An excerpt from The Depths of Norhaven: A Complete Guide, Volume Five – Of the Frozen Surface and the Volsk, by Alerdy Parlyle…… though some scholars claim the sun is warming again. Whether true or not, the surface remains for all a deadly and unwelcoming place, where everything – every creature, and even the frozen air itself – seems set out to kill you.
Only the brave, the stubborn or the foolhardy ever venture there. The original migrants who set out across the cold wastes all those centuries ago were certainly brave. Stubborn are the native Thavonir, elves who have chosen a life of bleak solitude rather than give up the sight of the sun. The Depths are littered with foolhardy adventurers, many of them having lost digits or whole limbs to the cold – and they are the lucky ones.
The Volsk are all three.
A fierce warrior race, the Volsk keep little written history, but they have many oral traditions. In recent years their people have been a growing presence in the Depths, as they visit to barter, and it is from these bawdy delegations that I have pieced together some idea of their past.
Unlike the civilised peoples of the South, the Volsk had long dwelt in colder climes. When the Long Cold settled in, they were able to resist it more than most, and for a time maintained their way of life. But as the years went by even they were forced from their ancestral home to seek new, better protected grounds with fresh resources. It was thus that, around the time Norhaven was destroyed, the Volsk migrated into the region. They settled into a protective cranny in the shadow of the Dreagderr mountains, building their village around cracks in the ground where warm air from the deep breaks onto the surface; a safe habour akin to a mythical oasis in the fabled hot lands, where legend says no water runs.
Which is not to say that life is easy for the Volsk: far from it, for the fearsome creatures that have taken to the surface in the absence of civlisation are set all around them. The Volsk sing many songs of their long and terrible conflicts with the Bergrisar, Frost Titans said to stand fully ten times the size of a man. Of course the greatest threat to their existence is the Wyrm Queen, and here my hand shakes to write the terrible truth of this relationship. For it seems that each year the Volsk give up a male child – a precious commodity amongst their limited numbers – to Grehta as tribute. In return, the Cold Stewardess has not yet laid waste to their settlement, as she has done to Norhaven.
What effect this must have on the Volsk people, who are well known for their martial pride, I cannot fathom. The Volsk themselves are a haughty people, deeply wary of elves, and known to take other races as slaves. Indeed, this was a source of contention that led to their savage war with the Draelan. Some cultural exchange has taken place with the people of Norhaven, and the Volsk have adopted worship of the Four …
It was as pleasant as it got on the surface. There had been a blizzard in the night again, not an infrequent occurance, but it had passed now. Nestled in the cradle of the mountain, the cruel winds were mostly kept at bay - which, with the heat vents, was precisely why it had been chosen for settlement - and the snow had finally stopped falling. But it was still
cold.Somewhat weary from his long watch, Hakon Nordling rested his greatsword on his shoulder and leaned against the palisade. He was the village's gatekeeper and decided who would enter and leave Volsk. It was nearing the end of his shift, though and he was anxious to return home, to the warmth of his hearth and his wife and newborn son. They had been worried about the boy at first, but it had turned out the babe had some semblence of winter magic. He had pulled through and was now very healthy. Nordling could already see his son grown up, ferocious and harsh; a true Volsk warrior. He smiled at the thought.
That smile, however, soon vanished when he spotted a traveller round the bend of the mountain to cross the bridges over the frozen lakes. Hakon squinted to see if he could get an idea of who it was, but all he could see was a tall woman covered in dark robes. Her face was completely shrouded in a hood and scarf and no skin was showing at all. Hakon pushed off the palisade and moved to meet the woman, holding a gloved hand up to stop her where she was.
"Hold, lady. What business do you have in Volsk today?" His breath steamed in the air as he spoke.
Hakon intended to let her through; she was too tall to be an elf or half-elf, and too short to be a Bergrisar. There was little reason to turn her away. But he was gatekeeper, and this was his duty.
"I am here to speak with your Thane, Sturmfist."
Her voice was raspy, and
cold. Yet no steam formed in front of her shrouded face. It's very sound turned Hakon's insides around and he felt nauseous. His heart wrenched as recognition suddenly dawned.
Is it really her? Surely not. It can't be. But if I turn her away.... Hakon sheathed his sword and turned toward the guardsman nearby.
"Fetch the Thane! Tell him it is of utmost importance and cannot be delayed."
The warrior looked toward Hakon, then the lady and appeared bewildered. He was still too young to understand what was happening.
"GO!"
The guard took off through the knee-deep snow, and Hakon turned toward the woman once more. She bowed her head. Hakon's heart was racing; he hadn't felt this anxious since he had been sent for his right of passage, to kill a Bergrisar in single combat. Ten minutes pased and the two simply sat there; the woman utterly silent and void of emotion, Nordling fidgeting the entire time.
"Nordling! What is so gods-damned important that I needed to rudely depart Priestess Brynhildr?" Thane Ragnar Sturmfist III walked up to the gatekeeper with a face flush with anger. With his exceptional height, full beard and feirce temeperment, he struck an intimidating sight. However, the anger was redirected away from Hakon as soon as the Thane saw the woman standing next to him.
"Come to get your prize, hm? Your
proof. Damn you and your 'mother'." The Thane looked utterly disgusted at the woman, his fist clenching in anger.
"You know what will happen should you deny us our due. Do not test my patience, human, for I have little."
Sturmfist's face reddened with rage yet he bit his tongue. The Thane turned toward Hakon and pointed at him.
"Nordling. Gather all families in the village with healthy newborn sons. Yours included."
Hakon's gut twisted in a knot as he bowed his head. His voice was weak as he spoke.
"As you command, my Thane."
Satisfied, Thane Sturmfist motioned to the woman to follow and turned on his heel headed for his Hall. The woman followed silently; despite the fact that he could not see her face, Hakon could feel her smugness. He suddenly had the urge to plant his sword in her spine and watch her writhe in pain. But instead, he did his duty and began to round up all families with newborn sons. Even his own son.
As he escorted the families and his wife, who held their son protectively against her breast, toward the Thane's Hall he could feel his knees weakening. He knew this day would come; it came every year. It was random, utterly random, but without fail an agent always arrived. He had not really recognized how dire was the Wyrm Queen's demand until he had his own child.
The families gathered infront of the Thane's throne in the greathall. There weren't that many; there never were. Their fearless leader looked grim.
"Today is the day, my brothers...my sisters." He glanced toward the women, many of whom were white with fear. Hakon could see even the Thane faltered slightly as he looked at them, pitying them. "...I must ask of you a great sacrifice for the safety of your home. I must take from you what you hold most dear in this world. Know this; you shalt not be forgotten. Hakon, my most loyal warrior, please step forward."
Hakon took his son from the arms of his wife. She struggled briefly with him, looking ready to gut him if he tried to take her baby. He simply looked at her and said. "We must. If we do not, his life is forefeit anyway."
She released the child to his father, who looked up at him with loving eyes, laughing an the most inappropriate time as babes are wont to do. He smiled weakly at his son, and turned toward the Thane. He could feel his eyes misting and paused, forcing the female emotion down. There could be no sign of weakness here, none whatsoever.
She was watching.
As he approached the Thane, he knelt on one knee and bowed his head, presenting his son for examination. It was over in a few moments, yet he felt like he knelt there for an eternity. The shrouded woman, standing next to the Thane, simply shook her head. No.
"Rise, Hakon, and take your son back to his mother."
"Thank you, Sire." A great weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Hakon felt like all the air had suddenly been sucked out of him. He rose and returned to his wife on wobbly legs. She seized the boy from his arms and cradled him, thanking the Eye.
The process continued three more times, until the second to last family was called forth. The father knelt and presented his son for inspection. This time, the woman nodded her head, yes.
A shriek of horror burst out and cut through the heavy silence, as the mother fell to her knees, weeping. The other women moved to comfort her as best they could, doing their best to hide a mounting releif that the burden had not fallen upon them today.
Thane Ragnar knelt next to the father, whose name, if Hakon remembered correctly, was Torsten Svard.
"I thank you for your courage, Torsten. I will see to it that your sacrifice does not go to waste. Rise, and tend to Ylva. She will need your strength." Taking the child from Svard's hands, Thane Ragnar cradled the boy in his arms and turned to the woman.
"Let's get this over with. I don't want to spend anymore time with your kind than I have to."
From within her hood, the woman issued a hoarse laugh. The Volsk were accostumed to the cold, and yet even they felt chills down their spines as the sound. They were also a feirce people, quick to anger, and Hakon could feel also feel a fury kindled in his heart. As he looked to the faces of his kin, he could see that they shared his sentiment. The hatred of the people standing in the room toward this one woman was hotter than the great fire behind them. She seemed to thrive off of it.
"Such impudence. Let us depart, Thane. You know what must be done."
"Aye."
As the Thane and the woman made their way through town, the Volsk people gathered at the gates, watching with anxiety as the two disappeared into the mist. Ylva was still sobbing, and her husband's visage remained tight-lipped. The clouds had thickened once more. It had started to snow again. There would be another blizzard that night.
All knew that they would not see Thane Ragnar for another day - and that they would never see the boy again.
SubracesHuman: VolskThe Volsk are a small group of humans that have managed to scratch out a living on the frozen surface. Already a warrior people, they have been further hardened by their trials and see their survival as evidence of their natural superiority. They are not above taking taking prisoners for slaves. Steel and strength are valued above magic.
Volsk society is patriarchial, honouring men as stronger and smarter than women. They are ruled over by a single Thane whose word is law, though the few laws that the Volsk have can change from Thane to Thane. The one common thread is their attitude to Elves and Half-Elves, who the Volsk see as the weakest and most despicable race they can think of. They are called 'Abominations' and banished from the Thane's hall on pain of death.
Volsk share pale skin and blond hair for the general population, ranging from very light blond to a light brownish-blond, and pale colored eyes. Those with winter magic are marked out by their red hair, and the more pure the magic the more bright and true red. Volsk are not a particularily religious people, though they do have their own intrepretations of the Four.
Player Warning: Volsk are extremely antagonistic to play and run a higher risk of permadeath than other races. Players are warned to be prepared to encounter hostile situations and accept that permadeath may come more swiftly to them.
Elves: ThavonirNative to the area around Norhaven, these elves refused to give in to the cold that has driven most other races from the surface. They continue to wander the frozen landscape, their natural elven resilience allowing them to survive temperatures which would harrow all others. Consequently, this has turned them into cold and distant loners who sometimes set out across the surface never to return. There is something faintly whimsical about a Thavonir, whose mind always seems to be half on the conversation at hand, and half elsewhere. They are unsocial creatures with a very abrupt manner. Most do not care for their past and are content to leave it buried beneath the snow.
Thavonir tend to be shorter than an average elf. Hair and skin colours are generally light blue and often kept short. Tattoos, the most popular depicting stylised suns, are common. Unlike most elves, Thavonir are not quite as frail. However, the Cold has seeped into their very bones, and so they are also somewhat sluggish by comparison.
