Regions

The only known continent on the world of Gairra, Noedia’s landscape is diverse and extensive. To the north, past the Sawtooth Mountains, giant half-demons brave the frigid ice of Gurmong. South of the peaks of the Sawteeth, a fragmented society rules the coast of the Salt Sea, until civilization wanes to the barren desert of Kharad. To the west of all this, the endless plains of Rolann disappear into the horizon, ruled by warrior tribes of face-painted men, orcs, centaurs, and minotaurs.

Inhospitable to all but the most hardy of life, the only people of this vast, frozen wasteland are the Gurmong clans. These fierce, savage people are bound to demonic pacts made by their ancestors long ago. Originally forged to stave off invasion, the pacts give the Gurmong the power to destroy their enemies with satanic magic and brutish strength. This power comes with a price, though. The Dark Arts have tainted the clans with a powerful wickedness, staining their character with dreadful sins. Such is the curse that all Gurmong bear.

Each clan is named for the demon they share a bloodpact with, and has either adapted to the curse bestowed upon them, or perished to it.

Cursed with gluttony, the Moloch Clan never preserve or stockpile food, instead hunting only what’s needed each day and culling their vast herds of reindeer when food is scarce. Their fat, blubbery warriors use their weight to deal massive, devastating blows.

Cursed with greed, the Mammon Clan have rejected all notions of personal property, so that their desire for material wealth is directed at the other clans and does not lead to infighting. The hoard of goods they’ve bartered and stolen from other tribes is strapped to the backs of their mastodon caravan. Their warriors are relentless, shrugging off damage even as they deal it.

Cursed with treachery, the Beelzebub Clan are frequent liars. They are a taciturn people that place little weight on words, being more trustful of a man’s actions than his tongue. Their warriors are smaller in stature than the warriors of other clans, but can strike their enemies down with painful hellfire.

Cursed with wrath, the Baal Clan roam the icy tundra on an endless hunt astride their sabre-toothed war cats, feeding their bloodlust by killing any living creature they come across. Their warriors wield massive oversized weapons, striking down any who stand in their path.

Cursed with sloth, the Berith Clan perished in the harsh, cold climate of Gurmong, unable to survive due to their apathy.

Cursed with envy, the Gaap Clan tore themselves apart, murdering each other to extinction due to their covetous nature. The few surviving members have integrated into other clans.

Cursed with vanity, the Lucifer Clan have also been destroyed. They were ambushed and wiped out by the Gaap Clan during a squabble over the chief’s throne.

Though the Gurmong were once human, few children in this icy land are born without the taint of their ancestor’s blood pact. Most of them have devilish features including horns, pointed teeth, reddish or purplish skin, and eyes of solid black, red, white, or gold. Some grow to be goliaths, standing over seven feet tall with short horns and stubby tails. Others become tieflings, having the stature of a human, elongated horns, and long, thick tails. A scant few scattered clans retain pure human blood, but their numbers are dwindling.

Human, minotaur, centaur and orc tribes roam the endless Rolann plains. They live with nature, breathe with nature, and in death, become nature. Their spirit, and the spirits of the animals, plants, and stones around them, come and pass with the Mother Spirit. It is this spirit that they revere and protect. The Mother Spirit returns their kindness with power. The shamans have the power to speak with the spirit world. The hunters have the power to draw strength from the land. And the warriors have the power to become wild beasts.

Though the Mother Spirit is kind, her children are fickle. A Rolanni must protect his tribe, just as he protects the Mother Spirit. He must honor his tribe, just as he honors the Mother Spirit. Both honor and protection are won in battle, fighting for food, fighting for security, fighting for glory.

Of the many tribes in this region, five are most feared. They are the Bear Tribe, who have the solitary temperament of a grizzly bear; the the Owl Tribe, possessing the stealth of an owl in flight; the Elk Tribe, whose strength in numbers make for a formidable foe; the Wolf Tribe, cunning and tactful as a canine; and the Panther Clan, named for their catlike agility.

Although there are many tribes today, they were united twice in history. The first time was when the gods were new, and the tribes were simply the Tribe. The Tribe invaded the cities to the east. By doing this, civilization invaded Rolanni life. The Tribe splintered, their chiefs were defeated, and the cities were lost.

The second time the Rolanni fought as one, the enemy was civilization again. The city Gotheos built an empire, for they wanted the plains for their fields. But Rolann does not belong to the sickle and the plow. It belongs to the fish and the birds and the beasts. It belongs to the Mother Spirit. Because the fish and the birds and the beasts could not fight, the Rolanni fought for them. They fought for the Mother Spirit, and the Mother Spirit saw victory.

Many myths surround the forbidden forest of Sylvia, for its tangled brambles and shadowy underbrush are infused with wild fey energy. Among its thinking denizens are the nymphs, dryads, and elves of the Druidic Order and Sylvan Sisterhood, who protect nature with unyielding resolution; the elves of Nirifal, who value the longevity of Sylvia and their brilliant city above all else; the gnomes of Roton, whose curious nature drives the invention of wondrous animated constructs and marvelous clockwork machinery; the wood elves of unseen canopy villages, silent guardians of the forest; and the forest gnomes who live carefree lives in hollow stumps and hidden groves.

Nestled in a valley at the heart of Sylvia, Nirifal is home to some of the most skillful artisans, orators, and craftsmen in Noedia. The ruler of this regal elven city has reigned for centuries, nurturing the growth and sophistication of its culture. The lifelike paintings, soul-stirring poetry, elegant architecture, and centuries-old wine produced here are world-renowned thanks to the infinite patience and skillful magery of the elves.

Built smack-dab in the middle of Sylvia on an island at the center of Whorl Lake, this gnomish city is full of miraculous marvels and marvelous miracles. Hapless visitors wind up lost a lot, cuz if you travel east in the city for long enough, you’ll end up traveling west. Perched on the bay of the town, the market overlooks both the sunrise and sunset. Likely as not, the weirdness of the city has something to do with the oddball inventors and magicians who make all manner of clockwork gadgets and automated widgets.

Deep within these mountains, the Kingdom of Dwarves is a vast cavern complex spanning the breadth of the Sawtooth Range. The grand halls and lofty chambers of the dwarves serve as monuments to the masonry, smithing, and mining in their blood and bones.

The dwarves' sinister neighbors are the goblins, whose sprawling caves wind through the Sawteeth like writhing snakes. These foul creatures continually expand the reach of their tangled passages, often haplessly tunneling into a dwarven hall. The ensuing battles are invariably fought with well-orchestrated military tactics on the dwarves part, and reckless, frenzied swarms on the part of the goblins.

Nestled among the peaks of the Sawtooth, two dojos train students in the arts of unarmed combat and meditation. To the west, nestled in a cliffside deep in the Sawtooth Mountains, disciples of the Daishu Temple train to channel the energies of Tzen and Tzing. To the east on a cliff at the edge of the Salt Sea, the monks of Zek Yanrai practice Psi to unleash latent powers of the mind.

With a skyline dominated by the majestic Church of Thrinn and Cathedral of Palad, Gotheos is an impressive sight. Statues, idols, and murals of Thrinn and Palad, the city’s patron deities, decorate the streets. The citizens of this city place great faith in the wisdom of their leaders, the clergy of Thrinn, and trust the strength of their protectors, the Paladins. They, in turn, lead just and pious lives, defending their subjects in times of need.

Gotheos was founded by a man named Thrinn who, above all else, valued honor and chivalry. He endeavored to create a portal to the immortal realm, so that the deceased souls of the righteous would no longer be condemned to Hell. His dying moments were spent completing the Heavenly Portal.

Thrinn was raised to godhood, and followers flocked to the city. Gotheos soon had a vast and glorious empire. Except for the realms of Rolann, Sylvia, and Gurmong, its reach spanned the entire known world, spreading civilization, agriculture, and ideas of honor and justice.

No longer able to decide the fate of the dead, Death became bitter towards Thrinn’s clergy, and stole their portal. Without the promise of divine paradise, Gotheos' subjects discarded the virtues of honor and chivalry, and the Gothean Empire crumbled.

What followed was the War of Reclamation, a military campaign to reclaim the Heavenly Portal that lasted over 150 years. After many years of attrition fighting the horrors of Necron Swamp, the clergy withdrew from the war, fearful of the rise of the tribes of Rolann.

Lying within the Necron Swamp is the City of Death, a necropolis of skeletons and zombies ruled by its namesake. From within the walls of his floating castle, Death keeps the only gateway to Heaven that exists in Noedia, allowing passage only to those souls whom he deems worthy. To protect his divine portal from the theocracy of Gotheos, Death keeps a vast array of abhorrent monsters in the swamp and undead in the halls of his fortress.

Hortan is well-known for its warrior academies, which train armies of soldiers in the art of swordplay. The most prestigious of these train the Knights of Hortan, who serve a King whose lineage goes back to the leader of the revolt against Gotheos.

The city is also famous for its magic, for there are few wizards who don’t learn their craft in Hortan’s Tower of High Magicka. The streets are lined with everburning torches, local shopkeeps offer teleportation services, and the Knights of Hortan wield energy-infused blades.

Hortan was once the greatest military power in Noedia. Its benevolent Lords, guided by the wisdom of the wizards of High Magicka, saw Noedia through an era of peace, protecting small cities and threatening any would-be aggressors with defeat.

Sadly, Hortan’s might was not to last. The Lords were betrayed by Lord Terpil, and the ensuing battle crippled its military. The Archmage of High Magicka assumed power of the city, and gave the one surviving Lord the title of King of Hortan, a figurehead position that performs ceremonial duties and leads Hortan’s once-great military.

Bulltown is a new city, built at the foot of Bull Mountain on the shores of Lake Pandemonium. This city sprung up around a mining operation started by a group of wizards from High Magicka, who extract the latent elemental energy from the lake for their sorcery.

Where there is now a lake, a mountain, and a town, there was once only a lake. Lake Pandemonium is a gate to the underworld, and the elements that churn within the elemental chaos of Limbo sometimes boil up to its surface. When time was still young, the demons of Hell would often use the lake to pass into the mortal realm, wreaking havoc upon the world. Seeing her children in distress, Gairra birthed Bull Mountain, a stone guardian which now guards the gate.

Controlled by the Shadow Stalkers, Traton is ruled with impunity by its self-appointed mayor Tony V. Though the people of Traton have never seen his face, they’ve all felt his cold wrath one way or another, be it by the poverty imposed by his high taxes or the assassination of a family member.

Despite its seedy underground and corrupt politics, Traton is the center of trade and commerce in Noedia. Its position at the mouth of Serpent River put it at the hub of transportation between inland and coastal cities.

As they travel between the trade towns of Vahal and Traton, many ships are assailed by pirates near the Merchant Isles. These pirates usually make port in Hullbreach Harbor, a lawless city owing its prosperity to its many brothels and taverns.

The pirates themselves have little culture to call their own. Everything from the clothes on their backs to the ships under their feet is stolen from the innocent. Perhaps the only thing rightfully theirs are the flags they fly from their masts, though even they are printed on swindled cloth with stolen ink.

Even so, a race of lizardmen calling themselves Dragonborn have been thriving as sailors and windsmiths. Descendants of Luca Grey’s crew of half-dragon pirates, the race is less than a century old, and its people are struggling to find their cultural identity.

Stretching to the south of Noedia, bands of gypsies travel the sands of the endless Kharad Desert. Water here is scarce, and civilization scarcer. Only two cities, Bekha and Vahal, exist in the entire region. In recent generations, Kharadic merchants have discovered and tamed several strains of primordial lizards, breeding them for use as beasts of burden, livestock, and warmounts.

Vahal is a flourishing trade city whose golden, onion-domed towers overlook the Salt Sea. All manner of goods can be found in its bustling bazaars, from masterfully crafted weapons and armor to wonderfully bred saurians and slaves. So rich is Vahal that its sultans and merchant princes have commissioned a tower in Bekha to be built to the sky.

At the heart of the desert is Bekha, a city said to be the original source of life. Eons ago, when Kharad was lush and green, Gairra gave this lakeside city the gift of agriculture. Disaster struck when Elcreus, the God of Weather, became enraged at an act so heinous that it has been lost to history. Forsaken by the Lord of Lightning, Kharad dried up into desert. Cities starved or collapsed, and only Bekha and Vahal were spared.

Today, Bekha is but a vassal of Vahal. Its citizens work tirelessly building the Tower of Bekha, hoping to reach the Great Blue Cloud that Elcreus is said to rest on. In doing so, they hope to confront Elcreus and restore Kharad’s dunes to their former green glory.