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.
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