Name:
Jonaçoat

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Location:


History:
Jonaçoat was a land of remarkable vistas and a stunning landscape, of rich soil and abundant timber. The earth was ripe with metallic fruits. Old adventurers before the deluge returned to their old imperial masters speaking in awe about a land made by and for the gods. In the days when man was still pious, such a landscape was regarded as the hunting grounds of the great world spirits and they were avoided except only for sacred pilgramages through its verdant valleys at the foot of towering pillars of stone thrust upward in ancient times. Men who returned remarked continuously on the majesty of the marble buttes that shot up to hold aloft the sky, and how the rivers were so rich with raw gold one need only to reach out and touch the pebbles at the bottom of the river beds and they could take out a fistful of raw gold.

As piety transformed into avarice and greed the relationship to this territory changed and simple long distance religious appreciation turned to material colonization as the empires before the deluge reached out with their hands to grasp at wide swathes of this holy land fertile in all ways and they began to swing their axes into the trees, bury their mines into its soil, and turn over the law with their hoes and plows. Before long the landscape was no longer that of quiet rectitude in search of a spiritual guidance but became the focal point in shifting political design as blood was spilled over it. Cities were raized and fortresses erected. The marble and white granite butes became a forest of flags as armies contested it in frequent warfare and merchants clattered over its roads seeking and bringing out its wealth in raw materials and the finest wines.

The defilement of the Jeweled Lands ma have been one of the reasons the gods sought to eradicate mankind and brought their sadness and their grief upon them, filling the valleys with water until the surf raked against the majestic buttes, swamping farms and filling mines. The farmers and soldiers of the valleys began their climb up into the highlands as their pillars to heaven became rocks at sea and the raging storms began tearing down many. And in a country bristling with fortresses at every high pass all came to them and they filled to capacity. Guard captains become defacto kings as their liege lords disappeared beyond the long gray distance of rain and storm.

The storms subsided and the seas again lowered. But not to their old level. As the descendants of the battered and wounded people who had fled returned to their ancestral homes they found their old land a swamp and they believed that there would be none of which was passed down to them in legend. But time, or the gods had other plans; whether in forgiveness or as a second trial. Life did return to the valleys and a depressed people found themselves with new farms, and new forests.

The first man to proclaim himself came to settle in the ruins of the fort he called the Castle Jamais. He, Priodoc I would found a dynasty that'd last a century and be filled with its own champions and men of legends. While little more than barbarians, the activities of Pirodoc and his sons would become the basis of songs. The Song of Pirodoc, where the great cannibals of Castle Samoix were exterminated for taking hostage and devouring the family of a local cow herd, whose sole survivor and youngest daughter Rachel would become Pirodoc's first wife. Their son Charlon would embark on a dangerous voyage by boat to nearby islands and is said to have fought men who had become one with the fish and exterminated their kingdom, saving a village of haggard boat people who made him a saint. Diaclordoc who went to bed with twenty women and fathered a hundred children, who were all bastards but became the first knights of his court.

The line of Priodoc would come to an end with the passing of Pirodoc III who was shot by a crossbow through the eye at a tournament and slipped from life on his sickbed sixteen hours later, his wife giving birth to his son six months later, but by then the family line had passed from rule.

In the intervening generations and centuries civilization reasserted and what was the low barbarity of the Pirodocs became mere romantic memory and the subject of a thousand local fables retold and maintained by bands of troubadours who lauded the Pirodocs for their bravery, or issued their stories as tales of warning for the people. As the lands further recovered from the great deluge and the terrors of the long rains subsided even further into memory, from terrifying story to distant antiquated legends the vintages of the ancient Jonaic returned. Further, the natural wealth of the deep earth returned to the surface as prospectors came to find golden and jeweled nuggets washing up along their tidal beaches and in old stream beds and rocks. The name Jonaçoat came to use as the influence of the old castle, now grand city of Jamais blossomed from an independent polity to the seat of a kingdom.

Today, song and romance bloom in the Jeweled Coast, in Jonaçoat. With the tales of the Great Deluge and of the deeds of the Pirodocs joining one another in mutual canon the nobility sees itself as defenders of pious virtue under the auspicious watch of the White Mother. This distinction does not come without its pitfalls, for as easily impressed with the cautionary tale brought by the Deluge there then is too the inspiration of romantic endearment by those of the Pirodocs.

History:
The Khurasanid Highlands were, for thousands of years, ruled by a collection of smaller Kingdoms and Empires who saw it as a region to exploit for its fantastic creatures, wide spread vistas, and huge old-growth forests that stretched beyond the sight of any mortal. Mineral wealth washed down from the Highlands, bringing great luxury to regions like Jonaçoat, and only the bravest climbed into the deep woods. That was until the rains came.

When the Great Deluge began there was a single city, Rashidun, translated into the common tongue as "The Smoke that Thunders", perched on the edge of the Highlands, surrounded on all sides by mighty rivers. As the rain hammered down the rivers and their nexus at a mighty series of waterfalls ultimately saved the city. As the kingdoms of men in the lowlands began to drown, the displaced citizens began to force their way into the highlands only to find a great delta forming that thwarted their attempts to master it.

King and Emperors demanded that Rashidun throw open her gates but the folk within refused and, led by their Queen, Māwiyya, they fought a spirited defense until the rivers at last grew to much for their enemies, forcing them to withdrew in disorder. The people of Rashidun began to pray that day, to give thanks, as they had not done in many hundreds of years, a call to the gods for their deliverance. One, Kibibi, heard their prayers, and the raging waters never pierced the city walls.

When the rains faded and the sun came out once again, Rashidun still stood and the populace erected a great temple to honour the gods on the cities southern edge, offering yearly human sacrifice to Kibibi for her favour. Even as the city was saved, the Highlands themselves began to drain into the ocean and the mighty delta and swamps that had saved Rashidun revealed a new and wonderful landscape to be claimed by those who had survived.

As another day dawns, the people of Rashidun have grown to become a powerful Caliphate, ruled still by the bloodline of Māwiyya that saved them so long ago. The Highlands, once isolated from the lowlands by towering cliffs, maintains a stunning vista of white sand beaches protected by the savage rock formations below surface. Only a few safe harbours allow ships to drop anchor and they are closely guarded by the Rashi. The island is a fortress unto itself with with a yearly Monsoon that sweeps the interior, and heavy fog that rolls through, clinging to the mountains and treetops. The locals say that the fog are the spirits of those who drowned when the world was reborn. It is a constant reminder of how close they, as people, came to extinction.

Post Catalogue:
1. Training for the Trials

The Hatui were once a modest people, living simple lives as goat herders in the high places of the world. They were long subjugated by other, more advanced civilizations and toiled beneath the heavy boot of thralldom and oppression. Their only solace was in their gods, marked out in the starry skies above, watching over them in solemn silence. As decades of slavery turned into centuries, the Hatui were hardened, and a strong belief in strength through unity of faith and culture evolved. They had perhaps been subdued as a people, but their way of life would endure.

Then came the floods.

As the deluge turned the valleys and lowlands first into lakes and later into seas, the Hatui became more and more isolated from their previous masters. With the isolation came freedom and autonomy, and although the people suffered from the drowning rains there was also a kind of spiritual renaissance or awakening among them. For the first time in remembered history they were the masters of their own fate, such as it was. The former herders adapted to the new world, becoming fishermen and sailors. But as the yoke of oppression was lifted, the struggle for power emerged. While still being united in their way of life, settlements began waging wars and skirmishes against each other for control of territory and resources. During a large part of their modern history, the Hatui were constantly fighting among themselves.

At the end of the era of infighting, some of the settlements began venturing into the outside world, discovering other kingdoms and peoples. Where the Hatui had once been isolationist, they slowly became more cosmopolitian, welcoming trade and interactions with foreign actors. Far from all of these interactions were peaceful, however, as the Hatui had become warlike during their long period of strife. It was soon not rare to hear of Hatuan raids on coastal villages and ports, where buildings were burned and people taken slaves. Some foreign nations took advantage of the circumstances and employed Hatuan corsairs as privateers, sending them to harrass their rivals.

Today, the Hatui are known for their brutality and are sometimes referred to as the Corsair Kings by outsiders. They are a people that are as likely to trade with you as strike you down and steal your possessions. Traversing through their territories is a dangerous venture as pirates could appear at any time, but still people try. The larger settlements on the Hatui islands are said to hold some of the greatest markets seen in the world, and the rumor is that anything can be bought there if you have the money to spare.

And still, after all this time, the heart of the Hatuan culture has endured. They still pray to the same gods and employ the same principles of morality today as they did almost a millennia ago.