The Horse Lords

Art by Joan Francesc Oliveras

Orcs are not the only raiders of the Polavian Steppe. The expansive flat lands of the northern plain provide plenty of pasture for grazing horses, and the horses in turn allow their tamers to travel long distances over the endless seas of grass. For this reason, the steppe gave rise to the Zelskys, a tribe dubbed the Horse Lords for their mastery of the beasts. Under the Kingdom of Polavia, the Zelskys were a constant threat, engaged in on-and-off periods of warfare with their more sedentary neighbors - and they proved formidable foes, earning both fear and respect from the Polavians.

The Zelsky way of life grew around the horse, and they rely on the animals for many purposes. Every Zelsky learns to ride a horse from the same time they learn to walk. In fact, historians believe the Zelskys were the first people to domesticate horses. They rely on horses to provide them with transport for trade, hunting, and warfare alike, and they also use them for meat, milk, leather, and fiber from their hairs. Although the Zelskys are known for their consumption of horse meat - though the role horse plays in their diet is often exaggerated in travelers' accounts - they view the animals as sacred, knowing they owe their lives to their steeds and that they would be unable to survive in the vacuous plains without them. The slaughter of a horse is not a task to be taken lightly, and may only be done under the auspices of a priest or shaman (there are adherents to both Pantheonism and the Old Faith among the Zelskys, but which gods they pray to makes little difference in their customs) to determine if the animal is fit for slaughter, using an complex system of laws and standards that outsiders struggle to understand.

Despite the mobility of their lifestyle, the Zelskys are not truly nomadic. They reside in permanent villages, often in simple timber longhouses build from wood harvested from the scattered stands of trees among the plains, and they do grow some crops. However, the soil in the inland plains they reside in is not as rich as that in other lands, and the bulk of their diet comes from hunting, gathering, and herding sheep and cattle over the steppe, as well as trading and raiding with their neighbors. Their villages are small and have little in the way of businesses or stores, for they are not one to stay in one place for long. Although Zelskys will maintain a home in a particular village with their immediate family, it is not uncommon for them to travel long distances, sometimes even days away, to herd their animals or to perform raids. Even if they are not going quite so far afield, they spend much of the day in the saddle, only returning home to dine, drink, and rest when the sun sets. Because of this, the Zelsky clans tend to be dispersed over wide areas, and a particular family may have branches in several villages miles apart. This way, even if they are far from home, they can easily find relatives to stay with just about anywhere. If they cannot, they can at least find in-laws or cousins, only using inns as a last resort.

In the past, the scarcity of the Zelsky's lives meant they often turned to raiding to sustain themselves. Existing as they did on the perimeter of the Polavian heartland, incursions by Zelskys were a common threat, and one that the many fortresses surrounding Venec were built to protect against. The relationship between the Polavians and the Zelskys varied by the year, sometimes even by the season. Some times the Zelskys would wage war on nearby fiefdoms, while other times Polavian nobles would make pacts with Zelsky clans, relying on them to provide military support - sometimes against other Zelsky clans. It was not uncommon for a noble to have a Zelsky warlord in his employ for a few months, and for that same warlord to go back to raiding his former liege after that term expired. For both peoples, this was a fact of life. It was as it always had been, and there was no use in changing that.

However, the Orc Wars managed to bring the Polavians and the Zelskys into somewhat of a permanent truce. Both civilizations had fought off orcish incursions before, but the threat of Ghammorz's empire was one too great for either of them to contend with alone. Both united to fight off the orc hordes, and in the centuries that followed, the Zelskys entered the Golden Peace alongside their neighbors. Their leaders are treated as nobility just the same as any landed gentry, taking on the same titles, and partaking in the same assemblies. One of Togarmah's most celebrated kings, Khar I, was in fact a Zelsky, elected to the position for his martial valor.

That is not to say that raids do not happen, but for the most part, the peace is kept by trade and law, and there has never been an all-out war between a coalition of Zelsky clans and the Polavians under the Golden Peace. Large-scale conflicts are usually between individual clans or against orcs, or else they occur as part of more widespread civil wars, often with Zelsky clans fighting on various sides. Still, they are known as fierce warriors. They are skilled with a lance, and their mounted archers are feared throughout the known world. On the battlefield, they often strap great wings made of wood and steel to their backs, giving them an imposing presence indeed.

It is notable that, in their traditions of riding and raiding, the Zelskys have much in common with the Horse Orcs. Many Zelskys boast orcish blood in their veins, and some have even intermarried with orc clans to produce fearsome alliances. The notion that all Zelskys are at least part orc is a false and derogatory one, however - it is more apt to say that the similarities between them were shaped by similar circumstances and the free trade of ideas on the plains. Whatever the case is, the Zelskys are a proud people, and their nobles hold firmly to their titles under the ideals of the Golden Peace. No matter how large his muscles are, how many weapons he carries, or how much he smells of horse sweat, it is unwise to call a Zelsky duke a barbarian, unless you intend to pick a fight.

The Polavian Steppe

Before the Orc Wars, the largest and strongest of the Togarman kingdoms was the Kingdom of Polavia, which ruled the northern steppes. Today, this region still forms Togarmah's political and cultural heartland. The majority of Togarmah's monarchs have been Polavians, and the old kingdom's capital, Venec, is now the seat of governance for Togarmah. To their friends, the Polavians are a wealthy people, proud of their heritage among kings, and worthy bearers of the virtues of chivalry and honor. To their rivals, they are the puppeteers behind the Togarman throne - a bunch of pompous blowhards who throw around their weight to silence the power of nobles further afield and undermine the principles of the Golden Peace.

Polavia consists largely of flat grassland, interspersed with hills and forests. This is what allowed for its rise to power in its heyday - not only was the land easy to settle and provided fertile harvests, the ease of travel (and the ease of spotting invading armies) allowed for the early rulers of the land to secure dominance over their neighbors, first through conquest and diplomacy, and then through the establishment of trade routes that brought great wealth to Venec. Today, much of Polavia is cultivated, and it is home to many farms and villages, making it the breadbasket of Togarmah.

However, for the same reasons, Polavia was also vulnerable to outside excursions. With little in the way of difficult terrain or easily defensible passes compared to the more mountainous lands to the south, rivals could swarm Polavian settlements and establish a foothold with ease. For many generations, the kingdom held off such threats, repelling raids by Northmen and by the Zelsky horsemen they shared the plains with. But when the orcs attacked, not even an alliance of convenience between the Polavians and the Zelskys could hold firm against conquest.

Such risks shaped the development of Polavia - its cities are often walled, and a network of castles were established in concentric circles around Venec in order to ward against threats. These fortresses double as a warning system - since one can see for miles on the plains, if one castle is attacked, it can light a beacon to signal to the next in line, allowing its defenders to prepare should one line of defense fall or if reinforcements are needed. Thanks to the Golden Peace, few beacons have been lit in recent history, and many of these castles have grown over time into cities of their own. Still, the ring of castles still serves an important purpose in the era of the Golden Peace. They offer accommodations for nobles traveling to Venec to attend the Kingdom's council meetings (commoners are not allowed to stay there, unless part of a noble's entourage), and they also serve as the capital's main line of defense - considering Venec has no gates.

It was a part of the founding charter of Togarmah that the capital be open to all nobles, owing to their status as equals under the Golden Peace. To that end, all gates and portcullises in the city's walls were symbolically removed, and even to this day, they have not been reinstated; it is believed that to do so would be to cast doubt on the security of the Golden Peace and bring misfortune upon Togarmah. Though the city still maintains a garrison of guards, anyone can walk through the now-empty archways and into the streets. It is believed that the encircling castles, and the sanctity of the Golden Peace, will do the rest of the work - and so far, it has, so no one is really willing to test it.

Every two years, the most powerful nobles in Togarmah (each elected from a series of regional councils, which handle things in a similar fashion) are called to Venec to attend a grand council, where they put forth their concerns and desires for the future of the Kingdom and assemble a proclamation that they then put forth to the King, as a means of informing him of his peoples' needs. To house the influx of delegates and their entourages, Venec is noted for its many inns, many of them quite large and well-appointed to fit the standards of their guests. This custom also contributes to the city's cosmopolitan character - because the councils bring in visitors from all across Togarmah, there are neighborhoods where all matter of languages may be spoken, songs may be sung, and food may be served, reflecting the Kingdom's many regions. In some cases, these districts were established by retainers in the service to distant nobles who were taken by Venec's charms and decided to stay; in others, they grew around inns that catered to guests from particular regions, adopting their native culture to make them feel more at home. In many cases, both these things are true.

Any discussion of Venec would surely be incomplete without mention of the Order of the Eternal Flame. The most powerful order within the cult of the sun goddess Solenna, its headquarters is a few miles from Venec, in a complex that contains the Grand Temple, dormitories for both monks and nuns (both belong to the Order. For obvious reasons, they are not allowed to sleep together. Also for obvious reasons, this is one of the rules most frequently broken), and barracks where the Order's paladins and templars train. However, most worship among members of the Order takes place in a central open-air cloister, where members gather to commend the celestial body on days where the weather permits it, often spending hours in meditation on the sun. The Order is named for a brazier at the center of this cloister, kept burning continually to represent the sun, with all its light and warmth; this means the complex can easily be spotted at night.

Solenna is the patron goddess of Togarmah, and there is evidence she has been worshipped there even during the time of the Old Faith. Even in modern times, the Cult of Solenna plays an important role in Togarmah's politics, and the elected King must be approved by the high priest of Solenna before taking the throne (though this is mostly symbolic, as - owing mainly to pressure from the nobility - the high priest has never declined a nominee in centuries).

By tradition, the high priest of Solenna's cult is always a member of the Order of the Eternal Flame. The current one is Patriarch Otho VI, a jovial old man who has broken with the Order's monastic roots by playing a much more public role, often visiting Venec to participate in ceremonies and leading processions on important occasions. He believes that, as Solenna is a goddess of hope and happiness, it is important for him to uphold the morale of the people and to provide the Cult with a face they can trust. Other high-ranking clerics, however, are less convinced. Some fear that he endangers the sanctity of the Order's mysteries by living among the laity, and others are worried that an opportunistic assassin will find him a perfect target...

20 Encounters from Dragon Quest III

Akira Toriyama, one of Japan's most prolific and influential manga artists, passed away last week. Even if you don't follow anime or manga, chances are you recognize his name. Toriyama is most famous as the creator of Dragon Ball, and it's hard to overstate the impact he and his work had on the landscape of popular culture. Not only was Dragon Ball a smash hit in Japan, revolutionizing action and martial arts manga, setting many of the tropes that characterize it today, and inspiring many of today's artists to get into the industry, it was also immensely popular around the world, and kicked off the surge in interest in Japanese popular culture among Westerners that continues to this day.

I've been a huge fan of Dragon Ball ever since I was watching it on Toonami as a kid, and I wasn't alone. All my classmates were pretending to throw Kamehamehas at each other on the playground, and everyone I know who watched the series in their childhood is still a fan of it to this day, myself included. Many people credit the series with inspiring a love of storytelling, and others cite it as what influenced them to take up martial arts. In one series alone, Toriyama left a legacy that will never be forgotten.

At least over here in the States, it's easy to forget that Dragon Ball wasn't the only thing Toriyama did. But his contributions to pop culture go even deeper than that. He was one of the co-creators of the Dragon Quest video game series, doing all the concept art for the franchise ever since its inception. And around the same time as I was tuning into Cartoon Network after school every day to keep up with the Cell Saga, I was also experiencing Toriyama's work through my Game Boy Advance port of Dragon Quest III, a game I've already spoken about here.

I have many fond memories of the game's expansive open world, and the amount of content it managed to pack into what was originally an NES cartridge still blows my mind. It's filled with interesting and unique locations and sidequests, with no two areas being quite alike, and every major corner of the map offering something to explore. I don't think it's any coincidence that I began to explore running tabletop RPGs as a DM around the same time, and in my early days I lifted a lot of locations, quests, and encounters from DQ3. Sometimes I still do. With fans around the globe gathering to remember Toriyama, it's worth turning to this part of his legacy.

Here are twenty things from Dragon Quest III that have stuck with me through the years, and that have found their way into my games. You could use it as a random encounter table if you wanted to, though it'd probably lead to some strange results. You could roll on it ahead of time for an idea you could try to work into your next session. Or you could look over the list and think about the possibilities it could offer for your games - just as I did with the strategy guide many years ago.

1. A talking horse who knows the location of a powerful artifact.

2. A halfling hermit who guards a pass through the mountains and will only grant entrance on order of his liege.

3. A king willing to trade a ship for a bag of black pepper from a far-off land (as the kind of weird kid who read history books for fun, this was a bit of Vikings in Clown Trousers I appreciated even then). 

4. A tower on an island accessible only through a series of underwater caves.

5. A town under a sleeping spell cast by an elven queen after her daughter stole a priceless treasure to run off with her human lover.

6. A cursed suit of armor made from the hide of a demon.

7. A vase that can suck in enough water to drain a passage hidden beneath the sea.

8. A magic spring inhabited by a spirit who will exchange items dropped into it for better ones - so long as one doesn't get greedy with it.

9. A pit where treasure is set on ledges only accessible by climbing to tightropes strung high above and taking a leap of faith.

10. A dragon disguised as the queen of a town, deceiving the villagers into sacrificing their women in exchange for "protection." She talks in her sleep, revealing her true nature.

11. Carved stone heads that guard a treasure by speaking to those who pass, trying to tempt them into giving into cowardice and turning away.

12. The ghost of a woman who drowned herself after her husband was lost at sea, now haunting a narrow cape and refusing to let any ships pass through until her spirit is placated.

13. A gaping pit leading to a continent on the inside of the hollow earth.

14. A market selling magical herbs that can bestow the power of invisbility.

15. A dungeon warded by a curse that prevents those inside from using magic.

16. A king who, upon being helped with his problems, will abdicate the throne at the first opportunity and pass his title off to those who helped him so he can go off gambling.

17. A flute that causes treasure to vibrate in response to its music.

18. A volcano that must have an artifact dropped into it so that its lava can form a bridge.

19. A town renowned for its blacksmith, who has brought the secret of working orichalum from a far-off land.

20. A dragon in a castle high above the clouds, who can grant a wish to any who defeat him in combat (nice try, Toriyama).

Friday Encounter: The Blazing Pillars

Elder Scrolls Online

Here's a simple puzzle, designed to encourage creative thinking by players, that you can throw in as a random encounter or in a dungeon room. There isn't intended to be any one solution - it's meant to be addressed by thinking in terms of what's possible within the narrative context of the session. Your players may surprise you!

The party should come upon a circle of tall stone pillars - these may be a monument out in the wilderness, or placed in a dungeon room. If outdoors, they should be on a tall hill with little surrounding foliage or rocks to protect the hilltop from the wind. If in a dungeon, the pillars should be in a wide, tall-ceilinged chamber, preferably with cavernous exits to all sides to ensure a draft can pass through easily.

There are four pillars, ranging from ten to twenty feet high; each is five feet higher than the last if one walks in a clockwise circle starting from the shortest pillar. In the center of the circle is a stone platform, fifty feet across, carved with a clockwise spiral. A DC 10 Investigation check will reveal that there is a circular seam in the middle of the spiral, forming a smaller concentric circle fifteen feet across.

Atop each pillar is a shallow bronze brazier, heaped with coals, but these coals are cold and extinguished (they are cool to the touch, indicating they have not been lit in some time). Optionally, the bases of the pillars (at eye level to the PCs) may be carved with designs recalling rising flames and swirling winds, or an image of the four braziers lit simultaneously, if you feel a hint is necessary.

The goal of this puzzle is to light the brazier atop each pillar in sequence, starting from the shortest pillar, moving clockwise, and ending at the tallest, without any of the braziers going out. This is perhaps easier said than done, as the breeze blowing through the circle can easily to extinguish the flames. If one brazier goes out before all are lit, the sequence must be started over from the shortest pillar.

In order to solve the puzzle, the PCs must find a way to light each brazier without the wind blowing them out. They could climb the pillars, but doing so would take time, and the fires might go out in the meantime. They could try to jump from one pillar to the next, but that would create a breeze that could put the fires out. They could use magic or flaming arrows to try and light the braziers from below, but the wind might make aiming difficult. They could try to block the wind, but that might be a daunting task, especially if the circle is outdoors! Just go by what solutions and consequences make logical sense, and use your judgment.

Once all the braziers are lit in the correct order, the smaller circle on the platform recedes into the stone with a rumbling noise, revealing a spiral staircase down into a secret chamber. In this chamber, on a stone slab, is laid a pair of enchanted velvet gloves, their surface embroidered with the images of flames. The gloves are magically resistant to fire; although they feel no different than ordinary gloves while worn, they cannot catch fire by any means, and the hand beneath them will not feel the fire's heat. The rest of the wearer's body remains vulnerable as normal. If this encounter is used in a dungeon, it might be fun to hide treasures or secrets in the same dungeon within fires so that the gloves unlock new options for the wearer.

Alternatively, the DM may wish to substitute another treasure, a clue to an ongoing quest, or a secret passage. Feel free to use whatever would be most useful to your purposes here.

Yo Dawg, I Heard You Like RPGs...

This is an idea that could be either a lot of fun, or incredibly stupid. It's probably both.

Recently, I was reading a very interesting article on the history of roleplaying games, one that discussed how, although RPGs as we know them - with codified mechanics for conflict resolution, character stats, randomized mechanics using dice or cards, and such - are a recent innovation, we have evidence that people engaged in structured forms of roleplaying for hundreds of years. Rather poetically, much of the surviving records of these traditions date back to medieval Europe, in which roleplaying was a popular diversion among noble courts to pass the time when there was nothing more important going on.

We have to go deeper!

Many of these games involved the use of a ragman's roll - a scroll with a series of ribbons attached to it, each of which could be traced back to a particular passage. Each participant would pick one of these ribbons and follow it back to the passage it corresponded to, which would describe a character or scenario. Then, they would have to take the role of that character, talking and acting as they would do so, while interacting with other players doing the same. (Incidentally, this is where the term "rigmarole" comes from).

It's a fascinating bit of history, and one of the many, many examples of interesting medieval trivia that popular culture is woefully unaware of. But it also means something that carries a lot more potential. There is a nonzero chance that the people in your medieval fantasy RPG world play RPGs.

I think that, when approached with the right mindset and the right players, a session in which the party takes part in a game of Ragman's Roll could be a lot of fun. For the session, the PCs would be tasked with stepping into new roles and personas, acting as they would interpret the roles from within the context of their character traits. Essentially, the players would end up playing characters who are themselves playing characters. Instead of making decisions that they feel their characters would, they would have to make decisions they feel that their characters would feel their characters would.

There's a number of different ways to do it, too. It could simply be used as a framing device for a one-shot session in the middle of an existing campaign, such as if one of the players can't make it to the table - the players would be using new PCs in a self-contained story, but that story could also exist within the context of the greater campaign as a scenario played out by the original PCs. It could be an opportunity for players to experiment with new PC ideas they've been developing, or to reuse a PC from a previous game, perhaps with some tweaks due to being filtered through the PC taking their role. Such a one-shot wouldn't even need to use the same system, and it could be a way to try out a different game without committing to a full campaign.

It's not like we don't enjoy
playing old games anyway

Alternatively, a game of Ragman's Roll could be a part of an adventure, or a plan by the PCs - perhaps they need to infiltrate a noble court in order to gain intelligence, and in order to blend in or to get closer to potential informants, they need to partake in the game. Since these games usually took place among courts, and most interactions between players appear to have been settled through in-character debates and discussion, this could present a unique spin on a social encounter, offering the PCs with different challenges and encouraging some interesting roleplay. Integrating oneself with nobles, knowing the right things to say and the right people to cozy up to, can be a challenge already - now, imagine doing all that while you're expected to pretend you're someone you aren't!

Obviously, a scenario like this wouldn't be for everyone. Roleplaying as someone roleplaying as someone else would no doubt be a challenging task, and it could easily get confusing for some players to keep track of balancing both how their character would behave and how their character's character would behave, to say nothing of the code-switching between three different roles. It can already be difficult to distinguish in-character from out-of-character talk at the table; now there's another layer beyond that. All these challenges would be present even if Ragman's Roll is used as a low-stakes diversion - if the PCs are actually trying to gain something through the game, that could make things even trickier. Some people might find the whole exercise a bit meta, too, but that's where you can bust out that this is all historically accurate.

But I do think, when approached with the right mindset, it could make for a very memorable and enjoyable session. A lot of roleplayers might enjoy the challenge of roleplaying someone roleplaying, and such an opportunity to get deeper into their characters' heads (or maybe that's just my theater kid self talking). At the very least, it'd probably create some amusing chaos if combined with alcohol, which I'm sure was what medieval people got out of it anyway.

Land of the Golden Peace

If you ask a Vardessian to describe a Togarman, you'll often hear the same things - usually unflattering. They are a coarse people who live in the woods, drink heavily, wear deer skins, weep openly, and have a morbid sense of humor.

If you ask a Togarman to describe a Togarman, though, he will not know what you mean. He will, however, have plenty of appelations for his neighbors. The Veneci are pompous, the Zelskys eat horse meat, the Korjans drown themselves in wine, and the Leshes speak in tongues. As they would remind you, there is no such thing as "a Togarman." There are many peoples who belong to the banner of the tethered unicorn, and many of them would be quite insulted by being lumped together.

The people of the Togarman lands are united by a common heritage, but that heritage has long since divulged into a multitude of languages and cultures, and often an individual citizen will have more loyalty to their brothers and sisters at home than to their cousins far afield. In fact, not all Togarmic peoples pay homage to the same king. The majority of the population of Kvesland is of Togarmic stock, even if the noble classes are descended from Northmen, and Vardessy controls a Togarman March. Then there are the numerous cities on the Togarman coast that belong to the League of Three Crowns, and will often side with their interests. Nevertheless, the Togarmah most known to foreigners is the Kingdom of Togarmah - though it encompasses many lands and many peoples, they have long stood as one.

In ages past, the land that is now Togarmah was split between several kingdoms and tribes. Occasionally some of these petty kingdoms would stand together against a raid by Northmen, but they would wage war against each other just as often. There were too many competing interests for the tribes to come together for a lasting peace, it was thought, and blood feuds between rival clans could not so easily be forgiven.

That changed with the coming of the Orc Wars.

Some four hundred years ago, the great orc chieftain Ghammorz the Maneater surveyed his wealth - gold, jewels, horses, and land won by his great force of arms and strategic cunning. Already, he had cowed his rivals and amassed legions to his name, with would-be contenders finding no choice but to swallow their pride and throw their lot in with him. Many orcs would be content with the glory and riches such strength brought. But Ghammorz hungered for more. He had already achieved so much, he wished to see how much more he could truly attain. He wanted to make a legacy to be remembered - he wanted to become the greatest warlord the orcs would ever know.

Few would deny he succeeded.

In a series of campaigns, Ghammorz and his allies managed to conquer the Togarman lands, forging an empire to rival the nascent Vardessy. Some Togarman nobles saw fit to pledge tribute to the orcs so that they might be spared, but others stayed and fought - but they were no match for the hordes. They were driven from their ancestral homes and fled to Vardessy, seeking refuge from the unstoppable onslaught.

The nobles of Vardessy could not stand for such an injustice to their brothers in arms (or perhaps they just feared having such a fearsome empire on their borders, or had too many second sons without fiefs to their name and needed some land to conquer for themselves). They joined forces with the displaced Togarmans and launched a campaign of their own to retake the lands conquered by the orcs. It was a long and bloody conflict, lasting for generations of on-and-off warfare, but in the end, the last successors to Ghammorz's empire were brought to heel, and Togarmah was again free.

And then, something incredible happened. In uniting against the orcs, the Togarmans found a common enemy, and a common purpose. So too, when returning to their old manors, they found that the orcs had appointed regional governors and vassals, creating a system that managed to unite the disparate kingdoms where they could not. It proved such a thing was possible - and with that in mind, it was deemed that a divided Togarmah was too vulnerable to threats from outside, be they Northmen, orcs, or the neighboring realms of Vardessy and Kvesland, who perhaps could not be trusted to be allies forever.

Thus was issued the Golden Peace. In order to unite such fractured lands, the Togarmans developed a system of governance that some scholars would compare to the republics of the City-States and of Valossa, though Togarmans insist they are a kingdom. Under the laws of the land, all of noble birth - no matter their wealth, origin, or the size of their domain - had equal claim to the throne. To prevent kin-strife from tearing the young kingdom apart, the monarchy would not be passed down from parent to child; instead, whenever the reigning monarch dies, an assembly is called of all nobles in Togarmah who wish to attend to nominate one among their number to take the throne. All may come, and all votes are counted equally.

This system gives the nobility of Togarmah great power; in theory, even the most minor knight has a say in shaping the kingdom's future. Because of this, even though the King has all the authority such an esteemed position demands, he is still beholden to the interests of his peers; one who wishes to be King rarely does so without support from powerful allies. Furthermore, each time a monarch is elected, the nobility also decide on a charter that determines what policies they may enforce and what rights of the gentry must be respected (this is drawn up anew for every monarch, reflecting the shifting interests of the courts over time), forming an agreement by which the King rules by the assent of his subjects. One long-standing right has been the right of revolution, stating that a King who has lost the faith of his vassals has brought retribution upon himself, and that it is not an act of treason for rebellious nobles to take up arms - at least, as long as they succeed in the goals of their uprising.

In practice, this often leads to a weak central government, with its control over regional leaders curtailed by the very structure that gave it power. Although theoretically every noble's vote is equal, the feudal system still ensures that those in the lower ranks are indebted to those above them, and they may be pressured to vote in their masters' interests. So too, the system is ripe for exploitation from foreign powers, who may seek to influence the dukes and princes who hold the most sway so that they might appoint weak or loyal kings. There have even been times where the nobles were unable to reach a consensus on a new monarch, leading to two or three candidates claiming power and waging civil war. But the Golden Peace has ensured that no foreign power has held all of Togarmah since the Orc Wars - and at least when succession crises do occur, they do so in a relatively controlled environment.

Valossa Hex Map

It's that time again. Each hex equals six miles this time (I was hoping to keep three mile hexes, but to keep this project feasible, it's looking like I'll have to vary the scale). More under the cut.

A game: can you guess which entry is based on a real Wild West outlaw? It's (probably) not what you think.

Click here to enlarge