The curse of Unlife that Amekhar placed upon the region of Ferus which would become Aurendale still lingers, its miasma sunk deep into the land and soil. Though it killed many of the plants and animals within the great forest during the Perdition, the Old God’s magic was intended not just to slay but also to raise its victims into undeath — and it still does, even to this day. Corpses rise into undeath with terrifying frequency in Aurendale, presenting a significant threat to the life and prosperity of the living. Those mortals who perish without taking precautions often find their souls being drawn back to the material plane after death, bound within the husk of their corpse and driven to attack the living, feasting upon flesh and life-force to briefly relieve the constant agony of their undead existence. Even cremation isn’t enough to stop this affliction, as evil Spirits known as Ashwights will possess gravedust and cremated remains, forming malicious dust storms that seek out and suffocate the living.
The Daleans have responded to this constant threat of the undead rising by going to extreme measures to prevent it from happening, and have countermeasures in place should it ever happen. Their burial practices (see the Death & Funerals section below) are intended to make it very difficult for a corpse to rise, and even if it does it will face a difficult time escaping from its burial site. Many affluent communities invest in Shepherd’s-Crook Sigils, binding as many of their residents to these Standards as possible so that Thendros’ power might prevent them from rising into undeath. Outriders and Friars are trained in how to fight against undead, and there is a thriving trade in magic items such as the Felcarver or Sigil Of Cleansing Flame that allow their bearer to smite the risen dead with holy magics.
While zombies and other relatively mindless undead are more than sufficient to keep Dalean children up at night, the Daleans have much more reason to fear the intelligent undead. Though the Laws of the Dale keep such creatures from being able to outright invade and slaughter Steadings or homes, the more clever such creatures are still quite capable of causing havoc in their own way. Strangers and folk who have been away from home for more than a night are treated as if they could be monsters in disguise, for there are a number of horrific accounts of families and communities that did not test whether a missing loved one was still living and not the thrall of some undead puppeteer, and paid for the mistake with their lives.
The cleansing of Ferus during the Perdition unfortunately only went a few yards deep into the soil, leaving many monstrous creatures alive beneath the ground. Though most of these Feruxian monstrosities perished without the rest of the above-ground ecosystem, a small subset of them thrived in the newly-empty ecological niches this opened up. These creatures, a collection of symbiotic giant arthropods, were dubbed “Warrenspawn” by the peoples who settled in the ashlands that would become Aurendale, after the insectoids’ tendency to build maze-like warrens beneath the ground and erupt out of the earth unpredictably.
Physically, Warrenspawn are giant insectile creatures resembling a cross between a scorpion, a lizard, and (disturbingly) a hunch-backed human, able to walk on all four or six limbs or stride upright so that they can better use their bladed claws as weapons. Their worker drones are small, the size of a child or adolescent, with a single stabbing claw that they only use when they’re being attacked; for the most part the drones are cowards, avoiding combat if at all possible. The soldier-caste are larger, reaching up to seven feet tall if they were to ever stand up straight, with twin bladed claws that they use to chop through armor and flesh with equal alacrity. The queens are bloated horse-sized abominations, barely able to move but with a viciously intelligent cunning as they order their drones to war against one another and to harvest the fauna and flora of the surface world.
Fortunately for the Dalean people, the Warrenspawn seem mostly content to fight one another for resources, rather than scouring the land clear of life. The creatures seem to respond aggressively to large-scale mining or digging operations, and any intrusion into their warrens always provokes an aggressive response. They also will erupt from the ground whenever a large number of people pass over one of the main chambers of a warren all at once, which has led Daleans to carefully map out where the safe roads are for moving troops. The truly dangerous encounters are when the creatures are in a harvesting phase, as they boil out of the earth and try to kill and collect as many animal and mortal corpses as possible. It’s thought that these incidents are some byproduct of the wars that the queens wage against one another, but scholars are still debating exactly what triggers a Harvester Tide.
The Daleans have responded to the presence of the hungry swarm beneath their feet by finding ways to avoid and contain the threat, as well as training rigorously on how to defeat them. The roots of blessed oak and ash trees repel Warrenspawn, and the thorns of briars infected with the Perdruna’s Blood mold are a deadly venom against their insectile nervous system; one of the primary duties of the Springwalker Companies in Aurendale is to ensure that those defenses remain in place to slow down and channel any Warrenspawn incursions upon the surface. Dalean farmers know to release rabbits or other small creatures into their fields before going out to begin planting in the spring, as any Warrenspawn lingering on the surface nearby will be attracted to the little animals. Troops are trained to never march in lockstep to avoid alerting Warrenspawn to their presence, and much of the emphasis on pole-arms, bows, and crossbows in Dalean military doctrine stems from those weapons’ effectiveness against hungry swarms of the giant insects.
One other cultural quirk that the Warrenspawn have caused Daleans to develop is their belief in “as above, so below,” that Warrenspawn are drawn to spiritual corruption as much as to vibration and sources of food. The implication is that, if a community is hit repeatedly by Warrenspawn attacks, then there must be something morally wrong with someone within it, or even that the entire community itself has become spiritually corrupted. Scholars insist that this isn’t true; there’s no actual evidence linking the creatures to metaphysical corruption or malaise. Rather, they say, the correlation of “spiritual decay” with Warrenspawn attacks is more likely to be a correlation with poor management and people doing things that actually do attract the monsters, such as leaving trash out to rot, being louder than they should, digging in places where they shouldn’t, and failing to maintain the community’s natural defenses against a Warrenspawn attack.
Whispers have spread throughout the Dale of a group calling themselves the Crimson Harvest; they claim to be fighting to free Aurendale from the influence of outside forces who seek to corrupt the Dalean people, that they are seeking to bring about a fairer, more just society than the Federation has provided for its people. In practice, this has manifested as a number of bloody attacks on Commonwealth tax collectors and foreign merchants.
The Harvest’s numbers are still small, from what the Federation can tell, and their efforts to win Daleans to their side more likely to backfire than not, but their xenophobia and violent proclivities are causing more and more concern within the ranks of the Reeves and other government officials. The threat posed by the Crimson Harvest has become even more concerning with the onset of a new Churning — should the terrorists join forces with the cultists, who knows what they might be capable of in pursuit of their violent agenda.
Aurendale has never been a safe place. Even if the undead and Warrenspawn weren’t perennial threats, the nation’s neighbors each pose their own unique problems.
In the Dale’s southwestern regions, creatures and Heralds from the Primal Wilds slip over the border with Faen’miir. These beings, called Sidhe (pronounced “shee”) by the Miirfolk, are well-known by Daleans as cruel and capricious tricksters and hunters of mortals. Fortunately the Sidhe are particularly tightly-bound by the Laws of the Dale; mortals dwelling in Kelsgarth and Síthenal know to always be polite to strangers they meet upon the road, and to never invite anyone into their Steadings or homes who seems to be particularly charming or beautiful.
In the northwest, the Grimmwold constantly bleeds monsters, as the Wulverin who are able to leave the dark forest’s shadow frequently seek easy prey within the fields and woods of Aurendale. The Outriders of Kelsgarth and Fallowstone train constantly to be able to handle whatever the Wold spits out, and the Springwalkers of those Provinces keep in close contact with the Meisters of Dampfhelt and Gluhendel to make sure they’re not taken by surprise by a new variety of Wulverin.
The threats from the east are, comparatively, much more mundane, and in modern times less concerning, but historically have been the more pressing ones. In the northeast, the Cairnfolk of Rivermark have had a long habit of raiding the Steadings closest to the border in Fallowstone and Hornsreach. To the southeast, the Amethran pirate kings of the Jadefang Peninsula have constantly raided the coasts of Maregarde and Gildenhart; on five occasions they’ve even taken up temporary residence on islands within Blackwater Bay, raiding the heart of Dalean shipping for months or years before the Daleans managed to evict them and drive them out of the Bay.
Finally, the Vauldan Empire has been a constant threat, long before and well after its invasion and occupation of the Dale in the middle of the Third Millennium. The Aurellian Empire, which sat upon the Dale’s western border for much of the First Millennium until it was conquered and absorbed by the Vauldans, was constantly trying to take bites out of Gildenhart and Hornsreach. Once the Vauldan Empire had conquered and dominated the entire Amethran Plain, the back-and-forth between the Dalean Princes and the Empire took on an entirely more serious tone, culminating in the Empire’s conquering of the Dale in the decades after the end of the Faebane Churning. Even once the Federation was born after the fall of the Gravedust King, the Empire was constantly sniffing at the nations’ shared border, seeking a chance to reclaim its former territory. Fortunately it was distracted by other opportunities and wars, until eventually Empress Resurgent’s rise ended the Empire’s desire for expansion entirely.
In modern times the geopolitical threat of invasion and raiding has mostly ended; the Jadefang Corsairs have forsworn large-scale piracy, the Crown of Rivermark has clamped down on the worst behavior of the Cairnfolk bordering the Dale, and the Vauldans have completely lost interest in foreign adventure, even going so far as to return many of the cultural objects that were looted during the Imperial Period. Daleans still hold a deep-seated paranoia that this state of affairs might change, however, and the Militias and Altorii drill constantly to keep their skills sharp and ready for if that ever happens. Should anyone try to take the Dale by force, they will find Dalean steel and courage ready and waiting for them.
The last nobility and monarchs of Aurendale perished five hundred years ago. If one counts the Gravedust King as a true sovereign rather than an unholy abomination unworthy of his crown, the last time there was a noble in a position of power within the Dale was four centuries ago, when the Gravedust King was finally slain by the Shining Swords. After centuries of incessant corruption and bloody warfare on the parts of the River Princes, tyranny on the part of distant Imperial Vauldan overlords, and the horrors of the Gravedust King’s reign, the Daleans had had quite enough of nobility when the Federation was formed by the Gravedust Pact, and resolved to ensure that the Dead Crowns of their past were never revived.
Daleans believe wholeheartedly in democracy. It isn’t just a matter of philosophical pros and cons to them, either — they are convinced that monarchies and any kind of absolute rule are inherently dangerous, that giving one person or small group of people that much power will eventually lead to corruption and brutal tyranny. Merit and proven capability are the only ways for any reasonable system of government to select its leaders, in their eyes, and they do their damnedest to live by that ideal — leaders are voted in by the people they lead, and are bound by strict rules keeping them from manipulating the votes to keep them in office or acting in a corrupt manner while in power. Politicians must work for their positions in Aurendale, and it takes only a whiff of a political dynasty or corrupt scheme to see a Castellan, Chancellor, or Graveskeeper voted out of office.
There are three organizations that work to keep the Dale safe, and whose members are highly respected in the minds of most Daleans: the Tombsguard, the Reeves, and the Wardens.
The Tombsguard are descended from the Shining Swords, the company of heroes who slew the Gravedust King and ushered in the age of the Federation. They protect the heart of the Federation, guardians of the Graveskeep where the Federation’s Moot meets and decides national policy, and keepers of the warded cells deep below the fortress that hold the Gravedust King’s accursed remains. The Tombsguard are the elite, the strongest-willed and highly-trained soldiers and mystics in the Federation, charged with ensuring that neither mystic corruption nor civil strife shall ever threaten the Federation’s peace and prosperity.
The Reeves are the keepers of the peace within the Dale, enforcing the law, investigating crimes, and hunting down criminals. They employ many Deputies across the Federation, empowered to act in the Reeves’ stead to apprehend those who break the law and bring them to justice before a court of their peers. The core of the organization is scattered throughout the Twelve Cities and the larger Steadings, elite lawmen and -women who work to ensure that no criminal goes unpunished for long.
The Wardens are the roaming protectors of Aurendale, rangers and monster hunters who seek out undead, Warrenspawn, and other monstrous threats that crop up outside the borders of civilization. Every Warden is a master of their bloody trade, expert in bow, blade, combat magics, and wilderness survival. They are few in number, but their constant roaming across hill, field, and forest ensures that no threats last long without a Warden arriving to help the local Outriders deal with it. Each Warden takes on one or two apprentices, Outriders who show promise and dedication to keeping the folk of the Dale safe, and trains them further in the skills needed to guard the nation’s wilderness from monstrous invasion.
Aurendale has for millennia been home to a collection of city-states, rising and falling and warring against one another incessantly according to the Ebb And Flow. At the founding of the Federation, there were twelve great city states left standing, who joined in a coalition to overthrow the Gravedust King and forged the Gravedust Pact. Those twelve cities yet stand, changed somewhat by the passage of centuries but still strong and proud and prosperous. Each has its own unique perspective on Dalean life, its own customs and heraldry and economic concerns, but they all work together alongside the Tombsguard and the Reeves to ensure that the Federation remains strong and prosperous and that none shall threaten its sovereignty or its peoples’ way of life ever again.
The Twelve Cities are their own little microcosms within the greater Dalean whole, their fashions and culture distinctly different from the more rural parts of the nation. This can cause friction and even some political strife between rural and urban citizens, but the Cities’ vibrancy and role as centers of trade and culture help to ensure the continued prosperity of the nation as a whole. Though the Cities cannot survive without the rural Steadings that surround them, without them the Federation would be a much poorer and less colorful place.
Rural communities in Aurendale are known as Steadings. These settlements range in size from small villages to large towns or even small cities, but they are all surrounded by stout hexagonal walls fashioned of stone, rubble, or (for the smallest and poorest Steadings) packed earth. The older and larger a Steading is, the more densely it tends to be built up; expanding the walls that protect them is a major undertaking, and only tends to be done when there is absolutely no more room to build inside of them without creating fire or structural hazards. The larger Steadings have a characteristic ringed appearance when viewed from above, showing where the walls were expanded to at each stage in the settlement’s growth.
A Steading forms the core of every farming community in Aurendale, its walls offering shelter against Warrenspawn and undead. Whenever a horde of monsters is known to be in an area, the few locals who choose to live outside the walls rush their families and livestock back to the Steading to shelter behind its walls until the threat is dealt with. Most Steaders however choose to live within the walls for reliable safety, and a good chunk of every Stead is devoted to barns that hold the residents’ livestock at night. Guards watching the gates and walls of Steadings are well-trained to never invite anyone or anything inside, and always keep a bag of nuts and a cask of water on hand to offer to all who pass through the gates, just to make sure that the Laws of the Dale get a good hold on any undead or extraplanar creature attempting to sneak inside.
Steadings are highly communal places where the Dalean culture shows most clearly. Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and there is usually a thriving gossip network throughout them that cheerfully ignores class boundaries. Steaders are notoriously willing to lend a hand when someone asks for aid, but there is also a strong element of independence and can-do attitude; a Dalean raised in a Steading will always try to take on a task themselves first, and only ask for help if they clearly can’t manage without it. This combination makes for a productive and companionable atmosphere, where everyone mostly handles their own affairs but is also happily willing to pitch in if someone can’t handle an issue on their own.
Steadings are also notorious in their prickliness towards outside interference. Steading residents tend to view outsiders without the seal of their Commonwealth’s Chancellor as not having the right to tell them they must do anything. Relations with someone from outside the Steading can get frosty with remarkable speed if the stranger seems to be telling the Steaders how to live their lives. This is also reflected in the common stereotype of “Steading Pride,” where Steaders will refuse to ask for help from outside the community until a problem becomes obviously unmanageable. Outriders, Wardens, and Reeves are the few exceptions to this, as those folk are respected regardless of their origins, but anyone from outside offering help to a Steading that hasn’t decided it needs help is likely to be politely rebuffed and assured that the Steading can handle the problem. Any Castellan or Steading Council that can’t handle the community’s problems without asking for outside assistance is very likely to be replaced in short order.
When a band of Daleans come together for profit, community, or common cause, they form a Company. Originating from the mercenary, mercantile, and theatrical companies of centuries past, it’s become custom to call any organized group or Band of Daleans a Company, regardless of what their purpose or business is. The Altorii Companies, mercenaries who train and fight for the Twelve Cities or any other employers able to pay their exorbitant fees, are the most famous such organizations, but they are far from the only ones. Theatrical Companies of Troubadours set up grand theaters or wander the Dale, spreading joy and merriment with their performances; merchant Companies ensure that the bounty of the Dale is transformed into prosperity and wealth for all across the Federation; Outriders and Wardens form Companies of monster hunters to scour the countryside for threats; Springwalkers form Companies of ritualists to ensure that the lands of the Dale remain vibrant and untainted by evil or corruption; and many, many more.
When mortals entered the wasteland of ash that had once been a towering forest after the Godswar, they initially thought that the Warrenspawn and undead were the only threats they’d face. Unfortunately, over time it became clear that Helikhar’s curse of Order, which had petrified the great forest before it crumbled to ash, had left behind its own side-effects: Spirits of Oath and Compulsion, crystalline creatures that fed upon broken promises and violations of social order and authority.
These Spirits slowly proliferated throughout the Dale, plaguing the people by tricking them into dangerously one-sided bargains, until the First Churning, when the Druathan and Alethian priests of the Dalean lands found a solution. They used their knowledge of natural and order magics, combined with the power of Veilguard, to bind the bedeviling Spirits into the trees and grasses of the Dale, forging them into a set of magical Laws so that the lingering miasma of Helikhar’s curse might become a tool in defense of mortals rather than a plague upon them. The Laws affect supernatural creatures particularly tightly, making it much harder for the monsters that prowl the Dale to harm Daleans while in their own homes and Steadings — unless, of course, someone is foolish enough to violate them, in which case they invite doom upon themselves and anyone else in their vicinity.
The Laws are as follows:
Supernatural creatures are strongly bound by these laws, physically and mentally unable to break them while they are in the Dale. Daleans use the First Law to ensure that, should a monster lurk around their home or community, they cannot enter. If a monster does manage to get inside, they are immediately offered food and drink to trigger the Second Law; if they refuse, they’re considered hostile and attacked immediately. The Third Law is less directly critical to life and limb, but it does protect against a monster provoking someone who has offered them guestright into attacking them and voiding the Second Law.
The Laws are only guaranteed to work against sentient supernatural creatures, such as Vampirs, Heralds of the Gods or Far Realms, Hags, and the more intelligent Wulverin who creep out of the Grimmwold. Creatures that are of bestial intelligence, such as the Warrenspawn, are only slightly affected by the Laws, feeling a vague sense of discomfort when they violate one rather than being unable to even consider doing so. Fortunately those threats generally don’t have any way of tricking their way into a Steading, and can be dealt with via more straightforward and violent means.
Mortals are not compelled to follow the Laws, but find that violating them is uncomfortable and that the after-effects of violating them can linger for days or even weeks, depending on the severity of the violation. This often manifests as an itchiness beneath the skin all across the body or a lingering sense of nausea, and has led to a wariness amongst Daleans towards anyone who seems to scratch at their skin excessively or complains of an upset stomach for more than a day.
The existence of the Laws of the Dale that bind supernatural creatures has meant that hospitality and politeness also have certain rules to them for mortals, and Daleans have long had a strong code of hospitality that they all understand and hold to.
First, should anyone ask to come into one’s house, it is customary to say “The door is open, but I do not invite you in.” The phrasing is vague enough to imply to a mortal that they are welcome to come in or not, but specific enough on the bit about the invitation that creatures bound by the Laws cannot enter of their own will. A corollary to this is that Daleans never attack others from within their homes, and never retreat to their homes if they are running from something, as the Laws will not protect them if the one they attacked comes into the house after them.
Second, anyone entering the home is immediately offered food and drink. It’s customary to keep a small bucket or chest of candies, nuts, or dry cakes or cookies (anything that will keep for a day or two without going stale) near the door to offer guests, and in wealthier households a small cask of ale and some cups to offer a guest a drink. Anyone who refuses is immediately asked to leave, with an imminent threat of violence if they don’t, on the assumption that they’re some sort of supernatural creature seeking to avoid the Laws. Even after the initial tests at the door are done, Daleans are still renowned for bringing out their best food and drink for guests; there’s an unspoken courtesy to never impose on a family that’s barely scraping by unless one absolutely must, as they’re likely to beggar themselves trying to show their hospitality feeding a guest.
Third, there’s the odd ritual of insulting the food or hospitality. After a meal or drinks have been served, a guest is expected to say something along the lines of “oh, this is awful,” with a smile on their face, immediately before taking another bite or sip. This is the final test of the Laws, as no supernatural creature would be able to say such a thing unless they’d been offended by their host first; afterwards, the guest is expected to obey all the “normal” rules of being a polite and courteous guest. Daleans believe that, should conversation ever get heated at the table, it’s the host’s duty to guide the conversation to less-contentious topics, and the guest’s responsibility to leave before they give offense; better to be out in the cold and dark than to spoil relations between neighbors by uttering something that cannot be taken back.
The last part of the code is reciprocation — no guest should ever show up for dinner without intending to do what they can to return the favor. Paying with coin is frowned upon unless the host is running a tavern; Daleans believe that favors and work are the best form of recompense, though useful objects, tools, or handicrafts can also be given as gifts in exchange for shelter and a meal. Those who do not offer to do something for their hosts in exchange for being welcomed in find themselves unwelcome in the area quite quickly, as their former hosts spread the word that they’re impolite and a bit of a mooch.
In times past, before the Vauldan invasion and subsequent Imperial Period, when the Lords and Princes of the Great Cities would go to war they would levy the peasantry of their lands to fill out their armies, using the levies as a mass of ill-equipped and under-trained fodder to pin down their opponents while elite knights and mercenary companies smashed through the enemy formation. The Vauldans did away with this custom while they ruled the Dale, drafting Daleans into the Legions and sending them off to die in foreign lands. When the Federation was formed, the Daleans swore to never allow another nation to conquer them, and remembered the stories of summers spent waging war on behalf of their Cities. They instituted a custom of military service that would serve the nation, rather than the Lords and Princes who no longer ruled it.
Each of the Commonwealths within the Federation maintains a Militia, which have a core staff of professional soldiers and commanders but are primarily manned by volunteer soldiers taken from that Commonwealth’s citizenry. Daleans who serve in the Militias are known as Sommerlins, or “summer’s children” in Grimmtongue, for the vast majority of them spend the summer of every year drilling and marching as part of the Militia; the yearly period of service itself is called Sommerdien, translating as “summer’s duty” in Grimmtongue, regardless of what season someone serves during
Many Daleans do indeed see it as their civic duty to serve their Commonwealth in the Militia, training and making themselves ready should the Federation call upon them. Others view the Sommerdien as a means of paid martial training, a way to build their skill set so that they might be able to handle themselves should a threat approach them or their community. Others treat it as a networking opportunity, as the Sommerdien brings together folk from all across a Commonwealth, Steader and City-dweller alike, and throws them into tightly-knit Companies of Sommerlins, who tend to keep in touch with each other throughout their lives even after they stop volunteering and leave the Militia; spending at least a few years on Sommerdien in someone’s youth is seen as a necessity if they wants to run for political office someday.
Since the beginning of the Ebb And Flow, bands of mercenaries have fought in the internecine strife between the cities of the Dale in exchange for coin. For most of Dalean history, these bands were rough and tumble, often little better than bandits who saw a better payday in working for one of the Great Cities rather than robbing passerby or raiding Steadings. However, when the great unifier General Patricea Ironsides called for aid in clearing the cultist forces out of Faen’miir during the last campaign of the Faebane Churning, the mercenaries answered her call. Their ferocity and cunning proved decisive in ending the Churning and establishing the Thirty Years Of Peace that followed in Aurendale.
The mercenaries were honored for their sacrifices and skill in the aftermath, offered positions as guards and protectors of City and Steading to ensure they did not return to banditry. When the Vauldan Empire invaded and shattered the Thirty Years Of Peace, the mercenaries-turned-patriots fought tooth and nail to slow the Imperial Legions, earning the Vauldans’ grudging respect and a nickname: the Altorii, or “highest threats.”
The Empire, victorious in its conquest, ensured that the Altorii were wiped out or disbanded so that they could not threaten its dominion, but their legend lived on, and grew in the telling. After the overthrow of first the Empire and then the Gravedust King, and the subsequent founding of the Federation, Daleans with a martial inclination banded together once more to offer their services in war. They modeled themselves after the tales of the Altorii of centuries prior, wearing brightly-colored clothes beneath their armor and training with religious fervor to ensure that they would be able to earn the name they had claimed, becoming the most dangerous force on whatever field of battle they stepped upon.
Prior to the Imperial Period that began a millennia ago, Aurendale had historically been a collection of petty kingdoms and principalities, each ruled over by a Druid King, Lord Castellan, or Prince. These states never got along, and there was constant warfare between them. Even when the strife quieted down, it was only a matter of time before one of the Princes would backstab another in an attempt to take their lands or exact some form of concession. This constant warfare wreaked bloody havoc on the people of the Dale, as their overlords would levy the peasantry and send them off to fight without regard to the future; famines would frequently hit after particularly bloody conflicts, as Steadings were left without the warriors to stand guard upon the walls or the farmers to plant or harvest crops.
This changed with the Shiverpox War shortly after the end of the First Millennium, when a collection of Princes devastated one another’s lands with weaponized plagues taken from the cultist forces during the recent Bileborne Churning. The other Princes, aghast at the death unleashed and the devastation wrought upon noble and peasant alike, were determined to never allow such a horror to happen again, and struck the Oakwrought Accords in 1026. The Accords forbade the use of large-scale battlefield magics, plagues, and poison in the warfare between Princes and required all forces to ransom prisoners back to their lords. More importantly, perhaps, the Accords seemed to instill an appreciation for the value of their peasants’ lives in the Princes, at least in terms of lost productivity if their peasant levies were all slaughtered in a war.
Over the next Millennium, the wars between Princes would become as much a matter of theater and positioning as they were of bloodshed and martial skill. Princes and their commanders would march their armies back and forth, seeking an advantageous position and only rarely engaging one another in battle. Blood would be regularly shed by mercenaries, but the peasant levies were only committed to the fight when one side believed themselves to have the advantage and the other could not successfully disengage. Even when battle was joined, it often resulted in the side who believed they would eventually lose immediately offering surrender — better to ransom their peasantry for relatively low cost and agree to whatever terms their opponent demanded than to bleed both sides’ levies and incur even larger losses before their inevitable defeat. This custom, of “civilized” warfare between equals, became known as the Ebb And Flow; Princes would jockey for advantage, seek out alliances, and backstab each other viciously, but when facing each other upon the field of battle Daleans were likely the least bloodthirsty fighters on the Continent.
The Vauldans put an end to this during the Imperial Period, of course, and after that time once the Federation was formed the Commonwealths weren’t allowed to fight one another for territory or concessions. However, the idea of the Ebb And Flow, of relatively bloodless combat between city-states, stuck around in the Dalean zeitgeist, and eventually a century ago the twelve Chancellors and their Commandantes started a military exercise of the same name. Today the Ebb And Flow is a month-long event occurring every two years, where each Militia engages in drills against one another, marching as if they were invading or repelling invaders, taking advantage of terrain and avoiding (or culling) Warrenspawn nests as they go. Injuries and deaths do happen, but they are remarkably limited considering the number of soldiers involved, and the whole exercise serves to keep the Militias’ skills sharp and ready for when the next true war breaks out — a preparation that seems to be bearing fruit, now that a new Churning has started.
Two and a half centuries ago, shortly before the Keelhaul War, four tombs of the Barrow Kings of old were uncovered in quick succession, and the people of Aurendale suddenly became obsessed with treasure hunting. One of the organizations that made a real name for itself during this period was the Blackbell Company, a band of amoral treasure-hunters and tomb-robbers who were very good at finding, cracking open, and looting the ancient tombs that had survived the centuries since the Barrow Kings’ reign in the Second Millennium. They took their name from the black-painted bells their mages carried, which they used to confuse and disorient undead within the tombs they were robbing. Unfortunately for the Blackbells, they didn’t always clean up the mess they left behind; after one too many Steadings was attacked by a horde of undead stirred up by treasure hunters the Commonwealths cracked down on the profession, and the Blackbells dissolved.
However, the Blackbell name stuck around in Dalean culture, eventually becoming synonymous with those who hunt undead as a profession, along with the implication that they may well take the opportunity to rob graves and tombs if it looks profitable to do so. Few Daleans would actually call themselves a Blackbell, as it’s viewed as a disreputable title, but many Friars, Outriders, Altorii, and even Sommerlin will quite proudly admit to doing some “Blackbell work” of exorcising a haunted grove or clearing out a barrow or mausoleum whose inhabitants had started attacking a nearby Steading. Those who do Blackbell work as their primary profession are viewed with a bit of distrust by many in Aurendale — there are a number of stories of undead hunters sneakily stirring up the undead that they then offer their services to put down — but they’re still always welcomed in by Steadings that are facing a sudden zombie or Ashwight outbreak and need professional assistance in dealing with it.
Whenever a Steading or City faces an outbreak of undead, they’ll usually turn to a local Friar, Deputy, or Outrider to organize a small band to take care of the problem. Most of these impromptu “Blackbell Companies” tend to be very short-lived, though a few do end up becoming proper mercenary Companies if their members really gel together. It’s customary for them to have first pick of any loot they find during the course of cleaning up the undead, making it a profitable venture for those with the skills needed to handle undead opponents and the dangers that lie in wait inside an ancient barrow or necropolis. The other kind of Blackbell work available is community-approved tomb raiding, where a treasure hunter comes to a local government seeking a permit to dig into a burial site they’ve located. The Castellan usually demands a cut of the loot, which drives many would-be tomb robbers to ignore this option, but the Reeves take a very dim view of folk who risk stirring up the undead without notifying the locals about the possible threat.
The problem with Blackbell Companies and Blackbell work in general is that the work is never reliable. Undead are always a threat, but most Steadings have enough Sommerlin and a Friar or two who can deal with a few zombies; the odds of a real outbreak happening that requires outside professionals is relatively low. Similarly, most of the tombs left behind by the Barrow Kings and other rich nobility from Aurendale’s long history have either been found and looted already or have been infested by Warrenspawn — there are just not enough of them left to make treasure-hunting a reliable full-time profession. Most folk who do Blackbell work have that as a side-job, something they’ll advertise they’re capable of in addition to whatever their primary profession is. Some, however, try to make it work, constantly traveling across the Dale in search of places that need help dealing with local undead problems and keeping an ear out for any rumors that might point to the location of a tomb that hasn’t yet been cracked open and looted. Many less-than-lawful individuals also turn to the work as a way to supplement their income, as well as to provide cover for them if they ever have to explain what they’re doing at night out in a cemetery grove.
The Warrenspawn are a perennial threat within Aurendale, but the Daleans have over time found ways to dissuade the insectoid monsters from attacking or tunneling through specific areas. Specifically, the blessed roots of old oak and ash trees, and the mold-tainted thorns of holy hawthorn and blackthorn bushes.
Ash and Oak hold powerful symbolism of stability and passage in Dendromancy, and Dalean druids were quick to realize that the broad and dense root networks of these trees seemed to impede the burrowing of the Warrenspawn. In time, they developed a blessing, applied with prayer and Dendromantic sigils, that expands this protection to a wide area beyond the tree’s actual presence within the soil. Every Steading and Great City features these trees placed at regular intervals, growing to vast heights and ancient ages and lovingly tended to by the Springwalkers of the community. Every building outside the Steading walls is built under the shade of an oak or ash, to ensure that no Warrenspawn can creep up underneath them and attack from below. Most farm fields and grazing lands are studded by a network of oak and ash trees, just to ensure that farmers and their livestock aren’t ambushed while they’re working in the fields. Many a farming Steader can be found eating their noon meal under the protection of these trees.
Blackthorn and Hawthorn, with similarly powerful Dendromantic meanings of blockage and malediction, can both play host to the mold known as Perdruna’s Blood, a rust-red fungus that coats their thorns and leaves. The mold is a deadly venom to Warrenspawn, with even a scratch by an infected thorn enough to cause them to hallucinate and stumble about in a stupor, while a larger dose will kill them outright. Walls of the thorny shrubs are grown by Daleans to help control the directions from which Warrenspawn can approach, making Harvest Tides or the occasional lone bug much more manageable from within a prepared location.
The Perdruna’s Blood fungus was a gift from Perdruna herself, but like all of that Saint’s gifts it requires sacrifice to manifest: the blessing that sustains it will fade without a drop of blood pricked from the finger of a willing victim, and the only way to transport it to infect new plants is within the body of a living mortal. Part of every Springwalker’s duty is to transport the Perdruna’s Blood within their non-dominant hand so that they might anoint any thorns that require a renewal of the Saint of Destruction’s blessing. The mold’s neurotoxin numbs their hand, but has no other effect, making it a sacrifice that most are happy to make in exchange for protecting their communities and nation from the threat lurking beneath their feet.
Three tools are widely used across the Dale to deal with the supernatural threats that Daleans face: beacons, bells, and horns. Every Steading and City has a tower of some sort at its heart, topped with a blessed flame that is kept alight at all times. These beacons’ primary purpose is to act a light to guide those lost at night towards the walls of the settlement; no Dalean would see another forced to spend one minute more in the dark surrounded by who-knows-what if they can help it, and the beacons help to ensure that anyone might be able to know where to go to seek safety. The flames also have a metaphysical component, the blessings upon them helping those who can see them to fight against the supernatural fear that some monsters can inspire. It’s seen as a fel omen for a settlement’s beacon to ever go out, a sign that evil, corruption, or sloth has set in, and that the residents had best amend their ways or face dire consequences.
The ringing of a bell has been shown to have a disorienting effect on undead born of Aurendale’s curse of undeath. The effect is very short-lived, and undead seem to quickly develop a resistance to it if exposed to a pealing bell repeatedly, but when used judiciously and at the right time ringing a bell can make an undead attacker flinch and allow the people fighting it to strike a decisive blow. Every Outrider and Friar keeps a small hand-bell in their kit, and every Company that regularly faces the undead has one person designated as the bell-ringer whose job it is to hold a bell and pick the right time to ring it so that the others might take advantage of the undead’s temporary distraction.
Horn calls are used by the Daleans as the primary means of signaling to others at a distance. Every Outrider carries a horn as an unofficial badge of office, and every Steading has a large horn (either bronze or carved off of one of the rare and titanic Warrenspawn known as Wallbreakers) mounted in the Beacon Tower to sound various announcements, whether a call to join in a celebration or to sound the alarm of an incoming attack. Dalean children are taught the specific set of horncalls used by their community and the standardized calls used by Outriders, to make sure they know when to run for safety, where a guard or Outrider has encountered a threat, and when it’s safe to come out. Each Company that regularly engages in combat has a member who carries a horn and knows how to use it, and many Companies frequently set up their own secret patterns of horn calls so that they can communicate with one another without letting any enemies understand what they’re saying. (The frequent use of horns in Aurendale can be rather unsettling for Grimmfolk on Wanderjahr, as horns are only used in the direst of circumstances within the Grimmwold.)
Before the Imperial Period, Daleans of the lower classes were notoriously uneducated. The Princes of the Dale believed that peasants were meant to work, not to think, and that an educated underclass was dangerous to their control over the nation. The Vauldans, even those of the Old Empire before Resurgent, were disgusted by this, and built a network of public schoolhouses to teach basic literacy and numeracy to all Daleans — after all, the Daleans couldn’t really understand how lucky they were to be a part of the Empire if they couldn’t read the august Imperial Histories (i.e. Imperial propaganda) and they weren’t as productive if they couldn’t add numbers larger than ten.
The Imperial Schools were one of the things the Gavedust King didn’t tamper with during his century-long reign, seeming content to let them continue on as they had been and only switching Imperial propaganda out for his own. After the lich was slain, the newly-founded Federation decided that the schools (newly-dubbed “Commonwealth Academies”) were a necessity to maintaining the nation’s prosperity, and set about expanding them to every corner of the nation.
In modern times, every Dalean can read, write, and do math up to low-level algebra. Each Academy teaches a wide variety of trade skills so that every child is exposed to as many crafts as possible and able to choose the one that fits them best once they reach adulthood. The Academies also bring in Sommerlin, Springwalkers, and Friars to train children in the basics of martial and magical skills, ensuring that the next generation will be able to defend themselves and their community once they’ve graduated.
Daleans still sometimes face a stereotype in foreign nations of being uneducated bumpkins, but this is far from the truth. While Dalean culture does not focus intensely on knowledge the way that Ceruleans or Sundalfolk do, they take great pride in ensuring that each new generation is given the skills and knowledge it needs to flourish. They view children as a source of joy and vast potential, and do what they can to make sure that each one has the chance to grow into their best future self, whatever form that takes.
Dalean temples breed large, friendly, and very protective dogs. These hounds are given to those starting new Steadings and to any Friars who are out wandering the Dale, acting as guard dogs and companions to their new friends. When a Temple Hound passes, they are buried in places of honor in the grounds of the nearest temple, their grave consecrated by their holy presence and pure souls. New temples traditionally cannot be used for worship until a Temple Hound has been buried there — it is said that the temple is not truly holy and safe until it has a guardian to watch over it. Many temples are purposefully built over the grave of a particularly beloved Temple Hound, the burial site resting underneath what will become the new temple's altar. It's either good luck or an omen of danger to see the Spirit of a Temple Hound; they're either showing themselves because they like you, or (if their hackles are raised) on alert to evil lurking nearby.
When they reach the age of majority, young Daleans must spend a night within a graveyard, catacomb, mausoleum, or cemetery grove as a rite of passage into adulthood. Most are accompanied by a Friar or other authority figure, who is present both to ensure they maintain the vigil and to keep them safe should anything supernatural make an appearance. The vigilant is supposed to meditate on the sacrifices of those who came before, on the responsibilities of adulthood, and on what they can do for themselves, their family, their community, and their country now that they’re leaving their childhood behind. Each vigil is preceded by a ceremonial funeral, as the soon-to-be-adult buries a cherished toy or poppet along with their childhood; when the vigilant emerges from the tomb with the dawn they do so as an adult, with all the responsibilities and privileges that that carries.
Many Dalean children make a game of spending time in a graveyard or cemetery grove at night in an imitation of this ritual, daring each other to see who is brave enough to spend the longest amongst the graves and sarcophagi. It’s not exactly safe, given the higher prevalence of undeath in Aurendale, but at the same time Daleans take sufficient precautions against undeath that most Dalean graveyards are actually less likely to harbor undead than those of other nations — it’s the undead wandering the outskirts of a settlement who notice a child outside at night that are actually more of a threat.
It’s traditional for Daleans to carry around a protective charm in the form of a crude doll made of wood, cloth, or (most traditionally) straw, called a poppet. Poppets are usually kept in a bag or pouch, but occasionally they’re worn as a decoration, showing off the skill of the person who crafted them or (for many parents) pride in their child’s creativity in making the thing. Each poppet has a bit of blood and hair of the person who wears it at its heart, mixed in with soil from the person’s home or Steading and some seeds from a fruit-bearing tree. The blood and hair create a sympathetic link with the person they came from, which is frequently used in rituals imbuing someone with a sorcery or by healing mages and physicks to help their magic get a better “grip” on the person.
A Poppet is seen by Daleans as the seed of a Spirit, and a boon to their family and descendants. If they are worn and carried for years or decades by a virtuous soul, nourished by good cheer and guarded through harsh times, and used to keep their owner hale and healthy, they will eventually awaken as a minor guardian Spirit. When a Dalean passes away, their Poppet is usually given to the next of kin, who keep it above the mantle or in another area of the home so it can be present around the family of its former owner; depending on how long its owner lived, it can take anywhere from a few years to a few generations of love and care for it to awaken.
Once awoken, Poppet-Spirits are tiny forces of tidiness and protection. They disappear from the mantle, or wherever they were being kept, and manifest in small ways around the home. Sourceless lullabies that sing a baby to sleep; minor rips in clothing or nicks in tools that are mended overnight; foxes dissuaded from investigating the henhouse; even mindless undead that wander past the home, seemingly unaware of the presence of the living souls inside; all of these have been documented results of a Poppet-Spirit, for the families fortunate enough to have inherited one. It’s well-known that Poppet-Spirits abandon their family and home, disappearing forever if the family moves away for a prolonged time. When a Dalean family grieves having to leave their house forever, they are likely grieving the loss of one or more ancestors’ protective little Spirits as much as the home itself.
Kingsfall is a festival in the spring, just before the first planting, celebrating the fall of the Gravedust King and the creation of the Federation. It involves lots of breaking & burning of crowned effigies, making fun of people who still are ruled by monarchs, celebrating the Federation with patriotic songs and speeches, and culminates in a feast that usually devolves into a drunken bonfire party by the end of the night. The ashes from the bonfire and burned effigies is collected and plowed back into the fields the next day as the planting begins, symbolically turning the death and horror of the past into new life for the future.
Though the day is never the same year to year, there’s a custom in Aurendale for one day in the early summer, when the full heat of the season has hit and preferably just before a big rainstorm, to be dedicated to fun and silliness. Communities declare the day to be Mudding Day, and everyone starts throwing mudballs at each other to let off steam and cool off. It’s considered antisocial to work much at all on this day, and the rich and influential in a community are liable to find themselves looked down on if they don’t get out in the streets and get dirty, as it’s seen as a sign that they think too highly of themselves. The day afterwards is usually devoted to doing laundry and cleaning the spattered mud off of the nearby buildings and streets.
A day in summer after the first harvest is brought in, celebrating the guardians of the people, the Reeves, Wardens, Militia, and Temple Hounds. A great parade happens, with all of these folk (as many as can be spared from guarding the City or Steading) brought in to be cheered on by the people they protect. They are given a place of honor in the town square and treated to the best food and drink available; Temple Hounds usually get a nice meaty bone to chew on. The festival turns into a general party afterwards, with a tradition of throwing old flour left over from the previous year at one another, and especially at the heroes of the day, resulting in everyone being covered in flour dust by the end of the night. Adults tell children that the flour represents the prosperity of the community, which wouldn’t have been possible without its brave defenders protecting it, but everybody understands that it’s mostly just an excuse to throw flour and have fun.
In the autumn Daleans celebrate the final harvest of the year by setting off alchemic fireworks, sending magical lights high into the sky, breaking out the remaining alcohol from the past year and having a loud and boisterous party into the wee hours of the morning. Many farming communities have a custom of turning a large field of corn or wheat into a maze in the weeks prior to the harvest, and the best Harvestlight parties are said to take place at the heart of such a maze, though it’s always amusing watching the drunkards trying to escape the labyrinth at the end of the night. The day after Harvestlight is known as Greensleep, when friends and families clean up the detritus left behind by the party of the previous night and, once that’s done, exchange gifts before having a quiet meal and going to bed, telling each other to dream of the end of winter and the coming of the next spring.
This winter festival got its name from one of the uprisings that happened during the Vauldan occupation of the Dale, when multiple Steadings held a grand faire on the winter solstice featuring archery contests and a shillelagh tournament, and just so happened to turn their weapons on the Vauldan governors nearby after it was done. It’s become a regular occurrence since the founding of the Federation for Steadings and Cities to hold grand melees and other tests of martial skill on the winter solstice, celebrating the winners with a feast and lots of ale and whiskey for all afterwards. It’s also custom for local politicians and leaders of the community to step forward and answer any complaints from their constituents; a number of Solstice Riots in the past have seen feckless or corrupt politicians run out of town, and most leaders try to use the festival as an opportunity to defuse any irritation that might have developed between themselves and their people.
Black is the color of death in Aurendale, the color of the dark soil we all return to and the empty void between the stars. They wear black armbands, hats, or hoods as symbols of mourning, usually for seven weeks after a loved one’s passing.
Aurenfolk dispose of their dead via burial; the presence of Ashwights in the Dale make cremation or the use of the Return To The Cycle ritual too dangerous. The body is prepared for burial by ritually washing it in holy water, stabbing a stake of yew wood through its heart, filling its mouth with apple seeds, and tying small bells known as “ghoul chimes” to its wrists, ankles, and neck. The body is placed in a pine coffin along with a dozen bulbs of fresh garlic, its hands are nailed to the sides, and then the coffin is buried at least six feet below the ground. The complexity of this burial practice is the result of the deep and abiding fear that Daleans have of facing their undead relatives.
City-folk and non-farmers are buried in public cemeteries or private plots, depending on their wealth. Farmers and ranchers are traditionally buried in the middle of their fields, with some kind of fruit tree planted over the grave. Each new family that owns a patch of fields usually picks a different spot to bury their members. Plots that have been cultivated for many generations often end up with quite productive “cemetery groves” scattered across them. The expense of preparing a body for burial is always covered by the nearest Steading or City; no Daleans are ever allowed to go unburied due to their next of kin lacking funds.
Funerals in Aurendale are solemn processions, usually attended by the entire community. The coffin is paraded from the deceased’s home, through the center of their community, and then to the burial place. Hymns to Druathos and Alethos are sung during the procession, and to Vallaros if the deceased was a warrior or member of one of the Militias. Once at the burial site, the coffin is lowered into the grave, and a Mystic consecrates the land around it to the god that the deceased most closely followed. A Friar then gives a sermon, focusing on the ways in which the deceased contributed to the community and made the world better, and invites friends and family to share memories of the deceased with the rest of the gathering.
Once the funeral is over, the whole gathering moves to the town square or the home of the deceased’s family, where a memorial party is held, toasting the deceased and their loved ones and wishing healing grief and a “new Spring” upon them once their period of mourning is done.
For seven weeks after a death, mourners wear black to signify their loss. They are encouraged to speak with clerics or elders of the community to help cope with their grief in productive ways, and are often invited to social gatherings and generally spoiled by the community as a way of helping them while they deal with the process. Those who can’t afford to stop working while they are in mourning, such as farmers, often end up with volunteers showing up to help with chores or critical and time-intensive tasks such as planting and harvesting.