Post by ᕼᓎᑗᔕᙍ ᓎᖴ ᙎᓎᘉᗫᙍᖇᔕ on Nov 3, 2016 16:11:45 GMT -5
The Fiefdom of North Vondexa
A place filled with the stench of rotten fish, the musk of the pest ridden sea and the apathetic faces of the fishermen of orcish-human descent.
Their gods have abandoned them as they have abandoned their own ancestry. Their only will is to gain the will to go on, as their wooden houses ache under their feet and under their sorrow.
The Fishermen
After Archadia fell the people of North Vondexa lost not just their nation, not just their fellow men but also their past, their present and their future.
Taken away any cause and any meaning from the foreign powers of the Confederation and the empire, thee few people that kept their mere will to go on were forced to the shores of the once great and flourishing lands now destroyed by craters and flames of the ley lines, magical fire that can't be put off or be interfered with, letting the inner lands of North Vondexa forever burn.
The Vogt of North Vondexa, a man that remembers the past that has no meaning anymore, rules over his hopeless people, letting them work and trying to give them back willpower, to no avail.
The once proud Archadians,
doomed to life as living corpses
forever now the puppets
of the Dark Lord
and the grieving Vogt
Government
As the people of North Vondexa don't have the will to defy, they simply follow the orders of the Vogt.
He who doesn't need no noblemen.
Why o' why does he still have to shed tears.
Land
The lands of North Vondexa, burning wastelands that kill everyone passing through it, if you are not a Vondexian that can lead you through it.
Giveth a coin, to the man that don't need none and he will bringeth you far into the heartlands of the deadlands.
Burning trees, far and wide, burning corpse, that never rots.
Broken houses, that never fell, broken men that never died.
To the shores, the picture is nearly the same, whilst not the same.
The stench remains but dead is further away but still near enough to knock on your door, as if the people would care.
Trees line the sand, hanging their branches as if they were trees of the marshes, even if they are somewhere far worse.
To the shores, there is just a town lined with buildings with no light but with life.
Don't enter it, nobody will answer.
Don't come near it if you don't want no answer.
Economy
Fish, fish that wants to die.
Eat their sorrows.
Take what they have but giveth one coin.
Whatever would you want from them?
Military
Hangeth from the walls of the town, by hook and rod.
The Fishermen were not fond of you.
They never are.
He who doesn't need no noblemen.
Why o' why does he still have to shed tears.
Land
The lands of North Vondexa, burning wastelands that kill everyone passing through it, if you are not a Vondexian that can lead you through it.
Giveth a coin, to the man that don't need none and he will bringeth you far into the heartlands of the deadlands.
Burning trees, far and wide, burning corpse, that never rots.
Broken houses, that never fell, broken men that never died.
To the shores, the picture is nearly the same, whilst not the same.
The stench remains but dead is further away but still near enough to knock on your door, as if the people would care.
Trees line the sand, hanging their branches as if they were trees of the marshes, even if they are somewhere far worse.
To the shores, there is just a town lined with buildings with no light but with life.
Don't enter it, nobody will answer.
Don't come near it if you don't want no answer.
Economy
Fish, fish that wants to die.
Eat their sorrows.
Take what they have but giveth one coin.
Whatever would you want from them?
Military
Hangeth from the walls of the town, by hook and rod.
The Fishermen were not fond of you.
They never are.
