It was thus, that the Land known as Innominatan was formed and a tale of a morning within was revealed.
Hidden high in the hill country of Ostingale, Innominatan, and it’s small populace lives in relative peace. The Mayor’s family line was one of the few descended from those dark days in the Searing Plague. His ancestors had served at the forefront as undertakers, fighting the spread of infection and death. In the years that followed, they had lived in comfort in the small manor granted them inside this quiet hamlet.
Where although they were quiet on the outward appearance, it was spoken in whispers and with pride in their voices of the renowned dungeoneer who had assisted them in building their mine, making the underground structures there more viable and stable. More and more ore and minerals were pulled forth each year to the point that a wandering pair of martial smiths found themselves home here, working with the local blacksmith to craft detailed and exquisite works of art. Deadly yes, but no one could say that they were not of the finest make and beautiful as well.
With a growing mining industry, and the unexpected talents of a dungeoneer and of martialsmiths choosing to call his hamlet home, the Mayor had come up with a plan to prevent famine and disaster from befalling his land again. He needed to keep the people safe. His people safe.
Knowing he had the full support of the Duchess, he formed a band of travelling hunters, specializing in chasing bandits, monsters and all kinds of beasts that harried the people of his land. High in the steppes of Ostingale, buried deep within the militants of Drakeolm, a quiet, hidden hamlet would form the base of a veritable army of hunters and warriors. Taming or killing beasts of sizes only half-believed by the old women spinning scary tales to children, Innominatan’s hunters worked silently and tirelessly.
Protected by the hunters, the hamlet grew and prospered. The Mayor was a common sight, his trusty battlecat at his side. One day, checking on his apiary of Cardinal Bees along the way, he went to visit those few youth who had yet to apply themselves to any one trade. Hearing the ring of hammer on steel and the light roar of a fire he smiled and walked towards the acrid scent of the forge. As he passed the smithy, he waved to the blacksmith within and nodded to the two martial smith's at work (one at the grind wheel the other quietly polishing a blade). Pressing on through the area he came to the weaver’s storehouse full of flax and other fibers for the looms that kept his people clothed. Checking on the storehouse to ensure everything was fine he turned and continued on finding the builder at the well.
The builder was checking the foundation of the well, ensuring it’s integrity, Soon there would be more work for him, once the surveyor finished his work on the eastern hills to find the easiest and safest place to start building the road down to the rivers below. The builder smiled up at his pat on the shoulder and waved him on. He walked on to the small house at the end of the dirt road of the hamlet and found the nurse tending to the dungeoneer, his face awash in blood from a gash on his forehead. Seeing the Mayor, the dungeoneer grunted and tried to speak only to be hushed and told to stop moving by the nurse. “He was working on one of his traps when it triggered prematurely. The younglings are in the other room.” He lowered his head to her and shook at the dungeoneer with a grin before moving into the other room. The younglings were sitting by the fire waiting for his stories. He always told such good stories.
He sighed contentedly, looking at them all, and settled in by the fire. “Such a weird amalgamation,” he thought as he looked over the children. “Who would have thought the Neran would actually respect his tribes idea’s of communal ownership?” He worried when the Neran and Waerd began living together that there would be accusations of theft. Yet when the first ruminations of discontent began to be spoken of, the items were simply returned with a smile and pleasant words. Tools, food, people: all worked together in Innominatan to keep both the peace and survive. Things were quiet now, but we all knew that they wouldn’t always be so.
