The Age of Sand and Silver
The sun rises on a new world- a world not like that you may know. Shattered by a catastrophic impact not long after the extinction of the dinosaurs, Earth is not as it should be. This impact, a star falling to earth, changed not only the shape of the world, but also her content; this star bore strange light and eldritch crystals, warping and altering the planet where humanity slowly arose. Continents were broken, minds shattered, even animals and plants twisted and changed. It is a different world, one in many ways hostile to humanity.
But in the end, it is your world.
You stand forward as one of the leaders of a great city of men. It has been many centuries now since the first tribes emerged in the impact of the Cataclysm, family groups formed from scattered wanderers and survivors, and now civilization in earnest is rising from those embers. Men ply trade upon the waves of the sea, either propelled by oars and scarred backs, or the might of sails. Caravans roam savage lands, making fortunes for their owners if they are not devoured by ferocious beasts. The first priests, and god-kings, and republics lay claim to the passages of the world beyond the sight of their doorways, and bronze-armed warriors march across the hinterland. Men declaim poetry, and gaze at the stars, wielding magicks both powerful and dangerous.
To be a leader in such times is to be given glorious potential, but also enormous responsibility. Civilization is fragile, and dark things lurk both in the hearts of men and in the wilds of the world. Will you rise to greatness alongside your kinsmen, or will you falter and be forgotten? Come, and tell the tale of the Age Sand and Silver.
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As the sun's golden light first graces the realm of men, it alighs upon the homes of the Bikanites. Led by their fearless Chief Muzir, these freeholding sons and daughters of former woodland tracksmen and humble hunters have founded their homes upon a wide river delta. Here, in the dry heights above the river's banks, deposits of brightstone gleams with an inner light like earthbound stars. And as though this blessing was not enough, stands of pale, pillowy cotton likewise greets the dawn here - their annual flowering a sight to behold. In the muddiest of the river's shallows meanwhile, where the reeds grow tallest - great flocks of birri-birds cry mournfully at their newfound neighbors; sharp beaks ever vigilant against those that threaten their nests. To the south and north of the Bikanites' abodes, the land rises into sparsely-wooded hills, dark and foreboding. The same can likewise be said of the land to their west, for it too is replete with hills between which their mother-river winds. Eastwards meanwhile, it empties out into a gray, white-capped sea.
A great, gray blight upon the land are the Aurma. When the dawn's light finds these curious kindred, they are no doubt hard at their toil - wrenching iron ore from the bones of the world. Slave-takers are they, and pit-miners - fiercely religious ones at that. For in the mine-ways and slag-shafts of the Land of Divine Riches, toil and prayer-songs go hand in hand. Theirs is a precariously positioned home - a rubble-strewn hollow devoid of mountains, where bronze-backed men sweat and suffer - haunted in equal parts by the lashes of their overseers and the prayer-songs of their ashen priests. Flocks of ragged sheep bleat hither and tither, food for many a cookfire - thralled in turn to great, milk-pale saltlicks; tall and glorious amidst the stony earth. Both to the south and to the west of their lands, the rubble-strew fields rise into a wall of stormy mountains - while eastwards, fields and flatlands give way to rugged, beachy coastline and a grey sea beyond. To the north, yet more plains becons the wanderer into a land of empty abodes.
And then the Skyfarer's golden gaze alights upon the Yue. A people of the plains they are; born and bred there in body, if not in spirit. Granted, theirs is a settled kindred now - but there are yet many amongst them that in their hearts recall what it was to roam roughshod under strange stars, wild and free. Their home is the once proud city if Old Shohin. Though her walls are long crumbled and the splendor of her markets long since dimmed - she lingers still. And her fields, to be sure, yet bares fruit. Of grapes, pale and juicy, with a taste to gladden the heart of many men - and flaxen flowers also, pale and beautiful. Lastly, deposits of granite is still dots the land, breaking the monotony of hill and dell with staggered, wind-scarred gray. To the south, glistening streams and rivers for a swiftly flowing delta. Eastwards, white-capped waves beckon beyond a pale, sandy coast - while westwards, as they crow dlies, grassy flatlands give way to rising mountains. Northwards, rolling hills joust with leafy woods along a lonely coast, where men can walk alone with their gods.
The noonday's light next shines upon the Vanikari. Famed as traders and barterers, these stalwarths have raised their homes on the shore of a sweltering jungle lagoon. Once a humble outpost - a seed of their forefathers dreams - these island sailors now mean to make their mark upon the world. Amidst the sun-dappled leaves, sprouts of fireroots greet the day; a fine spice and certain cure for many a bitter ailment. Just as impressive are the deposits of pale, glistening silver reported amidst the island's rolling hills. Certain are they to fuel many a forge-father's dreams, and fill many a proud king's coffers also. Lastly, clusters of winding bushes heavy with juicy, reddish grapes are also worthy of mention. Though said to be somewhat tart of taste, they are none the less a welcome delight. North of their humble lagoon, the land of the Vanikar's island rises towards steeply rolling hills. Westwards, jungle trees thicken into a green, silent wall that swallows all but the loudest cries - and to the south, sparsely wooded plains roll on towards a ragged coastline. Eastwards, as the run rises, the Vanikari gaze out across empty leagues of wind-tossed waves.
The kindred which the Skyrider next alights upon are the sons and daughters of Aeternum, ruled by the illustrious Ar-Adûnakhôr. These Faithful - the mighty scions of star-cursed Pharazor - reside amidst the tattered splendor of their fallen empire - a temple-precint, some say - defiant amidst the ruins of a vast, haunted metropolis. Here, copses of wild prickle-pear trees grow tall amidst many a rubbled garden - and in the old canals the skirt her crumbling streets, clustered bands of great, forboding molluscs make for surprisingly fine eating; their night-black shells notwithstanding. In the wilds beyond the ruined city, where ruined brick gives way to scraggly hills, old mine-awnings yet gleam with Tennanite - the bone, if not blood, of Pharazor's Sin. West and north of Aeternum, the rivers of Tinuviel and Annatar wind their gleaming bodies through flat, wind-scoured plains - while east and south, the land rises into a series of sullen foothills - stepping stones to the mountains of the Tower; great and grim.
The men of letters, ledgers and accounts that form the self-proclaimed city-state of Thureos are the next kindred the sun alights upon. Descended as they are from a union of bloodlines both native and from farther afield, Thureos can truly be said to be an alloy of many different nations. Amongst her people, the art of the written word, truthfulness and loyalty to the civic good are the qualities held in highest esteem. At least in principle then, these qualities should make them both fine merchants as well as fierce patriots. As for Thureos' evirons - the abundant deposits of cold, shimmering tin is the first thing noted by the chronicler's pen. Glistening shoals of silverfish are also reported by many a doughty fisherman - and silent stands of tall, green pinewood should at least make for easy fire-fuel. West of Thureos, the Tenel's waters ebb and flow into a great, green bay. Eastwards, the self-same Tenel's flow broadens into a wide, green river valley - while northwards, mountains rise. South, finally, broad, windswept plains go on, ever on, into the horizon.
The next kindred to greet the Sky-Farer's glory are the sons and daughters of leafy, river-girt Py'therr'a. Or Ittar's Maw, as they are rumored to call themselves. From their daub-and-wattle homes in the depths of their woodland vale, this elusive kindred are known equally for their fleetness of foot as they are they love of the distant horizon. Along the sunny banks of their river-girt vale, many a stand of golden wheat greets the dawn come harvest time - heatlhy food for many a hungry belly. Would-be farmers do well to mind their shoots from flocks of ever-hundry deer, however - for their bleating countenances bely an eery silence in movement; not to mention a swiftness of hoof! The wealth of their flocks are almost as storied as the true treasure of Ittar's Maw, however - the stones which float into the sky, in all defiance of reason and decorum! 'Floatstone', men dub this rock - and scratch their heads at whatever use they might make of it. South of Ittar's Maw, the land rises into a row of sullen, densely wooded hills, while eastwards, as the run rises - and north also - the riverland thickens into lush, green woods. Westwards great mountains loom, tall and white-capped, from the forest murk.
What can men - bathed by the late afternoon light - do against fate's reckless hate? Ask the Tamaraski, and the answer an intrepid seeker might get is usually somewhere along the lines of: 'Pay it, and make it go away'. A fitting answer it is, also - and not an entirely surprising one, for the Tamaraski are nothing if not aglut with wealth. According to their own tongue, they name themselves descended from a kindred in flight - a mass of the humble, the exiled and the outcast, blown to the seven winds by the machinations of cruel sorcerers. To this day, therefore, magic and those that practice the so-called 'Invisible' Arts are ill-attested in their lands - and a common Tamaraski superstition, a three-fingered circle above one's breast said to ward off evil spells, is known on sight by travellers almost the world over. Their city - the eponymous Tamarask - is said to be a dour hilltop settlement overlooking wild woodlands to the east and north, and coastal riverlands to the west and south. Why the Tamaraski chose to settle for hillside springs when the banks of a winding river lay within but a few days' march of their hilly doorsteps is soon evident, however. For gold, by all the gods, sits within Tamarask's hills. In the deeper dells and sumps between them, puddles of fragrant bitumen bubbles naturally to the surface - and stands of maize, fat and purple as the sky at dawn, are mentionable also.
The Solum are a kindred well-accustomed to hardship. As scions of refugees, vagabonds and wanderers - their ancestors were once drive from lands far afield. Not for nothing, then, do some men claim the Solum as insular, dour and taciturn. But the Solum are also a kindred well-accustomed to the favor of their gods. For it was the divine visions of their magi and soothsayers that ended their journey, all agree - and saw them safely ensconced in the lands they now enjoy. The hall of their principal chief, one Sveni of Myhr, stands proudly upon the shore of a vast freshwater lake. All about are vast woods that run the gamut from foothills in the north and west to river-girt plains in the south and east. The foothills in question are riddled, men say, with veins of purest silver - and if this was not enough to mark the land itself as divinely favored, many of the trees thereabouts grow mightier than in any other land. Redwoods, after all, are as wide as men are tall. Herds of shaggy aurochs graze peacefully in the shade of their mighty boughs - well at peace with the world.
If there ever stood doubt in the hearts of mortal men that magic and sorcery were real and true forces in the waking world - then those doubts should be well and truly dispelled by a single word. Or two, rather: Soleriah-Dunest. The curious kindred that bear this name are said to be at home in the depths of a vast, swampy wood - one not too distant from a sea-girt coast. Those in the know name them a fusion of two vastly different tribes - the matriarchal Dunest, furious woodland warrior-women, and the sorcerous Soleriah - a kindred said to be blessed by insidious magic in their very veins. Their homes are blessed by wealthy deposits of copper, to be sure - and great herds of night-eyed deer, with furs as red as the sun at dusk. More insidious, however, is the presence of the so-called 'Black Goo' - a dreadful living mass of liquid, inky darkness spawned, some say, from the very dark between the stars. This star-spawned goo, once properly 'bonded' to a mortal host, is said to grant an inhuman fierceness in battle, at the cost of a ravenous appetite for blood and flesh as well as the taking of thoughts, desires and even memories - succumbing all into a single black dream of sorcerous servitude. Not for nothing, then, are the Soleriah-Dunesti reviled by many as unnatural slave-takers and dangerous magi; fireside monsters of a darkly dreaming wood.
Lastly, the Sky-Rider's rays graces the homes of the Akan, in distant M'kembe - a market town high up in the Intaba Hills. A fierce kindred are the Akan, free and fair - dark of skin and strange of faith. Known in equal parts as wise mystics and skilled foragers, their gatherings and clan-halls are ruled by an assembly of their foremost priests. These devout worshippers of the Great Vast Sky, or Amafu - are, curiously enough, somewhat hesitant in saying His name out loud; lest His attention - and stormy ire - be drawn to mortal affairs. According to their own tales, the Akan and their kin have been natives of their hilly homeland since the brothers Sun, Sky, and Moon first arose out of the nothingness and carved the earth from mud. As such, the bustling settlement that forms their capital is a relatively new occurence - for the Akan lived lives of wanderers and nomads in years past. No more, however - as both their homely stature and worldy knowledge have advanced greatly since then, with collaboration between the tribes leading to a formalized system of writing and metalworking alike. As for their land in of itself, flax-flowers - pale as dawn and veined with sunlight - grow there it in modest profusion. Their thickets stand well clear of the great plinths of granite that dot the area - fond fodder for industrious artisans and stonecutters alike. Lastly, sprouts and vines of a particular breed of tasty yellow grape - the Intaba Gold - sprawl most eagerly therabouts.
And so the sun sets, and then rises anew, a fresh day of the Age of Sand and Silver.
