Bandit Kingdoms
Petty warlords and tyrants supposedly in service to Iuz
The provinces once known as the Midlands, now dubbed the Bandit Kingdoms, are holdings that sprawl across lands as rugged as the hearts of their inhabitants. Their soil, though not generally bountiful, bears the scars of overuse and neglect, mirroring the hardened souls of those who call this land home. Scholars speculate that the harsh agricultural conditions breed a ferocious spirit among the people, fostering a culture of banditry and lawlessness.
Amidst the vast expanses of terrain, one feature stands as a testament to both the majesty and the peril of the land: the Rift Canyon. Legends whisper of its origins, shrouding its depths in mystery and fear. Yet, despite its allure, the canyon serves as a battleground for the desperate struggles of those who seek to claim dominion over its treacherous expanse. Now, it is a battleground where the free clash with the forces of Iuz, a testament to the relentless cycle of conflict that plagues the region.
Weather here is as unpredictable as the temperments of the Bandit Kingdoms' denizens. Harsh winters unleash their fury in blizzards and storms, while scorching summers bring drought and despair, threatening the livelihoods of those who eke out a living from the unforgiving land.
History
In days of yore, before the Greyhawk Wars cast their shadow over the realm, the local lords waged wars among themselves with reckless abandon. When external threats loomed on the horizon, be it the Shield Lands, Tenh, or the Horned Society, these lords begrudgingly united, sending forth their ragtag armies to meet the enemy on the field of battle. In the face of adversity, banditry knows no bounds, and alliances of necessity are forged amidst the chaos of conflict.
In the distant pasts, as the Flan migrated into the unsettled area, they encountered many strange creatures both fel and fey. Long associated with various types of corvids. Magpies were known as Skaiwaroo. Ravens were dominant in the area. In the ancient lands of the North, where the winds whispered secrets through the towering pines and the rivers sang melodies of forgotten lore, there dwelled a fearsome legend known as Shmaymona, the Raven Witch. It was said that Shmaymona was born of darkness itself, her origins shrouded in the veils of mystery and shadow. From her hidden lair deep within the heart of the enchanted forest, she would emerge under the cover of night, her dark cloak billowing like the wings of a raven as she prowled the moonlit paths in search of her prey. But it was not gold or jewels that Shmaymona sought, for her hunger was of a far more sinister nature. She coveted that which was most precious to the hearts of mortals—the innocence of newborn babes. With her eyes gleaming like twin orbs of obsidian and her voice a haunting melody that lured the unwary into her grasp, she would descend upon unsuspecting villages like a specter of doom, her talons outstretched to snatch away the innocent souls of the newborn. Mothers would huddle their babes close to their breast, whispering prayers to ward off the Raven Witch's sinister presence. Fathers would stand guard with clenched fists and steely resolve, their eyes ablaze with the fire of protectiveness. But despite their efforts, Shmaymona was a creature of cunning and guile, and none could escape her grasp when she set her sights upon her quarry. And so, the legend of Shmaymona, the Raven Witch, endured through the ages, a dark specter that haunted the dreams of mothers and fathers alike, a reminder of the ever-present dangers that lurked in the shadows of the world. And though her name may have faded from the lips of mortals over time, her legend lived on, a cautionary tale whispered in hushed tones around hearthfires on cold winter nights, lest the darkness of the past should ever return to claim the innocent once more. As the legend of Shmaymona, the Raven Witch, spread like wildfire across the land, so too did the fury of the Flan tribesmen who called those ancient forests their home. For generations, they had lived in harmony with the natural world, their bond with the spirits of the earth and sky as unbreakable as the roots of the towering oaks that reached for the heavens. But when news of Shmaymona's heinous deeds reached their ears, the Flan tribesmen knew that they could not abide such wickedness to fester in their midst. With hearts heavy with grief and eyes ablaze with righteous fury, they gathered beneath the boughs of the tallest oak, where Shmaymona's twisted tree house stood as a dark sentinel against the sky. Armed with torches and spears, the tribesmen ascended the ancient tree, their voices raised in a chorus of defiance against the Raven Witch's tyranny. They climbed higher and higher, their footsteps echoing like thunder against the bark as they neared their quarry's lair. And there, amidst the gnarled branches and twisted shadows, they found her—the Raven Witch herself, her eyes blazing with malevolent fury as she prepared to claim yet another innocent soul for her sinister purposes. But the Flan tribesmen were undaunted, their resolve unyielding as they surrounded her, their torches casting flickering shadows across her pale, twisted visage. With a cry that echoed through the forest like the mournful wail of a banshee, the tribesmen set fire to the Raven Witch's tree house, the flames leaping hungrily from branch to branch as they consumed the dark heart of her sanctuary. And as the inferno raged around her, Shmaymona's piercing screams filled the night air, a chilling testament to the wrath of those who dared to defy the forces of darkness. And so, atop that ancient oak, amidst the crackling flames and swirling smoke, the legend of Shmaymona, the Raven Witch, came to a fiery end, her dark reign of terror extinguished by the righteous fury of the Flan tribesmen who refused to let evil triumph in their sacred land.
Long ago, as the Oeridian tribes ventured eastward in search of a promised land, they traversed lands of harsh climates, rocky soils, and fiercley independent and distrusting Flan locals who had settled the area centuries before the Migration Era. Among these unforgiving regions, the rugged plains north of the Nyr Dyv stood as a formidable barrier to human settlement for centuries, defying the efforts of even the mighty Aerdi empire to tame its wild expanse. Interspersed with the native Flan were Flan refugees who had been forced into migration by way of the expansion of various empires. Amidst the decay of Ferrond and the madness of Rauxes, the so-called "Middle Lands" descended into seeming chaos, as ill-fated nobles vied for power amidst the crumbling remnants of civilization.
Out of this chaos emerged the Combination of Free Lords, a loose alliance of provincial self-rule born of necessity rather than unity. Within its borders, the warlords of various clans and bloodlines schemed and plotted, each seeking to expand their domains at the expense of their rivals. Yet, when external threats loomed on the horizon, the lords of the Combination set aside their differences, rallying their forces to repel invaders with a ferocity born of desperation. Those few invaders who managed to secure a foothold in lands were quickly drawn into the in-fighting between the clan lords, making rule difficult and costly.
The provinces of the Free Lords have ranged between 9 and 17. Chief among the rivalries are those between the free lords of Rookroost, Johrase, Stoink, and Redhand, with honorable mention to the houses of Wormhall and their close familial ties to the Horned Society.
By the turn of the 300s CY, the rise of the Bandit Kings posed a dire threat to the stability of the region. In response, the northern lords of the Nyr Dyv banded together, forming the Shield Lands as a bulwark against lawlessness and chaos. For over two centuries, northern and southern lords clashed in bloody conflict, their lands ravaged by war and strife. The Free Lords, for their part, are loyal to clan and tribe and while not necessarily wicked, are opportunists at heart. During times of plenty their raiding parties may serve in the ranks of mercenary companies in distant lands, or operate as traders, offering fair barter. In harsher times, or if opportunity presented, they would offer "Kaytum", a horribly lopsided trade proposition bordering on extortion, or take hostages for ransom.
Amidst the present turmoil, a new player emerged on the stage of power. Zered, Baron Trallant, heir to the Viscount Alhaster, was slain by Freemen from Riftcrag, sparking a chain of events that would forever alter the fate of the region. In a bid for vengeance, Zered's brother, Zeech, seized power, proclaiming himself Viscount Alhaster and later Prince of Redhand.
The years that followed were marked by countless skirmishes and betrayals, as alliances shifted like dust in the wind. The Horned Society's advances were met with fierce resistance from the Shield Lands, while the Duchy of Tenh launched its own incursions into enemy territory. However, Wormhall and Redhand were brought further into the embrace of the Horned Society.
In the chaos, a new threat loomed on the horizon. Iuz, the Old One, unleashed his armies upon the land, laying waste to all who dared to oppose him. The lords of Rookroost saw an opportunity to settle longstanding scores with Johrase, and allowed Iuz' forces to occupy strategic areas in exchange for semi-autonomy. In a desperate bid for survival, many free lords gathered at Steelbone Meadows, only to fall victim to betrayal and massacre at the hands of a mad cleric.
Though the survivors nursed their hatred for Iuz and his forces, their own internal strife prevented them from mounting a united resistance. With the lords of Rookroost, Johrase and Redhand at odds, the future is uncertain for lessers houses. Stoink stands alone in their ability to broker peace among equals. Mostly, the region teeters on the brink of a zero-sum collapse, its fate hanging in the balance as political machinations and power struggles threaten to plunge it into darkness once more.
Structure
The intricate web of power within the Bandit Kingdoms has been woven and unraveled countless times in recent memory, as shifting alliances dictate the ever-changing political landscape.
While the dark forces of Iuz now hold dominion over much of these lands, the echoes of old rivalries and clan feuds refuse to be silenced, even amidst the shadow of occupation. Some realms have weathered the storm of Iuz's conquest, clinging to life against all odds, their resilience adding yet another layer of chaos to an already tumultuous empire.
Adding fuel to the fire, the ominous presence of the Horned Society looms large, particularly in the northern reaches, where their ongoing rivalry with Iuz simmers beneath the surface, erupting into proxy conflicts from time to time.
To Outsiders, the Bandit Lands stand as a testament to anarchy unchecked. Stretching across vast swathes of territory, these lands were once the fragmented domains of the so-called Bandit Kingdoms, west of the Artonsamay and Zumker, their borders marked by the Bluff Hills, Fellreev Forest, and Ritensa River. Even the combined might of the Horned and Shield Lands pales in comparison to the sheer expanse of this lawless frontier. No occupier, no matter how formidable, can hope to exert full control over this wild and untamed territory, just as no single chieftain could ever claim dominion over them all in the tumultuous centuries before the wars.
Instead, Iuz's forces have strategically secured key strongholds and settlements, enlisting the aid of the notoriously unsavory local mercenaries and warlords to bolster their ranks. Yet, despite their efforts, vast stretches of the land remain beyond their grasp, where chaos reigns supreme. In some corners, the presence of Iuz's troops is a rare sight, while in others, warlords roam freely, their autonomy preserved so long as they do not dare to challenge the iron fist of Iuz.
Below is a brief overview of these ancient states and their current state of affairs.
Abbarra: Nestled amidst the untamed wilderness of rugged plains, Abbarra lies as a dark shadow between the ancient forests of Fellreev and Tangles, a realm steeped in mystery and intrigue. Forged in the crucible of chaos that defines the Bandit Kingdoms, this land has long been ruled by a syndicate of deadly assassins, whispered to be descendants of Ur-Flan disciples of Juiblex, the Faceless Demon, who hoard secrets from the depths of the Abyss.
In a realm where the edge of a blade can mean the difference between life and death, the skills of these trained killers are revered, their services sought after by those who dwell in the shadows. Despite the barrenness of their overfarmed land, the Abbarrish have thrived, their survival a testament to their cunning and resourcefulness.
However, the land of Abbarra bore witness to a harrowing tragedy in the Brewfest of 584 CY, as Steelbone Meadows in northeastern Wormhall became the stage for a massacre of unimaginable horror, orchestrated by a mad cleric of Iuz. Though many able-bodied men perished in the bloodshed, the assassins of Abbarra, masters of stealth and deception, survived to haunt the land once more.
Under the ruthless leadership of Kor, their former master, these survivors lurk in the shadows, preying upon Iuz's rare patrols with deadly precision. From their hidden lairs, they strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, living off the land and biding their time until the moment of reckoning.
Officially governed from Hallorn, Abbarra exists on the fringes of the empire's attention, a forgotten corner of the realm where the law of the land is dictated by those who dwell in darkness.
Artonsamay, Duchy of the: Nestled along the winding riverbanks north of the Great Northern Bend of the Artonsamay, and sprawling across the plains within a stone's throw of the Rift Barrens' eastern edge, lay the duchy of Artonsamay - an enigma amidst a land rife with thieves and murderers. Despite the ever-present risk of a disappearing purse, there lingered within its borders a semblance of honor and reverence for life, qualities sorely lacking in its neighboring realms.
Whispers spoke of a bygone era, when Artonsamay was ruled by a noble adventurer of the esteemed Gellor dynasty hailing from Urnst, lending an air of allure to the duchy that drew thrill-seekers and outlaws of a more benevolent nature. Yet, when the shadow of Iuz's forces descended upon the land in 583, no tales of valor or noble lineage could save Artonsamay from devastation. Its castle, once a bastion of strength, crumbled beneath the onslaught of dark magic, and its people scattered like leaves in the wind, seeking refuge in the neighboring lands of Urnst, Stoink, or the foreboding Rift.
Now, the once-thriving duchy lies shrouded in the cloak of wilderness, its once-bustling towns and villages reduced to empty husks amidst the desolate landscape. Only the stubborn or the destitute remain, clinging to their homes with a fierce determination born of necessity. In pockets of the realm, a faint ember of magic still burns bright, a testament to the resilience of those who refuse to yield to the darkness that surrounds them. Of particular note amidst this bleak landscape is Himrill, a secretive half-elven enclave nestled deep within the heart of the forest.
Hushed voices drift through the streets of Stoink, tales of Duke Gellor's demise at the hands of the invading forces, yet shadows linger in the corners of doubt. Rumors speak of sightings of Iuz's high priestess, Halga, stalking the streets in search of a man bearing an unsettling resemblance to the fallen duke. In the land of Artonsamay, where truth and illusion dance a delicate waltz, the fate of its people hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
Dimre, Grand Theocracy of: Stretching from the far reaches of the Phostwood westward to the plains beyond, Dimre stands as a small yet formidable state, once feared for its daring raids into the realms of Tenh and Nyrond through the shadowed depths of the Phostwood and Nutherwood.
The seeds of Dimre's inception were sown in dissent and disillusionment, as a renegade sect of Pholtus followers, led by the charismatic Canon Tos Rexfel, broke away from the fold. Disgusted by the corruption and political maneuverings of the clergy elite, Rexfel dared to challenge the establishment, denouncing their hypocrisy and embracing the path of heresy. Branded an enemy of the state and a threat to the sanctity of the faith, Rexfel and his followers fled westward, carving out a haven amidst the darkness they had come to embrace.
In the shadow of the Phostwood, the clergy of Dimre preaches a doctrine of enlightenment through adversity, teaching that one must first traverse the depths of darkness to truly appreciate the radiance of the Light. Rituals of purification and devotion form the bedrock of their faith, with clerics undertaking rigorous trials of fasting and humility before they are deemed worthy to ascend to their ordained roles. Marriage is permitted among the clergy, a stark departure from the austere customs of the Pale.
In the traditions of Dimre, adherence to the faith extends far beyond mere words or prayers. Followers are bound by solemn vows to serve as missionaries, spreading the teachings of their creed to the farthest corners of the land. But their devotion does not end there; they also undergo rigorous military training, honing their skills in preparation for the trials that lie ahead.
Yet, it is not only their bodies that are tested but also their spirits. Through periods of fasting and ritual abstinence from the comforts of ale and wine, they purge themselves of earthly desires, preparing their souls for communion with the divine.
In the hallowed halls of Dimre, faith is not merely a matter of belief but a way of life, demanding unwavering dedication and sacrifice from all who dare to walk its path.
Yet, for all its spiritual enlightenment, Dimre is a land of harsh justice and unyielding discipline. Punishments are swift and severe, with purification by fire and banishment serving as common forms of retribution for transgressors.
Despite its isolation, Dimre remains a thorn in the side of the Pale, vigilant in guarding its borders against all who would seek to breach its sanctity. Even the armies of Iuz, after suffering humiliating defeats in the summer of 583 CY, chose to broker a pact of nonaggression and alliance with Dimre, recognizing the futility of challenging its resolve.
In the wake of a series of humiliating setbacks during the summer of 583 CY, even the formidable legions of Iuz were compelled to reconsider their strategies, opting to forge a pact of nonaggression and alliance with Dimre. While technically governed from Stoink, Dimre maintains a significant degree of autonomy, its sovereignty largely unchallenged in practice.
At the helm of Dimre's affairs stands Cannoness Keomee, her stern visage a reflection of the unwavering resolve that defines her rule. With a countenance as unyielding as the mountains and a demeanor to match, she brooks no dissent, commanding obedience with an iron will. Alongside her stands her husband, Waffren of an old Flan bloodline, frail yet wise, his counsel a valuable asset in navigating the treacherous waters of politics and power.
Together, they wield influence over the realm's political landscape, their authority unchallenged by all but the most foolhardy. In the shifting sands of intrigue and ambition, Cannoness Keomee and her husband stand as stalwart guardians of Dimre's autonomy, their grip on power as firm as the roots of the ancient oaks that dot their land.
Fellands: In the southwestern embrace of the Bluff Hills, where the earth bears the crimson stain of ancient battles and the plains burst forth with wildflowers each passing season, the spirit of defiance runs deep in the veins of the Fellands. Even as Iuz's legions march through these rugged foothills, the resilient people of this land refuse to yield, their indomitable will echoing the echoes of their ancestors.
The Fellands, steeped in a history of bloodshed and rebellion, harbor tales of a bygone era when the Flan, in a bid for liberation, waged war against their demonic oppressors. Legends speak of forgotten battles and the names of long-lost demons, whispered through the annals of time and preserved within the dusty tomes of Old Lore, rumored to reside within the weathered halls of Rookroost's libraries.
Throughout the ages, countless empires, from the mighty Aerdi to the fierce Tenh, have sought to subjugate the proud people of the Fellands, only to be met with resounding defiance. Despite their efforts, these would-be conquerors have learned a harsh lesson in the resilience of those who call this untamed land their home.
Despite its rugged terrain, the Fellands yield a bountiful harvest to those who toil the soil with discipline and determination. While the hills teem with wild game, their numbers have dwindled in recent decades. Yet, the rivers that meander through the land, flowing southward to join the Zumker on its journey to the enigmatic Lake of Unknown Depths, offer a lifeline to those who depend on its waters for sustenance.
There is a palpable sense of something ancient and untamed that permeates the very essence of the Fellands, haunting the dreams of its residents and visitors alike long after they have departed its borders. It is a land that brooks no master, where one may only be a partner to its untamed spirit.
Many ponder the allure of this somber expanse. Even beneath its springtime cloak of wildflowers, the Fellands do not inspire the same admiration as the serene valleys of Furyondy. Its beauty is stark and unadorned, revealed in the raw honesty of its rugged landscape. At dawn, it blooms with an uncompromising grace, yet as twilight descends, its haunting allure is laid bare. The soil, tinged with a deep crimson hue, evokes a sense of foreboding, leading local sages to dub the barren patches "blood fields." Legends whisper of ancient battles so fierce and savage that the earth itself recoiled, refusing to yield to life's embrace once more. The Fellands has forever been a realm steeped in the shadows of conflict and death, drawing unto itself souls of a kindred spirit – resilient, fierce, and unyielding.
The inhabitants of the Fellands are a curious amalgamation of disparate souls. Farmers and shepherds coexist alongside highwaymen and brigands, their lives intertwined in a delicate dance of survival. Each hamlet, no matter how humble, stands as a bastion against the encroaching darkness, fortified against the perils that lurk beyond. Armed and vigilant, they fiercely guard their territory, their independence a testament to their unwavering spirit. Trespassers are met with swift and unforgiving justice, their fate sealed by the uncompromising will of the land's inhabitants.
This fiercely independent nature renders the rule of the Fellands a precarious endeavor, explaining the multitude of failed attempts throughout its tumultuous history. Here, the people bow to neither king nor deity, their allegiance sworn only to the sky above and the air they breathe. Yet, when threatened, these seemingly disparate souls unite as one, their collective strength akin to a swarm of enraged bees. The current occupation by Iuz's forces unsettles many, for the ease with which so many have succumbed to his rule breeds a sense of unease. Despite the waning resistance, whispers abound of an impending storm, stirring the old-timers to prepare for the coming tempest of war.
The annals of the Fellands are etched with a tapestry of shifting rulers and tumultuous events, each layer adding to the complex narrative of this storied land. In its name, the Fellands pledged allegiance to Nyrond upon their divergence from Aerdi in 356 CY. Yet, in practice, the lords who held sway over these vast stretches of terrain seldom ventured forth, content so long as the coffers overflowed with taxed coinage. Those who dared defy their edicts became adept at eluding the foresters and sheriffs dispatched by absentee overlords. When Nyrond's sovereignty was contested by Tehn, skirmishes erupted, but amidst the chaos of greater conflicts, the Fellands became a haven for renegades and brigands, their keeps transforming into bastions of warlords amidst the burgeoning banditry of the Rift Canyon.
Tehn's futile attempts to assert its dominion over the Bluff Hills crumbled like sandcastles before the tide. Amidst the chaos, a local farmer named Jara emerged as an unlikely champion, driven by the primal fury ignited by the abduction and torment of his daughter. With the fire of vengeance burning in his heart, Jara rallied the disparate clans of the region, forging them into a formidable force that struck with deadly precision. Jara's guerilla tactics proved devastating, as Tenh forces fell victim to cunning ambushes and calculated strikes. Tehn's claim to the Bluff Hills was tenuous at best, a fleeting illusion shattered by the inexorable march of time.
Ultimately, it was not the might of Tehn, but the dark shadow of Iuz that cast its long reach over the land, engulfing the Bluff Hills in a tide of darkness that swept aside all resistance. And thus, in the year 583 CY, the fate of the Bluff Hills was sealed, its destiny forever intertwined with the whims of a malevolent master.
Among the turbulent sea of rulers, few held sway for long in the Fellands. The tenure of power was often fleeting, with most lords enduring a mere three to four years at best. Yet, one figure stands out amidst this shifting landscape: Felgrin, the self-proclaimed "blood earth king," a title earned not by birthright but by sheer force of will. Hailing from humble farmer stock, Felgrin's reign was marked by a stark simplicity: give every man his space, acknowledge his dominion, and all shall be permitted to pursue their desires. Taxation was an alien concept; instead, income flowed from raids launched against Tehn, the Pale, and neighboring lords. Though his rule was not without brutality, Felgrin was an equalizer of sorts, dispensing justice with an impartial hand. Yet, his fate remains shrouded in mystery, disappearing amidst the chaos of conflict, leaving whispers of his demise or his departure lingering in his wake.
In the annals of conquest, the Fellands bore witness to the rise and fall of realms, as warriors clashed and territories shifted hands. The spring of 578 CY saw the land succumb to the forces of Tenh, briefly halting its eastward raids. Yet, this respite was short-lived, as the Grosskopf clans absorbed the conquered realm in 581 CY through a union of ruling families.
The year 583 CY heralded a new era of rule under the auspices of Xavendra, a cleric of Iuz whose refined demeanor belied her cruel and calculating nature. Tasked with governing Groucester, she grappled with the challenge of incorporating former bandits into her fold, their allegiance swayed by the allure of dark religion and debauchery. As her grip on the Fellands tightened, whispers abound of her distaste for orcs and murmurs of potential bid for independence should Iuz's attention waver. Yet, amidst the shadows of uncertainty, the people of the Fellands endure, their resilience a testament to the indomitable spirit that defines this land.
Freehold, Mighty: Nestled within the inner crook of the Fellreev Forest, south of the Artonsamay, lies the domain known as the Mighty Freehold. Its name harkens to the towering bastion that once stood as its sentinel, a formidable walled keep serving as a solitary bulwark against the encroaching darkness. However, when the shadow of Iuz loomed over the land in 583, the Freehold chose a perilous path, forging an alliance with the malevolent force that now besieges its borders.
At Steelbone Meadows, the Freehold's fate was sealed in treachery, its valiant forces met with betrayal and annihilation. Now, the land is a haunted expanse, where rogue orcs roam as grim sentinels over the desolate remains, and the few surviving Freeholders eke out a precarious existence amidst the ruins of their once-proud domain.
Among the settlements and locations that dot the landscape of the Mighty Freehold are Fleichshriver, North Keep, and Wheatfield, each bearing witness to the grim transformation wrought by Iuz's dark dominion. The Freehold keep itself, once a beacon of defiance, has been twisted into the sinister stronghold known as Fleichshriver, its walls now bearing the taint of fiendish corruption.
Yet amid the desolation, whispers linger of strange, haunting screams that echo from the abandoned keep, a chilling testament to the malevolent forces that once held sway over the land. And in the shadow of Fleichshriver, the presence of Iuz's Archmage Null looms like a specter, a harbinger of lingering dread and uncertainty.
The lands of the Mighty Freehold, once teeming with life and vitality, now lie scorched and desecrated by the abyssal powers that have claimed them. The once-fertile soil now lies fallow, choked by the relentless grip of demonic corruption, while the only signs of life are the roaming bands of soldiers and mercenaries who serve the will of the Old One. Amidst this bleak tableau, a few brave souls dare to eke out an existence on the northern fringes, where the barren plains meet the edge of the Fellreev forest, their survival a testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity in the face of overwhelming darkness.
Freehold, once a bastion of refuge amidst the chaos of the Warfields and Wormhall, stood as a mighty fortress guarding the fringes of civilization. Yet within its formidable walls, the tenants harbored a penchant for indiscriminate raiding, extending their reach even to distant lands such as Tehn. When the shadow of Iuz fell upon the land during the Greyhawk Wars, the men of Freehold swiftly cast their lot with the Old One, seeking shelter within the dark embrace of his forces.
Welcomed into a large encampment at Steelbone Meadow, they soon found themselves ensnared in a web of treachery. Betrayed and slaughtered nearly to a man, those who managed to survive faced a grim choice: flee northward into the Fellreev forest, where the vengeful elves awaited, or seek refuge in the harsh terrain of the Rift Canyon to the east. Meanwhile, Freehold itself was claimed by Iuz and christened Fleichriver, becoming a pivotal bastion in his campaign to subdue the unruly denizens of the Bandit Kingdoms.
Under the influence of demonic forces, Fleichriver underwent a sinister metamorphosis, its once noble ramparts twisted and perverted into a macabre testament to Iuz's dominion. Walls adorned with obscene imagery and battlements fitted with barbed railings spoke to the madness that now gripped the fortress, while within its cursed halls, dark experiments unfolded under the watchful eye of Iuz's Greater Boneheart.
Within the confines of Fleichriver, unspeakable horrors were wrought: foul enchantments and abominable cross-breeding experiments, all conducted in the name of the Old One's insatiable thirst for power. The surrounding lands became infested with creatures of living shadow, their vampiric abilities adding to the terror that plagued the region. The fel powers that have entagled this land for millenia run deep.
The activation of the Crook of Rao by the Canon of Veluna unleashed bizarre and unpredictable forces upon Fleichriver. Sections of the fortress were banished along with their fiendish inhabitants, while others remained, twisted remnants of a once-proud stronghold. Amidst rumors of lingering spies and whispered tales of a surviving portal to the Abyss, few dare to venture into the ruins of Fleichriver, where the echoes of darkness still linger, waiting to ensnare the unwary in their malevolent embrace.
Greenkeep, Defenders of the: Among the remnants of men who survived the carnage of Steelbone Meadows, none have faced harsher trials than the self-proclaimed "Defenders of the Greenkeep." These disparate bands of warriors eke out a precarious existence within the narrow swath of woodland that straddles the Artonsomay River, nestled uncomfortably between the shadowed expanses of Fleichshriver and the ancient domains of the Fellreev. Theirs is a life of unyielding struggle, for they must not only contend with the lingering taint of Iuz's accursed stronghold in the Combination of Free Lords but also navigate the treacherous enmity of the native wood elves and orc tribes who call the Fellreev their home, both of whom harbor little sympathy for their plight.
Once, the eastern reaches of the Fellreev were home to a realm dominated by humanity, yet threaded with the presence of renegade sylvan elves and their kin. Known as merry followers of Olidammara, the Greenkeepers found themselves thrust into the crucible of conflict when the horrors of Steelbone Meadows descended upon them. Forced to retreat into the sheltering embrace of their woodland haven, they bore the brunt of relentless raids from Iuz's forces, their numbers dwindling with each passing assault. Yet, despite the dire odds stacked against them, a resilient few persist, forging tenuous alliances with the Reyhu-elf coalition across the river, their shared struggle binding them in a fragile bond of camaraderie. Though they tread cautiously, wary of the malevolent presence that lurks to the south in the plains of Fleichshriver, they cling steadfastly to hope, determined to defy the darkness that threatens to engulf them.
In the bleak aftermath of the Bandit Lands' subjugation, these men endured the harshest of trials. Ill-prepared for life amidst the dense forests, their lack of woodland acumen left them vulnerable to the unforgiving whims of nature. Reduced to mere scavengers, they scraped out a meager existence through relentless raids, preying upon any potential target that crossed their path. Yet, their endeavors were fraught with peril, beset by the relentless onslaught of Dazark orcs from the Artonsomay and the lethal retribution of the sylvan elf clans dwelling within the shadowed depths of the western Fellreev. Cut off from allies among the Reyhu, they found themselves ensnared in a web of isolation and despair.
Struggling against overwhelming odds, these beleaguered souls found scant respite from the ceaseless torment of their existence. Bereft of proper provisions and burdened by the constant threat of ambush, their camps dared not linger for more than a fleeting moment, lest they fall prey to the merciless blades of their foes or the capricious whims of Iuz's malevolent minions. Yet, amidst the desolation that surrounded them, they clung fiercely to the bonds of camaraderie, finding solace in the companionship of their fellow outcasts. And though their plight was dire, they faced their tribulations with a grim resolve, their spirits buoyed by the bitter camaraderie that united them in defiance against the cruel hand fate had dealt them.
In recent times, a glimmer of hope has pierced the shadows that once enveloped these forsaken souls, largely due to the efforts of Skannar Hendricks and his band of warriors stationed at the eponymous fort. Though formal alliances between the displaced Reyhu and the elves of the Fanlareshen remain elusive, pragmatic interests have forged a tenuous accord between them. The Defenders, as they are known, serve as vigilant sentinels, monitoring the movements of the Dazark orcs and the activities surrounding the accursed Fleichshriver, in exchange for meager sustenance provided by their newfound allies. Yet, theirs is a pact born of necessity rather than genuine camaraderie, fueled by the relentless pursuit of survival in a world devoid of compassion or trust.
Bound by the common thread of adversity, the Defenders embody a unique breed of resilience and adaptability. Nomads by nature, they traverse the rugged terrain with a sense of purpose tempered by the looming specter of peril that lurks around every bend. Though they may share fleeting moments of companionship, their transient alliances are as ephemeral as the shifting winds, for theirs is a world where loyalty is a luxury they can ill afford. Each day dawns with the grim realization that their existence hangs by the slenderest of threads, driving them to embrace life with an almost reckless abandon, heedless of the perils that await them.
In battle, they are fierce and unrelenting, their fighting prowess akin to that of savage beasts driven to the brink of desperation. Yet, amidst the chaos and carnage, they find a semblance of solace, for in the crucible of combat, they discover a fleeting respite from the ceaseless torment that haunts their waking hours. For the Defenders, death is not to be feared but embraced, for in the face of annihilation, they find a perverse sense of liberation, knowing that in death, they may finally find release from the shackles of their existence.
Grosskopf, Grand Clans of: In the rugged expanse of the eastern Bluff Hills, where the wild winds howl through craggy peaks and shadowy valleys, Grosskopf held sway for generations. Their bond with the orcish clans, forged through blood and battle, lent them a fearsome reputation. But in 578, Duke Ehyeh Ill's iron fist closed around Grosskopf, forcing them to rein in their marauding bands and bring order to their lawless lands.
This warrior realm, steeped in the traditions of combat and conquest, extended its grasp further in 581. A strategic union between ruling families saw Grosskopf's dominion expand to encompass the rugged expanse of the Fellands. Yet, this newfound stability was but a fleeting respite. Raids into neighboring Tenh surged anew, fueled by the restless spirit of conflict that simmered in the hearts of both orc and man.
Meanwhile, to the east, Tenh, emboldened by its success in curbing the lawlessness along its western borders, set its sights on the eastern reaches of the Bluff Hills. Their invasion of the northern Combination in 578 brought a semblance of order to the chaotic frontier. However, Tenh's grip on power began to falter following its absorption of the Fellands through a strategic marriage alliance in 581 CY.
Before Tenh could quell the rising tide of banditry that once again threatened its borders, the drums of war echoed ominously in the distance. The arrival of the Fist's armies on Tenh's northern borders cast a dark shadow over the land, signaling the dawn of a new era of conflict and chaos. By 583 CY, as Iuz's relentless legions surged forth, the fate of the Bluff Hills hung in the balance, torn between the clashing ambitions of empires and the indomitable spirit of its people.
Prominent settlements within the Grand Clans of Grosskopf include Narleon, Senningford and Stroun. Taris is a notable Half-Orc enclave known as a center for mercenaries. Inhabitants are generally considered taciturn and find much humor in the misfortune of others. The inns and taverns here are notorious for their disguasting food, usually some type of boiled barley porridge with various curred organ meats, pickled eyeballs being a favorite.
In the tumultuous year of 583 CY, as the ominous shadow of war descended upon the land, Grosskopf faced a fateful decision. With the relentless advance of Stonefist's troops pressing Tenh from the north and the menacing hordes of orcs marching ominously from the west, the once-proud realm bowed to the might of Iuz. Some brave souls, refusing to yield to tyranny, sought refuge amidst the rugged crags of the Bluff Hills, where they defiantly held their ground against the encroaching darkness.
Yet, for many of Grosskopf's seasoned raiders, skilled in the arts of cavalry warfare, a different path beckoned. Embracing Iuz's sinister suggestion, they embarked on a perilous journey to the desolate wastes of the Barrens, a realm haunted by the relentless Rovers, with whom Grosskopf had clashed for generations. Here, amidst the harsh landscape, they established their new home in Grossfort, the fortified heart of their burgeoning dominion, forming the nucleus of a formidable fighting force known as the Marauders of the North.
Elsewhere, scattered bands of Grosskopf troops, forging unlikely alliances with orc and goblin allies, waged a brutal campaign against Stonehold skirmishers in the bustling settlements of Senningford and Narleon. Together, they supplied Iuz's legions with the resources needed to sustain their relentless advance into the heart of Tenh. From the shadowy corridors of power in the Free City of Rookroost, both Grosskopf and Fellands now found themselves bound to the iron will of their new master, their fates intertwined under the oppressive yoke of Iuz's dominion.
Johrase, Kingdom of:Johrase, renowned for its formidable warriors, stands as one of the ancient bastions within the tapestry of the Combination of Free Lords. From its inception, Johrase has commanded the rugged expanse west of the Zumker-Artonsamay confluence, stretching southwestward from the bustling hub of Kinemeet, its capital, to the untamed reaches of the Rift Barrens and the tangled labyrinth of the Tangles. Born from the turbulent ambitions of Andrellus, a wayward scion of Aerdy's illustrious Rax dynasty, Johrase emerged as a microcosm of the once-mighty Great Kingdom, boasting its own regal lineage and a populace bound by the trials of existence.
At its heart, the Kingdom of Johrase bore a stark resemblance to the grandeur of its Aerdi predecessor, a reflection tainted by the eccentric whims of its enigmatic founder, Andrellus. In an act of audacious folly, he seized the mantle of kingship, casting himself as sovereign ruler over all who dwelled within his domain, be they noble or commoner. Kinemeet, nestled amidst the undulating plains, served as the fulcrum of his power, a semi-permanent settlement that played host to the nomadic Flan tribesmen, who congregated seasonally to engage in the age-old rituals of trade and tribal warfare. Here, amidst the swirling currents of competition, battles were waged with a primal fervor, the clash of morningstars and the primal fury of hand-to-hand combat echoing across the untamed expanse.
In the crucible of Johrase's warrior culture, King Andrellus reveled in the primal spectacle of battle, seeking to warp the age-old traditions of ritualized combat into a twisted reflection of the gladiatorial spectacles that had captivated his youth in Aerdi. From the blood-stained sands of these arenas emerged a caste of battle-hardened mercenaries, their skills honed in the crucible of mortal combat, eagerly sought after by neighboring realms willing to pay a king's ransom for their services.
Andrellus warped vision gave way to the unyielding tide of the Flan warrior ethos. Here, in the heart of Johrase, might was the only true currency, with the throne itself a prize coveted by the strongest among them, the court a battleground where challenges to the king's authority were met with savage ferocity. As the ranks swelled with sell swords and outcasts drawn from the far corners of the Flanaess, distinctions of race and lineage blurred. Though the embrace of humanoids remained anathema, half-elves and half-orcs than can pass for human walk freely.
While the fertile lands of Johrase lay ripe for cultivation, the allure of plunder and conquest proved irresistible to its denizens, who turned their gaze southward, venturing into the domain of Redhand to sate their insatiable appetite for riches. With each passing year, the kingdom's grip tightened around the throat of its neighbors, its warlords emboldened by annual raids that echoed with the thunderous stampede of hooves and the clash of steel. Kinemeet, the seat of Johrase's power, stood as a bastion of martial prowess, its walls a testament to the indomitable spirit of its people, while its gladiatorial arena, a bubblng stew of blood and sweat, served as both a proving ground for aspiring warriors and a marketplace for the trade in mercenaries and steel.
As the seasons turned in Kinemeet, a bustling hub of trade and competition emerged, drawing folk from every corner of the Combination of Free Lords. With Patchwall's arrival, the city's stockyards overflowed with merchants and artisans, eager to showcase their wares amidst the vibrant tapestry of the Harvestfest. For the herders and farmers of the Bandit Lands, this fleeting window offered a rare opportunity to ply their trade on equitable terms, their goods coveted by buyers from distant realms.
Yet, amidst the festivities, the true spectacle awaited, as skilled horsemen from far and wide converged upon Kinemeet to vie for glory in the age-old tradition of trick riding. Here, champions were forged in the heat of competition, their prowess rewarded with the finest steeds from the royal stables. But as the popularity of the contest soared, so too did the dangers that lurked in its shadow, with the king's men kept ever vigilant against the specter of treachery and foul play.
In the annals of Kinemeet's history, the year 581 CY stands as a testament to both triumph and turmoil, as Jira, daughter of a chieftain, shattered convention by claiming victory in the trick riding competition. Yet, her triumph was marred by the master of horses' refusal to recognize her achievement, igniting a riot that threatened to engulf the city in chaos. Only through begrudging concession did Jira claim her rightful prize, the finest horse in all the land, her victory a beacon of defiance against the entrenched prejudices of the old order.
But even as the revelry reached its zenith, the shadow of impending doom loomed large over Kinemeet, as the armies of the Old One descended upon the Bandit Lands with unrelenting fury. In a desperate bid for survival, the king of Johrase forged a tenuous alliance with the Theocracy of Dimre, the only province deemed to have warriors of equal skill. Their forces united in the face of an existential threat. Yet, when the hour of reckoning arrived, the warriors of Johrase found themselves outmatched by the sheer numbers and relentless advance of Iuz's Greater Boneheart, their valiant stand ending in bitter defeat as Kinemeet fell to the ravages of war.
In the aftermath of the fateful clash in 583 CY, the Johrase Mercenaries found themselves scattered and adrift in a world torn asunder by the ravages of war. Bereft of their homeland, many of these seasoned warriors turned their gaze northward, seeking solace amidst the tumult of northern Tehn. There, they pledged their swords to the highest bidder, heedless of allegiance or honor, their loyalty measured only in the gleam of gold and silver. Bound by the solemn oath to reclaim their lost homeland, they brandished the black morningstar as their standard, a symbol of defiance against the encroaching darkness.
In the heat of battle, amid the clash of steel and the cries of the fallen, the warriors of Johrase exchanged solemn vows, their words echoing with the promise of vengeance yet to be fulfilled. "One day, in Kinemeet, we shall finish this," they intoned, their voices carrying the weight of loss and longing. And though some sought refuge in the lands of Dimre, their hearts remained tethered to the memory of their beloved homeland.
Kinemeet, once a beacon of prosperity and hope, now lay in partial ruins, a grim testament to the relentless advance of Iuz's forces. Rule by orcs loyal to the Old One, its proud banners torn and trampled beneath the boots of conquerors. Commanded by the fearsome orc known only as "The Mammoth," these warlike savages hold sway over the plains for miles around, their allegiance to Iuz unwavering despite their unruly nature.
The marauders of Kinemeet conduct regular raids into the surrounding lands, including the Tangles, drawing the ire of Cranzer.
Midlands, Stronghold of the: Nestled between the sprawling tangle of the Tangles and the sinuous embrace of the Artonsamay River lies the Midlands, a vast expanse of fertile plains that have languished in the shadow of Iuz's tyranny.
From the imposing stronghold of Kinemeet, legions of orcs prowl the Midlands, their watchful eyes scouring the horizon for any sign of dissent. Save for a handful of intrepid outlaws and wandering sellswords, the land lies barren, its once-thriving villages reduced to mere shadows of their former selves. Amidst the desolation, fields of barley sway in the breeze, a grim testament to the resilience of the land's few remaining inhabitants.
Yet, despite the oppressive presence of the orcish overlords, life in the Midlands persists, albeit at a steep cost. Those who dwell along the banks of the Artonsamay River pay a heavy tribute to Rookroost, their meager livelihoods dependent on the protection afforded by their distant masters.
At the helm of this beleaguered province sits Graf Demmel Tadurinal, ensconced in the opulent halls of Rookroost. Indifferent to the plight of his subjects, the Graf's only concern is maintaining his tenuous grip on power and preserving his standing among the ruling elite of the city.
In the Midlands, where the line between survival and subservience grows ever thinner, the people endure, their spirits unbroken despite the weight of oppression that bears down upon them.
Through the annals of time, the shifting alliances and rivalries between the armies of the Midlands and Rookroost have woven a tapestry of conflict and cooperation, dictated by the caprices of fate and the whims of those in power. By the fateful year of 583 CY, the Midlands and Rookroost found themselves bound together in a fragile alliance, their combined strength poised to withstand the looming threat of Iuz's relentless advance.
As the dark tide of Iuz's legions surged across the Midlands fields, they encountered fierce resistance from the stout defenders who stood as bulwarks against the encroaching darkness. Yet, despite their valiant efforts, the defenders were ultimately overwhelmed, their ranks shattered beneath the weight of overwhelming numbers. With the fall of the Midlands, the path to the capital lay open, a gaping wound in the heart of the realm.
In the aftermath of the devastating defeat at Steelbone Meadows, the Midlands lay ravaged and desolate, its once-proud leaders vanquished and its sacred temples reduced to ash. Now, under the iron grip of Kinemeet's orcish overlords, the region languishes in servitude, its fate dictated by the whims of Graf Demmel Tadurinal, a sycophantic cleric ensconced within the halls of power in Rookroost. As the Graf orchestrates patrols along the Artonsamay, the people of the Midlands endure, their hopes flickering like dying embers in the gathering darkness.
Notable among the settlements that dot the rugged expanse of the Stronghold of the Midlands are Ovzit and Zelosus, each bearing the weight of history upon their weathered walls.
The people of the Midlands share deep-seated connections with the independent city-state of Rookroost, their fates intertwined through a complex dance of alliances and betrayals. Though their relationship has been marked by periods of cooperation and discord, enduring feuds between them have been a rare sight indeed. At the helm of the Midlands stands the Plar, a formidable figure whose authority emanates from the fortified bastions of Ovzit, strategically positioned across the Artonosamay from Rookroost.
Despite whispers of being a mere puppet in the hands of the Lord Mayor of Rookroost, the Plar wields considerable influence within the confines of Ovzit. Yet beyond its formidable walls, the grip of law is tenuous at best, with power fragmented among various clan warlords who vie for dominance over the lawless expanse of the Midlands.
In the tumultuous year of 583 CY, the Midlands, in a formal pact with Rookroost, stood defiant against the encroaching hordes of Iuz. Despite the valiant efforts of Ovzit's armies, they found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of their adversaries, bolstered by turncoats from their own ranks who pledged allegiance to the Old One.
Forced to retreat amidst the chaos of battle, the Plar and his loyalists sought refuge within the walls of Rookroost, only to be ensnared in a web of treachery spun by Baron Pernevi. Accused of treason, they faced a grim fate at the hands of their former allies, their skulls dispatched as grisly trophies to Dorakka.
In the wake of their fall, the once-proud temple of Hextor in Ovzit lay in ruins, a somber testament to the brutality of war. Yet, amid the desolation, life in the Midlands persists, albeit in a precarious balance dictated by the shifting tides of fortune. From the fertile fields to the bustling markets, the denizens of these lands continue their age-old dance of survival, their roles shifting with the changing seasons and the whims of fate.
Redhand, Principality of: Lying along the rugged coast of the Nyr Dyv lies Redhand, a feudal principality ensnared within the dark grip of Iuz's dominion. Its nominal ruler, Prince Zeech, pays homage to the Old One, tethering the fate of his realm to the whims of the malevolent lord. At the heart of Redhand sprawls the city of Alhaster, its bustling streets echoing with the whispers of treachery and deceit. Beyond its walls, lesser settlements such as Kellswald, Pomfrey, and Trallant dot the landscape, each bearing witness to the shadow cast by Iuz's looming presence.
Divided into three provinces—Alhaster, Morannon, and Trallant—Redhand teems with a populace predominantly human, though tinged with the servitude of half-orc and goblinoid slaves. From the fortified bastions of Morannon Keep to the murky depths of Dyvynmere, the land bears the scars of its subjugation, oppression and fear.
Despite the specter of tyranny that looms over Redhand, it stands as a beacon of orderly commerce amidst the chaos of the Bandit Kingdoms. Prince Zeech, although unsavory to many, is shrewd and calculating, and has eschewed open conflict in favor of subtler machinations, navigating the treacherous currents of politics and intrigue to safeguard his domain. Behind closed doors and in shadowed chambers, alliances are forged, and alliances shattered, as Redhand seeks to carve out its own path in a world steeped in darkness..
Once an unruly province of the Shield Lands, the Principality of Redhand has once again rejoined the Bandit Lands and stands as a testament to the unconquerable will of the Free Lords. Situated on the easternmost fringes of the Shield Lands, Redhand sprawls along the rugged coastline of the Nyr Dyv, its prosperity fueled by the ceaseless tides of trade that flow from the bustling ports of Dyvers and Greyhawk. Amidst the clamor of commerce, the Rhenee bargefolk ply their trade, weaving their vibrant culture into the fabric of Redhand's society.
In the annals of history, the year CY 577 marks a fateful turning point for Redhand, as it cast off the shackles of allegiance to the Shield Lands, embracing instead the siren song of power offered by the Horned Society. When the dark shadow of war descended upon the Shield Lands in CY 579, Redhand remained conspicuously neutral, its ruler, Prince Zeech, watching from the sidelines as his former allies faltered and fell. Though his actions spared Redhand from the ravages of war, they earned him the enduring enmity of the Shield Landers, who have long harbored resentment toward the principality.
Amidst the shifting sands of allegiance, the Church of Hextor emerged as a formidable force within Redhand, its ascendance facilitated by Prince Zeech's unwavering devotion to the war god. As the faithful of Hextor wielded influence from their sanctuaries, Prince Zeech solidified his grip on power, forging alliances and plotting schemes to secure his dominion over the coastal realm.
Following years of strife, the once-ascendant Horned Society was brought to heel, not by the might of the Shield Lands, but by the iron grip of Iuz. In a desperate gambit to salvage his realm and safeguard his own survival, Prince Zeech, a renegade lord of the Shield Lands, forged an unholy alliance with the Old One in the tumultuous year of 583 CY. While many begrudgingly acknowledge the necessity of his actions, none can deny the visceral revulsion it invokes. The specter of the Horned Society lingers in the veins of Redhand's noble bloodlines, and the prospect of subservience to Dorakaa is met with grim resignation.
Though the pact with Iuz staved off the annihilation of his domain, Prince Zeech finds himself shackled to the whims of half-orcs and worse, as the ancient aristocracy of Redhand bristles at the indignity of bending the knee to such abhorrent overlords. While Alhaster remains the seat of Redhand's power, Zeech is compelled to bow before the clerics of Iuz in the accursed halls of Balmund, a bitter pill to swallow for the defiant prince. Amidst this simmering discontent, deadly clashes between the "Reyhu" orcs of the north and the human populace of Redhand's southern reaches have become a distressingly common occurrence, a harbinger of darker days yet to come.
Adding insult to injury, the Prince of Redhand found himself beholden to the whims of the Black Quartet, a quartet of middling priests ensconced within the dilapidated confines of the garrison at Balmund. These clergy, far from wielding any real authority, squabble amongst themselves like curs over scraps of power, their petty rivalries serving as a pathetic sideshow to the grim theater of governance. The garrison, a bastion of incompetence and disarray, exists in a state of woeful disconnection from Riftcrag, its communications faltering like the feeble flicker of a dying flame. Even the local baroness and her retinue regard the Quartet with thinly veiled contempt, their actions guided more by disdain than deference.
Despite the fervent hopes of many, the invocation of the Crook of Rao failed to stir Prince Zeech to cast off the yoke of Iuz's tyranny. Such aspirations were swiftly dashed against the grim reality of Trallant, where the demonspawn Marionnen and his stalwart lieutenant, Schzenk Valurya, hold sway with an iron fist. Trallant stands as a bastion of defiance against any who would dare challenge the dominion of Iuz, its walls fortified to withstand even the most ferocious onslaughts. Marionnen, a cunning tactician, has assembled a formidable host of battle-hardened veterans and elite mercenaries within its confines, while ensnaring a handful of wayward nobles from the Shield Lands to bolster his ranks, their loyalty bought with promises of power and prestige.
Now that the shadow of the Old One's officers has receded from the land, whispers of rebellion flutter like moth-wings through the air, swirling around Prince Zeech and his beleaguered retinue. Tales of defiance surely dance upon the winds, their melodies carrying to the twisted ears of Dorakaa, where the grotesque puppeteers of Iuz watch with morbid fascination, spinning macabre fantasies of the debased prince's fate should he dare to defy the Lord of Pain. Yet, Zeech finds himself abandoned by hope, for the tendrils of his infamy reach far and wide, ensnaring him within a web of hatred that stretches from Urnst to Furyondy.
Alhaster, jewel of Redhand, stands as a testament to the shattered dreams of a fallen realm. Its grand promenades and pristine monuments, once the envy of Admundfort, now lie cloaked in the pall of desolation, haunted by the specters of a bygone era. A city of cosmopolitan allure, it teeters upon the precipice of grandeur, its aspirations stifled by the oppressive hand of Iuz's tyranny. Temples to Hextor, once bastions of martial fervor, now lie in ruin, their sacred halls desecrated by the profane touch of the Old One's minions. Yet, amidst the shadows, flickers of defiance remain, whispers of forbidden faiths that defy the city's overlords. Slavery, a stain upon the city's conscience, festers like a wound upon its streets, fed by the insatiable hunger of the nobility for human chattel. From the markets of Stoink, they are imported like cattle, their cries silenced by the callous indifference of their masters. In Alhaster, the line between man and monster blurs, as orcs and goblins are relegated to the lowest rungs of society, their worth measured in chains and shackles, their hopes extinguished like the dying embers of a forgotten flame.
Prince Zeech, a man of unassuming stature, finds solace amidst the opulent embrace of decadence, his every step a dance upon the delicate threads of political intrigue. Renowned for his adept manipulation of the Black Quartet and other regional dignitaries, Zeech weaves a tapestry of power and influence that stretches far and wide across the land. Despite his unassuming appearance, he is a formidable warrior and a devout priest of Hextor, his faith a wellspring of strength in the face of adversity.
His recent union with Baroness Alma of Balmund, while raising eyebrows and stirring whispers amongst courtiers, has proven a masterstroke of political maneuvering, doubling the expanse of Redhand's dominion in one fell swoop. Though questions linger about the true nature of their alliance, none can deny the audacity of the move, nor the implications it holds for the future of the principality.
Reyhu, Great Lands of: Though Rookroost claimed the prestigious title of "capital" in the annals of the old Bandit Kingdoms, it was the Allied Townships of Reyhu, encompassing the bustling hubs of Balmund and Sarresh, that held sway over the most fertile lands, commanding a formidable influence in a realm characterized by barren plains and desolate forests.
Bound by an age-old enmity with the Shield Lands, the men of Reyhu honed their skills as raiders and defenders through the crucible of necessity, their valorous exploits whispered of in hushed tones as far as the distant reaches of Lopolla.
The rulers of Reyhu, descendants of a lineage of self-styled despots, deftly courted favor with the County of Urnst, their support proving crucial when Nyrondal cavalry encroached upon the county's eastern borders following Nyrond's fractious separation from the Great Kingdom. In return, Urnst clandestinely funneled a steady stream of commerce to Reyhu through the clandestine channels of Hardwyn, nestled snugly across the river from Sarresh.
Despite the unsavory reputation of Reyhu's denizens, many of whom paid homage to the chaotic deity Erythnul, familial bonds and covert alliances forged across the waters of the Artonsamay ensured the perpetuation of this illicit trade, defying the moral constraints that would otherwise have barred such dealings.
Following their participation in the invasion of the Shield Lands alongside their fellow Bandit Kingdoms after the year 579 CY, the men of Reyhu found themselves gripped by a pervasive fear of Iuz and his formidable, relentless armies. As the colossal forces of the Old One surged inexorably eastward in 583 CY, the Reyhu warriors, daunted by the prospect of facing such overwhelming might, opted for a strategic retreat. Some sought refuge in the stark terrain of the Rift Canyon or the dense confines of the Fellreev to the north, while others fled southeastward, seeking sanctuary within the borders of the County of Urnst.
From their new bastions in Urnst, or in the heart of the central Fellreev where they forged unlikely alliances with the enigmatic sylvan elves, the men of Reyhu launched audacious raids upon their former homeland, a testament to their enduring resilience and adaptability in the face of adversity.
The governance of the erstwhile Reyhu domain has since fallen under the purview of a quartet of lackluster clerics loyal to Iuz, ensconced within the confines of Balmund. However, the jurisdictional ambiguity that shrouds their directives, whether they emanate from Riftcrag or Stoink, perpetuates a climate of confusion and ineffectuality. Yet, despite their administrative failings, the countryside teems with legions of orcs and their assorted allies, presenting a formidable obstacle to any would-be incursions. Thus, Reyhu's once-fabled fields, now forsaken and untended, gradually revert to a state of wilderness, their erstwhile vitality fading into obscurity amidst the encroaching shadows of desolation.
Rift, Men of the: Rugged terrain of the Rift Canyon and the surrounding Rift Barrens, the imposing bastion of Riftcrag stood as a formidable testament to the enduring spirit of its inhabitants, a notable enclave predominantly inhabited by the indomitable half-orcs. ultimately succumbed to the inexorable advance of Iuz's relentless forces in the fateful year of 583. The original defenders, their ranks depleted and their resolve tested by the conflict, reluctantly relinquished their hold on Riftcrag, retreating into the labyrinthine depths of the Rift where they eke out a precarious existence, their livelihoods forged amidst the harsh realities of mining, raiding, and banditry.
In the face of adversity, their ranks swelled with an influx of refugees fleeing the merciless onslaught of Iuz's marauding legions, chief among them being the embattled remnants of Reyhu. United under the banner of the enigmatic and charismatic self-proclaimed Plar of the Rift, Durand Grossman, these disparate souls forged a tenuous alliance, their shared struggle binding them together in defiance against the encroaching tide of darkness.
Augmented by an eclectic array of native nonhuman tribes, the denizens of the Rift emerged as one of the foremost bulwarks against the relentless advance of tyranny within the Bandit Kingdoms, their tenacity matched only by their ferocity in battle. While their moral compass may tilt towards chaos and malevolence, their cunning and ingenuity, honed amidst the rugged contours of their mountainous domain, render them formidable adversaries. Within their ranks, thieves and berserkers abound, their fervent devotion to the bloodthirsty deity Erythnul serving as a grim testament to their unwavering commitment to their cause.
Within the shadowed confines of Riftcrag, an ominous transformation unfolded as the insidious influence of Iuz crept insidiously into every crevice of the once-resilient fortress, elevating it to the status of a regional bastion under the watchful gaze of the Old One's malevolent agents. From its lofty perch, Riftcrag commanded a commanding view of the sprawling expanse of the canyon below, its formidable presence reinforced by the Leering Keeps, a series of five formidable citadels strategically positioned along the precipitous precipices of the northern edge and eastern terminus of the colossal chasm.
Guided by the iron grip of Cranzer, a formidable lieutenant of Iuz's Lesser Boneheart, these dark emissaries maintained a vigilant watch over the yawning abyss of the Rift, their watchful eyes scouring the rugged terrain for any sign of dissent amidst the growing ranks of the plar's burgeoning army. Yet, even as they sought to contain the encroaching tide of rebellion, their relentless assaults upon the tangled undergrowth of the nearby Tangles bore witness to their unyielding determination to crush any flicker of resistance beneath the weight of their merciless blades and searing flames.
Beneath the scarred surface of the Rift lay a hidden bounty, its subterranean depths concealing veins of silver that served as the lifeblood of the region's economy. In a bid to secure Iuz's insatiable thirst for wealth, Cranzer brokered clandestine deals with the roving bands of Rift bandits, ensuring the regular shipment of precious silver ore to the waiting hands of the Old One.
Yet, despite the bustling activity that permeated the once-desolate expanse of the Rift, its denizens tread cautiously, venturing forth only under the protective veil of daylight. For within the stygian depths of the canyon, sinister shadows danced in macabre cadence, their ominous presence a chilling reminder of the malevolent forces that lurked within. And in the deepest recesses of the crag, where the light of day dared not intrude, whispers of a long-forgotten portal to the abyss whispered tantalizingly, shrouded in mystery and dread.
The caverns near Sheerwatch are shrouded in an ominous veil of dread, their stygian depths harboring an unfathomable evil that chills the hearts of all who dare to venture too close. At the farthest reaches of the western edge of the yawning chasm lies the infamous Wormcrawl Fissure, a place steeped in the murky mists of legend and whispered tales of dark sorcery, where it is said that the enigmatic priest Kyuss took his final breath upon the soil of Oerth, his presence forever staining the land with an indelible mark of malevolence.
Beneath the veil of darkness that enshrouds the Rift, the deeper recesses of its labyrinthine caverns teem with unspeakable horrors that lurk in the shadows, their ghastly visages a testament to the nightmarish depths of the abyss. Yet, despite the palpable sense of foreboding that permeates the air, there are those who dare to defy the sinister whispers that echo through the subterranean passages, driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge and the allure of uncovering the enigmatic secrets that lie concealed within the heart of the Rift.
Legend holds that in ages long past, the primordial giants of yore claimed dominion over the hallowed recesses of the canyon, their colossal forms interred within the ancient tombs that dot the landscape like silent sentinels of a forgotten era. Imposing cairns, brimming with the relics of a bygone age, stand as solemn testament to the enduring legacy of these ancient beings, their enigmatic presence beckoning forth the intrepid souls who seek to unravel the mysteries that lie buried beneath the sands of time. And yet, as scholars ponder the cryptic connection between these ancient cairns and their distant counterparts in the remote Cairn Hills, the truth remains veiled in the mists of antiquity, awaiting the daring souls brave enough to venture forth and unveil the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of the Rift.
Rookroost, Free City of: Authority Figures: Lord Marshall Arus Mortoth (CE male human Fighter L15/Assassin L4), High Lord Demmel Tadurinal (CE male human Cleric of Iuz), Sheriff Org’la (CE male hill giant fighter), The Eye (unknown, ruler of the Rookroost Thieves Guild).
Important Characters: Cazamir, (LN male human Clr9 of Zilchus, high priest of the bankrupt church of Zilchus), Elara Mornstar (CN female human Rog14, important member of the RTG), Rhaedrick Avenfear (CN male human Ftr4/Rog7, Training Master of RTG), Evelyn Zylar (NG female human Clr5 of Atroa, head priestess of the sundered, underground church of Atroa), Mysta Gonagin (member of the RTG, owner of the Gonagin house)..
Rookroost was founded in 329 CY by an Oeridian robber-baron named Latavius, who preyed on river and road traffic within many leagues of his base. Latavius’ rule over Rookroost was cut short as a member of his personal guard assassinated him and took over the title of Baron..
The town grew rapidly; for most of this century, it has been the major state in the Bandit Kingdoms, controlling all land up to seventy-five miles north of the Artonsamay-Zumker confluence and pulling in much legitimate trade. Rookroost’s rulers have traditionally been warriors who assassinate their predecessors, controlled all the while by the city’s powerful gang of thieves, which also controls the local assassins. Oeridians are dominant, but a large orc and half-orc population is present, with many other non-humans besides (including half-fiends after the Greyhawk Wars)..
Settlements and Locations surrounding the Free City of Rookroost: Artonsbruek (Peiper’s Ferry), Hommel, Marsakeer, Stone Circle, Stonehill Fortress, Tolran Hill.
A local legend says the City of Ravens will never be conquered, so long as its huge raven population roosts in the city. So far, the prophecy has held true. Ravens have always figured prominently here through the centuries, prompting some to speculate about their connection to this area. Flan petroglyphs depict the ravens as guides. A thousand years ago, bards built one of their first Colleges to preserve the secrets of Old Lore.
The lords of the city wisely offered to join Iuz in 583 CY when they saw an opportunity to use the invading forces to settle centuries old rivalries with Johase. In 584 CY Rookroost became a regional capital and now governs all plains, forests, and hills between Cold Run and the Zumker River, all Iuzite forces in Tenh, and the plains across the Artonsamay south to the Rift Barrens..
General Pernevi moved large numbers of humanoids into the city and the human population began to suffer. He made several moves against the powerful Thieves’ Guild, and many leaders of the Guild were assassinated. The General ruled with an iron fist and the humanoid army was given free reign over the lands. Following the Flight of Fiends in 586 CY, the Lord Marshall Arus Mortoth (CE male human Fighter L15/Assassin L4) murdered General Pernevi.
As the city’s newest ruler, The Lord Marshall quickly restructured the government and began favoring the humans over the humanoids—except for a brutal hill giant employed as Chief Constable. Rookroost has become a haven for the masses of refugees in the Bandit Kingdoms, and many of the underground resistance groups use the city as a supply depot and a font of information on the forces of Iuz. The local clerics of Iuz seem loyal to the Lord Marshall and things have been relatively peaceful of late.
Some say thieves and their agents really control the city, though the current administration has not overtly tried to sour relations with Dorakaa. Lord Mortoth is rumored to be disenchanted with Iuz, but he has no known relationship with Rookroost’s rogues, being a very self-centered dictator. It may be that the humans in his administration, which include very few priests of Iuz, feign their loyalty to him. Rookroost forces use their old heraldry with that of Iuz, and relations with Iuz’s local clerics are strained.
The City of Ravens has grown over the years which can be seen in the concentric rings of walls beginning around the hill itself and moving outward into the city. The walls were built over the years until finally city rulers decided to stop expanding. Today, more than one-half of the city population lives outside The Outwall, and many poor refugee buildings have been quickly built. As a result of the shifting population, there are no regular streets within the Outwall area. Worn trails between tents and temporary shelters change often adding to the confusion. Many beggars and street urchins can be found outside the gates leading to the inner rings of the city. Many travelers have found their purses cut and their valuables missing as they travel through the Outwall area.
Roving gangs often police the city; levying fines when and where they are able, although the new Lord Mortoth has begun better regulating the local constabulary. Chief Constable Drakor, a brutal hill giant loves nothing more than to bust the heads of those he considers troublemakers. Guards are posted at each gate, and a fee for entrance is often assessed. The nominal fee is five Silver Ladies for a day and ten Gold Lords for a monthly pass. The main road leading into the city and up to Lord Mortoth’s Palace is the Triumphary. It passes from the east, through the Outwall Gate, the Funary Gate, Inner Gate, and finally the Peak Gate leading into Ravens Square before the large palace of Lord Mortoth.
Only a select few of Rookroostian society also make their home on the hill itself. These include the wealthiest and the oldest families of the city, and some chosen favorites of Iuz. One is the Lady Elara Mornstar, whose villa rivals any other in the city. She is known as an intelligent businesswoman and she seems to have the ear of Lord Mortoth on many of the matters of the city. Other places of interest include the White Elf Inn, The Drunken Dragon Tavern, The Wayfarer Tavern, Ravenshead Inn and The Marketplace. Trade within the city is brisk and riches can be found or won by the courageous (or foolhardy). These are exciting yet dark places where many deals can be found. All vices are indulged, especially in the Marketplace where nothing is off limits. Such places often run afoul of the local Thieves’ Guild, the local Guard, the forces of Iuz, or other various resistance factions.
Another favorite place to visit is Jondryva’s bordello known as The Peach—it is rumored many of the city’s major players can be found here at all times of the day or night. Jondryva serves some of the best wine found in Rookroost at the cost of only 5 Copper Knaves. Unique or special items can be bought or sold, at Rhaedrick Avenfears’ Trading Coster. He specializes in items not easily found in the Bandit Kingdoms and is a good source of information as well. Recently, the Guildhalls have again begun doing a brisk business. Some of the local Guildhalls include the Smiths, Merchants, Teamsters, and several Mercenary guilds have become more established in recent times. All businesses in Rookroost accept coins from anywhere, but they are required to give change only in Rookroostian currency. Surprisingly, little theft occurs within the commerce areas of the city, and many citizens feel very safe now that Lord Mortoth is in control.
Like the flocks of ravens that make their nests in Raven’s Square before the Palace of Lord Mortoth, the Rookroost Thieves’ Guild is an ever present constant in the City of Ravens. The Guild is thought to control most of the trade goods and information throughout the city and is deeply involved in all levels of Rookroostian society and culture. The Guildmaster is a mysterious and almost mythical figure, a local legend commonly referred to as “The Eye” of the city.
Other than the worship of Iuz, most religions have been outlawed, although various underground and secret temples exist and are hidden within the city. Below the city, there are many tunnels and secret passageways that connect to location throughout the city. If you pay off the right people, it is easy to stay hidden in Rookroost. Anything and anyone can be smuggled into or out of the city, and contacts can easily be found in the local taverns and in the Marketplace.
Rookroost is a dangerous place in a dangerous land, but its people always seem to overcome the obstacles set before them. Plots and intrigues lie at the core of the cities power and it is wise to know to whom you ally yourself. It is rumored that spies for Cranzer often visit the city to check on how Lord Mortoth is running things. Powerful clerics of Iuz and members of the Boneheart also vie for power and position. The Bandit Lords of Rookroost still exist as well, many serving the Lord Mortoth in addition to their own causes. Some fear the Thieves’ Guild is too powerful and if Lord Mortoth is ever to have total control of the city, he must do something about them. These are interesting times indeed.
A local legend says the city on the hill will never be conquered, so long as its huge raven population roosts in the city's central square. So far, the prophecy has held true. The city resisted a siege by Tenha forces in 578 CY but was forced by treaty to stop raiding western Tenh. It wisely offered to join Iuz in 583 when the demigod's armies laid waste to the Midlands realm to the south, and in 584 it became a regional capital. Rookroost now governs all plains, forests, and hills between Cold Run and the Zumker River, all Iuzite forces in Tenh, and the plains across the Artonsamay south to the Rift Barrens.
The city's newest ruler, Lord Marshall Arus Mortoth (secretly: half-fiend, murdered his predecessor, General Pernevi, following the loss in 586 of many of Pernevi's fiendish advisers. Mortoth has restructured the government, heavily favoring humans over other races, except for a brutal hill giant employed as chief constable. Some say thieves and their agents really control the city, though the current administration has not overtly tried to sour relations with Dorakaa. Lord Mortoth is rumored to be disenchanted with Iuz, but he has no known relationship with Rookroost's rogues, being a very self-centered dictator. It may be that the humans in his administration, which include very few priests of Iuz, feign their loyalty to him. Rookroost forces use their old heraldry with that of Iuz, and relations with Iuz's local clerics are strained.
Stoink, Free City-State of: The land within the two lower bends of the Artonsamay just west of the Nutherwood are controlled by Stoink, long known as the "Wasp Nest." One of the most powerful states among the bandits, walled Stoink had a major export business in weapons until the Greyhawk Wars began, trading with and raiding both Nyrond and the County of Urnst. It also commanded a great smuggling business by river and road, and its thieves and mercenaries were renown across the Flanaess for their superb skills and bad manners. Stoink declared for Iuz after witnessing the fate of Artonsamay and Johrase, and Iuz's "capture" of the city had little real effect on its daily life. Stoink was one of the first three regional capitals designated by Iuz in 584 CY.
Currently ruled by the fearless and grossly overweight Boss Renfus the Mottled, Stoink sponsors brigand raids into northern Nyrond, and its forces loot the supply trains of the army of Tenha expatriates attempting to retake their homeland under Duke Ehyeh III. Cross-river raids between Stoink and the Urnst fortress Ventnor are increasing, but they have not yet invited an invasion by the County of Urnst north of the Artonsamay. The northern border with Dimre is stoutly defended to prevent raiding by overzealous minor priests.
Tangles, Earldom of the: Encompassing the entire Tangles, the far western Rift Barrens, and the clear plains bordering Warfields and the old Shield Lands, the Earldom of the Tangles suffered greatly from the incursion of Iuz's armies. Formed from an easygoing adventuring band devoted to Olidammara, the folk of Tangles had their jovial nature put to the test by hobgoblin raids and ultimately full occupation of all but the most inaccessible forest depths.
Iuz rules this area from the small town of Hallorn, the earldom's former capital and now one of Iuz's regional capitals. Hallorn was once a grim place filled with little more than zombies, thanks to an insane priest of Iuz and his numerous demonic allies. After the Flight of Fiends and the priest's death, the town's current ruler restored some normalcy to the locale, albeit of a decidedly evil bent. The wildly insane Earl Aundurach of Iuz, a new addition to the Lesser Boneheart, commands the surviving Tangles folk harshly and ineffectively. He prominently displays a magical scepter crafted from the bones of Reynard, the land's rebellious bandit chief, captured and slain in 589 CY. The earl is supposed to control all activities in the Bandit Lands to the north and west, but it is very doubtful that he does.
A few hundred men and half-elves have withdrawn entirely into the small woods, and from 585 CY on have gained assistance from clerics of a Trithereon sect in Furyondy, with access to considerable magic. Attempts to destroy the Tangles from Hallorn and Riftcrag have always failed, as the forest seems to regrow damage very swiftly.
Warfields, Unified Bands of the: The original claimant to the lands along the eastern Kitensa River has been lost to history. Since well before the formation of the Viceroyalty of Ferrond, Warfields has been a chaotic land wracked by nearly endless warfare. Situated at the crossroads of the Shield Lands, Horned Society, and the rest of the Bandit Kingdoms, Warfields hosted some of the most titanic battles in the region's long history. The "Unified Bands" of the Warfields were hardly unified at all, and were governed as a single entity simply because one ruler was usually powerful enough to either capture or coerce the leaders of rival bands. This overlord, known as the Guardian General, ruled through oppression. Generations of chaos and lawlessness left him little option.
When Rovers of the Barrens overran the northern border of the Horned Society in 578 CY, the Guardian General of Warfields was among those bandit lords who pledged their support to the Hierarchs. Shortly thereafter, the duke of Tenh's troops crossed the Zumker and threatened Grosskopf. Warfields withdrew its support for the Horned Society, triggering a punitive invasion. The miniature kingdom was controlled by Molag until the Greyhawk Wars.
In spring 579, Warfields and Wormhall, directed and aided by the Horned Society, attacked the western Shield Lands; they were joined after their initial successes by armies from Reyhu, Redhand, the Rift, and other minor kingdoms. The Shield Lands fell, and Warfields men looted their way to Critwall and Axeport. They withdrew in early 583, concerned about a sudden change of orders sent to Horned Society troops (caused by Iuz, who had slain most of the Hierarchs and seized control of that realm). Warfields' army joined Iuz's, but it suffered gross losses at Steelbone Meadows massacre and rebelled. Warfields was then invaded and destroyed by Iuz's hobgoblins. Warfields' soldiers and citizens are scattered to the winds.
Warfields is much less a center of military activity these days, consisting mostly of wilderness and ruined towns. Administered from the regional capital at Hallorn, the land is rife with hobgoblins, and few humans remain. The hobgoblins send many of their number south to fight returning Shield Landers at Critwall. The former Guardian General, an imposing warrior called Hok, has not been heard from in over five years.
Wormhall, Barony of: Though Iuz the Evil dominates the bedtime monster stories and threats experienced by most children in this dreadful realm, the ghoulish edifice known as Wormhall, and the twisted land governed by those who dwell within it, provide more localized chills. A desolate and largely uninhabited wilderness in any era, the so-called Barony of Wormhall comprised most of the land north of Warfields, along the upper Ritensa River within 75-90 miles of the east bank.
Wormhall fell to a Horned Society invasion in 578 CY, though it remained occupied for but three months. Reports that the dreaded Unnamable Hierarch himself visited Wormhall were never substantiated, but most believe that the grim lords of the land entered into some pact or bargain with the leaders of Molag, granting local autonomy. Wormhall men took part in the invasion of the Shield Lands (579 CY) and later joined Iuz's troops, but they were slaughtered at Steelbone Meadows. Surviving troops and citizens fled into the Fellreev.
Iuz's invasion in 583 CY brought about a similar result. The Wormhall itself still stands, and its strange masters are said to dwell there, about 40 miles west of Steelbone Meadows. Iuz's orders to his troops in this land go first to the Wormhall, bypassing Hallorn, the regional capital. The common folk who have not fled the region have experienced few changes in their daily lives. Still, Wormhall is a part of the Empire of Iuz, a point lost on no one. After meeting with the lords of Wormhall for three full days, the Old One's representative had Baron Oltagg, the speaker for the lords, sent to public execution. His still-beating heart remains magically preserved in the central village of Obresthorp.
No one knows the true faces of the lords of Wormhall. Rumors suggest they are ordinary humans, fiends, reanimated lords of old, or worse. The structure and province are named for the tenebrous worms that literally crawl on the walls of the Wormhall, a revolting feature that has led many to suggest magic created by the infamous arch-cleric Kyuss is somehow involved in the affairs of the land.
History
As the migratory Oeridians ranged eastward in their search for a land that would support them, they passed through many regions of inhospitable climate, infertile land, and unfriendly local populations. Chief among these lands were the rugged plains north of the Nyr Dyv, which resisted meaningful human settlement for centuries, even as a strong Aerdi empire created the Viceroyalty of Ferrond to the west. Long held by ill-favored nobles, these "Middle Lands" fell to complete degeneracy when Furyondy cut relations with its progenitor and the courts of Rauxes became inept and mad. In time, these petty barons established formal, independent domains, loosely aligning themselves as the Combination of Free Lords. This alliance served little purpose internally. The locals fell upon each other with zeal as each lord attempted to solidify his holdings while stealing those of his neighbors. When foreign states threatened the borders of the Combination, however, the lords reacted fiercely, banding together impressive armies to discourage meaningful invasions.
By the early 300s CY, the Bandit Kings had become such a threat that the lords of the Nyr Dyv's northern shore banded together in their own alliance, a bulwark against banditry and lawlessness forevermore known as the Shield Lands. For more than two centuries, northern and southern lords made war on each other with great regularity. Iuz conquered the far western Bandit Kingdoms between Whyestil Lake and the Ritensa River, which the Horned Society then took for its own in 513 CY.
Then came the successful invasion of the Shield Lands in 579, and the coming of Iuz's human, orc, and hobgoblin armies out of the Horned Society in early 583 CY, crossing into the Bandit Kingdoms before turning on and destroying the Shield Lands. Except for a few pockets of resistance (notably Dimre), most bandit armies buckled beneath the threat of invasion or else suffered resounding military defeat. Those lords who survived the invasion allied themselves with the Old One or else fled to the forests or Rift Canyon.
The war years saw much of the central Bandit Kingdoms become parade grounds for armies of orcs, ogres, and worse. Crucial supply lines to Tenh remained well guarded, as per the personal wishes of Iuz, but deep corners of the land, such as Stoink, Rookroost, and Redhand, encountered few changes under the new leadership. The appearance of a stray orc warband seemed preferable to the tales told of demons walking the streets of the towns of the heartlands.
In late 584 CY, news from Greyhawk declared an official end to the war, and many warriors gathered in northeast Wormhall to confer with their leaders regarding plans for next year's summer raiding season. After many nights of drunken Brewfest revelry, more than ten thousand bandit men from Abbarra, Freehold, Midlands, Warfields and Wormhall were attacked as they slept by a treacherous (and probably mad) cleric of Iuz, using magic, assassins, and demonic servants. About half of these men escaped, most badly wounded, and fled overland to refuge in Greenkeep, Tangles, or the Rift. All nurse a grim hatred for Iuz and his forces in their homeland.
The abandoned campsite, now known as Steelbone Meadows, is overgrown today, with rotting tents, rusted weapons, and scattered bones forming a grim, open graveyard. Though it is likely the massacre went against the wishes of Iuz (who had the mad cleric carried off to an unknown fate), it nonetheless offers a stern warning to those who wish to throw off the puppet rulers installed by the Old One.
With Iuz's supply lines badly damaged and his nonhuman armies restless, ill managed, and underfed, this region is riddled with political machinations on behalf of the old bandit lords and new ones yet to appear. Robbed of most of the fiends that made up the backbone of his presence here, Iuz is thought by many to have lost considerable influence in the area. Still, the Old One counts it among his holdings, and a resistance force of any size is likely to encounter frightening, impressive resistance (see Iuz, Empire of).
Little Mercy For Victims
Comments