Windsong has a vast world with various regions, mainly, it has five distinctive territories with their own cultures. Caltheria, containing green lush land, plateau and bordered by mountainous plains as its natural barrier from the conquering northern empire. This western part of the world is always known to be a stable political zone and tranquil place to grow with strong chivalric code culture and their special knightly army who's blended magic and technology. One of the famous factions regarding this matter was the Iron March. A knight band originated from west that has painted their history with countless feats, such as toppling a rebellious duke in the past. Now, they were separated across the land and acting independent. Conclude their loyalty from Crown of Lysviel, to serve greater purpose.
Other notable factions in Caltheria are, Kingdom of Thalrindor, Queendom of Lysviel, Barony of Grenbell, The Ironcrest Duchy, and County of Caerwyn, and Drexmoor–a free city in borderline of Caltheria and Middland. These powerful powerhouses hold great development for the territory, although they may appear peacefully, they pretty much still try to assert dominance against others, without using warfare.
Move to Middland, an enormous lowland, suffered from the war-torn of warmongering nations who try to take over the land for themselves, additionally, northern spies often use this chaotic condition as a lube to destroy them without putting much effort. While they were also protected by a mountain range in the north, there was a checkpoint called the Black Gate, which became a great tension for both regions as they try to take over to gain more dominant and wide control. Always known for ages of bloodshed.
Most of these warlike nations are militarized kingdoms, noble houses and warlords. One of renowned factions is the Shattered Councils, which is a temporary coalition of warlords from any rogue races. They sometimes work as one to overthrow raising power while in everyday they were sworn enemies. If someone's ever wondered how did they get those resources and possibly money? They also serve as a mercenary and black market accommodation.
Shift to the eastern part of the world, a land of prosperity where trading is the main power over sword and sorcery, the market is their war, and gold is faster than blood flow, controlled by wealthy yet powerful oligarchies, Azarath. Blazing dunes are their domain, perfected by mesmerizing oases beyond the golden sand. The Guild of Seven Rings its name, dominated by seven influencing ruling powers of merchant lords, their money can solve and buy almost anything. Walk a little bit from its direct opposite, a paradise structured of highland and coastal, glistering ocean as far as the eyes can see, shimmered by dazzling sun that fall above them. In contrast to Azarath, its sand was crystal clear resembling freshly pearls hatched from a shell—Estalia.
Walking to the south, Verdessa, the wild fringe. Lush of jungles and swamps was home to many exotic species of flora and fauna—dangerous or friendly. But, it's more than that, this place also comprises hundreds of islands spread across the harsh ocean which is a battlefield of pirate coves—they sail, they raid, they conquer the seas full of whirlpool, storm and grave of formidable ships before them—buried in the abyss of uncharted depth. Verdessa also known to be the place that is most dominated by beastkin through various tribes and clans. Gave birth to hard breed warrior who's specialty relied on guerilla warfare and camouflage. Legend said, those who stepped inside this green hell won't come out anymore unless they were born for this.
At last, the northern part of the world, where winter was like a razor when hitting skin, skies were enclosed by thick pollution of industrial might, the land of the cold tyrant of the Imperium of Karsund lies—Nordgard. Every inch of this frozen ground was grasped tightly by the iron grip of the cold hearted Emperor who wish to conquer and unify all the nations under his banner. His inexhaustible army of machine and magic was a nightmare to behold, an unending threat that was always haunting before he gets what he wanted. there is not a piece of land that is not controlled, there is no powerful enemy to fear—motto of his unquenchable thirst of ambition that looming over the world.
Magnar sit silently within a hall of an elder house. Inside was not that huge, but still considered as the biggest house among the populace. The lighting is dim because there are only candles standing on several points such as living room, bedroom and kitchen. Margaret was there, sitting besides him. The aroma of candles lingered on the thin air, its soothing aroma of wild flowers long lasting as it spread to the very corner of the room.
Across the dim room, there, a clumsy old man standing. His withered hands carefully arrange the spices. His flow is smooth, but rugged as a whole. Slowly he went back and forth picking up some tea leaves for the honored guests, wobbly as he had a problem on his right leg. Sometimes he spilled out some water, sometimes he forgot things to add, this laughable scenario tingles Magnar's heart, but not as something funny, but rather, slowly burning into a disliked feeling or annoyed.
"How long have you lived here?" Magnar broke the silence. Margaret's tired eye meets him, another quiescent appear. Her pupils looked up to the sky try to think the answer and so she snapped. "I have lived here as long as I can remember." Magnar's frowned, that words definitely didn't answer his question. But, whatever it is, he knows she's been here too long.
Magnar straightened his position, once again try to dig something out of her. "Is this always happening? The raid, bandits?" His eyebrows raised. Yet, another silence is what seems to respond. He gritted his teeth. He might just try to force an old cog to back to its former function. He sighed in the end, defeated, leaned over rickety chair that sounds of its loosened joints are more louder than this woman.
"Yes... it's always like this." Her voice cracked through deafening void. Finally, an answer. "Why don't you seek help? Isn't the chief that supposed to responsible for each one of you?" Magnar interrogated her in every words she's about to speak. "We try, he's trying. But we were forgotten, we live on our own now, though... we have a lord actually." She said, eye down, sadness and fear can be seen in her eyes.
Magnar closer to her, slightly. "Who's this lord of yours? Why hasn't he done anything to protect you." She sighed, unsure how to tell. "This is... complicated more than you think. The local Baron is a corrupt man, he indulge in worldly sweet above our sweat and blood that he squeezed every last of them. This injustice had been here for a long time... we tried to fight, but he outmatched us in any aspect, most of us killed, the rest? Turned into slaves. There's nothing much we can do."
"How about the kingdom?!" Magnar voice raised, flinched the old man in the kitchen. He regained his compose back after a small show of burst. "I'm sorry about that." She shook her head. "It's alright." Margaret said. "The kingdom..." She paused. "Even the kingdom is no any better than the Baron. They were tyrants–we ruled under tyrannical power." Magnar clenched his fist, his hearth pumped for hatred. "Continue." He said. She inhaled some air and ready to tell him the bitter truth of that had shadowed them. "The brigands, bandits or whatever that had raid our village are in fact... their men. Yes, the king's own men."
"What!?" Magnar slammed a table, small crack appeared and flower vase fell off–scattered on the ground. the old man jumped, looking behind what had caused the havoc then turned back to finish those tea. Margaret just shed tears. The old man approached them, a silver tray on him, holding cups and a teapot with wiry hands, shaking.
He placed everything on messy table, try to forgot what has just happened. "Please... at least drink your tea. Let us calm our mind... then we shall continue to have this... what seems an important conversation." His hoarse and slightly wet voice sounded, almost inaudible. Magnar's hand grip tightly on the cup, fingers touched thin cold porcelain texture. It smooth as the feather, truly an artwork. He sips, inhaled the aromatic fragrance of jasmine and berries. Bitter, sour and sweet are chaotic yet powerful combinations to make one's tongue dancing, it's uniqueness unlike any tea he had tasted before, as he was not normally a tea drinker, this time, he needs to admire the miracle that is happening in his mouth. Perhaps, he should just call it a day for now.