The Story So Far...
Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 12:22 am
Foreword:
Some of the events outlined below will occur during the course of the server's history. Please treat this knowledge as OOC (Out Of Character) as far as possible when you are reading this post. If you choose to play an Impilturan local, you are highly encouraged to spend some time getting to know our setting well enough before undertaking such a role.
You are welcome to make use of the below information to decide what kind of character you wish to play, and his or her goals during their time in Impiltur.
-------------------
The Story So Far....
1361 DR - Eleint
Impiltur has barely managed to recover from a hard winter, the first of many since a decade ago. But while the chill winds still blow, the people of Impiltur are a resilient lot, living this far north. They prepare themselves for Highharvestide, but the year's diligent sowing would give way to a less than mediocre harvest. To compensate, food has been imported from Telflamm and Sembia, and with it, travellers of all occupations and intent have also arrived. Drawing stares and mumbled greetings, foreigners to this insular nation should quickly learn that while the locals are reserved and sometimes brusque in their ways for good reasons, their love of national folktales is only surpassed by their long and jagged history. Whilst the seeds of unrest have already been planted years ago by several royal deaths, some none too accidental, tensions between royalists and republicans are inevitably coming to a head.
The infant King Imbrar II lies sick in his cot from a lung infection that never seems to go away. Prematured at birth, it was a blessing that the child survived when even his older brother, Imphras V, is plagued by a wasting disease with ever-slimming signs of recovery. It seems as though the royal line would be cursed with a weak constitution, but who can tell? Queen-Regent Sambryl wields the scepter in his stead, though much of the day-to-day administration is left to her Lords of Council and their Heralds. A scholar and patron of the fine arts; the Queen, while being no great beauty, is admired by her people for her wisdom and foresight. More is the pity that she prefers to rule away from the public eye, but many attribute this to her old age.
It is said that the unenviable task of finding a cure for Imbrar II's sickness has fallen to the hands of Council Lord Idriane, a female paladin of Ilmater, a most gentle and soft-spoken of Triadic Knights. The search is still in its early stages, with a few select wizards pulled in on an advisory counsel. One of them has suggested that a cure component could be found in the ruins of the Citadel of Conjurers - an anti-toxin that could be gleaned from the corrupted wastes. Still others claim that the same component could be gathered from the higher reaches of the Earthspurs, where flora and fauna have adapted to the icy cold.
Impiltur's crowning jewel, the historic city of Sarshel - once built on the prosperity of Damaran bloodstone trade, is now a shade of its former glory. But while enthusiasts of the city's rich history and architecture proclaim its eternal beauty, shops and homes with their facades barred and locked have been appearing more frequently. Those who leave, make their way south for the newer, larger city of Dilpur or neighbouring Hlammach, touted the nation's financial capital - where the waters bring in warmer winds, food from the sea and a greater chance to mingle with society at large. Others prefer to remain, these would be the families who can claim ancestries going all the way back to the royal line. Eager to fill in the gaps are the new wealth - merchants, scholars and every sort for whom money can afford them a place in Impilturan society.
The dwarven trade wagons have always been a welcome, if an occasional sight, to Impiltur. The ones who descend from the mountains make it a habit to do so during peak trading seasons, carrying with them precious ores and minerals that would bring in profits to warrant the arduous journeys. These clans are different from those of Torg mac Cei's, whose reputation for cruelty and a narrow-minded, distrustful view of non-dwarven peoples have been the reason for his clan's increasing isolated rule in the Earthfast Mountains. A rumour runs rife among the dwarves that a new tunnel in the Earthspurs has recently collapsed, revealing the telltale greenish veins of raw bloodstone. Whoever gets their hands on these would see the kind of fortune that once built half of the human northern empire, and bring fame and fortune to that lucky dwarven clan. Whether or not this is true - for the two dwarven scouts that returned were somewhat delirious with their find, raving unintelligibly - remains to be seen, and what would happen if this word reaches human ears?
Some of the events outlined below will occur during the course of the server's history. Please treat this knowledge as OOC (Out Of Character) as far as possible when you are reading this post. If you choose to play an Impilturan local, you are highly encouraged to spend some time getting to know our setting well enough before undertaking such a role.
You are welcome to make use of the below information to decide what kind of character you wish to play, and his or her goals during their time in Impiltur.
-------------------
The Story So Far....
1361 DR - Eleint
Impiltur has barely managed to recover from a hard winter, the first of many since a decade ago. But while the chill winds still blow, the people of Impiltur are a resilient lot, living this far north. They prepare themselves for Highharvestide, but the year's diligent sowing would give way to a less than mediocre harvest. To compensate, food has been imported from Telflamm and Sembia, and with it, travellers of all occupations and intent have also arrived. Drawing stares and mumbled greetings, foreigners to this insular nation should quickly learn that while the locals are reserved and sometimes brusque in their ways for good reasons, their love of national folktales is only surpassed by their long and jagged history. Whilst the seeds of unrest have already been planted years ago by several royal deaths, some none too accidental, tensions between royalists and republicans are inevitably coming to a head.
The infant King Imbrar II lies sick in his cot from a lung infection that never seems to go away. Prematured at birth, it was a blessing that the child survived when even his older brother, Imphras V, is plagued by a wasting disease with ever-slimming signs of recovery. It seems as though the royal line would be cursed with a weak constitution, but who can tell? Queen-Regent Sambryl wields the scepter in his stead, though much of the day-to-day administration is left to her Lords of Council and their Heralds. A scholar and patron of the fine arts; the Queen, while being no great beauty, is admired by her people for her wisdom and foresight. More is the pity that she prefers to rule away from the public eye, but many attribute this to her old age.
It is said that the unenviable task of finding a cure for Imbrar II's sickness has fallen to the hands of Council Lord Idriane, a female paladin of Ilmater, a most gentle and soft-spoken of Triadic Knights. The search is still in its early stages, with a few select wizards pulled in on an advisory counsel. One of them has suggested that a cure component could be found in the ruins of the Citadel of Conjurers - an anti-toxin that could be gleaned from the corrupted wastes. Still others claim that the same component could be gathered from the higher reaches of the Earthspurs, where flora and fauna have adapted to the icy cold.
Impiltur's crowning jewel, the historic city of Sarshel - once built on the prosperity of Damaran bloodstone trade, is now a shade of its former glory. But while enthusiasts of the city's rich history and architecture proclaim its eternal beauty, shops and homes with their facades barred and locked have been appearing more frequently. Those who leave, make their way south for the newer, larger city of Dilpur or neighbouring Hlammach, touted the nation's financial capital - where the waters bring in warmer winds, food from the sea and a greater chance to mingle with society at large. Others prefer to remain, these would be the families who can claim ancestries going all the way back to the royal line. Eager to fill in the gaps are the new wealth - merchants, scholars and every sort for whom money can afford them a place in Impilturan society.
The dwarven trade wagons have always been a welcome, if an occasional sight, to Impiltur. The ones who descend from the mountains make it a habit to do so during peak trading seasons, carrying with them precious ores and minerals that would bring in profits to warrant the arduous journeys. These clans are different from those of Torg mac Cei's, whose reputation for cruelty and a narrow-minded, distrustful view of non-dwarven peoples have been the reason for his clan's increasing isolated rule in the Earthfast Mountains. A rumour runs rife among the dwarves that a new tunnel in the Earthspurs has recently collapsed, revealing the telltale greenish veins of raw bloodstone. Whoever gets their hands on these would see the kind of fortune that once built half of the human northern empire, and bring fame and fortune to that lucky dwarven clan. Whether or not this is true - for the two dwarven scouts that returned were somewhat delirious with their find, raving unintelligibly - remains to be seen, and what would happen if this word reaches human ears?