The North (World building brain drippings) · 9:24pm Dec 26th, 2016
This is something that was rattling around my head this morning.
The North
Ah, the North. Are you thinking of willful, ignorant, inbred barbarians bashing each other with clubs while giving their animals a good rut in the evening while the women are passed out from drinking too much bad beer? If so, then congratulations. You’re a racist Wesmen who can’t accept the fact we’ve kicked your ass time and time again on the field of battle. Are you thinking that we’re illiterate, ignorant, fools who are easily tricked and don’t know our back ends from a hole in the ground? Then you’re a racist Estmen who ignore the fact that we are the only people with schools for all, not merely a few privileged elite. And are you thinking that we walk around, bundled up head to toe in bear skins and good twelve, why would any of us live here? Well, you’re probably a Suthmen… and honestly I hear my neighbors ask that all the time.
So first, the basics. How do you know a Norsmen when you see one? Are they tall? Are they strong? Are they notoriously handsome beyond all compare? Okay, the first two for sure. We’re taller and stronger than most in the East and West, and tower above Suthmen. I know you talk about giant blood and nonsense like that, but I think it’s because we make sure everyone’s fed at the end of the day. Most of us have honey colored hair, ranging from a warm brown to blond to almost white. Mustaches, beards, and long hair are commonplace, and we keep ourselves well groomed. Our skin is light, getting lighter the further north you go. The wearing bear skins is an exaggeration. Most clothes are wool, but fur trim is extremely common. Occasionally you’ll see traits of other people, but that’s just from our hospitality.
The Northland, sometimes called the ‘Anvil’, starts at Centralia and goes… wait for it… north! As it progresses north and fans out, it starts with muddy low lands, then enters a forested band, and only the farthest north climates are high, rocky, and covered in snow year round. The Northland isn’t as comfortable as the East and West. We get snow for weeks on end, and when all that snow melts, it turns into water that empty into hundreds of streams, and produce a whole lot of mud. In fact, most farmers hate spring worse than winter, because spring’s not over till you can stand in your field and not sink up to your knees in mud. We’ve got two good growing seasons, one in the early summer, and one in the late summer.
First thing you probably notice about Norsmen is we definitely eat a lot of sheep and fish. Mutton is one of our greatest staples. Barley and rye are our two biggest grains. Expect both of them. What most people don’t expect are the apples. Apple with every meal. Two, if ever possible. But there’s always meat. I know meat’s a luxury elsewhere, but it’s a sad day when you can’t get your teeth on some sheep. We grow them by the thousands here. Heck, sheep’s a damn currency in most of the region, and refusing one is a damned insult. In the southern climes, you’ll also find greenroot. It’s this reed that grows in wetlands, and the roots and stalk are both edible, with a taste and consistency like a potato. It’s a ‘poor mans’ food, but no one starves in the north.
And because of that, you probably notice there’s a lot of us up here. It’s not that Norsmen don’t have anything to do all winter but breed. It’s that, generally, we keep everyone fed. I’ve got four sons and three daughters that have survived past whelping to earn a name. I talk to Wesmen who lose two or three babies, or Suthmen who lose half… half!... and don’t know how they stand it. Norsmen have big families. Maybe we shouldn’t, but we need all those people when the Estmen and Wesmen come to play. Generally, homes are divided generationally. Babes in one room, weenlings in a second, children in a third, adults in a fourth, and elders in a fifth. Aye, we keep our boys and girls together. Everyone learns their bits and they learn to keep their bits out of each other.
So another big thing about the North. We’re poor. There, I said it. Happy? When you have as many mouths to feed as we do, things get spread out quite a bit. I mean, we honestly use sheep as currency because we’ve got more sheep than gold in a given household. A lot of outsiders look down on us for that. Something all that poverty did, though, is make us more generous than most folks. If I need a pot, I can generally borrow one from a neighbor. If they need a bow and I’m not hunting that day, why not? We graze our sheep on common land. I understand elsewhere you own land, and keep everything to yourself on that land. Well, that’s just ludicrous in the North. We’ll thump you if you tried that.
Ah, you noticed the violent talk. Yeah, we like to fight. Wrestle. Box. It’s a nice way to spend an evening. Make a wager and see who wins. Long as everyone volunteers, men can fight women or vice versa. See, it all stems from the Stone Law. The old people thought that the gods intervened for the just. If you were accused, you could fight to prove your innocence. Back then it was to the death, but today it’s mostly fists wrapped in cord. Sometimes you’ll get married couples fighting to resolve a difference or problem. Those are damned brutal. But yeah, there’s nothing wrong with a good stomp.
So let me clarify a point. There’s a stomp, and there’s war. There’s a difference. A stomping is when a whole bunch of our people, and a whole bunch of theirs, get together and we beat the ever loving shit out of each other. Usually there’s a bell to ring or a flag to grab. First one who does wins whatever is wagered or fought over. You don’t kill in a stomp, though it happens, and both sides usually drink to the fallen. This is probably another reason there’s so many of us. We’re not butchering each other like the rest of you. War is a big deal. We’ve had only three in the north, but they were godsawful things that nearly brought the entire region down. We normally war against the East and West, when they start feeling ambitious.
Next, drink. We do a lot of it. Beer and cider are the two most common. What you won’t see is us getting drunk. I know. I know. ‘But what about the play Kograx and the two sheep?’ We don’t get drunk. Rather, we don’t let ourselves get idiotic drunk. We respect ourselves, see? A Norsmen that got so intoxicated that they can’t see straight in a bloody insult to themselves. They have a problem, and need a good thump and talking to. We don’t drink the hard stuff that others do. In fact, most Norsmen don’t understand how that’s ‘fun’. Seems damned idiotic to us.
Now, let me talk to you about Kograx. That stupid play that you all laugh at in the West. That’s not us. Yes, there was a Kograx. Yes, he was a drunken, slovenly, stupid warrior that decimated armies wherever he fought, but that’s not us. The thing the audience always misses is that Kograx was exiled from the North. To us, he’s a tragic figure. A cautionary tale. He has only two sheep. I’ve got flocks of twenty thousand. Think about that. Yes, I’m glad he ruts your princesses, but don’t think we’re all like that.
Hey now, don’t think that I’m hating on other people. Norsmen are forgiving to a fault. You just have to understand that we get invaded all the time by our neighbors to the East and West. Wesmen, to your average Norsmen, are too ready to kill a man and too slow to just relax and let it go. They take everything seriously. Their politics. Their sex. Their religion. Everything is one bad day from becoming a bloody mess. Worse, they say we’re the barbaric brutes because we’ll stomp whatever offends us. Yeah, we will, but we won’t vow to kill its son, grand son, and great grandson for good measure. Estmen just don’t make much sense to us. They’ve got their Empire and Emperor and think that they’ve got claim on the whole world. When Wesmen come, it’s a fight. When the Estmen invade, it’s a bloody slaughter.
Suthmen are just bloody weird. They don’t like the north, and they’re tiny, and their men and women are heart stoppingly beautiful by every measure. Aye, that’s right, their men are beautiful. Hard to tell them from ladies save they wear less clothes than even us. They might also peel your skin off like a grape with a word of magic, poison your lunch, or kill you in bed. So… yeah. It’s a conflicting feeling. Sometimes we just hit it off perfectly, laughing and carrying on, and everything seems perfect, but then you do or say something wrong and they’re out to kill you. So yes, Suthmen are definitely weird.
What? Is the norsmen rutting anything that moves part true? I guess? I understand that in the East and West, who puts what in who is a big deal. Up here, it’s not. If my wife says she’s pregnant, she’s pregnant. It’s a child of my family because it comes from her loins. I have no idea if my plough sewed that field or if some one else’s seed blew in. The babe came from her, we raise it and put it to work. Heck, if it wasn’t from me, then whatever man she lay with just got robbed, because I got another hand for the flocks. If I see an amiable woman, and she’s amiable to me, we go somewhere and rut. Get it out of the system. And yeah, some men might take offense if you rut in the bed you share… that’s a bit more of an insult than the rutting. But it happens. Go by a stream and you’ve find a plenty of folks taking a bath and having a rut. There’s a herb up here that ladies eat if they don’t want a child to term. And aye, men rut men and women rut women. Nothing comes of it. Why is it a problem in the East and West, I’ve no idea.
So then how do we settle families? Not hard. Say you’ve a boy of a family of twelve and she’s a girl of a family of eight. If they want to wed, they come tell us. I take one twelfth of my herd, and her father takes one eighth of his, and they get to go off and start their own family. Now, sometimes you don’t want to do that. Say she’s from a family of twenty… well, there’s not much herd to come with her. But if she’s an amiable girl, she might just join the family directly. In that case, she takes our name, gets her mark changed to ours, and lives with us. When I die, they’ll decide if they want to take their share or keep it with the family.
Aye, we don’t do that whole ‘eldest takes all’ idiocy. If I have a family of eleven, and I’m head of the family, when I die then everyone gets one tenth of my belongings. Now, they don’t have to leave the family. If there’s only ten in the family, everyone’s richer if they stay together. But say the family’s got a hundred members. Well then, a pair might take their one fiftieth share and leave to start their own. Any member over the age of whelping, that’s five, gets a share. And if my son wants to leave and strike out on his own, he can ask for his share. It’s only half what he’d get in an inheritance, but it’s his to take and do what he’ll please.
So what do we do for fun besides stomp and rut? Sing. Most songs, there’s a part for the audience to join in. It’s rude not to. Our music tends towards either ‘rowdy’ with everyone laughing and having a good time, or ‘solemn’. Those are our tragedies. Like ‘The final walk of Brosk’ or ‘Rain on the Lillies.’ They’re sun for funerals and the like. Don’t be rowdy at a solemn song. Don’t laugh at a hundred men blubbering like babes. You’ll get a stomping fit to none other. Instruments are whatever you can bring, but everyone has a voice. Generally the singer will sing a refrain, then the crowd will sing the chorus. We also enjoy contests. Lifting. Swimming. Running. Generally nude so everyone can see the marks and get a good laugh. Hey, clothes slow you down! We’re not so much for art and the like. We like things to look good, but fancy pictures and the like aren’t so common.
Our marks? What you call tattoos. Every one past their whelping gets one. It’s a true honor. The mark is the same as what is place on our sheep, right on the shoulder. We mark children like we mark sheep. Look at mine. That curve is ‘hill’, that mark is ‘sun’, that’s an oak and that’s a rowan. You might fight a mark like that elsewhere if you really looked, but I doubt it. Some places brand their whelps. Others cut. Either way, the marks are shown. If you do something amazing, you’re getting a mark. You don’t have a choice in the matter. The whole village will pin you down and mark you. It’s also used for crimes to shame a person. We get a laugh, and you take it, because you got a mark saying you stuck your pecker in a beehive.
More serious crimes get marks too. Murder’s a big one. We don’t kill our murderers. That’d be hypocritical. We mark them. They lose their share, and if they marry into another family, they don’t have to get a share. Most murderers leave the north. Become mercenaries elsewhere. Rape is another. Rutting’s easy to do, no need to force it. Anything done to a child might also come with bits cut off as well. Breeding too close to the blood, or incest, is another crime, though the marks are more to keep them apart than together. Theft is odd too since barrowing is easy. Basically it’s taking and refusing to return something. Those get your hands tattooed. People with criminal marks can be refused hospitality.
You probably noticed how friendly we are to outsiders. Idea is that everyone might be a stranger to some one else, so why be rude to someone new. If they’re a friend, then best be friendly. If they’re an enemy, then you’ll find what they’re about soon enough. Often times our womenfolk will give a stranger a nice, complementary rut. After all, if it comes from her loins, it’s family, and sometimes you’ll get a child that smarter or stouter than most. Women travelers can get the same treatment, but as I understand it, many claim to be ravaged or such. Causes no end of trouble if they’re from a wealthy family.
Most outsiders come for business. We produce the majority of wool, and send it all over the world. Furs are trapped in the far north to become decorations in the East and West. Lumber is always in demand, but we make sure not to log too much, as it keeps the price high and the forests thick enough to rebound. We’re always in demand for iron. We just don’t have much of the stuff! Spices from the South are a close second to sheep for money. Bone meal is also exported to the East for their fields.
Now, you might have noticed that I haven’t talked about kings, princes, queens, and the like. Well, we don’t have much in the way of nobility. Seems strange to put a crown on a babe’s head and say they’re in charge when you don’t know if they’re decent or not at ruling. So what happens is towns elect a council to run things. Usually they’re elders that passed on head of house to a son, but aren’t ready to kick off yet. They’ve been around the longest, and they generally know what’s best. When one kicks off, we pick another and put them on the seat. We do the same thing for our countries. The wealth is everyone’s wealth. The poverty is everyone’s poverty.
The closest we get to a real ‘nobility’ is in the far south. Durmedag is snuggled right up to Centralia. The Grooben family’s been consistently elected by the towns for the last two centuries. To be fair, they do a good job of it. Drumedag’s kept the East and West out of the North for all that time. Every now and then you get some cowhead saying they should be nobles like in the West, but there’s no point to it. Drumers tend to be a bit snobbery, some saying they’re not ‘really’ a part of the North. Others say that if they just took over the north, then they could take over the world or some idocy like that. Fortunately, the Groobens squash that talk. They might be wealthy and cowheaded, but they know the rest of the north would stomp them into the earth and shit on them for good measure.
North of Drumestag you get the Provences. These are a whole slew of towns like Oxenbarge, Tassels on the Lily, or Threetowers. Fairly large and prosperous, but as united as a kicked bag of cats. Every year they organize stomps for whatever bragging rights they can get. They only pull together when the West or East attack. Then it becomes a contest to see who stomps the most. Provincers are fiercely loyal to their town. Don’t even think of insulting it or saying another town is better. It never ends well. They take hospitality to a whole new level though. Outsiders, especially iron traders, are given honors most other countries reserve for heroes.
Further north and you get the countries of Furengarde, Henthir, and Stromgarde. Furengarde is on the west coast, and has been the target of multiple invasions by sea by Western raiders and pirates. The Furen are a collection of families that have ruled for generations. Their lumber and shipyards are some of the most valuable in the world. Henthir is often called the Motherland because all the farms and orchards that feed half of the north. They’re a holy country too, claiming to be blessed by a goddess of the field. They’re a little muddled in the head, but when you can boast millions of heads of sheep then you can claim goddesses bless you. Then you have Stromgarde. Three times the East invaded the North. Three times they attacked Stromgarde. Three times they were beaten back. Stromgarde is the only country that has successfully, unquestionably, repelled every invasion by the East. The fortress city essentially exists to keep the East out of the North. They’re a serious bunch. Just never point out that they act a lot more like Estmen than Norsmen.
North of the three, and you get the Wildelands. They’re like the provinces, only smaller and much more spread out. Plagues and monsters constantly cause problems there. The biggest town in the Wildelands is Iron, a town with the only producing iron mine in the north. It’s bad iron, not well suited for steel, but it’s all we’ve got. Most of the rest of the towns are isolationists, keeping to themselves. Some are ‘holy’ sites. Others are primitive, even to other Norsmen.
Beyond the Wildelands are the Icelands. Huge mountains, glaciers, and nights lasting two months at a time. There are people up there, the Icemen, but most of them don’t even consider the Norsmen from the north. They’re small, completely white, with pale blue eyes. They’re also cannibals… okay, they don’t consider themselves cannibals, but they’ll eat you just the same. If they like some trait of yours, they’ll breed you like an animal till you’re of no use. They even speak an entirely different language, and cut their marks into every inch of their skin. Occasionally they’ll come south, and they often get snapped up as slaves or exotics. They generally don’t do well. Most of their food comes in the form of meat, and regular food makes them violently ill. They still follow the Stone Law, and consider it divine.
I suppose I should talk about gods and the like. We venerate the Twelve and One, but we’re not nearly as pious as elsewhere. Most towns will have two or three shrines. Most temples have denominations to a half dozen gods at once. We’re much more utilitarian than other people. I know other people depict the gods as these fantastical beings, but to us they’re just people.
Henthia is the big one to us. Goddess of agriculture and life. Birthing, sowing, growing, and the lot is accredited to her. Hard to imagine she’s a death goddess in other places. You’ll constantly find services to her everywhere. Some temples will sponsor a holy breeding when couples are desperate to have strong, healthy children, go to the temple, and rut under the supervision of a priest or priestess. She’s normally depicted as a pregnant woman holding a lamb, her holy animal.
Stromir is another major god. While most might not realize it, Law is a big deal in the North. We mark our criminals for life. Making sure shares are fairly distributed is a big deal. Stromir priests are wandering judges, often arriving to mitigate disputes according to the Stone Law at least, and local laws as they apply. Angrhir isn’t nearly as venerated as in other places, because we have stomps, not wars. He’s the god of strength and might. You might pray to him before a stomp, or a contest, but otherwise he’s a bit of a joke to us. Not in the west, or so I’m told. Both are big, strapping men, though Stromir carries a book and an axe, while Angrhir has a long staff.
We don’t do much with the low gods. Tessia is goddess of children, and there’s a temple in Drumestag to her for orphans and the like, but most orphans just get sucked into families. After all, they’re another set of hands in the field. Her holy day is midwinter, and is a great holiday to liven up the cold. Ophia is goddess of filth. You might see a shrine to her outside a public toilet or cesspit. More people pray for her to leave rather than for her blessing. I get that she’s a big deal in the south, but just not so much here. Both are usually depicted as children, with the former being cleaner than the latter.
Folir is god of the forests. He’s the patron god of the Furen, and much more important in the north than elsewhere. Folir is venerated by woodsmen and foresters. You’ll come across little shrines left in the woods, and it’s customary to leave a nut at the base. Folir’s sister is Felria, goddess of beasts. She’s the patron of trappers and hunters. Normally both receive straight forward worship, but in the Wildelands… well… they get weird. Praying to a wolf god is one thing. Rutting with wolves and other beasts… well… it’s Wildelands. There’s reasons why we stay away from there if we can. Folir is usually a man with a crown of holly and acorns in his beard. Felria is a lean woman with ears and the tail of a beast, often claws.
Pyrria is goddess of flames, and death in the north. We burn our dead, powder the bones, and put the remains in the soil. You’ll often see a glyph carved in over a hearth. She’d also, ironically, the goddess of cooking. This leads some to treat her as a goddess of cannibalism as well. Pyrria is known for her good humor, beauty, and love. She’s the patron of music and poetry as well. She’s a beautiful, naked girl dancing with flames in most depictions.
Glacia, her sister, is not. The goddess of Ice has a temple in almost every town in the north, because winter is a big deal up here. She’s the goddess of the bad death. Good people get burned in a ceremony with loved ones in attendance. Tragic people freeze to death, their souls trapped in their body, crushed for months on end… or years. Glacia is cold, hard, cruel, and deeply feared and venerated. We never want her to come, and we never want her to linger. Some are trying to soften the image a little. That she is as beautiful as her sister, but lonely because she is never invited into homes. Stromgarde gives her a holy day where they run around and play in the snow on the winter solstice, and believe that babies conceived in snow will be immune to cold and fear. More generally, we’re respectful of her, because one bad winter can wipe out whole families. In the rare cases we have to invoke it, she’s also the goddess of revenge. If she’s depicted, it’s as a beautiful, solemn, and (if you ask me) grumpy woman younger than her sister.
For the trade gods we honor Gilthemir, god of trade, and Fabrir, god of craft. Note I said ‘trade’ and not ‘wealth’, like elsewhere. Most borrowing is sworn by Gilthemir. Outside of Drumestag he doesn’t see much veneration. Fabrir is honored by everything from carpenters to our few blacksmiths. Quality goods are branded with his glyph, under the belief that shoddy goods will break instantly if they’re branded with his mark. Smiths are always marked with Fabrir’s mark, and a glyph of their trade. Taking a mark if you can’t perform the act will get your hide cut. Craftsmen take the craftsmen mark very seriously. Both are men, one with scales, and the other with a hammer.
The last of the twelve is Lolalia, goddess of the family. Every household has a shrine where family records are kept, very important when it comes to shares. Family disputes, heads of house holds, and family duties are her purview. In the rare cases where a child must be disinherited, only a priest of Lolalia can do so. Lolalia is also the goddess of knowledge and education. Her priests run schools in communities, teaching children the law, their responsibilities, and duties. She’s always a motherly figure in robes with books.
The one is Seprix, and it is the diety of the moon. It is believed that Seprix is the keeper of forbidden and dangerous knowledge, secrets, and the future. Seprix is forbidden to have temples, yet shrines can be found, with prayers promising reward for answers. Myth claims that Seprix was jealous of the God of Magic, Alorir, and so assassinated him in his sleep. Seprix is often depicted as an androgynous humanoid form with deep voids for eyes, and is to blame for most misfortune. During Calibration, it’s said he causes wild tides, landslides, and other natural disasters.
I guess the last thing to talk about is our relationship with magic. We don’t have… how to put this… we’re not like the other countries in that magic isn’t that big a deal here. We don’t have manses and witches and wizards and the like. Sure, I could learn magic if I wanted, but there’s a limit to how much I could learn in the North. Once I’ve learned it, there’s not that much I could do with it here that folks would pay me for. It wouldn’t really help all that much with tending the flocks or the like. So, yeah, magic just isn’t as vital up here as it is elsewhere. Most villages have a hedgemage with a few tricks, but you’ll never get world shaking wizards in the north.
That said, when we do get someone with a knack for magic, they tend to be terrifying. Like the Storm King, a wizard in Stromgarde who could not only summon up storms, but blast the enemy with lightning that split entire ships. Apparently, wizards able to wipe out entire fleets of ships are really rare, much to the shock of the Estmen. The Storm King was entirely self taught, and his power died with him.
So... any questions?
OMG!!! Why is it soooo long lol I respect you but its soooo long
I'll get back to reading i just wanted to say that 
Shades of the Hyborian Age here...I love it.
I wonder if the Suthmen tribes who live in the oasis dotting the vast, arid Empty Lands would have an analogous culture?
Worldbuilding Narrator is making all kinds of hurtful assumptions and remarks about me and I've never felt so attacked in my life.
so... when can i get a copy of the book?
Beautiful. I'd love to know what an ordinary day in the life would consist of, and an unusual day too. Perhaps what marks are used for what crimes, how a mark is changed if one marries into another family.
I'm interested
do you plan on writing anything involving this or are you just using it as a writing exercise. because this is great
I don't know why I just read that whole thing, but i'm glad I did.
That was weirdly fun...
4357070 Mostly exercise. I don't have a story for it. It's just I get ideas in my head and writing them out helps me to get them out of my head.
Dude, I love this! I've been looking into Viking and other Norse history, mythology, and languages over the last three or so weeks, so this was a delightful surprise! I'd love to see where you go with this! Keep us updated when you can.
Have you tried using them as a potato chip substitute?