate the rest without apology. On the other hand, the Grand Dukes will richly reward those who make finds in the Waste that can better enable the Alaronese to support themselves - knowledge that can be used or sold, veins of ore that can be mined, land fertile enough to be farmed. Also note that Alaron is famous for its corps of Wasteland Rangers, or "Wastrels" as many jokingly call them. The Rangers have pulled many an adventurer's fat from the fire... and also confiscated many a treasure. (Part of the Wastrels' mystique and pride is that they consider themselves "Duke Andric's Men", part of the original band that braved the Waste to harry the much larger Hadronese army, almost without hope.)

There are rumors that the current Grand Duke Vendric intends to formally declare his realm a Principality and himself thus a Prince. This declaration of outright sovereignty would doubtless incense the Hadronese crown, and might bring on another war. (Even Duke Barto was politic enough - and sensible enough, given the size of Alaron - to limit himself to "Grand Duchy".) Why he would be willing to run such a risk for an essentially empty phrase is unknown.

The Alaronese speak a distinctive dialect of southern Hadronese. Originally Alaron Province was somewhat more Kelhic than Hadron, but interbreeding and travel have long since erased any distinction.

Alaronese laws regarding magic are very similar to those of Hadron. The nearness of the Waste means that the Flux sometimes affects mages within its boundaries, however.
 

Other Nations of the North:

Folkheim of Thule
Capital: Festburg
Head of State: Hoch-Jarl Gustav Bloodeye, Ring-Giver of All Thule
Medium of Exchange: Thulish "kroners", though coins of other lands are used freely.
Coat of Arms: None. Each Hoch-Jarl creates his own personal symbol to use as a badge, however. King Gustav's is a red eye.

As already mentioned, the native Thuler of the north have long been a fractious bunch, with myriads of minor jarls, thanes, and other potentates. Occasionally one would be strong, smart, and ruthless enough to make himself the "Hoch-Jarl" over all of Thule, but this never outlasted the first display of weakness, nor passed to a successor, until the last century. Increasing boldness on the part of the Stepstone pirates, increasing restiveness on the part of the Rovers, and perhaps also increasing influence from Novalian civilization, convinced the Thuler that they needed a single leader. Several major jarls called a Moot... those who refused to come were given decent burial. (Those who weren't burned in their halls, of course...) There they selected one of their own number to be the Hoch-Jarl for his lifetime.

The Hoch-Jarl's power is far from absolute. He is required to call the Moot at least once every six years, and it can be called even against his will if enough jarls decide upon it. During the time the Moot is in session, it has all the authority of the Hoch-Jarldom, collectively, and can make any laws any faction can cow the rest into accepting. The Hoch-Jarldom can even be transferred to another, if desired, and if the current Hoch-Jarl objects and refuses to abdicate... well, the appointment was only for his lifetime, after all.

However, it must be said that the institutions of the Moot and the Hoch-Jarldom seem to have sunk into the Thuler psyche. In recent decades there has been comparatively little unseemliness, to say no more, in the transfer of power. There had long been a tradition of moots on the local level; it would seem that the Thuler have taken the step of viewing the nation as a whole as their community, and thus that they have created a true state. One sign of this is that they have selected a single city, Festburg, as their capital, whereas before the Hoch-Jarl had reigned from his own traditional lands. (Festburg is in a highly defensible location, hence the name.) Still, Thule has few laws compared to more civilized lands, and the word "bureaucracy" has not yet entered their vocabulary.

Their gloomy religion of Wyrd has already been mentioned. A streak of fatalism permeates the Thuler psyche; "A good day to die!" is not uncommonly used the way we would say, "Good morrow!" Their sagas are full of heroic last stands, with the heroes dying ugly deaths. (The Standers are about the only Kells the Thuler have been known to consistently express admiration for - though they can't resist adding that twenty of them ended up living! It comes of associating with the alfar...) In general it is believed that a man's Wyrd, his fate, is fixed from the moment of his birth. What makes a man admirable, therefore, is not what he achieves or suffers but how he faces either - with a sort of bold stoicism, to both good and ill, being the ideal. Thulish "gods" are just as subject to Wyrd as men; they are invoked not for changes of fate but for the courage to face it.

Stepstone Archipelagate
Capital: Anyport, on Storm Island (unofficial)
Head of State: Captain Jimm "Strongarm" Tomson, Sealord of Storm Island, Authority of Anyport, Archon of the Archipelagate, and Admiral of the Ocean-Sea (unofficial)
Medium of Exchange: Coins of all nations are exchanged freely in the Stepstones. There is no legal tender.
Coat of Arms: None, though the sealords often whimsically create their own clashing standards with no regard for the rules of heraldry. Captain Jimm's is a bared and bent red arm on a sea-green background.

The Stepstone Islands bridge the New Sea, stretching from the Southern Sentinels to the Northern. The native Fholk vanished long ago, buried under wave after wave of outcasts, exiles, freebooters, and soldiers of fortune. Every people known to us is represented there in one proportion or another - those who did not gravitate to the Islands because of their own lawless natures have been brought there as slaves. The Islanders themselves cheerfully say, "The scum rises to the top!" and Novalians see no reason to disagree, at any rate in their case.

Every language in Occida and many from further away has met and mingled in the Stepstones. The resulting patois, called Islander Common, is one of the few useful things to come out of the archipelago. Very simple in structure and easy for anyone to learn, it has proven a useful lingua franca for merchants and travellers everywhere. While it is difficult to express complex concepts in Islander without extravagant circumlocution, its use has penetrated even into the Wastelands!

It is just as well, given their language, that the Islanders are quite fond of extravagant circumlocution. They love sonorous, impressive-sounding phrases and delight in puns - witness the name "Anyport", and Captain Jimm's long string of spurious titles. The very name "Archipelagate" is a deliberate joke, as the Stepstones have no unified government at all save for the cowing of the weak by the strong.

Currently the strongest of the Sealords (as the warlords of the various islands call themselves) is Captain Jimm Tomson. He made himself the master of Storm Island - the largest Stepstone, and the one with the best harbor - by murdering the previous "ruler" over dinner. The Strongarm's arrogance is exceeded only by his whimsical sense of humor - he has actually had the gall to send "ambassadors" with mockingly-phrased missives to the nations of Novalis. As a result, sentiment for rooting out the infestation of piracy from the Stepstones is starting to rise.

Only time will tell if it rises to the sticking point - the problem is that the Sealords, when they work together, have a navy far superior to any other in the New Sea. Indeed, many nations, tired of having their ships challenged by the pirates, have simply given letters of marque to certain Sealords of their choosing during time of war rather than building up large navies. The only thing that has prevented the Stepstone pirates from large-scale depredation of our coastlines is their own fractiousness and perhaps simply the common sense that they have neither the population nor the resources to match a sufficiently angry Novalis. They live quite comfortably as it is; why rock the boat? Captain Jimm and others of the Sealords have quietly let it be known that any pirate who steps over a certain line will quickly become a meal for the fishes.

The pirates are infamous for their practice of slavery. They rarely raid Novalian towns any more (that is well over the "certain line" already mentioned) but consider Rovers, Thuler thralls, the crews of captured ships, and even Wastelanders free game. They also take slaves all up and down the western shores of Occida (the coastal Shards make easy pickings) and sometimes even Sirisa. They keep some for labor in the Stepstones, but sell the rest in places like the Restored Empire, some of the Minaean cities, Sirisa, or sometimes even Thule. The one place they never take slaves from - or raid the ships of - is the Aurelian Protectorate. The Sealords have been taught to fear the Psions and the Gryphoneers as they fear death. Some merchants have attempted to share this immunity by falsely flying the flag of the Consuls... but this is met by the Protectorate with harsh sanctions, and by the Sealords (if they discover the trick) with inventive tortures.

The Stepstones sport an unusual magical tradition, that of the Islander shamans. They follow an animistic belief-system that may derive in part from the Fholk, but more likely comes from Rover slaves. At any rate, the language of Fholko has survived only as an elaborate curse-language that is supposed to get the attention of the spirits. How much the language has degraded from the time when it saw daily use is impossible to guess, but even now its structure is unlike any other known language. Many shamanic rituals center around the Standing Stones, but it is highly doubtful that the shamans are in touch with any genuine Fholk tradition about them.

Free Community of Tear
Capital: Monastery Height (unofficial)
Head of State: Elder Brother Honzo, Slave of the Way (unofficial)
Medium of Exchange: Coins of all nations are accepted, though most villagers simply use barter. The monks, of course, do not handle money save on official business.
Coat of Arms: None. A blue Tear on a white circle is sometimes used as a sign of the monastery, however, and a red kerchief on the right arm is sometimes used as a badge by the monks. (See below.) The symbol of the Way itself is a plain white circle.

Some of the Sealords and other prosperous figures in the Stepstones treat their slaves more kindly than others, but overall the life of an Island slave is grindingly harsh, with fearsome public torture meted out for any act of rebellion. (The one great fear the Sealords have had, other than invasion, is of a slave revolt.) Thuler thralls have more rights, and that is saying something considerable... slaves may not own even the slightest articles of personal property. They are not permitted to cover their upper bodies in public, so that the brands on right shoulder and left upper arm may be clearly seen. (In the northern islands, which can get fairly cold in the winter, this rule is mitigated in bad weather so that only the upper-arm brand must be exposed. They lose fewer slaves to hypothermia that way.) Slaves suspected of being rebellious are often branded additionally on a wrist or even on a cheek, lest they go unnoticed by covering themselves. They are of course not permitted to carry weapons of any kind, and for a slave even to look at a weapon is to invite a cuff or worse.

It is perhaps inevitable that under such conditions the slaves would develop many subtle means of resistance. Shamanism is probably one of these. Another is the form of unarmed combat and mental discipline known simply as the Way. The Way bears such a strong resemblance to Agathist belief and practice that it is generally conceded by sages that there must be a connection. Certainly it would not be strange for a group of Agathists to flee the destruction of the Empire to the Stepstones... nor for their descendants to wish to help a populace as downtrodden as the slaves. Still, the Islanders have added their own unique touches.

The one place where the Way is practiced openly is also the one place where there was a successful slave revolt: The northernmost Stepstone, called Tear for its shape on the map. The practicioners of the Way, apparently borrowing many disciplines and practices from the contemplative monks of the Light (there is evidence of an old abandoned monastery on Tear) established a school and "monastery" of their own there. The Sealords have repeatedly tried to retake Tear, or failing that, to destroy the community there; but they have never succeeded. The Tear-monks, as they are called by others, are the primary reason why - though the spells of the shamans certainly haven't hurt.

The Tear-monks form a community unlike any other on Occida. The essence of their system is to think of oneself as a slave - not of a human owner, but of the Way. Thus their own term for themselves is Way-slaves. Part of their ritual of initiation is in fact to brand novices with the slave-marks traditional to the Islands, no matter if they were freeborn before - though the owner mark is a unique one, indicating the Way. They have no property, carry no weapons, and owe obedience to the Elder Brother of the monastery. Tear-monks who violate the precepts of the Way are expected (not forced) to volunteer themselves for punishment as rebellious slaves - though the savage tortures of the Sealords are much mitigated by the monks, sometimes even, in mild cases, to the point of symbolism. (One does not need to be a Tear-monk to follow the Way, of course. They freely teach it to anyone who is humble enough to learn - but to learn the advanced techniques requires so much humility and testing thereof that one might as well be a Way-slave by the time one is finished.)

The Elder Brother of the monastery is the de facto leader of Tear, for the villagers of the island hold the monks in awe. They will often approach him to resolve their disputes, a duty he finds tiresome but necessary.

The Sealords have all but given up on Tear, since the community there does not seem interested in inspiring a widespread slave revolt - and because the existence of Tear to dream about gives many slaves, paradoxically enough, sufficient hope to stop being utterly desperate. Thus they usually look the other way when Tear-monks come to comfort slaves in their labors. (And likewise when priests and missionaries of the Light do so.) Since Tear-monks insist on going uncovered and displaying their brands, there is an unspoken agreement that Tear-monks who wear a red kerchief tied about their right arm will not be molested by the Islanders. Naturally, many Tear-monks don't bother to wear one, and equally naturally any ordinary slave caught wearing a red kerchief (unsupported by the brand of the Way) is tortured. (It seems to be becoming customary for the red kerchief to be used as a badge of younger and not-fully-trained monks, or those who are on official business of the Elder Brother, even on Tear.) The Sealords' tolerance emphatically does NOT extend to teaching the practice of the Way, but that just inspires the monks to work harder not to get caught.

Tear-monks go through successive phases of initiation, one of which is called Wandering the Way. "Though Tear contains the heart, and the heart contains the world, still the world contains Tear," is their saying. And so Tear-monks may occasionally be found wandering throughout Occida, seeing the world, giving comfort to the downtrodden, perhaps even teaching a little of the Way, until they believe they have learned their own heart well enough to return. A very few have even asked for and received permission from the Elder Brother to Wander the Way as a permanent calling. To the best knowledge of this author, no other Tear-monasteries have been planted elsewhere, but it seems likely that this will eventually happen. (Neither are there any Tear-nuns up to this point, though the monks teach the Way as freely to women as to men. It is quite understandable that having both men and women about with their upper bodies uncovered could be destructive to monastic discipline...)

Aurelian Protectorate (though the official name is "Second Republic of Aurelia", the term "Protectorate" is overwhelmingly favored in daily use)
Capital: Vigilans
Heads of State: Consuls Marcus Klytion and Stephanos Aemilius, Protectors of the Senate and People of Aurelia
Medium of Exchange: Protectorate "denarius"
Coat of Arms: None. The symbol of the Consuls is the fasces, and a popular symbol of the Protectorate itself is the Gryphon. But in general the Protectorate has little time for heraldry, "a decadently feudal Novalian art". They fly a white flag bearing the plain black letters "SPQA", the Aurelian initials for "The Senate and People of Aurelia" on those occasions that they feel a need to identify their nationals, while groups and ships on government or military business fly a flag with Fasces above and below the letters, blades turned away from them.

There had always been factions in the Aurelian Empire who had yearned for the glory days of the Republic and sought to restore it. There had also always been Minaean factions who, while accepting Imperial rule and embracing Imperial culture in many respects, resented and despised the influence of the wizards and of corrupt (so they said) Parmedi ways. When the Empire collapsed from within, these groups found themselves as very strange bedfellows - their main point in common being to restore an idealized past.

While the diehards stayed to try to restore the Republic and/or root out the wizards, the realists among them fled, along with thousands of other refugees. Several disciplined groups pooled their resources and came north to the old Province of Trans-Custodes, a sparsely-settled strip of land west of the Southern Sentinels. There they set about creating their ideal of the Aurelia-that-should-have-been. Many compromises were made, and a bizarre mixture of Old Minaean and Classical Aurelian culture resulted.

Wizardry, and indeed all magic, was rejected with contempt. Instead the twin Minaean disciplines of psionics and philosophy were revived in a disciplined way never achieved in Minaea itself. Republican institutions were restored, and supplemented moderately with Minaean "democracy". Even their religion was tainted by an excessive reliance on Agathist categories of thought, producing what we today call the "Sophist Heresy". They, in turn, do not acknowledge the primacy of our Patriarch, though Trans-Custodes fell traditionally under his sway in Old Imperial times; instead they send their Bishops south to be consecrated by the First Patriarch on Samos. (Protests from Lucia to Samos have been met by the point that the Protectorate more or less follows the Minaean Rite (which uses Old Minaean as the liturgical language) rather than the Aurelian Rite practiced in the north. The loss of the original line of Patriarchs of the North in the destruction of New Aurelia has further muddied the waters... Every so often one side or the other goes into schism with the other, though this has always been patched up after a couple years. As for the issue of heresy, Samos claims it is all a matter of faulty translation into Aurelian. It is noted by Novalian scholars, however, that the First Patriarch himself never uses key Sophist terminology.)

Protectorate citizens are divided between Patricians and Plebeians, just as ancient Aurelia was. Unlike ancient Aurelia, however, the sole distinction of the two is the possession of a minimum degree of psionic talent on the part of the Patricians. The established Patrician families do tend to be wealthy, since trained psions are in high demand, and they are respected because of their contributions to the defense of the State... but it is considered very bad form for Patricians to put on airs and many go out of their way to insist that they are "ordinary citizens". Nonetheless, it is seen as scandalous for Patricians and Plebeians to intermarry, simply because it represents a dilution of the bloodlines of great psionic potential. Plebeians who display psionic power are usually adopted into an existing Patrician family, but they can choose to found their own line if they wish.

The Patricians are represented in the Senate; the Senate itself votes to extend the invitation of a seat to distinguished individuals - who must be telepaths of at least some degree - from each locality when a seat becomes open there. Nominations are made by the Patrician families of the locality in question, but the Senate is not required to heed them. It is the Senate that passes legislation and selects the two Consuls (with the advice and consent of the Demos of the Nation) - most often from among their own number, but they may choose any citizen whatever for the honor, and Plebeian Consuls are far from unknown. Usually one Consul handles affairs of state and the other leads the army, though they can decide on any mutually agreeable division of labor; the one constant point is that any act of one can be vetoed by the other. (Theoretically Consuls are elected only in time of war... however the Second Republic has been in a continuous state of war with the Restored Empire almost since its founding, so the point is rather moot. Even in times of comparative quiet, this sense of constant danger and need to defend the State defines the national soul of the Protectorate.)

Local affairs are largely decided by the local Demos - the collectivity of eligible Plebeian men periodically assembled in the town square - which elects officials known as Tribunes to carry out their policies. The Demos of the Nation is likewise the collectivity of the Tribunes periodically assembled in Vigilans; it must approve the selection of the Consuls and has veto power over certain kinds of legislation, including any declaration of war. (Given the circumstances, this means "initiation of overtly hostile activity", at any rate when it comes to the Empire.) Patricians may run for the office of Tribune if they wish - and this can be a good way for an ambitious young Patrician to come to national attention - but cannot vote for them. (It should also be noted that Patricians cannot be tried for crimes by the local Demos - they can be tried only by the Senate - but are bound to obey the local Tribune just as much as any other citizen.)

The legions of the Protectorate are a special case; they are not subject to the local Demoi and it is considered too destructive to military discipline to treat them as "localities" of their own. Instead the Consuls appoint the lower officers from among Tribunes past and present; this position is known as the "military tribunate". Military tribunes are expected to represent the rights of their men to those higher in the chain of command.

The legions make liberal use of the various Psion Corps. While psionics is not as useful for sheer destruction as war-magic, the Psions are trained to make the most of what they have in subtle and even underhanded ways. Telepaths read the plans of opposing officers and send images of terror to opponents; espers spy in more direct fashion; telekinetics have a variety of uses; and biokinetics heal the injured as well as having other uses too horrible to lightly contemplate. Another famous corps is the Gryphoneers, an elite group that rides the gryphons that nest in the Southern Sentinels. These "air cavalry" are used on the Protectorate's enemies to devastating effect; most of the Gryphoneers are also psionic in one measure or another. (Rumor has it that several Kings of Hadron have offered exorbitant sums for war-gryphons - in addition to their military uses, the symbolism of the lion-eagles is obvious. They have always been flatly rejected.)

Yet another elite corps, not attached to the legions, is infamous. Sorcerers are of course born in the Protectorate as they are everywhere else, but there they are seen as an abomination. The Second Republic is too frugal to waste any potential resource, however... they adapted their stringent psionic training to produce a breed of "sorcerer" whose sole ability is to quench magic used on them or nearby them. These are the Antimagoi, and they are drilled to become skilled warriors as well. (Those who wash out of the warrior training are used for defensive purposes only.) Some of the officers of the Antimagoi have the additional, and fearsome, ability to temporarily drain magical abilities from mages entirely!

(Be it noted that the popular tale that the Protectorate sports four orders of knighthood based on the names of angels is a bard's invention with some basis in fact. The Knights Michael correspond to the elite legion units, the Knights Gabriel to the Telepath Signal Corps, the Knights Raphael to the Biokinetic Medic Corps, and the Knights Uriel to the Antimagoi. The Protectorate in actuality has little use for knighthood, which is another "decadently feudal" custom in their view. All citizens are expected to defend the State at need, with the blessing of their Bishops. [ENWorld note: This refers to a well-known - to us - aspect of the original campaign that I saw fit to remove.])

As may already be apparent, the language of the Protectorate veers between Minaean and Aurelian. In an interesting inversion, it is the psionic Patricians who make the most use of Classical Aurelian - which is also the official language of government - while the Plebeians usually speak a dialect of Minaean with many Aurelian loan-words. (This dialect is often called simply "Republican".) It is also quite fashionable for families with Minaean surnames to give their children Aurelian forenames, and vice versa. No Protectorate citizen seems capable of hearing the use of Church Aurelian (the beautiful, sonorous dialect used liturgically and otherwise in Novalis) without curling their lip; they insist upon the harsher, more guttural Classical form of the language as "purer".

The Protectorate is the bitter enemy of the Restored Empire, and the feeling is quite mutual. Though the Undying Emperor never had any great love for the Nova Imperium, and though his spy network is active in Novalis even now, it is the Protectorate for which he reserves the bulk of his ire. Thus far the two nations have rarely clashed directly, however, separated as they are by the myriad little states known as the Shards of Empire. Heretical and arrogant though the Protectorate may be, the good will of most Novalians goes with them in that conflict. Were it not for the formidable barrier of the Waste, many might even be inclined to lend a direct hand. While the Protectorate does not employ mercenaries, they do accept enlistees into the storied (but closely-watched) "Foreign Legion". Those who serve with distinction may be offered citizenship.

Oligarchy of Haven
Capital: Haven
Heads of State: The Seven, whose identities are unknown
Medium of Exchange: All coins are accepted, but the city does mint silver "sevens".
Coat of Arms: None. The Seven use plain black banners, and these are often taken as the city's by default.

Several decades ago, one of the more paranoid Sealords of the Stepstones decided he needed an unexpected and wholly secure bolthole should things go sour. He cached a variety of goods and foodstuffs amid the ruins of New Aurelia on the shores of the Waste. The mighty Stonesong river had dwindled to a sluggish and bitter stream, but he found (experimenting with a few slaves) that its water was safe to drink if boiled. The city had been visited before, of course, even looted, but there is no evidence that anyone else had been there in a great many years; there was no reason to come.

As time went on, he began to consider other uses for the location. The presence of an entire empty city with intact (if crumbling) walls was too suggestive to leave alone. (Why had it never been occupied by the Wastelanders? This remains a mystery.) It is known that he was even more misanthropic and mistrustful than the usual run of Sealords, and that he had a number of highly ambitious young lieutenants. Perhaps it tickled him to be a "Lord of the Waste" in addition, and in a city of Emperors, no less. At any rate, he decided to quietly retire there. Taking his time, he slowly built up a generous supply of luxuries and necessaries, then abruptly disappeared, along with a small contingent of (thoroughly broken) slaves to keep him comfortable, do the work, and warm his bed. He called "his" city Haven.

In time he sired children there, as did his slaves. While he had no interest in leaving, at least one of his sons grew impatient with his small world. Eventually, to stop his whinging, his father gave him leave to sail (with the help of some sailor-slaves, of course) to Alaron to have a look around and buy some more wine and rum. The old man also suggested he supplement their supply of coin by seeing if anyone was interested in buying the unusual iridescent crystals that sometimes washed up in the river.

The boy made it to Alaron by hugging the coast, sold the crystals to a curious alchemist, and promptly ran off with the swag. The slaves, confused, returned to Haven where they were beaten severely. And there things stood for several years. The alchemist, busy with other projects, eventually did some cursory tests, found the crystals had some faint magical properties, and therefore sold a few to a Visian mage visiting on business. It made the Visian's career. He found that the mineral, which he dubbed "fluxite", was somehow attuned to the magical resonances of the Waste - and that by stressing the crystal by means of clamps in precise positions, he could channel magic through it to be distorted in predictable ways. (Later it was found that simply cutting and polishing the fluxite in carefully-calculated ways will accomplish the same effect.) In short, fluxite was the key to shortening many important wizardly rituals... and to aiding sorcerers in manipulating the Wild Magic... and to using magic in the Waste. But its potential was limited by the fact that its attunement would gradually wear out with use. (If anything, this limitation only made the merchants MORE anxious to stock the stuff.)

Between the Visian Academy, the Grand Dukes of Alaron, and several prominent merchant families, a number of massive manhunts were soon underway for the lad described by the Alaronese alchemist. Unfortunately for him, he was found by none of them, but rather by the Patriarch of the Stealth in Lucia. (He had gravitated to that city as so many other less-than-honest people unwilling to work are.) His story was extracted from him with torture, and once it was verified, he was killed. The Lucian thieves struck a bargain with one of the Sealords, and the result, after some complicated planning to ensure secrecy, was a descent of all manner of rogues on Haven. The old Sealord had already died; his slaves were kept and more brought in. Prospecting and mining operations were begun, and the first quiet sales of fluxite began soon after. At least they started quiet, but soon they became a sensation.

The secret could not be kept for long; the question was what could be done about it. No army could readily march across the Waste, and no navy could stand up to the Sealords, who were already getting some very satisfying bribes from the Haven cabal. Though many were outraged by the capital of the Nova Imperium being used in such a fashion, few could suggest a solution. The cabal cleverly defused a good bit of Novalian ire by importing artisans (at exorbitant expense) to restore many of the great buildings of the city, as well.

Haven soon became a rough-and-tumble mining town with few rules. Only one, in fact: Do Not Annoy The Cabal. Mages of all stripes flocked there, hoping to secure a supply of fluxite without having to pay extortionary rates; when the cabal tried to squeeze them out, they found themselves targeted with all manner of spells - both subtle and not-so-subtle. To add to the confusion, the Patriarch of the Stealth was cut out of the cabal, to his outrage and vow of revenge. Assassins started sneaking into Haven along with the eager miners and mages. The situation became, as they say, "fluid".

When the dust settled, the cabal was reduced to three men who were the absolute rulers of Haven. They brought in a fourth - evidently a powerful wizard - to protect them from magical attack and to help them conceal their identities. In time, as the city has grown, the number of oligarchs has been increased to seven, and that number seems to have stabilized. The Seven never show their faces, and are strongly protected from magic of all sorts. They appear in public wearing black cowls that completely conceal their faces, and so they are sometimes called the Hooded Ones.

It may be wondered how seven men could possibly conceal their role as oligarchs of a town of less than ten thousand souls. (Though the population continues to grow swiftly.) But it is not certain that all of them even live in Haven at all - at least two are potent mages demonstrably capable of teleportation - and the rest are believed to take on cover roles in minor positions, and to have been provided with disguising magics. It is also plausibly believed that doubles are sometimes used in the hoods so that the true oligarchs can appear alongside the "Seven". Speculation as to the Seven's identities has become quite the sport in Haven, but the secrecy of it all seems to have become accepted.

In recent years the Seven have become increasingly concerned with diversifying Haven's interests. The easily-obtainable supply of fluxite has already been obtained, and prospectors and miners must go further afield amid the constant threat of the Wastelanders. They have experimented with capturing Wastelanders for sale to the Sealords as slaves and to alchemists for magical research. They have tried locating other ruined cities of Nova Imperium to plunder. They have offered the city as a transshipment point for those with cargoes they would rather not be traced. They have shrewdly invested huge sums in various trade interests. (This last has proved yet another incentive not to invade the place, especially in Alaron.) They have even encouraged pilgrimages to see the Grand Cathedral of the Light, the Imperial Palace, and other such attractions. (Rumor has it that they have oh-so-piously petitioned the Patriarch for a Bishop of their own to tend to the pilgrims... but the symbolism of a mere Bishop officiating the Rites at the original Patriarchal See is just too jarring. And certainly Theophilus III is not going to seriously consider moving to such a remote and insecure location himself! Even the merest breath of a suggestion of the idea is enough to send the entire population of Lucia - the thieves perhaps most of all - into collective apoplexy.)

Adventurers will find Haven to live up to its name only in comparison to the Waste - it's better than dying. Help, shelter, and new equipment are available, for a hefty fee.
 

The Light

No description of Novalis - or Occida - can be complete without mentioning the Light in some detail. But since no Novalian can really be very objective about it, and because I'm going to have to use some game terminology to be clear, I might as well write this up in my own person.

The Basics:

The Light is an emphatically monotheistic religion that could perhaps best be described as "missionary neo-Platonism", with healthy dollops of Aristotelian realism, Jewish awe and anthropology, Christian ideas about grace and love, and even a few dabs of Orphic mystery religions. (All, of course, stirred and half-baked in the cauldron of my agile but slimy mind. :)

It is not an inspired religion in the usual sense of that term. The writings of the saints are treasured because they are the words of holy men and women, people who were close to Truth itself and therefore bound to be more edifying than any other. But they are not "Scripture" in the sense we mean it, and they are not believed to be, in themselves, inerrant. (The "Prophetists" who thrive in Sirisa and parts of Antiquus are an exception.) What is inerrant is the Light itself, which shines through their writings and even more through their lives, which is perceived with the inner eye of the soul. The ideal is to be a flawless lens receiving the Light and focussing it upon others; sin distorts, warps, and blocks the process. So while there will be individual errors and stains even in the saints, one can piece things together by looking for what they agree on. (A big source of arguments, of course, are cases where one saint says something original and unique that nobody else remarks on or contradicts.)

What is this Light? It is the self-expression of the God. (Always called "the God" to emphasize oneness and uniqueness.) The God is seen as having three... aspects, I suppose, which are compared to the three components of a candle. The Candle itself is the God as the Source and ground of all being, opaque and beyond all human grasp. The Flame is the God's activity in Creation. And the Light streaming from the Flame is the God making that activity known to the faithful. (While this isn't the Christian Trinity of love, by any means, neither is it the rather repulsive - to my thinking - neo-Platonist "trinity" of almost involuntary declensions within the Divine Principle.)

It is a central philosophical point that Light - even ordinary physical light - is itself invisible, though by it we see all else. The only "visible" and remotely comprehensible part of the God is the Flame, but in order to "see" it we must be receptive to the Light in our souls. Thus the Rite of Enlightenment, in which one's "inner eye" is opened. This enables one to sense, by faith, the unity in the various ways in which the True Light impinges on us: when it strikes the retina, ordinary light and color; when it strikes the body, pleasure; when it strikes the senses, beauty; when it strikes the emotions, joy; when it strikes the mind, truth; when it strikes the will, virtue; when it strikes the innermost heart, love. When each of these is raised to perfection, they converge into the God. (The God is more than these things, of course; human beings aren't capable of responding to all the infinite perfections of the God.) Thus to be united with the God is to love all things, to do all good, to know all truth, to comprehend all beauty, to be suffused with perfect pleasure and joy. What we would call "Heaven".

Whereas Darkness is the absence of these things, the negation of them, the "Be Not" that rejects the Light. It is not conceived of as a personal being - that would be attributing to it more solidity and reality than it has - though peasant superstition, of course, does not always pay attention to such theological niceties. "Dark", when used in a certain way, is in fact a curse word, used much the same way we use both "damn" and "hell". (The term "Darknight Devastation" thus has a brimstone, blasphemous feel about it for Novalians that might not be apparent at first.)

A human being is viewed as a seamless composite of body and soul - Cartesian dualism would strike most Novalians as a truly vicious heresy, if they could stop laughing long enough to take it seriously. Astral Projection and other such things are regarded as purely symbolic, different states of consciousness that are experienced in an unusual way, beyond the usual relations with space and time - and frankly, I'm not at all sure they're wrong. (If they thought it was anything but that, they wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole, though.) "Body" and "soul" are just different aspects of the human being - different modes in which the person responds to Light and to other persons. What, then, is death? Ah, there's the rub.

Because of sin, the human person is not in harmony. This disharmony grows until it reaches a point where something breaks, you might say, and the person is terribly wounded - losing the "bodily" modes of perception entirely. (They share with Aristotle the idea that we start from a tabula rasa and that the senses are the ground of all reasoning, so this is truly a catastrophe.) The result is utter sensory deprivation - worse, utter loss even of sensory powers like imagination and memory. (Possibly even loss of all emotions, though the theologians still dispute this with vigor.) In a word, partial Darkness.

And if one has not cultivated the other modes, if one has not sufficiently learned to seek the truth, to do what is right, to give of oneself in love, the Darkness will be total and complete. One will exist, in a way, but in sheer oblivion, with no company except one's thoughts, for eternity. (Another theological argument centers around whether demons will inspire ghastly thoughts, thus producing a sort of "hell". But it is generally felt that this is scarcely more terrifying.) Thus, all the choices of one's life converge on a single Choice to open one's inner eye to the Light in death - and since the Light is one and pure, any contact with it will be all that is needed for a perfect existence. Unity with the Light will, as I said, provide all the perfections with which a human being is capable of responding - thus there is, in a certain way, a "resurrection of the body", or at any rate of the senses.

Since that stark, naked Choice is before everyone at all times, what's the deal with priests? A priest is, in this belief, someone who has been given a special channel of perception and transmission of the Light, distinct from bodily and psychic modes. This channel is called "spirit". The Light thus shines upon the priest in this "spiritual" way, and then proceeds outward from him to others, primarily in the Rites, awakening in them (if their inner eye is sufficiently open) an awareness of the Light not otherwise possible, that is awakening "spirit" in them as well. (Why isn't everybody a priest? Ask the God - that's the way things are.) Anyway, when the Light strikes one's "spirit", it produces "glory", an ineffable experience that is the central pillar of theology.

Thus, disciples of the Light (often called the Enlightened) will freely admit that it is possible in principle for anyone to be "saved", to make the right Choice. But not everyone who does has "glory", and thus does not have the fullest possible eternal existence. It is also maintained that "glory" unifies and heightens all of the other modes of perception, making the correct Choice far easier and more likely. (Is it possible to receive "spirit" and "glory" after death? The debate rages. The majority view is that if it were possible, there would be no need for more than one priest.)

Since death is seen almost more like a wound than anything else, and a wound that can be quickly healed, the Enlightened have a vivid awareness of the presence of the deceased. They believe they are being constantly watched and loved and touched by them, just in a way that cannot be bodily perceived. (A dead body is not exactly an "empty shell" - more like a part of the person that has unfortunately stopped functioning. Our hair and nails are part of us despite the fact they are "dead" - well, the same for the body in death.) The abomination of undeath is that it seems to them to be a scarcely-imaginable third Choice - a way to temporarily escape Darkness, sort of, but not to embrace the Light. Perhaps it an option offered to some by demons, a new mode of perception and existence that simply is not meant to be, a mockery of warm, human, personal life.

Hierarchy:

Back to priests. Where do they get their "spirit"? From a Bishop, in the Rite of Ignition. Where do Bishops get the ability to do that? From the Patriarch, in the Rite of Kindling. Where did the Patriarch get the ability to do that? Well, the First Patriarch sends him a torch lit from the Eternal Flame on the Minaean island of Samos. Where did the Eternal Flame come from? Nobody knows. It was there on Samos from time out of mind, worshipped as a representation of the pagan god Samos-Photion. St. Phosphoros the Light-Bringer, a priest of that "god", became the first First Patriarch when he dared to place his hand in the Flame. He learned a lot in the process, but not everything.

All this talk of "ignition" and "kindling" is more than just metaphorical, for the holy symbol of the Light is a candle - a white candle that burns constantly with a pure golden flame. The technical theological term for it is "phokis", that is, "lamp" - it's still the custom in Minaea to enclose the candle in a lantern-like framework, and they tend to see the Novalian practice of not using one as a bit irreverent - but linguistic corruption and Aurelian influence has turned that word into "focus" in Novalis. It's not inappropriate, because it is in fact the "focus" of the priest's spells. But the common folk, of course, care nothing for theological correctness and usually just call it a "candle". :)

The flame of the focus does not burn or harm material things unless they are evil in some way - placing one's hand over a priest's candle is in fact a recognized test for, if not goodness, at any rate lack of sheer depravity. Its steadiness and brightness reflect the priest's faith - flickering indicates doubt or uncertainty or lack of trust, dimming indicates sin. (And let me just say boy, wouldn't it be nice if life were that easy in this world. :) If the priest does something really seriously wrong, enough to lose the use of his spells, it is snuffed out - part of the ritual of the Atonement spell is to relight it from the caster's focus. Any priest can cast the Light spell at will simply by raising his focus above his eye level - it automatically brightens to the level of a torch. He can increase that to the level of the Daylight spell by concentrating. (Spending a Hero Point will cause the Daylight to linger for 10 minutes/level, just as if he had cast the spell.) The flame of the focus can be covered up and hidden if it is absolutely necessary, but this is such bad symbolism that priests will generally refuse to do it except to save lives. In fact, if the thing is covered against the priest's will, the flame will shine clearly through the covering regardless. Taking a priest's focus away is certainly possible, but legends abound about the bad luck that occurs to those who do so. (And the priest can get a new one, he isn't bound to using the same focus forever. When his new one is ignited - he can do it himself from any other priest's focus, he doesn't need a Bishop's help, though that's nice - the old one goes out.) When the priest isn't holding the focus in his hand, he usually tucks it into his belt, which looks quite odd if you're not used to it.

The laity, while they don't have focuses, often wear or display gold-and-silver "candles" (or copper-and-tin, or enameled iron, depending on one's means). Candles with the Continual Flame spell cast on them by a priest are much in demand among the pious. (The priest can't charge for casting the spell, of course - that's simony - but the local church can sell specially-made candles to use for the spell and for other purposes.) And of course ordinary candles abound in worship, devotion, and piety. Another symbol that pops up from time to time is a triangle interwoven with a circle - this "Trigon" figure is traced on the floor in gold around the Eternal Flame on Samos, and is believed to represent the God's three aspects and unity of nature.

A Bishop's focus is a torch that burns with the same golden flame. Often the torch is built into a staff to make it easier to carry around. Even so, it's not always convenient to cart about, so the Bishop can ignite an ordinary priest's focus from the torch to use as well. The torch gives off Daylight if raised above the Bishop's eye level, and if he concentrates he can produce a continuous Turn Undead effect - and if an undead is specifically vulnerable to sunlight, it is automatically destroyed if it is successfully turned, as per the Greater Turning ability of the Sun domain. The Patriarch has a quite-stationary Flammifer, a golden bonfire burning in a large (and highly-enchanted) golden basin in his Cathedral. Let's just say that it's very impressive, and that undead really, REALLY don't like it. (Don't even ask what happens if the Patriarch concentrates. :) The Patriarch can, and does, kindle a Bishop's torch from the Flammifer for his own use. The First Patriarch, of course, has the Eternal Flame. One is in a position to guarantee that there are no undead on Samos, never have been, and probably never will be. :) For that matter, there aren't really any stories about them on the surrounding islands, either... All of these, except for the Eternal Flame, go out when the priest, Bishop, or Patriarch dies. Other than dying or unfaithfulness, there is no other way to quench them known.

It should be obvious that no schism against the First Patriarch can last long - when the local Patriarch dies, there's no new Patriarch, and thus no new Bishops, and thus eventually no new priests, until the First Patriarch deigns to relight the Flammifer. In theory, the cooperation of seven Bishops can kindle a new Bishop, but this is seen as a desperation measure of dire extremity. (Nobody knows if seven "second generation" Bishops can do this to kindle a "third generation" - no schism has ever lasted that long. Many theologians suspect not - you can't get that "far" from the Eternal Flame.) Schisms between other Patriarchs can last indefinitely, but there's always the possibility that the First Patriarch will get disgusted with both sides and "starve them out" if you will. In general, the First Patriarchs are highly reluctant to do this, though - the conflict between the Sophists and the Patriarchate of the North has been going on for quite a while, for example. (The North has of course been at pains to emphasize that they have nothing against Samos itself, just the Sophists sheltered in ignorance by it in the Protectorate.)

The Orders:

Novalian priests usually dress in a plain white cowled robe, with a belt about their waist. The robe has a colored fringe along the bottom hem and the ends of the sleeves, indicating what Order they belong to. (See below.) Bishops and Patriarchs are seen as transcending the Orders, so they wear plain white robes.

Priests of the Light have initial access to the domains of Good, Healing, Knowledge, Pastoral, Protection, Sun, and War. (I am strongly considering creating a new "priest" class that gets spells like a sorcerer, but it'll probably have domains too, so this will still apply.) They have to take Good as one of their domains (note: replace the 6th level spell Blade Barrier with Banishment), and the other domain determines what Order they belong to. However, a priest can expand his domains using faith-feats (which I'll describe in another document.) Once his Order is fixed, he can "branch out" into certain other domains not on the initial list, as well as the other ones on it. Bishops and Patriarchs, who belong to no Order, can expand into any of the domains any Order can take, if they wish.

The four Orders are those of Service (Healing or Pastoral), Inquiry (Knowledge), Union (Sun), and Guard (Protection or War). All of them are really umbrella organizations - there are all sorts of communities with their own rules and ways of life under them. Each has its motherhouse (at any rate, for the Patriarchate of the North) in Lucia. (In most other places, things are much more informal and priests of different domains don't separate into such rigid groups. It's a Northern thing, and Novalians are sometimes seen as a little bit stuffy about it. The idea seems to be catching on in Parma too, though.) The leader of each Order is called simply the First Servant, the First Inquirer, and so on.

The color of the Servants is red, for the inner flame of love and charity. They are the most numerous Order, and even apart from that, they supply the lion's share of pastors. Most Bishops and Patriarchs started out as Servants. Naturally they are often found tending to the sick, and leading local communities. Priests of the Order of Service can branch out into the domains of Luck (they've got plenty of good karma, so to speak) and Plant (for blessing crops and the like), but usually take first whichever of Healing or Pastoral they didn't have already. (Note: Remove Disease is treated as an extra 3rd level Healing domain spell. And I'll probably end up tweaking Luck some too.)

The Pastoral domain is of my own creation, and has spells of use in leading and preserving a community:

Granted Power: Once per day you can add an enhancement bonus equal to your level to one use of a social skill. (However long that takes.) This ability applies to all Charisma-based skills except Disguise and Use Magic Device, and to Innuendo and Sense Motive.

1. Command
2. Calm Emotions
3. Create Food and Water
4. Discern Lies
5. Break Enchantment
6. Geas/Quest
7. Control Weather
8. Greater Planar Ally
9. Miracle

The Inquirers' color is blue, a symbol of knowledge and wisdom. They seek the truth in all its forms - they are among Occida's finest sages and even scientists. They also handle heresy investigations (which most of them find a crashing bore, an unpleasant but necessary duty). Don't think of them as the Spanish Inquisition, though - they don't use torture (though the Detect Thoughts spell they get would tend to make it unnecessary anyway) and they have no authority to punish anybody... though what the secular state will decide to do with somebody declared a heretic might be another matter. Inquirers are in love with the God's Creation and are always seeking out beginnings and the roots of things, and so they can branch out into any two of the elemental domains (but not opposites, like Fire and Water.) You'd think Fire would be the most popular, but they just don't seem to think that way, tying it to the Light - it all depends on the individual Inquirer's personality and interests. (Note: Replace the "Detect Secret Doors" Knowledge domain spell at 1st level with Comprehend Languages.)

The Uniates' color is gold, because they are above all seeking union with the Light. They are the Light's mystics and contemplatives, the dreamers and zealots. Some of them gather in monastic communities, but there are also wandering Uniates. (They, along with Servants, make good missionaries.) They can branch out into Animal (animals respond to the love of the Creator streaming out from the Uniate) and Travel (they begin to transcend space and time as they contemplate the Timeless). (Note: Replace the "Heat Metal" Sun domain spell at 2nd level with Continual Flame. Replace Fire Seeds at 6th level with Planar Ally.)

The color of the Guardians is green, for the life they seek to defend. Guardians, unsurprisingly, often multiclass as fighters. Their job is to defend the faithful from all threats, natural or supernatural. They can branch out into Strength and Wrath. (The "hand" of the Bigby spells is invisible, mimicking the motion of the priest's hand. It is a force effect.) "Wrath" is used to destroy the enemies of the God, as follows:

Granted Power: The same "smite" ability of the Destruction domain.

1. Inflict Light Wounds
2. Inflict Moderate Wounds
3. Inflict Serious Wounds
4. Inflict Critical Wounds
5. Flame Strike (golden focus-like flame - note that the divine half of the damage affects incorporeal creatures, though the fire half doesn't)
6. Harm
7. Disintegrate (golden flames leave a pile of ashes)
8. Fire Storm (golden flame, half of the damage is divine like Flame Strike)
9. Consuming Fire (just like Implosion, but instead of imploding, the victims burst into golden flames that leave merely a pile of ashes. Also, it affects incorporeal critters.)

Wrath spells are of course saved for "special" occasions, never for arbitrary use - in fact, they CAN'T be used arbitrarily. The Inflict and Harm spells do not consist of necromantically sucking the life out of people, of course - that would be an abomination - rather, they represent smiting the target with the wrath of the God. (If the target honestly doesn't deserve it, the spell simply will not work and the priest's focus will probably be snuffed out.) Therefore these spells work normally on undead and do NOT heal them. Their "special effect" is a golden glow about the priest's hand and a flare of golden light as the target is struck.

Innocent people caught in the area of Flame Strike or Fire Storm take no damage from the divine half of the spell, and automatically save for half damage on the rest. If all of the people in the area are innocent, the spell just won't work. However, do note that soldiers of an invading or occupying army are not usually considered "innocent", though they may be nice people who like puppies and children. Some individuals may be spared if they have truly good hearts or if they are there unwillingly, but...

Finally, there is a Missions domain that any priest can branch out into, though nobody starts with it:

Granted Power: The same as the Pastoral power. Not many priests are both pastors and missionaries! If one is, though, he can use the power twice per day.

1. Comprehend Languages
2. Enthrall
3. Tongues
4. Redemption (Atonement, usable with the Redemption option only - you offer someone a chance to change their allegiance instantly)
5. Greater Command
6. Greater Dispelling (The God is much stronger than your witch doctor / druid / shaman etc.)
7. Resurrection (Let's see your pagan god top THIS!)
8. Sympathy (Gather a crowd and keep them there a while - either anybody, or just those with the right allegiances.)
9. Miracle

Laity can also join the four Orders, and are called Cooperators. They wear a white robe with a belt like a priest, but have no cowl and of course no focus. Cooperator Servants are usually healers, but anyone who is willing to do good in the community is welcome. Cooperator Inquirers are somewhat rare, but tend to be students and sages. Some also are simple souls who want to handle mundane affairs for the Inquirers so they can get on with the studies they love. Cooperator Uniates are people who want to devote their lives to prayer, and to help support the Uniate communities. Cooperator Guardians are often knights and men-at-arms. There are also Cooperators of the hierarchy, who help the Bishops and Patriarchs run things and act as messengers and so on. Cooperators are expected to serve their Order with great singleness of purpose, and therefore, depending on the precise community they join, they may be asked to take vows of celibacy and obedience and possibly other things. They are of course naturals for faith-feats. ("Paladins", in my game, are simply fighters with faith-feats. Possibly Cooperator Guardians, or even full-blown Guardians if they have levels of priest, possibly not.)

Church Justice:

Ecclesiastical crimes are tried by a tribunal of three priests. They gather at the three points of a large Trigon, with the defendant in the middle. The three priests hold the offices of Truth, Justice, and Mercy and take a solemn vow (reinforced by spells) to carry out their duty without partiality. (In Novalis, Truth is usually an Inquirer, Justice a Guardian or even a Bishop, and Mercy a Servant, but there are no hard and fast rules about this.) You can *approximately* translate these into our terms as prosecutor, judge, and defense attorney, but that isn't really accurate - this is not an adversarial system. Truth's job is to get to the bottom of what actually happened. He calls the witnesses and asks the questions, though Justice and Mercy have the right to speak up at any time. Mercy's job is to think about what's best for the defendant. Justice's job is to think about what's best for everybody else. Determination of guilt must be reached as a consensus of all three - if consensus cannot be reached, the defendant goes free. Determination of punishment is ideally reached by consensus too, but if Justice and Mercy concur, Truth's concurrence is not necessary. Otherwise, there are certain minimum penalties enshrined in precedent for different crimes, and those are used. The discussions are held openly in front of the defendant and any witnesses. The system works well enough that some secular governments have adopted it, asking the local Bishop to supply priests for civil trials. However, there is no Fifth Amendment - the Detect Thoughts spell can be freely used, and Discern Lies and Zone of Truth are used even more freely. There is also no forbidding of double jeopardy, if new evidence arises.

Heresy is a special case. It can't be tried as a crime until a Bishop formally declares that the position somebody is expressing is, in fact, heretical. Usually he hands the job of figuring it all out to a group of Inquirers. Once they're done, and the Bishop has made the declaration, the only real step in deciding guilt and innocence is whether the person recants or not. The worst Church penalty that can be applied by the tribunal is Exclusion from the Rites, but, as mentioned, the secular arm might have its own ideas. (Generally a priest's focus goes out when he is Excluded. If it does not - and this is extremely rare - it is taken as prima facie evidence that something very weird is going on.)

The Rites:

The Rites of Enlightenment, Ignition, and Kindling have already been mentioned. Enlightenment consists simply of being touched with the flame of a focus, though there's usually a good bit of ceremony leading up to that point. It's generally first done shortly after birth, but it can be repeated whenever desired - especially if one has sinned seriously. (Part of the ceremony is confessing those sins, but the purpose of Enlightenment is not exactly forgiveness, but to reopen the inner eye, or to open it wider.) It's also repeated on special occasions, like formal coming of age, and so on. Please note that, in general, one can't Enlighten oneself just by reaching out to a priest's flame - he has to touch it to you, usually to your forehead, and will it to happen. (St. Phosphoros was a special case. It even has a name - "First Light". And even he was hoping for some great spiritual experience.) Ignition consists of having your focus lit from a Bishop's torch, and Kindling of having your torch lit from the Flammifer. The ignition of a Flammifer is a tremendous event with much ceremony, but is not considered a separate Rite from Kindling. (Probably because you can't carry the Eternal Flame around, and so the Flammifer is lit with the equivalent of a Bishop's torch sent by the First Patriarch. It's the elaborately enchanted golden basin of the Flammifer that makes its flame so much stronger.)

The Rite of Evensong is an invocation of the Light for protection from evil. It figures in a number of spells, and in turning undead, but it can also be done in a full-blown ceremony with a congregation. (Which may at times give benefits to those spells, or to turning.) Generally it involves raising the focus and concentrating on brightening it, while chanting a beautiful hymn about piercing the Darkness.

The Rite of Mingling Flames is the marriage ceremony. Bride and groom each hold a candle and mingle their flames within the flame of a focus - this makes them One in body, soul, and spirit. Even death cannot part them, unless one makes the wrong Choice and thus tears away from the union. Therefore remarriage in the fullest sense is not possible. A second marriage is done in a simple ceremony that does not involve the Rite - no adultery is implied, for the death of the first spouse is a sort of abandonment (and also because the first spouse is hopefully enjoying total unity with the Light and thus has no need or desire for sexual congress), but it is accepted that the first spouse retains a unique relationship with the person. Marriages between a widow(er) and a previously unmarried person are possible, but strongly discouraged. By the way, if someone should be heinous enough to try to repeat the Rite of Mingling Flames with a second person (without the priest's knowledge, of course), something bad will probably happen.

In most places, Mingled couples also exchange Circlets, twisted ropes of gold worn on the head that represent the bonds between them. They aren't worn daily, only on special occasions. But in Novalis these are clasped about the neck instead - perhaps a reflection of Kelhic torcs.

There is a lesser ceremony similar to Mingling Flames but not directly involving the focus, which is a ceremony of blood-brotherhood, if you will. It's often used in adoptions, but it can be used by anybody if they can convince a priest to conduct it. There may at times be special magical consequences from such a mingling.

The Rite of Purification is for cases of injury, illness and even death, invoking the Light to overcome the disharmony stemming from sin that causes the body to fail. It figures in many healing spells. Usually it involves Enlightenment, followed by having the sick person hold the focus and apply it themselves to the injured part of the body. If they are incapable, the priest can do it for them. Raising the dead is rare - in fact, the general presumption going in is that it won't work. (Somebody in Darkness probably can't be reached, and somebody in Light probably has no desire to come back.) Success generally is taken to imply that the person was sent back because they still have something very important to do. It is therefore incumbent upon them to do the best they can to find out what it is and do it. Priests usually will not even attempt such spells unless they have some evidence the person died in untimely fashion - by violence, for example. (This isn't usually too much of a problem for adventurers. :) Disease doesn't cut it, that's a "natural" death.

The usual funeral rite of the Light is burial. Cremation is acceptable, but uncommon except in Parma, where it has long been traditional.

Finally, the Rite of Illumination implores the Light to shine on a person and strengthen the fruits of truth, joy, virtue, glory, and so on. This is the usual weekly service. There are readings from the saints, a sermon, and then people approach and cup their hands about the flame of the focus as if warming themselves while the priest blesses them. Illumination also figures in a few spells.

The Patriarchates:

The exact procedures and ceremonies surrounding the Rites vary somewhat between cultures. This is one of the purposes of the Patriarchs - to oversee the development of customs surrounding the Rites in a given culture and language.

The First Patriarch presides over the Minaean Rite. Previously this was used in Parma too, but they received their own Patriarch a century or so ago when it was finally decided that their unusual customs (most notably having a bonfire in every temple) were 1) permissible and not pernicious and 2) sufficiently distinct to warrant a new Rite. The First Patriarch handles things mainly in Minaea, the Protectorate, and a few other places. He also has the thankless task of dealing with the Prophetists in Sirisa. Minaean priests wear beards (Novalian priests are typically clean-shaven), enclose their focuses in lanterns, and often dress in black robes embroidered with a focus, and other gold-and-silver patterns. Bishops and the First Patriarch have more elaborate patterns - in the First Patriarch's case, you only see bits of black here and there. :) Cooperators wear plain black robes with a single focus embroidered on the chest.

The Minaean Rite, by the way, is rather more ornate than the younger ones. It's an almost laughably bad fit for the Protectorate, in all truth. They'd probably be happier with something else, but try telling THEM that.

The Patriarch of Parma oversees, as mentioned, the Parmese Rite. The Parmese are very proud of their Patriarch - even after a century, the novelty of doing things in their native language and so on hasn't worn off. He has the duty to conduct missions among the horse-nomads of Orienta and the dwarves. Since that's "the dwarves" without restriction, that means that Parmese priests and Cooperators can be found all over the place - in the Novalian Worldspine, in the Southern Sentinels, and even in the Northern Sentinels. (Before, the First Patriarch handled the dwarves, and he probably was relieved to shuck it off on somebody else. :) Yes, this is incredibly inefficient. Yes, it would make more sense to divvy it up among the Patriarchates. Yes, maybe Samos will get around to that in a few centuries. :) These things take time. Anyway, the Parmese don't seem to mind, and do the job with a will. Parmese customs are still shaking out. Priests usually wear beards and are starting to dress in white and red, red being the traditional color of Parma. Most of the priests have stopped using the lanterns, but the Bishops and Patriarch tend to be more conservative in this regard - this will probably end up being how they are distinguished from the priests. That, and they wear more white than red. Parmese Cooperators are gravitating toward dressing all in red.

The Patriarch of Aurelia handles the Restored Empire and the Shards. His life is not an easy one! Several holders of the office have in fact been martyred. His missionary duties were transferred to the Patriarchate of the North when it was created, and it's just as well, because dealing with the Undying Emperor is hard enough. Aurelian customs are much like Novalian ones (rather, the reverse) except there is no distinction of Orders and priests wear plain white. Bishops and the Patriarch wear a Circlet the way married people do, as a sign of their dedication to the people. Like Novalians, the Cooperators have no cowl.

The Patriarch of the North handles Novalis. The creation of the office was very controversial at the time, as it was seen on stepping on the toes of the Patriarch of Aurelia. But the Kell and Thuler cultures were considered sufficiently distinct from those of Antiquus to warrant it, though the Patriarchate still uses the Aurelian Rite with few changes. There is occasionally pressure applied to create a true Northern Rite, but getting people to agree on the details, especially the language it should be in, has proved too difficult. Nor has the First Patriarch been willing to create separate Hadron and Tullia Patriarchates. (And what about Melendor?) For one thing, there simply is no procedure for *suppressing* a Patriarchate, so what happens to the Patriarch of "the North"? It's a mess. (During the time of Nova Imperium, by the way, the title was often given as "Patriarch of New Aurelia", but that is considered rather painfully obsolete.) The Patriarch of the North is responsible for missions to Thule, the Rovers, and the Stepstones. In theory to the Elfwoods too, but... (Like the Parmese, this means that Novalian priests can be sent anywhere elves turn up. Imagine the joy. :)

By the way, nobody knows WHAT the dark to do with the Wastelanders. In theory they are in the territory of the Patriarch of the North. In practice, they like humans... Parbroiled and fricaseed. :) And the Terrino have sort of quietly slipped through the cracks. They're good at that.

Finally, mention must be made of the Patriarch of the Twilight. ("Twilight" is sometimes used by theologians to mean "those regions that have not accepted the Light".) He's kind of a Patriarch-without-portfolio, whose primary job is to oversee missions in far-flung lands not covered by anybody else. He has the authority to develop whatever new Rites are needed elsewhere, though they need final approval from the First Patriarch. In other words, this guy is constantly laboring to make his own job obsolete - it takes a special kind to do that, though the office has too often been used as a sinecure. His Flammifer is on Kalia ("Glory"), an island not far east of Samos. But he's rarely home, for he travels constantly if he's doing his job right. (It's real handy for him to have the Travel domain so he can get around, but how many Bishops have the time to engage in extensive navel-gazing?)

Yes, this is a rather strange Patriarchate that does not really fit in. Why, then, does the position exist? Because when the Patriarchate of Aurelia was created, it was a truly monumental step - before, the First Patriarch (he was just called "the Patriarch" then) had handled *everything*. It was felt to be just too weird to have just two Patriarchs, one the First and the other... not. So they made a Patriarch of Everywhere Else. The Patriarch of the Twilight has a few Bishops all over the place with their own priests, but he usually reserves at least some of his own priests to go to and fro in Occida and up and down in it, drumming up support for the missions. Plus, he has the right to help out in any sort of missionary work, so he can relieve some of the pressure on the Parmese when it comes to the Northern Sentinels, for example. Twilight priests use the local Rite, wherever they are. They dress like the local priests too, but are distinguished by a golden sash they wear from right shoulder to waist. Ditto for the (rare) Cooperators. The Twilight Patriarch himself usually dresses like a Minaean Bishop (with the sash) on special occasions, but more casually in Aurelian attire at other times.

The current Twilight Patriarch is one of the best the office has seen in a long time. He's from Hadron originally, one of the rare Bishops who started out as a Uniate, and so competent that Theophilus III had to have his arm twisted to let the guy go. (Yes, the Hadronese are getting swelled heads - well, more than usual, as the Visians would say - about one of their own being promoted so far, but it's generally conceded that this guy is even worth it.) He has tirelessly promoted work in Kathei and Indra, and has even tried to organize journeys of exploration to southern Sirisa, of which almost nothing is known. So far there have been few takers, but recently one of his (fighter-) priests returned with an unusual dark wood called "ebony" that is causing some ears to prick up. Also some intriguing spices, and quantities and qualities of ivory that have never been seen before (the creatures that produce it are being called "land-walruses"). Perhaps some full-blown expeditions may be in the offing after all...

The formal precedence of the Patriarchs is in order of establishment: First, Twilight, Aurelia, North, Parma. (Twilight outranks Aurelia because of the breadth and vital importance of his office.)

Details:

Each Patriarchate occasionally gathers all its Bishops and more-distinguished priests in a Grand Synod to set policy, pick new Bishops (or a new Patriarch) and so on. (An ordinary Synod is a gathering of all of a Bishop's priests and a few Cooperators for similar purposes.) A First Synod, when all the Patriarchs get together at Samos with a selection of their top Bishops, is an epochal world-shaking event. It's only been done a few times. The last time was when the decision was made to erect the Patriarchate of Parma.

Which reminds me - Bishops of particularly distinguished locales are called Archbishops; they have a few perks and minor oversight over neighboring Bishops, but the position is mostly honorary. The Archbishops of Novalis are those of Loresong (not Waymeet - basically because the Church isn't entirely comfortable with the whole Meeting Stone business, and this is their way of saying so), Vis, Leonis, Alaron, Oriflamme (a Hadronese city that's the headquarters of the Order of the Flame, among other things), and Chrysos (a Desmesne city that has grown up around a major shrine painstakingly created by the saint of the same name in honor of those who died in the Darknight). Priests who have served with distinction can be made "archpriests", a purely honorary title. You can tell an archpriest by his larger focus and, in Novalis, by the fact that his sleeves are pure white, with his Order marked only at the bottom hem. (In Aurelia, where they don't use the colors, an archpriest instead wears a Circlet like a Bishop.)

There are no level requirements for becoming a Bishop or Patriarch, except they have to be able to cast Atonement. (9th level.) It is quite possible for an ordinary priest to be of higher level than his Patriarch, or even the First Patriarch - you can be saintly and experienced without being a good administrator, much less a politically suitable choice. Use of Atonement for restoring priest powers and faith feats is limited to Bishops, Patriarchs, and priests of exceptional holiness. Forbiddance and the *initial* casting of Hallow are likewise restricted. (Any priest can renew a Hallow effect.) Commune is limited to Patriarchs except perhaps in the case of once-every-few-centuries saintly types. On the other hand, the spells Atonement (with the restriction mentioned), Bless, Bless Water, Bless Weapon, Consecrate, Detect Evil, Detect Undead, Dismissal, Gentle Repose, Hallow (with the restriction mentioned), and Prayer can be freely used by any priest. (If I stick with the cleric, they'll be able to default to them like healing spells; if I go with a sorcerer setup, all priests will know them when they get to the appropriate level.)

Canonization of the saints works like this: If people are still talking about your holiness decades after your death, or if there is a huge public outcry for it upon your death, the local Bishop conducts an investigation into your life, words, and writings. If he is satisfied with what he finds, he declares you a Servant of the Light (abbreviated Srv.) and dedicates a church or chapel or shrine in your honor. Every so often the Patriarch has the list of Servants combed through. Is your shrine being visited by many? Does spontaneously wonderful stuff happen there? Do your writings continue to inspire and impress the theologians? Do any or all of these things consistently happen over a long period of time? If so, he picks you, along with a few others, and uses the Commune spell, asking if it's for the best that he proclaim you a saint. (The list is kept strictly secret.) If the answer comes back yes, there's a big ceremony by the Flammifer, a day is set for commemorating you, and the thing is done. (If the answer comes back no, that doesn't stop you from ever going on the list again, but it'll probably take a while. And the exception to the above procedure is martyrdom. If an investigation shows that you were, in fact, martyred for the Light, you become a Servant instantly and go onto the sainthood list first thing.) Patriarchs of other Rites can then decide if they want to add your day to their calendars too. (At times this can get down to something amusingly like horse-trading - OK, we'll take yours if you take ours. :) It is customary for all the Patriarchs to add those saints that the First Patriarch does, however, which is one reason why there are so many saints with Minaean names. (The other being that priests and Cooperators - prime candidates for holiness - often choose a new name, and Minaean ones are popular.)

Just in case you were wondering, Leo IX the Pious of Hadron is a Servant of the Light, and the Hadronese government sponsors pilgrimages to his shrine, but somehow he's never managed to get canonized. Possibly because he was a bit of a nut-job. :) (The Hadronese line is starting to strike me as a little inbred...) The Light, by the way, has not usually gone in for heavy ascetical practices like those that were so beloved in our own world's medieval and Renaissance eras.

Cosmology:

They hold a heliocentric view of the solar system. This had been roundly mocked by the pagan Minaean philosophers, who were geocentrists, but St. Photion the Astronomer silenced them by producing concrete proof - an early triumph of the Light that is commemorated during Light-Bringer (see Calendar below) as the Feast of the Demonstration. (He used what we would call a Foucault pendulum. Shortly afterward, gestalt-circles of espers were able to make out mountains on the Moon, which destroyed the old theory of the aether to boot.)

The planets are Eschaton (ie, Minaean for "Fulfillment", because it's almost lost in the glare of the Sun), Phosphoros (it was always called that even in pagan days, because it's the morning star, but of course now it has a special meaning), Terrima (the campaign world), Martyrius (because it's red, the color of love and sacrifice), Imperium (it used to be named after the ruling god of the Aurelian pantheon, and espers have spotted a great red Eye on it), and Matrimonia (so called because espers have just barely managed to make out its Circlet). The planets used to be named after pagan gods, but they were renamed in St. Lucis' day. Magical and esper investigation have also managed to prove the existence of a seventh planet, which only the keenest-eyed can see. The Minaean astronomers who discovered it called it Telegonus (Far-Wanderer). Peasant superstitions about this "invisible planet at the edge of the Dark" abound, and it is known in some quarters as Skotophoros, or Dark-Bringer. (To call it that in public is to invite a heresy investigation, however.) The old "science" of astrology was largely discredited by the Demonstration, but it has come creeping back in new Light-based heliocentric forms. The theologians haven't been willing to condemn it (maybe the movements of the planets DO mean something significant) but are on the watch for superstitious developments.

It is taken for granted by everybody that all the planets are inhabited - why would the God make them if not to put them to use? (There must be something special about Terrima, though, because it is the only planet known to have a Moon. Apparently the God provided it to reflect the Sun's light during the night, so that creatures of Darkness would not have it all to themselves.) No way of getting to them is known, though there are still dreamers who talk about huge circles of espers managing to get good enough teleport coordinates for mages to use. And there are plenty of legends of free-standing Gates leading to the other worlds.

Mystically, the entire universe is seen as a focus, or even a Flammifer basin, of which the Sun is the flame. The planets closer to the Sun move faster (in perfect circles - they haven't had their Tycho Brahe yet) because they are more greatly moved by proximity to the Sun's Light. Each planet therefore has an angelic Intelligence that keeps it moving correctly. The stars are angels called Dancers, dancing in mystical rapture, for beyond the stars space and time cease to exist and the God dwells in invisible perfect Light. (That's why it's so heinous to talk about Dark-Bringer - none of the universe is far from the God.) Everyone thinks that the constellations have to mean something significant, which is one reason why astrology keeps coming back. There is a poetic belief in the "music of the spheres" for the Dancers to dance to.

It is firmly believed, by the by, that only the God is without a physical body of any kind. Angels are beings with bodies made of (ordinary) light rather than matter. The Dancers are the greatest of them, shining bright enough to be seen from incredibly far away - none of these has ever been known to visit Terrima, as their radiance would blast us out of existence. (Demons are simply angels who are evil. It's ridiculous to talk of something made out of Darkness, though it's true that an angel's light-body doesn't have to be visible to us, and can even block or absorb other light, thus appearing black.)

The Intelligence of the Moon is regarded as the Guardian of the Night, and the Intelligence of Phosphoros (often confused with the saint) is regarded as the Guardian of the Dusk - but it is considered superstitious to invoke them for aid, just as it is to do so with saints. (See "Hagiolatrist Heresy", below.) This doesn't stop many people, however. Some theologians have asserted that the Intelligences ARE great formerly-human saints, but this is generally regarded as whacked-out. The Intelligence of Terrima is believed to manifest in the auroras and in the brightness of the daytime sky (espers have shown that space beyond the atmosphere is black - not Dark, just black :) but frankly is often forgotten because of the presence of the Eternal Flame. Anyway, all the astronomical theory, while believed, is mostly in a different universe of thought than daily faith - it's all very interesting, but it doesn't have much to do with prayer and the Rites.

Other planes are regarded as different energy-states of being, or even different states of consciousness - seldom-used modes of perception and interaction that magic and psionics can temporarily supply or enhance. The Otherworld - Faerie - well, it's confusing. :) Most think it's simply This World perceived through a mode of perception called "sorcery". Everybody has it to some extent, but not many enough to do anything interesting with. The same goes for "psionics". Some think that one of these, or both, is an unnatural and perhaps even evil mode, like undeath, but cooler heads have prevailed. Usually. (See "Mundanist Heresy", below.) Anyway, assuming they're OK, the Light produces "puissance" in "sorcery" and "communion" in "psionic talent". "Puissance" is the unique experience of actually altering the world by the application of will. Yes, it can be badly misused, but then so can beauty and pleasure and joy and even truth and love - it's a sin to do so. (Piously orthodox sorcerers are very scrupulous about using their magic only from the best of motives.) "Communion" is the experience of oneness and unity with the thing being altered, or among cooperating psions, that makes psionics possible. (How the Thulish word "gestalt" ended up being often used as a synonym for "communion" is a long and unlikely story, the sort of thing that only happens in real life. Briefly: Folkheim mercenary. Foreign Legion. Citizenship. Psionics study. Telepathic communion. Delight in the aptness of the word.)

How is it that wizards apparently experience "puissance" while usually having negligible "sorcery"? They use technique to bootstrap what they have in controlled ways, much like using a lens to focus light.

Calendar:

The liturgical calendar for most of the Rites goes as follows: Starting on the autumnal equinox, there is a period of mourning for and memory of the benighted times before the Light. In Novalis, there are extensive commemorations of the Darknight as well. This time of repentance and fasting gradually deepens as autumn does, and is called Twilight. (The equinox itself, however, is a celebration of Creation, called Dawning. Yes, Dawning comes before Twilight - don't worry about it, they don't. :) The winter solstice is the joyous celebration of First Light, and leads into the Light-Bringer season commemorating the early days of the Church. St. Phosphoros is, of course, specially remembered during this time. Light-Bringer ends a couple weeks before the spring equinox, and the brief Cinders season commemorates the martyrs. The equinox itself is the day of Enlightenment (of St. Lucis, who legalized the Church in the Aurelian Empire) and during the following Noontide season people give thanks for their own Enlightenment and make contributions to the missions. The summer solstice is the day of Eternal Flame, and the following season is called Gloria - this is a time of quiet prayer, and contemplation of the mysterious gift of glory. The last two weeks before Dawning are the season of Fulfillment, in which the hoped-for consummation of the universe in Uttermost Light is anticipated. The whole sweep of the calendar is peppered with days commemorating specific saints (usually the day they died) and great events of the past, which break things up a bit. For example, St. Chrysos' day falls in the depths of Twilight, and gives a bit of feasting to relieve the rigor of it all.

The "week" consists of ten days, named after the believed order of Creation: Lightday, Starday, Sunday, Fullday (for Eschaton), Forsday (corruption of 'phoros', ie, Phosphoros), Terrsday, Flameday, Marday, Ruleday (Imperium), and Wedsday (Matrimonia). Lightday and Flameday are usual days for religious observances. Only Lightday is a complete day of rest, though everyone has to be allowed to attend church on Flameday and to have at least some space for prayer - typically people work a half day. At times, of course, special feasts may fall on other days. For example, the Fulldays of Fulfillment and the Mardays of Cinders have special observances. Usually such feasts are treated as Flamedays, but sometimes as Lightdays.

The solar year consists of exactly 365.25 days. The synodic month is exactly 30 days long. (Though there's a bit of eccentricity, inclination, and perturbations to prevent eclipses from occuring with monotonous regularity.) Each month consists of 3 weeks; the equinoxes and solstices are considered to lie outside the weekly and monthly cycles, as does Godsday, which occurs between Fulfillment and Dawning, and commemorates the eternal being of the God. Godsday is formally considered to lie outside the yearly cycle as well (thus it is the beginning and end of the year, as he is the beginning and the end of the universe), but for dating purposes it is treated as the end of the year. The leap day every four years is placed just before First Light and is called Marvel. It is a day for the unexpected, the strange, the unusual, the unlooked-for. It also raises the tension before First Light almost unbearably, which many people release by playing harmless practical jokes. If King Arthur or Robin Hood had been followers of the Light, everyone would have been forbidden to sit to table on Marvel until something happened. :) (Actually, I think I'll make Marvel an annual occurrence. But when it falls on the leap day rather than on a Wedsday, it'll be of special intensity and be called Mirabilis.)

(There are other calendars used in Occida, of course - Melendor uses a lunisolar one borrowed from the elves for some purposes, for example - but I won't go into them here. Do note for now, though, that celebrations from the old religions still retain a certain spooky or racuous feel, much like Halloween.)

The era used is usually Anno Lucis, from First Light. When I work out what year it is A.L., I'll let you know. :) Probably about 2500. Two other common ones in Novalis are A.N.I. "Anno Novus Imperii", from the founding of the Nova Imperium, and A.D. "After Devastation", from the Darknight. It's probably about 300 A.D. Note that the sun and moon come back into phase every 40 years, and so this is a much-used time divider - it's called a "cycle" or a "generation".

Heresies:

As already mentioned, there are a number of controversies that have reached the point of being full-blown heresies. To wit:

Prophetic Heresy: The Prophetists believe that some individuals are, in effect, given yet another special channel of Light that enables them to "feed" people through their inner eye, building them up in truth and other inner perfections. These are the Prophets, and they communicate the Light to people primarily through their words and teachings. (The channel they use is and produce in others is often called "wisdom", and the effect produced in it by the Light, "clarity".) And since the Prophets are of course still with us invisibly, they can continue giving us wisdom and clarity through their writings, if these be properly and accurately preserved and read. The result is a downplaying of the priesthood and of glory that scandalizes just about everybody else. For their part, the Prophetists don't call anyone else heretical, just "inaccurate" (preservation of the saints' writings), "deprived" (of the Writings of the Prophet), and worst of all, "unclear".

Theological careers have been built and lost in the arguments about how the Prophetist temporary "priests" can manage to cast spells and perform the Rites with apparently ordinary candles, or sometimes even Trigon pendants, rather than focuses. (The Trigon is used more often in Sirisa than in Occida.) Are they *really* communicating spirit and thus glory to people? Worse yet, how much do they really care?

Sophist Heresy: Protectorate thinkers, influenced probably by Agathism, strongly emphasize the unknowability of the God, the unlikeness of the God to any created thing, the impossibility of participating in the God's inner nature. If pressed, they will admit that the God does have a positive nature and character (to lack this would be to be Darkness), but they state that there is no way for us to know what this character is. Novalians, on the other hand, while they admit that the God is beyond human comprehension, nonetheless believe that they do get some faint communion with the God, some notion, however imperfect, of what the God is like. How else, after all, would we come to know good and evil, that the God desires this and not that? The Sophists would reply that the God's choices in giving us created modes of perception - including conscience and virtue - do not truly reveal his inner nature; that our perception is not the reality... the two sides can go back and forth over this for years, and have. Protectorate theologians, by the by, refer to Novalian belief as the "Anthropomorphic Heresy". (If you ask me, both sides are right and both are wrong. They aren't using the same vocabulary and are talking at cross purposes. This is probably why the First Patriarch hasn't condemned either side, though that doesn't mean he's sure about what's going on.)

Predestinationist Heresy: This one pops up in Novalis every couple centuries, usually among Thuler. There are a lot of different flavors, but they all basically agree that the "Choice" isn't. While orthodox Novalians admit that the initiative always lies with the God, who after all isn't being forced by anybody to create or to send out the Light, the Choice to open the inner eye is still free. While Predestinationists aren't Calvinists - the Light has no idea of original sin, exactly - they maintain that some people just aren't built to receive the Light - they don't and can't have an inner eye, whether open or shut. (In fact, there's no such thing as a "shut" inner eye, only the absence of one.) In effect, there are two human species - one of clever animals, the other of eternally glorious beings. Nobody thinks it a tragedy that animals die and stay dead, so neither is it a tragedy that these human animals do so. (It may be asked how a Predestinationist explains the Raise Dead spell, and so on. The hardnosed ones will flatly point out that the spell doesn't always work. Others will just point out that the God is quite capable of restoring animals to life if asked.)

How can you tell what kind of human you are? Most Predestinationists say you simply can't - you find out when you die. (These are the "Agnostics".) Others claim to be able to tell the difference, and these tend to be far the more dangerous. (The "Gnostics". They and the Agnostics tend to dislike each other at least as much as they dislike orthodoxy.) A milder form of "semi-Predestinationism" says that the "real" humans do get a real Choice, but shares the belief that some people are "fake". It therefore approximates to orthodoxy as the number of "fake" humans goes to zero. Any flavor of Predestinationism can also add the twist of *hereditary* realness and fakeness. ("Generational".) Predestinationists don't agree about the priesthood - some say that priests must always and necessarily be "real" people. (Add heredity to that, and you get a frantic searching of bloodlines to see if there's any priests in your family. If there is one, then you can relax and get down to some serious sinning. :) Some have said that the God can choose to use animals as instruments if he pleases - that they can benefit others without being themselves benefited. And some have gone so far as to deny the priesthood entirely, though it's a little hard for most people to hear that with a straight face. Finally, some "quasi-Predestinationists" think there might be some way for "fake" humans to become "real" - usually by Mingling Flames with a "real" person, more nastily by joining a particular cult. The term usually given by Predestinationists to orthodoxy is the "Libertist Heresy" - ie, the assertion that free will exists, or at least that everybody has it. Another term, usually given by semi-P's, is "Pan-Anthropic Heresy" - ie, the idea that everybody is "human".

Dualist Heresy: Darkness is alive and actively evil. Not seen much in Novalis, it turns up in Parma every so often. It's too easily refuted by clear thinkers to last long. While it lasts, though, it's had the potential to produce in reaction some truly nasty Darkness-worshippers, something just not normally seen otherwise. There is much disagreement about where these get their spells - probably from powerful demons. They call orthodoxy the "Monadic Heresy".

Hagiolatrist Heresy: Worship of the saints as embodiments of the God. It's perfectly OK in orthodox belief to "talk to" the saints, and some people get positively chatty. It is also quite accepted that the saints can act as instruments of the God's power. It's when you think they can actually change things in the real world, on their own, that you step over the line. Hagiolatrists usually don't try to condemn orthodoxy, just claim that their usages are not improper.

Mundanist Heresy: Those who think that sorcery, or psionics, or both, is an evil mode of perception, much like undeath. Mundanists thus deny that ordinary people have any degree of sorcerous or psionic talent whatever - those who do (even a little bit, like wizards) must be in league with demons. Or something. Sorcerous Mundanism rears its head periodically in the Protectorate and Minaea. The official line in those places, though, is that magic is not evil, just too dangerous to be put to use. (Minaea's gotten to a point where they don't mind wizards too much. Uncontrolled sorcery, though - no.) Psionic Mundanism rarely appears in an organized form except in the Restored Empire - usually whipped up by the Undying Emperor's spy network to get the populace in a froth against the Protectorate - though it's true that many Novalians get superstitiously nervous about psionics, and this sometimes boils over. Total Mundanism generally appears as a grassroots movement against "those as has no right to be better than honest folk". The last major outbreak was in the Visian League a decade ago, more of a protest movement against the Academicians than anything else. It was put down with great resolution - let's just say that resentment in parts of the League is "smoldering" in more ways than one. :) (Theophilus III actually Excluded the entire First Circle over the unnecessarily vicious - and not always very discriminating - response. Most of them ended up resigning and doing public penance.) The event is known - in whispers - as "the Burning".

I can easily think of a bunch of others, but I suspect they're all fairly uncommon, so I'll stop now. :)
 

Calendars and Customs of Terrima

Here I'll discuss a variety of calendars used in Occida and Sirisa. First, though, let me make a correction to the days of the week. I believe this version will work better:

Lightday, Sunday, Fullday, Forsday, Terrsday, Moonday, Flameday, Marday, Ruleday, Wedsday.

The stars (that is, the Dancers) are believed to have been created in the first rush of Light into the universe; therefore they need no day of their own.

Note also that "fortnight" means "a week and a half" - 15 days, the time from new to full moon.

Lucian Calendar:

This is the civil version of the one described briefly in "The Light". It is a revised version of the old Aurelian calendar by the Emperor St. Lucis to accomodate the Light.

As mentioned, the year begins on the autumnal equinox, called Dawning. There are twelve months of thirty days apiece; after each three months there is another special day outside the months and weeks - First Light, Enlightenment, Eternal Flame, and Godsday.

The months are: Primon, Secundimon, Tertimon, Quadrimon, Quintimon, Heximon, Septimon, Octimon, Novimon, Decimon, Undecimon, Dodecimon.

In Novalis, these are usually corrupted to: Prime, Sundim, Terzy, Kadry, Kinty, Hexim, Septim, Octim, Novim, Desim, Undim, Dodim.

In liturgical use, however, they are called: Calling, Waning, Dusk, Kindling, Burning, Ashes, Leaping, Waxing, Noonday, Samos, Glory, Ending. And these names have also become popular among the citizenry. The last two thirds of "Ashes" is the season of "Cinders", of course, whence the name.

Dawning often doubles as a harvest celebration. The first fruits are brought in and blessed as a sign of rejoicing and remembrance of the gift of Creation. Dancing and merriment are everywhere.

First Light is celebrated with bonfires, songs, and small gifts to friends and children. Candles are lit before the hearth in remembrance of loved ones living, absent, and dead. It is a day to say the things that too often go unspoken - to bear Light into the lives of others by expressing one's care for them. It is also a special time for relieving the burdens of the poor.

Enlightenment brings candlelit processions, fireworks, and feasting. By longstanding tradition, there are no distinctions of rank on this day - all are equally filled with the Light, and that is what matters. The pious begin saving money on Enlightenment to donate to the missions on Eternal Flame.

Eternal Flame is a day of great solemnity and moment, a time of thanksgiving for the gift of the Church - of the Flame itself, of the priesthood, of glory. It is a propitious day for sealing agreements and signing treaties. Bonfires are lit at night and a vigil held.

Virtually everything in Occida shuts down on Godsday. People refrain from any unnecessary work, and even from speech as much as possible. It is a time for prayer.

As mentioned before, the day before First Light is called Marvel (or Mirabilis on leap years) and is a day for the unexpected and strange, and also for harmless practical jokes. Many people while away the evening telling tall tales and legends true and false.

A full moon is usually considered a good omen on any of these days, and a dark moon a bad one. Eclipses are, of course, even worse.

Old Calendar:

There were a few diehards in Minaea who didn't like the new Lucian calendar and refused to use it. There have been several schisms in Minaea over this "Calendrist Heresy", in fact, but nowadays the First Patriarch just appoints a couple Bishops authorized to celebrate with the old calendar (and certain other antique usages) and that keeps them happy.

The old calendar of the Light did not break out days from the weekly cycle - the Calendrists maintain that the sequence of days must never be broken. (It also didn't do much with "months", just numbering the weeks of the liturgical seasons.) First Light is simply the first Lightday after the winter solstice, and so on for the other major festivals. Godsday, rather than Dawning, falls on the Lightday after the autumnal equinox. (Thus Dawning is always on a Sunday, which is appropriate enough.)

There is no "leap day"; instead, 21 times every 40 years, there is a "leap week" - the season of Gloria is lengthened by one week. Thus the old calendar year is either 360 or 370 days long.

One of the frequent accusations brought against the new calendar, by the by, is that it breeds laziness - since every major festival is followed by a Lightday, it follows that there are two days of rest in a row. Also note that the day of "Enlightenment" for Calendrists has no reference to St. Lucis, but to the Enlightenment of St. Phosphoros' first disciples.

Kelhic Festivals:

The old Kelhic calendar has vanished save perhaps among the more sophisticated Rover tribes. But their major festivals continue to be celebrated in most parts of Novalis. Unlike the mostly-religious festivals of the Lucian calendar, these retain a more earthy, raucous, even spooky feel.

The Kells celebrated, not on the equinoxes and solstices, but on the "quarter days" between them. Thus they always appear on the 15th day of a Lucian month - always a Terrsday, appropriately enough. (I am still debating on whether to offset them slightly - this would have certain desirable effects.)

The Day of the Dead occurs in autumn on Sundim 15. (Roughly our November 6.) Much like our Hallowe'en, it is a time of ghoulies and ghosties - but it isn't very playful. This does indeed seem to be a day in which the Otherworld manifests with unusual potency. (Marvel is another, though it's much less ominous and dark.) People tend to stay indoors, light candles against the night, and tell stories of their ancestors, heroes, and other figures of the past. (Perhaps hoping to propitiate the spirits lurking outside.) Wreaths of holly are worn on the head and burned when evening comes, hoping to carry off the coming year's bad luck with them.

(The Moonday just after the Day of the Dead is a Northern feast celebrating the Moon as Guardian of the Night, by the by. It's called Nightwatch.)

The Feast of Fools (also called Midwinter Night) is on Kinty 15. (Roughly our February 5.) It is a day of topsy-turvydom, in which all rules are suspended or reversed. Masks and costumes are worn (or clothes simply worn backwards) and a King of Fools elected to preside over the populace. Masquerade balls are popular among the well-to-do. Our world's mistletoe custom turns up on this day too.

Greengrass is on Octim 15. (Our May 5 - and yes, I stole the name shamelessly from Ed Greenwood.) Very similar to our May Day. Flowers are everywhere - worn in the hair, strewn on floors and the ground, twined about decorative poles. A Spring Queen is selected to reign over the Court o' the Green.

Midsummer falls on Undim 15. (Our August 6.) Feasting, merriment, and wooing are the order of the day. Sermons on the Lightday previous tend to caution people about the degree of wooing appropriate. :)

As with the Day of the Dead, the Church has tried to co-opt these festivals as much as possible into more "appropriate" religious channels, with only limited success.

Melendrian Calendar:

The Melendrian government, and much of the populace, reckons time using a lunisolar calendar adapted from several calendars used by the elves. There are twelve months of thirty days, with an intercalary month added seven times every 40 years. Thus a Melendrian year is either 360 or 390 days. The year begins with the first new moon after the vernal equinox. The dates of the Last Stand, the Pact of Friendship, the building of Hadron's Wall, the coronation of the current monarch, and other major events of the kingdom's past are all celebrated with respect to this calendar. Full moons and new moons are special occasions calling for a nice dinner or a party or at least a good drink, if one can afford it. (Note that "new moon", as in any lunar system, means the first sliver of crescent after the dark of the moon, not the dark moon itself.)

Melendor dates time from the Last Stand. This era is known as Stander Reckoning (S.R.). The months are given names translated from the Elvish. ("Greengrass", for example, is such a name.)

The Kelhic festivals are of course very popular in Melendor and celebrated with greater abandon than most other places. But frankly the Melendrians, like Kells everywhere, love any excuse for a good party; and so they tend to celebrate the religious festivals with greater abandon too. :)

Elven Calendars:

The elves love to reckon time in as many ways as possible. They have quite the array of solar, lunisolar, and lunar calendars, as well as calendars based on longer cycles - such as the solar cycle, the orbits of the other planets, and so on. In short, it can get confusing talking to an elf about time. :) They do seem to regard the planet Matrimonia as having a special connection to their race, and not uncommonly give their age in Matrimonia-years - each about thirty-three Terrima-years long.

The elvish era dates to the supposed creation of the universe, but sages have noted that elves don't seem to be consistent in the number of years ago this happened. All the dates given are well over 20,000 years, though...

Dwarven Calendar:

Little is known about how the dwarves reckon time, except that they also begin their year on the autumnal equinox, and apparently use a lunisolar system.

Thulish Calendar:

The Thuler of the Folkheim use a solar calendar starting on the winter solstice. Their festival of Jul bears a superficial resemblance to that of First Light, which is of help to missionaries. They don't number years in a systematic way - at best they might say something like "the tenth year of King Gustav".

Parmedian Calendar:

The Parmedians were meticulous astronomers (and astrologers) and are believed to have created the week currently in use. (Though the days were different, being on a geocentric system: honoring the stars, Terrima, the Moon, Eschaton, Phosphoros, the Sun, the human race, Martyrius, Imperium, and Matrimonia, respectively. Some mages of an irreligious bent still affect to call Lightday "Starday" and Flameday "Manday", thus translating the Parmedian system into heliocentric terms.) They used a lunisolar system very similar to the current Melendrian one, though it had a different source. They dated years from the Attainment of Harmony, a periodic celestial alignment, the last of which signalled their change from a nomadic to a settled people.

Marvel was a high holy day of Old Parmedia, a day of quests and resolutions and riddles. It retains something of that flavor in Parma to this day. Meanwhile the Day of the Dead was greatly feared and elaborate precautions were taken against "the spirits". Bonfires were, and are, popular on a wide range of occasions.

Sirinese Calendar:

The Sirinese use two calendars - for many purposes they use the Old Calendar of the Light, but for others they use an ancient lunar calendar of 9 lunar months - this being approximately the gestation period of a child. This period of time has its own Sirinese name, but it is often rendered into Aurelian as a "gest". A newborn baby is considered to be one gest old - one's age in gests is reckoned (approximately) from the day of conception, not of birth.

Men typically give their age in years, women in gests. Since the Sirinese show great respect to their elders, this implies that a wife, though often younger in years, is usually "older" than her husband, and thus he is expected to listen to her wisdom. Likewise, religious events are usually reckoned in years, but national ones in gests; "public" aspects of one's life in years, "private" ones in gests. Thus a couple might celebrate the gestday of their wedding as their anniversary, but tell others they've been married for so many years.

Each of the nine months used to be named after a Sirinese god, and the different months still inherit a particular flavor from those days. Some moons are considered propitious for business or wooing or the like, others ill-omened.

The Sirinese era is that of the Call of the Prophet.

The desert tribes use an ancient Sirinese solar calendar to keep track of the years rather than the Old Calendar of the Light. They use the legendary foundation of the First Dynasty of the Sun as their era.
 




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