To the north of the empire lie the Northlands, 5 tiny kingdoms crushed between Barracheh’s overpowering might and the antagonism of the Warlock-Barons.
They’re in a tight spot: they’ve been forced to sign an accord that grants oversight on their rulers’ actions to factions within Barracheh. The situation was humiliating anyway, and that was before they were seen to defy the people who have appointed themselves their overlords. Now they’re at odds with their masters, and regions in Barracheh are bigger than the whole of the Northlands: it isn’t obvious what their options are but to pray and endure.
They definitely can’t look north for assistance: today’s Warlock-Barons are descended from Northland girls who ran away to escape the oppressive patriarchy back home. Those courageous rebels made deals with spirits of the wild places and dangerous gods to make themselves powerful.
In other words, they hate Northlanders with a passion the wealthy foreigners who are taking advantage of the Northlands can’t bring to bear.
I’m going to introduce you to our next characters as a pair because that’s only logical: they’re inseparable, they have been since they were infants. Sounds sweet, but there’s something more sinister behind the bond that has been forced on them. They’ve never let that come between them.
“SHADAR: She sits with her head demurely bowed, a girl with a heart-shaped face that gives her a fragile, otherworldly appearance. Her skin is red, the dark red of wine or spinel, that red that seems to pulse and throb with decadence. Her white, pearlescent hair would reach to her knees were she standing, gathered over one shoulder to put it on display. Her clothing is dark and covering, her hands clasped patiently at her waist, a scarf waiting at her neck should she require to hide her features from gazes that pollute her. Still it seems as if her eyes are twisted in their sockets so that she can study you back from behind her lashes, and you wonder if the lack of expression on her features is truly modesty or calculation.”
“IYA DI: A splinter of a youth, he is a brighter, redder hue than Shadar, a promise of vividness that his indecisive posture isn’t making good on. He wears a martial tunic of dark gray with a device on the left breast, and at his belt are a knife and a sword. His white hair is cut short, reinforcing his soldierly appearance, but between the prominent bones of his cheeks and his strong jaw lay his lips, and they are twisted as if he wants to tuck the lower one bashfully between his teeth. As if he does not yet know who he is, or is not ready to act on it.”
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