Nation Name: Tyver Luz
Capital City: Tyv
Government Type: Confederation of tribes
Head of State: Dyol Turik
Claimed Territory: Whatever can be spared around the Ukraine area.
State/National Religion: Luzan Cult (based predominantly on the Sagas of the North)
Dominant Religion: Luzan Cult
Minority Religion(s): Eastern Animism
Population: One million est.
Military Organization: Tyver Luz maintains a standing army, as well as small outposts surrounding the frontier. Due to the tribal nature of the nation, these soldiers hold loyalty to their Dyol lords as opposed to the state. Divisions of the armed forces range from lord to lord.
Military Size: Apprx. 3% of population
Fleet Size: There is no Tyver Luzan navy.
National Flag: (Put in a spoiler.)
Primary Culture: The Luzan culture is a distinct one in its own, descending from a nomadic people who migrated south from the cold fringes of the north. Centered around the city of Tyv, the tribes that make up Tyver Luz are similar not the same. Linguistically, they are also unique, with their own alphabet, only used rarely and by the upper class for foreign trade and lawmaking.
Accepted Cultures: Culture of the foreign kind is mainly tolerated, though if it comes from too far away (ie. the Far East,) it is estranged and looked upon with wide eyes. The people of Tyver Luz are mainly xenophobic, poor farmers.
Primary Import(s): Fish, iron weapons and tools, occasionally other foodstuffs.
Primary Export(s): Iron, copper ores as well as various types of woodwork, grain
Trade Policy: Trade is not really organized by the state, but the leaders and landowners that run the central confederation are at least involved in trade, if not merchants by birth and inheritance.
Civil Freedoms: Varies from tribe to tribe; most are allowed free range to do as they wish, as long as they maintain loyalty to their villages and tribes.
Brief Description of your nation's History: The Tyver Luz claim ancestry of the northern lands, having migrated to their current fertile soil many generations prior. Minor territory wars were fought between tribes, but after decades of infighting a council of tribal chiefs and lords was declared and housed in Tyv, the cultural capital and home to the powerful Tyveril people. For the past century, a semi-republican state has been held together roughly by a common ethnic bond and a need for protection.
Brief Description of your nation's economy: The populace of Tyver Luz is predominantly rural, producing many heaps of grain for export. Sheppards are less common, and the lack of any nearby ocean has lead to a lack of meat and fish industry. The second most common occupation, miners, keep the ores flowing. These tribesman in turn provide their Dyols with the product, which they export mainly via caravans that run to the west. Money is not exactly scarce; among the lords, that is.
Brief Description of your nation's government: A council is held every month to discuss national affairs, presided over by the lord of Tyv. Loosely bonded by this, very few laws extend among the whole of the country. For the most part, the tribes are independently run.
Brief Description of your nation's populace: Farmers, miners, and woodsmen; the people of Tyver Luz are a hardy kind. They are fiercely loyal to their respectful tribes and their lords, and proud of their heritage as Luzans. Despite this, most of the populace rarely leaves their own village. Those that do are merchants or soldiers, even more indebted to their lords for the privilege of travel. Understandably, the people of Tyver Luz are also xenophobic and like to keep to themselves.
RP Example: Dyol Milo looked upon his fellow Luz; their faces dirty with darkness from the mines. It seemed to seep in through their eyes into their soul, casting a shadow upon their very being. He did not count himself among the optimistic, but he did love his people enough to know this was not the Way of the Luz. Something had to be done, something to drag his people onto their feet, where they may run free, the blood of their enemies on their hands instead of their own. With the blow of a horn, he ended the work day. He could hardly think with the banging of the pickaxes, anyway. Dyo Milo retreated to his longhouse with a grim, but determined look stretched across his long face.
429 - Do not remove. This is for tracking purposes.
