Well tucked into the Frigid Circle, Scitheria is a cold place. In the far north, and on surrounding islands, the tundra billows steam from many dormant volcanic spots, the only source of warmth in an otherwise desolate place.
Scitheria is home to a great many species, all of whom arrived some time in the distant past. Most of the cities exist along the southern coast, where some of the only farmable land exists in the low tundra. Fishing is a common source of livelihood as well. Each city exists somewhat independently of the other, the closest city to a Capitol being Stonereach, at the very end of the South Peninsula. Several smaller towns and outposts exist to the north, however. The mountains in Scitheria's central expanse are uncharted, dotted with the ruins of Scitheria's ancient past, and occasional spots of volcanic tundra. These lands are dangerous, and should be avoided without a suitable party, though travel through them is sometimes necessary for trade.
Trade and RelationsEdit
The history of Scitheria extends so far back that the region's origins have largely been lost to time. Small kingdoms, city-states, and empires rose and fell over the aeons, and the ruins of old stone fortresses are scattered throughout Scitheria, some extending far back underground, into the stone of the mountains from which they were carved. Tales of a great cataclysm are often told among Scitheria's current inhabitants, of the sky growing dark, the ground rumbling, and ships setting off from far away, wandering the sunless seas until they found the frozen shores of Scitheria. The land of their salvation, however desolate and harsh, forged them into strong beasts. Regardless of the truth of the ancient tale, such strength, outright refusal to give up, is a prized trait among Scitherians.
High into the mountains are ancient crypts and catacombs that hold the dead of countless generations. Some are simple caves carved into the rock, while others are grandiose chambers, cities of the dead made grand so the beasts within would enjoy an afterlife better than the brutal, endless winter of the Scitherian north.
Carved into the deepest regions of these dark catacombs, on great tapestries hanging in silent fortresses kept preserved by the cold, are recorded the deeds of kings long passed, mighty warriors who lived by the sword and the axe, carving out more than simply their own existence. Their kingdoms did not usually last long; until the end of the king's life, perhaps a few generations more. Then war, famine, or plague inevitably rendered the fortresses back into unliving stone, the warmth of their hearthfires never again to be felt by anybeast but the occasional passerby taking shelter from the cold. But travelers do not stay for long.