DayZRP Life is Feudal Lore
The Slavard are the hardy Northmen of Vlodrorah that dwell in the Tundra, Mountains and fjords cut into the Northern edge of The Continent. The cold weather puts a damper on harvests of crops. But however attracts fur bearing animals as well as fish resilient enough to thrive in colder temperatures. They are men of the sea and snow, stalwart against the cold and the bite of the ocean, shipbuilders and clansmen who value Honor, Glory and Duty to one’s people and family.
The majority of Slavards worship their own sets of Gods and remain polythestic for the most part. A Gottlung saying is that “If you wish to know how many different tribes of those Northmen they’re are, just count all their Gods.”
The Gottlung are a race of metropolitan and farming people who thrive in the middle of Vlodrorah, ranging from the Foothills, Grasslands and Heartland. The names for their regions derive from the first kingdoms that inhabited those areas. While none of them stand, their tradition lives on in name. Many Gottlung work under the Feudal system, with a few independent kingdoms being exceptions to this. As such, the Gottlung maintain a gap between their social statures that only grows as time passes. While most do farm, it is found that this is the most efficient way in their culture to feed oneself and lord.
Gottlung in turn quickly adapted the art of Masonry and as such many of their cities sport Stone walls and are defensible with a sizable force that could pale in comparison to an unorganized enemy. Many Gottlung are polythestic and worship multiple Gods, however it is not uncommon for new religions of multiple or secular Gods to appear.
The Khoor are a nomadic race of tribesmen that inhabit the harshest climates in all of Vlodrorah. The Nami Desert and Suluvah Steppes are the two primarily controlled climates of the Khoor. In order to speed their nomadic lifestyle, the Khoor became adept at horseback riding and fighting from horseback. This not only aided them in exploration but in hunting some of the harshest wildlife the Continent has to offer. As such, the adage. “Only the Strong thrive in the Khoor.” Leave the nomads with only the strongest warriors, but they are small in number.
Religions of the Khoor are numerous, but rarely give homage to a diety of sorts. A majority of the Khoor believe in spirits and their ability to effect their surroundings. Droughts, poor hunts or deaths are often associated to the spirits being displeased. Sacrafices are often made to restore these connections and appease spirits.
Tundra of Illia
The world, the continent… Was for the first time in generations experiencing the longest time of overwhelming peace.
Gottlungs experienced crop yields that left even peasant bellies full. Their cities teemed as abundance, left them still with want. Metropolitan stone capitals breeded coin, commerce and progress. With peace so teeming everyone profited even the poorest of the poor.
Slavards, the Northmen, found their fishing grounds rife with bass and the glorious stories of hunts being told. Of pursuing creatures, monsters, sub-humans in tales that put history to shame. Fictional heros echoed through the fjords where many lodges lie, to the Mountains where only madmen dared to roam before finally screaming across the Tundra. The glory, that was what the Slavard reaped from peace, yet always bearing an axe ready for war.
The Khoor, as cunning and as shrewd as they were. Found mirages that would sustain even their vagabondish hordes. Whilst their way of life, their disdain of weakness never changed. None died in lack of water, in lack of food. And thus even they set roots down, even they had a place to call home.
But peace is a fickle thing.
Tidings of War
As tales grew stale, as fishing dried up, as hunts proved fruitless. The Slavards turned then to the axe, trading not with their close relatives the Gottlungs. But instead raiding and exchanging their fiction for reality. Heroes came to fruition not for their deeds of valor and honor in a hunt, but for providing for their homes, by any means necessary. The greatest of which grew to be Trond, who raided and pillaged Gottlung kingdoms with no fear. It was his duty, but even heroes die, however Trond became a legend. A Legend that Slavards rose behind and thus the war between the Gottlings and Slavards began.
The war was costly, with each side losing thousands. The Gottlungs however losing significantly more as their fighters were not nearly as skilled as these Northmen parties that raked the land, causing chaos, famine and furthering their claims on lands past the Mountain foothills of Shuldan.
The Khoor, the nomads who refused to settle found themselves caught in the conflict with the Slavard and Gottlung. With the promise of glory, gold and payment the Slavards recruited many of their skilled horsebowmen and used them against the legions of Gottlungs. When the time came for payment, the Khoor who foolishly trusted the Northmen. Were met with the sword.
The winter following the war was longer than the last, and harsh, something even the Slavards were not used to. These places where they once turned to for food, the wilds, the seas, bore no yoke but the frigid North wind. Gottlung crops froze and when time to reseed came, the ground was thick with frost boding another ill harvest, if it came before winter. The Khoor experienced a dry season, their once precious mirage that was able to sustain their horde dried, their city, their roots lay dry and thus fractured into smaller groups of desperate vagabonds once more.
The Desolate Plague
The plague came after the everlasting winter, aided by the famine, by the desperation caused by the former war. It ravaged the population, slaughtering Khoor, Gottlung and Slavards with neigh mercy. With the next winter, many Slavard settlements, lodges and camps went quiet and the desperate raids became less commonplace, more of a rarity. Gottlungs suffered the most, their densely packed cities and towns spreading the disease like a wildfire, Peasants being the first to fall, then Commoners and Noblemen. The Khoor experienced splintered infections, but of all of the races lost the least people. As some groups and tribes were overcome by the plague, others stuck to their disdain of the weak and left them behind.
Dawn of Crimson and Steel
As the survivors from the winters and plague struggled to pick up the pieces of shaken lodges, kingdoms and tribes. There was a time that war wasn’t present, that the desperation formed a tenuous pact between the races for a time. But when faced with a new, bold threat, desperation and trust are far from allies.
A group of outsiders began landing, their boats not shapen like the Slavards, Gottlungs or Khoor. But their desperation was much greater. The foreign invaders did not seek out peace as the three races did. Instead they began their march across the land, the horde like a swarm of locust, pillaging, killing and conquering with prejudice of every race, religion, creed.
Weakened Gottlung walls crumbled against the sheer mass of this horde, the war machine only growing stronger with each battle pushing the once progressing race further to the West every day. Slavard encampments, lodges, towns were snuffed out, their belongings stolen and bodies left out for the wilds to reclaim. Crows, Bears, Wolves and legend’s supernatural creatures feasted upon the corpses of the fallen. Khoor clans were driven out of the harsh lands, living in fear. Even their Guerrila war efforts of ambushing the enemy and running hardly slowed the horde even a step.
Exodus of Solace
Madmen, Cowards, Survivors, Refugees.
There are many words to describe you, one of those fateful few with the foresight to see the fruition of this conflict. That it is better to go off into the great unknown of the sea than to die at the hands of these… Outlanders. Perhaps you don’t see the honor in death, perhaps it is the end, or maybe all of you follow the primal instinct of survival over created feelings and cultural beliefs of honor and duty.
Some made this journey before you, and never returned. If they died at the mercy of the ocean, it was a cleaner death than the alternative. It was a brighter future than the doomed land behind you.
As you step on-board the reassuring thought drowned out all doubt.
“I made my Choice. This is my Story.”