Mideron

Mideron, a world heavy with age, history, myth and blood. A place of warring kingdoms, forgotten peoples, ancient ruins, and arcane mysteries. A world of Mideron is like an old song sung again, and again changing as it is passed from one storyteller to the next; Mideron’s present echoes its history, which in turn hints at the myths at the edge of memory. But, like a song passed through many lands, and many years, it never repeats itself in quite the same way, and even the wisest student of the past can be taken unawares by the present.

Some say that Mideron was birthed in the depths of time before the eldest of the elder races had awoken in the deep. The silent priests of the Isle of Taraz in the furthest West write that the world is only the dream of a child, a sleeping cosmic deity who rests among the stars; it is a sad dream if so. The story of Mideron is a story of loss, a story of victory over adversity at costs unimaginable; a story of an immortal beauty cast down into mortal squalor, only to rise, then fall, again.

The year is 2257 A.H. (The Age of Humanity), iron and steel have replaced the runed bronze that men wielded in times past. The awesome arcane powers of the distant past, and the elder races that wielded them, have fallen; destroyed by the rising tide of mankind, or forced to flee to wild, forgotten places, these remnant peoples, who once ruled all can only remember their former might and reflect; some seeking wisdom in defeat, some nurturing the coals of hatred, and revenge.

The heroes that brought humanity up out of squalor, overthrowing their immortal overlords, are no more, yet their descendants grow fat off the names they were born with, and rule over their more common kin. From the great city of Tal'Tanael, at the center of the world, the Vylvar Empire rules from the Southern Sea, to the Karnspur Mountains in the North. From the edges of the Bloody Steppe, in the East, to “Dead’s Gate Gap,” in the west. The Empire is the seat of a massive bureaucracy and machine of government; its Imperial legions of phalanx soldiers, its tower fortresses, its Soothsayers, its magisters, its priests, senators, patricians, and its Emperors, are the wonder, and fear of the known world. A millennia ago, in the 1220’s, the Empire was rocked by a series of bloody dynastic civil wars. Almost half the Imperial Territory was lost; all the lands West of the mountains called “Kollagch’s Spine” and most of the colonies across the Southern Sea. For a time, the new realms that sprang up, or reemerged in the West were free of the Vylvar Empire, but in recent centuries, a succession of strong Emperors have sought to reclaim what was lost. Many wars have been fought, and peace, when it comes, is uneasy.

North of the Empire, the once mighty Pretani peoples live in forested highlands. Once, they ruled over other men, answering only to their immortal overlords. Now, the other peoples of mankind have driven their former rulers out of the prosperous southern lands. The ancient glory of Pretani kings leading hosts of armed chariots into battle is no more. Gone too are the mightiest of mankind's sorcerers, who, under the tutelage of their godlike masters, were said to ride dragons, raise mountains and awaken the dead. The Pretani remember their former glory, even as they live tribal forest lives, subservient to the Empire, forbidden from building fortification, or forging blade.

The Western lands squabble amongst themselves, small kingdoms, with small concerns. Endless border conflicts, succession disputes and, marriage pacts, temporary alliances, betrayals, and battles consume them. Only when threatened by the rising might of the Vylvar Empire have they sometimes been able to band together against the common foe, but such alliances have always dissolved quickly after the threat recedes.

South, across the Southern Sea, the Tsudarians of Abarssa, and Urfu, along with the other peoples of Mongardu, worship strange gods and live beneath stars that are strange to the denizens of the Vylvar Subcontinent. Rumors of speaking serpents, fabulous wealth, lost knowledge and fantastic creatures make up most of what those in the North know of the South. Spices, gold, rare woods, gems and other exotic goods are all that most people in Vylvar think of when they think of the South. How large the continent of Mongardu truly is, or what wonders it may contain.

To the East, is death. The Bloody Steppe, a seemingly endless grass plain, is dominated by warlike nomads who make war against one another, occasionally uniting under the banner of great warlord to throw themselves at the Eastern borders of the Vylvar Empire. Though they would never admit it, the wise men in the Western lands are grateful that the Imperial Legions safeguard the east; those who are not grateful have never seen a battle horde assembled on the plain…

Old tales, and ancient texts, speak of further lands. Only the Imperial Archivists, or those who claim to have traveled there, can tell whether the ancient obsidian Tower of Carceris, across a Sea of Blood, is real. Whether the Ember Witches who supposedly rule in the Uttermost East exist, or not, they are often featured in stories grandmothers tell.

North of Vylvar, are hard lands that forge harder folk. Though few in number, these Northern Mountain Clans are simultaneously respected and feared by their southerly neighbors. Here encounters with mountain trolls and darker creatures, that Southerners have relegated to myth, are still common and humanity must struggle to survive as it did after its first awakening. Few northerners travel to the south unless they carry fire and sword; fewer still southerners have ever seen the majestic snowy peaks of the Varmasband Range. Besides furs, and mammoth ivory the North is considered to be worthless by all but the clans and tribes who call it home. The North is a place of strength, brutality, and bestial savagery. The peoples, gods and landscape challenge all who would try to make a life there.