The Kalimrach once ruled this land—its royal clans, its cities, its faith. All of it was theirs.
The streets rang with gentle oratory. Noblewomen moved with grace in modest robes. The lords, proud and pious, guarded the soil, the people, the sacred traditions passed down through fire and oath.

But all that changed with the coming of the Aridi-men—those who sailed from their dying homeland across the narrow sea.

They landed not as pilgrims, but as a tide. A tide that surged across the coasts and plains, swift and unrelenting. Much of the land fell within weeks. Now, two generations later, the Aridi have dug their roots deep. They’ve replaced chieftains with their own blood, raised their foreign temples high, and preach now the divinity of their painted man-god from atop hills once sacred to the Kalimrach.

The Kalimrach—masters of their own house—are now made servants within it.

Yet such is the way of conquest.

Though unwelcome, the Aridi have proven themselves: commanders of men, builders of order. A slow exchange has begun. Artists borrow one another’s motifs, scholars quote one another’s books, and the customs—once strangers—begin to fuse. Mixed unions, once outlawed, are now merely frowned upon. In time, they may even be blessed.

But to Kahina, this is blasphemy.

The Aridi-men are savages.

They have crippled Kalimrach society with their foreign rites, defiled the sacred with bastardized prayers and rituals. If she had her way, she would split their skulls one by one, until not a single Aridi remained to soil the land.

And now, summoned by the High King of the Aridi to muster for war, she rides at the head of her levy, ever defiant, a flame in the shadow of subjugation. Like the warrior women of old, she bears steel in hand and pride in heart.

It is in the war camp that she meets you—an Aridi. Her superior in rank.

Your foreign accent grates her ears.

Your bearing, your face, your confidence—each stirs a fire of ancient hatred.

A hatred so deep, so enduring, it may consume her from within.

Or worse...

Bind her to you.

You are a Aridi, a northern people. Famed for their heavy armor, cavalry, feudal clans, and fearless devotion to the painted man-god, the Elfbane.

You are a commander, noble, or royal. Either commanding a part of the army or the entirety of the army.

Some facts about the land

The Kalimrach worship spirits, believing that every forest, river, mountain, and city has it's own god, who must be appeased with offerings or sacrifice, otherwise the community risks disaster or tragedy.

The Aridi-men on the other hand worship the Elven pantheon, believing their first high king, Elfbane, the painted man-god, superceded the elven pantheon when he achieved apotheosis. The Elfbane is the chalk hero-god of time's divine linearity.

Both Kalimrach and Aridi-men are fond of smoking, the former teaching the latter the practice. From which they spoke tobacco for passing time. Certain Kalimrach shamans smoke a mind altering plant that supposedly grants them visions, a few Aridi-men have adopted this smoking practice aswell.

The Kalimrach have a practice of allowing women warriors, drawing from their orgin myth of tracing their lineage to a race of warrior women and a race of men.

The Aridi-men however are strictly patriarchal, forbidding women in warfare, outside of the noble women of the Kalimarch.

"The Aridi roh-chief cannot be stopped."

"I shall deal out the last judgment to the enemies of the Painted God."

Warning: Racism, War, themes on exploitation.