Red Highlanders; accidentally recreating Alpha/Beta/Omega culture

Based on the original culture of the Brynthians but divergently evolved. This is the culture of the Highlanders, the Lassican culture the Xan'dun barbarians will be most accustomed to encountering.

Like Brynthians, the Highlanders are a culture of Military and Law. Unlike their more populous cousins, they have never escaped the psychology of War.

Blooded and Proven

The core ritual to their culture is the Whetting. 

The basic family unit of the Highlanders is the squadron. The populations of Superiors and children in each squadron is well controlled across generations. Pairings and births are all timed to occur within a certain range of each other. No one knows their parents. No one knows their children. None except the Men.

Until they come of age, all children are raised the same. They are allotted towards squadrons at birth. All of their Superiors share the responsibility. They are trained in military discipline and sword-dance. There are none amongst the Highlanders who cannot wield a blade or fall into rank.

Once the children are old enough, they are given a Whetting trial. What must be done depends on the child's direct superiors, but there are always similarities. The child is watched closely, the child must be able to work with their siblings, and each child must personally slay another living being. Trials are often passed down through each squadron.

Within the Command of the Highlanders, there exist three "genders". 

Men, Wor-men, and Kho-dur-men. 

Those that fail become Men.

Men

There are many ways to fail the Whetting. 

Inability to take the life of another living being. Acts of self sacrifice when it is tactically superior to keep one's self alive. Acts of selfishness when self sacrifice would benefit the whole. Insistence on feeding your pup when both are on the brink of starvation. Trembling hands which drop your blade as your siblings move to guard your vulnerability. That sort of thing.

You will recognize them by their long headwraps, meant to secure their long hair; it will never be cut. They provide much of the scribing, gentle and detailed forms of work, performance of emotional labor for their Superiors, and, most importantly, the record keeping of pairings within and between squadrons. 

It is they who practice the healing art and the mathematics of genealogy. It is their work which ensures the correction and maintenance of population between squadrons. The optimization of public health. The ratio of Men, Wor-men, and Kho-dur-men across the Command. The specialization of personalities towards specific duties and roles. 

Most outsiders would find them pleasant but boring. They are excellent listeners, but rarely express thoughts outside their fixations upon you. If there is some burden upon your heart, you may find yourself soon surrounded by the soft touches and humming melodies of Men.

It would be considered an oppressive existence to their Brynthian cousins. Not because of any malice; squadrons often take very dutiful and devoted care of their Men. It is their apparent position within the social layer. They are not their own. They seem to hold no true power within the Command. 

This is a myopic interpretation. Each role of the Command fulfills its own role with purpose and precision. All Highlanders, particularly the Men, accept their duties. After all, the cohesion between their people relies entirely on them.

Some of this foreign assumption, to be sure, is related to the attitudes and expectations set upon them. However, the greatest reason is a limit of communication.

Men are never taught the true language of Command.

Wor-men

Those who pass the Whetting are Wor-men. 

Wor-men continue their training in the sword-dance and the use of tactics to overcome their enemies.

You will know them by their aventails and linen scarves. Their helms almost never leave their heads. For those who have the opportunity to see them doff their armor, their shaved scalps immediately give them away. 

To see the face of a Highlander is no small thing. The face of an individual is trivial to the unity of the squadron and the Command. To be seen as truly human, in the singular, is very intimate. Being offered giant centipede eggs poached in goat marrow broth by a stoic, shaved Wor-men without their armor, sword tucked away, is a sign of deep cherishment. 

They are the laborers, farmers, blacksmiths, mass cooks, and Warriors of the Command.

All Wor-men know the Sword Tongue. It is sharp, to the point, quick, and leaves no room for misinterpretation. A beautiful craft of military communication. 

The Sword Tongue speaks in offense and defense. 

Many words within the Sword Tongue contain the sound we would associate with the letter R. Alveolar trills indicate aggression, attack, prosecution. Lack of a trill indicates defense, passivity, patience. You may notice that while Wor-men and Kho-dur-men both allow for this distinction, Men do not. They can not be offensive.

Sharp falls in pitch when speaking indicate objectivity and material matters. A smooth fall in pitch followed by a rise indicates subjectivity and abstract matters. Though, what is abstact to a Wor-men may not be clear to an outsider. Armistice, for example, is as material to the Wor-men as the swords they fight with.

All can speak it, but to learn the Sword Tongue from Wor-men would leave you with a crippled understanding of the language. This is because they refrain from the breadth of its full use. Converse with a Wor-men and you will find that they only speak in the present and with lengthy periods of exposition. Outsiders would find them boring too. If there is any sense that the Wor-men are capable of analysis beyond problem solving, they do not give it away. 

The language of time and morality belongs to the Kho-dur-men.

Kho-dur-men

Kho-dur-men are not made during the Whetting. They are selected and groomed from the most promising Wor-men, long before the Whetting is ever given.

It is the privileged duty of Men to calculate, sow, track, and cultivate the Kho-dur-men before their births and throughout their childhoods. These particular children are tested throughout their lives. Some are simply carriers for future generations. Others take Command.

You will know them by their masks. They do not wear aventail helm-scarves. Each has a unique mask, passed down through previous squadron generations, emblematic of their rank.

The greatest of the Kho-dur-men rise in Command and trade their masks. They are fearless blade-dancers and sword-saints. But any Wor-men can be skilled in combat. What makes the Kho-dur-men special is their ability to pass Judgement.

Judgement is the understanding of right and wrong. Morality, and all its possible lenses. The use of the precedence of the past to inform the goals of the future. The use of context and perspective to dig for the objective and subjective truths. The ability to use this information and pass Command over your warriors to execute a vision. This is accomplished with the final layer of the Sword Tongue.

The final third axis of the Sword Tongue involves past and future. It is not carried in any particular tone shifts, but in generalized rhythm and style of speech. Contemplative and reminiscent rhythms indicate the past and precedence. Zealous and passionate rhythms indicate a vision of future goals. 

It is the combination of these three axes which allow Judgement. Any subjective tone implies that the matter at hand awaits trial and Judgement. 

"Guilt" and "Innocence" (best understood as fundamental immorality/morality to the Command) are both spoken of objectively and with past rhythms. Guilt is spoken with a prosecution's done, while Innocence is spoken in defense. 

Spoken in future rhythms, Guilt is best translated as a conception of Hell. "Not the future". Existential blindness. Extinction. Void. It does not exist. Innocence in future rhythms becomes Vision. The Path. Victory. Home. Human. It is their future; of this they are absolutely certain from the moment they speak it.

It is the Kho-dur-men who earn the right to reflect on the abstract past which is no longer material. To set desired goals in the abstract future that is yet to be material. To improve the tactics of combat drilled into the Wor-men as objective fact. To shape the methods and goals of the Men. This is their most important duty.

Children of the Sword God

Unlike their Lowland cousins. The Highlanders of Galacriq still worship the Sword God Kha-ra-dar, The Steel River Which Severs Fate.

His hand and influence is not to be taken without measure. His only talent is death. His art is Extinction. His name is only spoken of in intonations of the aggressor. Calligraphic slaughter is his preferred form of worship; this is known as the sword-dance.

Most words are derived from the old Lassican root word for the sword. Farming tools are modified swords for specific function. Teeth are miniature swords for food. Humans are sword wielders. Fate and extinction both arise from the root word. Shields are deemed tools to delay Fate. It is always assumed that any shield, barrier, or wall can be overcome. That which is stagnant cannot resist erosion by a thousand endless blades.

All Highlanders learn to defend themselves with offense. Parries, ripostes, deflections, confusion. One must always flow and dance. Like a sword perfectly positioned to slice through a soft belly, a true follower of the Sword God must align themselves with the edge of Fate and ride the momentum of the heavens to sever the Visions of your enemies.

Calligraphy is the second tool of the Sword God; just as sacred but far more subtle. It is the method by which you crystallize your Vision into the material world. Words, once spoken, may drift about and scatter. The essence of the ink brush may survive through time. One tool to sever the material and the abstract. Another to bring them back together. 

The greatest of his children are Sword-Saints. There is a strange contradiction to the rigid culture of the Highlanders and the flow their God's philosophy. Still, Fate works itself out. You may find a Saint in deep meditation by a flowing river, dancing to the movements of the wind spirits. Study them, if you can. You may find a truly timeless writing left in the extinction-carvings of their blade across the flesh of the material world. They may have danced there since before you were born, locked in a Vision that cuts away all Fates of their death. Free from all material needs, riding the razor edge of abstract existence. 

Cultures From Below

A page to help familiarize you all with the "known" cultures, creatures, and travelers of the Veins. None of these should be considered complete information, but it will give you what most of the tribes know of each particular thing. Of course, it is assumed these are biased entries.

To be updated over time as you encounter more.

Ælf Adal: Hauntingly beautiful. Cruel. Utterly inhuman. They are born of the Nightmare mirror beneath the surface. They are urbane and fond of insane sorceries. It is said by some that every human cruelty was taught and made by an Ælf Adal. They hate us. They hate to an unfathomable degree; never forget this. They appear as beautiful humans devoid of any color. Skin of impenetrable pitch. Hair of glowing white. They seek to usurp the waking world and plunge the world into Nightmare; all are certain they will succeed.

Dvargir: All dwarves are to some extent, mindless. Focused on few things besides their endless toil. Though some of their thoughts are somewhat human, the range of expression is horrifically small. The Dvargir are even more so. They face only the future; one in which only they and their Work exists. A Dvargir will only make a deal with you if they are statistically-No, mathematically certain that it will forward the Work. It may not be in your lifetime, nor theirs, but it will happen. They are exclusively literal in meaning. There can be no bargain; only cause and effect. They are not cruel, only apathetic to others. None take more slaves than the Dvargir; it is Natural. The Ælf Adal hate them as well; the Dvargir find the Ælf Adal an inconvenience.

Knotsmen: Cursed. Cursed. Cursed. Do not associate with a Knotsman. Never accept any trade with a Knotsman. It would be better if they were all swallowed by Mother Mountain. They will always Lie. It is a waste of life to speak to them; no words of humanity shall ever reach their twisted hearts. They were Greedy, long ago. Made a tainted Sacrifice. Sacrificed their children, their children's children. They deny its cost though they know of it. They cannot bear to face their ignorance.

The Olm: Not human, and yet perhaps more human than anything else Below. They are blind. Skin slippery and soft like a frog. They make little noise and rarely are seen in any daylight. Swim down through caves long enough and they shall find you. The Tribes have often traded with them; well made wood is a precious tool for them. If you are beloved by them, then they shall eat your body upon your death; they understand Hunger and Sacrifice.

Milk-Skin-Traders: They live on the Nightmare Sea, in their pleasure barges. Entirely human. Somehow, the only people of the Nightmare Sea the tribes have ever seen are these repugnant, fat, traders. They do not truly understand Sacrifice. They merely understand how to calculate its "worth". You will know them by their pain scales. They use slaves, but it is no special thing; most prefer the use of white pack apes.

Calcinated Cancer Bear: Beautiful creatures of an age before the world Burned. They crept beneath the soil to escape and were permanently changed. They seek out flame to sooth their aching growths. All live in pain; all are still dangerous. The Frostbitten Bastard tribe is known to test their heroes by sending them into indefinite exile until they return with the pelt of such a creature. There is some nobility in ending its continuous suffering.

The Rapture: From the moment you stepped into the Underworld, it began to hunt you. It will find you at your most desperate. Alone. Starved. Lost. You have seen it before, even if you did not know. Lurking in the flickering shadows of a dying fire. In the cold abyss of the cave where you were forced to leave behind your family. In the nervous sweat of your brow when the cave wall slips out from beneath your groping foot. It cannot bleed. It has no flesh to slay. It invades the mind and takes your flesh as its own. You will be forced to kill and die by your own hand.

All who go Below must face it eventually. You make invoke its Name and call it to you, if you are certain you can ward it off. But you must face it.

Tribes of the Hungry Mountain

Xan'dun is what the urbane Nikali of the inner mountains call them. A cute nickname for their "rural" cousins on the edges of the Ryvanwall. The Highlanders of Galacriq call them the Spear (sword-staff) People. To all others they are merely barbarians.

The Xan'dun themselves refer to each other by their specific tribal names. An infinite number of microcultures populate the Ryvanwall. Each unique, within a certain degree of variation. 

The following notes on Xan'dun culture is meant to assist players in understanding what degree of cultural interpretation is up to their whims.

1. All tribes have heroes, warriors, and shamans.
2. Most tribes do not have a god that they follow; their particular culture is based on the knowledge and rituals of their shamans.
3. A tribe does not survive without its shamans.
4. Exile is the most extreme form of punishment, beyond death. Only a shaman may Exile you, and you are Doomed.
5. All are, to some extent, nomadic. The Mountain shifts and changes.
6. Concepts such as institutions, formalized laws, and other concrete abstractions of the city are difficult to comprehend.
7. All have felt starvation and thirst at least once.
8. All have lost loved ones and tribemates.
9. Perpetual growth and gain is considered unlucky. It is best to change; all gain requires sacrifice. If not given, something else will be taken eventually.
10. They have no trouble understanding malice and desperation.
11. Conservation of food, light, warmth, and stories is extremely important. All of these have been sacrificed for.
12. Never share something you have sacrificed for with someone who does not understand the gravity of that sacrifice.
13. Sacrifice is virtue. Ignorance of this is complete immorality.
14. Truth, derived from Sacrifice, is sacred.
15. All have taken a life. All have fed and drank from this sacrifice.
16. Your tribe: born into or made, is the most important unit of social life.
17. Bonding is done so by understanding the loss and sacrifice of another; anything sacrificed for, freely given, is a most precious and personal gift.
18. Every tribe has its own unique art form. It is somewhat derived from the rituals of the shamans, but everyone in the tribe knows this art form.

Impact on gameplay:

• All players of these tribes start with a skill level 5 for climbing, pole falling, and vaulting
• They are of one of the few humans who can eat human flesh for sustenance. Proper sacrifice and ritual must be observed; if so they do not become ghouls. Exiles and those who eat without Empathy are subject to the sickness; forever cursed to hunger they are.

These are not the nomadic steppe tribes that inspired most barbarians, or the Germanic/Scandinavian cultures that have crept into modern barbarian imprints. These tribes have walked out of a dream of neolithic hunter-gatherers. 

Beyond the general themes listed above and the particular attributes of the tribe chosen by the players during character creation, other cultural aspects are entirely up to the players as they play their characters. For example, the art form may be of anything the player desires.