The North
From Thirdexalt
Near the shores of the Inland Sea, the climate of this region is chilly grasslands and pine scrub. As one goes farther north, the cold becomes increasingly bitter, and the wind grows in strength, until the taiga stops and the tundra begins. Winters here are long and cruel, and the short summer barely gives the surface of the tundra time to thaw before the ice closes in again. Even in the summer, this is a frigid and windy land, where freezing rain lashes the herds of elk, mammoth and reindeer that eke out a marginal existence in the bleak landscape. The tundra eventually gives way to a permanently frozen waste that runs to the foothills of the northernmost mountains. It is said that in the farthest North, past the mountains, there is nothing but a great expanse of snow and wind. Beyond even that lies the Elemental Pole of Air.
Most Northerners are pale skinned, with hair ranging from jet black to platinum blond. Given the extreme conditions, the people are hale and hearty, with large frames and heavy builds predominating.
The North is sparsely peopled, with city-states and wandering tribes scattered piecemeal across its vast expanse of land and snow. Civilizations in the North have accreted like nacre on pearls, with populations slowly gathering around defensible positions that have the food and shelter to provide for them. The nomadic icewalker tribes sweep across the plains in a constant wash of death and hunger, tending their herds and seeking war and plunder on their way. Wars between the city-states are rare, as it is diffi cult to support a standing army on the scarce supplies that the North provides. It’s easier to bribe the tribes to do the work for you and then attempt to pick over what’s left if they succeed.
When the First Age ended and the Solar wonders crumbled, many of the glories of the North fell with them. No longer could chariots transport riders thousands of miles in bare hours, and no longer could enchanted gardens grow fruit that would feed hungry cities. While some of the Solar roads remain, such as the Traveler’s Road to Whitewall, most have been shattered by enemy armies or fallen to the corrosion of time. Cities drew in on themselves to survive, or they were lost to the snows, and the icewalker tribes picked over their bones. A large number of petty kingdoms and city-states fringes the coastlines of the Inland Sea and the more northerly White Sea. The southward areas are tributaries and puppets of the Realm. Some are ruled by scion families, such as the city-state of Cherak, under the patrician Jerem family, but the cities become progressively more independent as one travels north. Northern states are often rude affairs, usually consisting of an enthroned strongman propped up by a table full of well-fed thugs with swords and axes. Only Whitewall, the Haslanti League and Gethamane are states of truly notable power. In the barren spaces between the seas, the kingdoms shrink to towns and the city-states to isolated hamlets, and people band together to scratch out a living as shabby democracies. Hunting and gathering is the rule, and elk and mammoth herders follow the yearly migration of the herds from east to west and back again. Exiles from across the rest of Creation hide in the North, finding havens in manses too dangerous for the Realm to claim, lands too harsh for others to survive in and hiding places where no other human may set foot for years.
Even in cities, Northerners primarily make offerings to their ancestor cults and to the dark spirits of snow and frost and hunger. Herders and hunters offer sacrifices to the herd animal spirits and the spirits of the hunt, respectively, but the vast majority of devotions go to the ghosts of the dead. In turn, their ancestors’ spirits protect them and guide them across the trackless snows, driving away evil spirits and bringing warnings of plagues and blizzards. Hidden tomb-mounds and cemeteries are guarded by the tribes’ finest warriors, and chieftains are buried with their weapons to use in the Underworld and are sacrificed beasts to serve as their herds there.
Although two Deathlords—the Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears and the Bishop of the Chalcedony Thurible—have their dwellings in the Northern lands, those tribes who pay proper respect to their ancestors scorn the Abyssal cults. There are no fixed customs for marriage in the North. Life is hard, and if the ghosts of one’s ancestors do not signal their disapproval, then the marriage is blessed and deserves prosperity. Given the lack of spare food and resources, Northerners typically abandon unwanted or deformed children.
Directly north from the Blessed Isle lies Whitewall, one of the largest settlements in the Northlands. Located on rocky taiga, it lies several hundred miles north of the coast of the Inland Sea. This prosperous metropolis of more than 700,000 inhabitants is a trade hub for the region. While it was originally founded in the First Age as a center of religious study, it has become a powerful city-state in its own right. The end of the First Age left Whitewall isolated and without regular support. Three powerful beings of ice and silver, the Syndics, took control and hammered out a treaty of nonaggression with the local fae and the dead of the nearby shadowland. They still rule the city with a grip of frozen steel. While Whitewall is a nominal ally of the Realm, the city has never paid it tribute thanks to a combination of factors: the Syndics’ puissance, the city’s isolation, and its usefulness as a trade partner and jade producer.
By the conditions of the Syndics’ treaty, the road to Whitewall is inviolate, and no walking dead, ghost or fae may enter the city without permission from someone inside the walls.
The road itself dates from the First Age and is built of virtually indestructible white stone. Ancient enchantments on the road keep it clear of ice and snow in all but the worst weather.
Anyone—living, dead or fae—may use the road, and none may harm any other on the road. For the living, the penalty for breaking the peace of the road is death, and stone pillars
fl ank the road every 40 yards to mark it and to serve as gibbets for the bodies of those who violate the peace. By the terms of the treaty, the Syndics must set 24 living people outside the walls each year as sacrifi ces. In the past, these have ranged from notorious criminals (such as Mideh of the Snake Fist or the Hundred-Knife Jackal) to reformers or revolutionaries (such as the Snow Peacock, whose body was never found, but whose screams were heard for 10 nights without pause).
The city of Whitewall is a crowded place that breeds suspicion. Its buildings are constructed of heavy white stone, plain on the outside but decorated inside with bright colors, rich tapestries and vivid rugs. While the city’s inhabitants will trust and befriend a stranger once they are sure of her intentions, they will be grim and taciturn until then, watching for signs of betrayal and stratagems. Just as nobody is invited inside the city without proof of humanity, no one is ever invited into a house casually. Any such invitation is a clear sign that the host considers the guest a long-term friend and ally. The land surrounding Whitewall is rich and fertile, but heavy winters sweep down from the mountains. From late fall until late spring, blizzards make travel to Whitewall almost impossible. The winter’s long nights breed fear, paranoia and suspicion. Every few years, some fool or madman lets in a fae or undead intruder, and the city guard must hunt it down in the city’s narrow streets. On occasion, the Syndics are even forced to hire Exalted monster-hunters. Justice in Whitewall is harsh, and penalties range from heavy fines to indentured servitude to mutilation. Individuals convicted of capital crimes (murder, treason, consorting with the fae or undead) are put outside the walls to face whatever calamity comes to them. They are given no supplies and are dressed in clothing to mark their status as convicts, so that no caravan will give them aid. In many ways, a death sentence would be kinder. A number of other city-states of varying size lie around Whitewall, spokes to its central hub. While traders can journey to them directly, Whitewall serves as a convenient staging post and base, and many caravans would rather plot their trek via Whitewall and take the extra days that such a journey requires, rather than risk the Fair Folk and the walking dead on lesser roads and across the snow. To the southeast lies Cherak, affi liated with the Jerem scion family but haunted by infestations of the undead. While House Jerem has appealed to its Imperial connections, none of the Great Houses have the spare forces to cleanse the lands once and for all, and the state grows weaker with every passing month. Northeast is Shanarinara, a would-be expansionist democracy hemmed in by the Haslanti League and Gethamane and by Whitewall’s own interests but without the strength to go further. It is pondering an alliance with one of the Deathlords. Southwest of Whitewall, scattered along the mountain peaks, are the tiny but independent silverholds, a collection of forts, mining camps and goat-herding villages that barely survive from year to year but have done so for centuries. Some of them are said to leave sacrifices for airborne demons or to make candles that have the power to summon and control spirits. Northwest on the tundra lies Fella, the City of Broken Walls, where no stone will remain atop another for more than an hour before casting itself down. All of its standing buildings are wood or ivory, and the inhabitants have cruel laws controlling where fires may be lit.
Gethamane: The City under the mountain
Whitewall: Named for its massive enchanted perimeter,
The Haslanti League: A collection of
