Heimskript

The Peoples of Heimshuhl live in uneasy proximity, their histories marked as much by conflict as by cooperation. Humans press ever outward with their settlements and machines, earning resentment and suspicion, especially from the Oldan, whose wandering caravans see such technology as reckless and corrosive to the natural order. The Kehkal remain more distant, their society veiled in mystery, yet their air of superiority colors every encounter, breeding friction even where little is understood. Trade, necessity, and survival bind these peoples together, but trust among them is scarce, and their alliances seldom endure untested.

Humans are the most numerous and expansionist of Heimshuhl’s peoples, spreading across the continent in kingdoms, empires, city-states, and frontier settlements. Their civilizations are built on agriculture, trade, and an increasingly industrial base, with advances in metallurgy, airshipbuilding, and machinery beginning to transform daily life. Unlike the nomadic Oldan or the elusive Kehkal, humans build permanent cities and push outward, often straining relations with their neighbors.

Human societies are highly varied, but many share common traits: rigid social hierarchies, rapid industrial growth, and reliance on trade networks that span the continents. Great cities with factories, rail-lines, and slums coexist with rural provinces and frontier towns that struggle for survival on the margins. Magic is less common among humans than among other peoples and tends to be taught in universities, guilds, or temples, where it is regulated and sometimes mistrusted.

Relations with other peoples are frequently uneasy. The Oldan trade when necessary but are wary of human technology and distrust their machines. The Kehkal maintain a distant air of superiority but do trade with human merchants, though always on their own terms. Humans themselves are divided, with rival states clashing as often with one another as with outsiders.

The Kekhal are a bird-like species with round bodies, large eyes, hooked beaks, and clawed hands and feet. Their plumage is thick, spiked, and brightly colored, often forming dramatic crests along the head and back. Feathers cover most of their form, with denser tufts on the torso and limbs, while their eyes dominate the face and give them a wide, unblinking stare.

Though widely assumed to be forest-dwellers, no Kekhal settlements have ever been found, and none of their architecture, markers, or roads have been confirmed. They appear in human towns without warning, trade briefly, and vanish the same day. Some arrive with wagons drawn by domesticated kuras, yet no one has ever seen them travel between towns or return the way they came. They trade with humans on their own terms and, by all accounts, deal more comfortably and consistently with the Oldan.

Their names are extraordinarily long and intricately structured, often sounding to human ears like whole phrases with internal breaks and tones. Most humans cannot pronounce them, and the Kekhal consider careless truncations disrespectful. When a nickname is truly necessary, the Kekhal may provide one themselves; using any shortened form they did not grant is taken as an insult.

Smaller groups of Kehkal scholars have taken interest in humanity itself, studying languages, laws, and customs. These scholars speak Nelvii fluently, but their tone carries a persistent undercurrent of superiority, as though humanity were a subject of research rather than an equal partner.

The Oldan are an extremely long-lived nomadic people who move across Heimshuhl in caravans, living by trade, foraging, and hunting. Their appearance is strikingly close to human women, though their vivid, feathered hair sets them apart. They are wary of human expansion and suspicious of human technology, preferring the freedom of the road to settled life.

According to their own mythology, the Oldan came to this world through the Voie Celestre, the Celestial Way. They claim not to be native to Heimshuhl but travelers who crossed from elsewhere, though where that path leads remains unknown. To them, this migration is not myth but history, one that explains both their difference from other peoples and their refusal to root themselves in permanent settlements.

Oldan society is communal and egalitarian. Leadership exists in the form of caravan heads and councils of elders, but authority is fluid, decisions made collectively rather than imposed. They refer to each other as “sisters,” when speaking Nelvii, but it's only a loose translation of a much more nuanced Oldan term, that carries no connotation of gender.

Their tripartite sex system, Ravai (who provide seed), Sola (who provide eggs), and Vire (who carry children), plays little role outside of reproduction. All three are visually indistinguishable, all share the same roles in work, leadership, and ritual. The Oldan have no social hierarchies based on sex, and the concept of “gender” as humans understand it strikes them as unnecessary. Some adopt masculine or neutral pronouns when speaking Nelvii, but these choices seem more about personal expression than identity. To the Oldan, every member of their people is simply a “sister,” equal in voice and worth, and human obsessions with gender roles and categories are regarded as strange, even a little comical.

Relations with others are shaped by caution. The Oldan trade herbs, crafts, and knowledge with human towns but avoid dependence on them. With the Kekhal they seem to share mutual respect, though they keep the nature of that bond private. Above all, the Oldan value self-sufficiency and the freedom of the road.

Often called Congregants, the New Voluskar Order presents itself as a restoration of an ancient faith, though many argue it is less a revival than a reinvention. Its founder was a minor Fyrisian nobleman, his original name stricken from the Federation’s records, who rebranded himself as Voluspir Valdriksen. Claiming visions from Wyrdikk, Enfyra, and Gharr, he declared that he alone had been commanded to restore the true church through the Volsaga, a text said to descend from the long-vanished Voluskar Order.
The Volsaga itself was allegedly retranslated from an earlier source that, if it ever existed, has now been lost. The version embraced by the Congregants is greatly expanded and contains heavy revisions from the earliest manuscripts known to scholars. What had once been a fragmented collection of mystical verses has been reshaped into a comprehensive codex of ritual and law, conveniently aligned with the ambitions of the Order.
Voluspir’s revelations won him converts but also enemies. Repeatedly framing political setbacks as persecution, he cultivated a sense of embattled chosenness among his followers. When pressure from Fyrisian magistrates became too great, the Congregants abandoned their homeland in what they styled as an exodus, migrating eastward.
They eventually settled in the region now called Voluspa, where they established a theocratic state on lands long held by the native Illvyrkians. Local traditions were suppressed or absorbed, while the Congregants imposed their strict religious structure and recast their conquest as divine mandate.
At its heart, the Order insists that true piety demands rigid ritual and moral conformity. Weekly services, purification rites, and carefully staged festivals reinforce this identity, but also serve as public displays of control. Critics argue that the Order’s emphasis on purity and discipline is less a path to the gods than a mechanism for obedience, stifling personal devotion and erasing older cultural traditions.

The New Voluskar Order teaches that all existence moves in perpetual rhythm between three realms: Brunark, Heimshuhl, and Isrik. This trinity forms the foundation of Voluspan theology and defines the moral geometry through which the faithful understand life, death, and purpose.

Brunark, the realm of flame, is said to be the radiant seat of the gods and the final resting place of the righteous. It is not merely a paradise but a plane of continual creation, where divine will burns eternally and the faithful are remade in purity. Voluskan scripture describes Brunark as a city of living fire where Wyrdikk sits in council with the other Asin, shaping the destiny of all realms through the Halgar Flame.

Heimshuhl, the mortal world, occupies the center of the cosmic cycle. It is both trial and preparation, where souls are tested by choice, toil, and faith. Existence here is viewed as deliberate refinement—a crucible through which mortals prove their worth to ascend the Path of Fire or fall upon the Path of Ice.

Isrik, the frozen realm of exile, is the mirror opposite of Brunark. It is a place of stillness and silence, where light itself is said to freeze. The condemned are sent there not for eternal torment but for penitence and reflection. In the Order’s doctrine, punishment in Isrik purges the stain of rebellion, allowing the soul, if truly contrite, to return to Heimshuhl and begin the cycle anew.

Souls walking the Path of Fire ascend toward Brunark through obedience, discipline, and service to divine order. Those upon the Path of Ice descend through defiance, heresy, or hubris. Redemption lies not in suffering alone but in recognition of error and renewed devotion to the Flame. Thus, even the damned are not beyond salvation—only those who reject it.

The Order’s priesthood serves as custodians of this cosmic balance, guiding mortals toward the fire’s light and away from the ice’s silence. Their rituals symbolize this duality: flame for purification, water for reflection, and stone for endurance between the two.

Other faiths devoted to the Asin share the three-realm cosmology but interpret it with less rigidity. The Ernari, for instance, regard Isrik not as punishment but as renewal, while the Fornsid reject the entire schema as later invention, claiming it replaced a far older cycle tied to the turning of stars. Even within the Order, dissenting scholars whisper that Brunark and Isrik may be metaphors rather than places, representing states of soul rather than geography.

Still, to the faithful of Voluspa, the triad remains absolute truth: flame for ascension, frost for repentance, and mortal life as the bridge between.

Older even than the New Voluskar Order, the Ernari were once the dominant sect in what is now called Voluspa. Their prominence collapsed during the Congregant campaigns of forced conversion, when their faith was branded heresy and their sanctuaries were defiled. Many fled across the sea to the western continents or north to the Fyrisian Federation, where their enclaves endure to this day. In Voluspa itself, only Koltja’s Cove remains, a hidden township that has eluded the Order’s grasp for centuries.
The Ernari are devoted to Koltja, whom the wider world reviles as a deceiver. To the Ernari she is not malevolent but misunderstood, a goddess of change, and compassion. Her myths teach that truth wears many faces, that appearances deceive, and that the divine cannot be bound to a single form. Where others see only trickery, the Ernari see transformation as a sacred gift.
One of their most controversial beliefs is that gender, like Koltja herself, is not fixed. They hold that the body and the soul may not always align, and that both can change. Most adherents do not pursue such changes, yet they honor the possibility as holy. Those who do seek it find support within Ernari communities, where ritual, magic, and patient guidance provide a path for the body to better mirror the self within. Outsiders often exaggerate these powers, telling tales of sudden and miraculous metamorphosis. In truth, Ernari transformations are gradual, rooted in devotion, and deeply personal.
The Ernari are also famed for their healing craft, which they see as inseparable from their faith. To them, true healing is not simply the mending of flesh but the restoration of harmony between body and spirit. Their healers are sought even beyond their secluded halls, though they rarely extend their gifts to those who scorn their goddess.

The Fornsid are less a church than a fellowship. Where the Hearthfaith preserves traditions through custom and song, the Fornsid dedicate themselves to what they call the Urtru, the first faith of Heimshuhl. To them, the Asin are not true gods but pretenders and interlopers who usurped the devotion once given to the Old Gods.
Not all adherents are seekers. Many are simple worshippers who honor fragments of ancient rites as acts of devotion, trusting that even broken prayers carry weight. They leave offerings at ruined shrines, chant half-remembered verses at the turning of seasons, and keep the symbols of the Old Gods in their homes.
Among them are those who wander further, lorekeepers and rune-singers who search ruins, scrolls, and the memories of the Hearthfolk for fragments of what was lost. These seekers share what they find in hidden gatherings held in groves, ruins, or secluded halls, slowly piecing together what they believe were once the true names, rites, and powers of the Old Gods.
The Fornsid have no temples, no priests, and no hierarchy. Their unity lies in a single conviction: that the Asin are usurpers, and that one day the Old Gods will be remembered.
In most lands they are tolerated, dismissed as dreamers or eccentrics. In Voluspa, however, the New Voluskar Order condemns them as heretics. Fornsid gatherings there are hunted down, their shrines defaced, their singers silenced. Yet persecution only deepens their resolve, and many cling to the belief that the Old Gods will one day rise to cast judgment on those who denied them.

Within the Federation, the gods are honored through the Hofrad, a council of priestly colleges formally recognized and regulated by the state. Each god is served by a college responsible for rites, shrines, and seasonal ceremonies. These colleges are not isolated; they gather in the Hofrad to preserve balance between divine favor and civic order.
The Hofrad does not demand weekly worship or personal confession. Its role is public and ritualistic: processions at planting and harvest, sacrifices at the solstice, ceremonies of oaths and treaties. The gods are honored to safeguard the Federation’s prosperity, not to police private lives.
Each college has its own ranks, with leaders chosen by the Convention of the Hofrad. The Colleges of Wyrdikk, Skyrda, and Veya carry the most influence, but none may act without the assent of the Hofrad as a whole. This prevents any one priesthood from rising above the rest, though it also makes the council slow to adapt.
Critics argue that the Hofrad’s careful balance reduces devotion to little more than pageantry. Defenders counter that the gods are best served by thoughtful devotion, and not zealotry. In practice, the Hofrad represents a middle path: less rigid than the New Voluskar Order, more formal than the Hearthfaith, and enduring so long as the Federation itself lives on.

The Hearthfaith is not a church in the strict sense but a living patchwork of customs, feasts, and household rites. Every village, and often every family, has its own traditions. One family may pour libations to Vyra at the river’s edge, while another greets dawn with a whispered prayer to Skyrda. A smith might etch Gharr’s rune above her forge, while a farmer lays bread and salt on the threshold for Koltja.
There are no central texts, no priestly hierarchy, and no single doctrine. Instead, the Hearthfaith endures through memory, song, and shared practice. Storytellers, singers, and skalds carry the myths, while elders guide seasonal rituals. Festivals are communal and exuberant: bonfires, feasts, and processions that honor whichever god is most tied to that season’s survival.
To outsiders it can look chaotic, but for the Hearthfolk it is the most natural way to honor the gods. They do not seek to systematize or codify belief. The gods are companions at the hearth and the crossroads, not distant rulers demanding conformity.

Magic in the known world takes many forms, from the rigid structure of Runecraft to the fluid improvisation of Spellweaving, to the whispered charms of Folkgaldr. Though each tradition draws on the same unseen forces, the methods, reputations, and cultural roles of these arts differ greatly. Some are sanctioned and scholarly, others forbidden or scorned, yet all remain part of the fabric of life.

The magic of the Anda is innate, inseparable from the essence of their being. Unlike mortals, who must study runes or weave threads of power, the Anda do not cast or invoke. They are their magic. It flows through breath, instinct, and thought, responding to emotion and need rather than conscious design. To the Anda, will and energy are one; expression is as natural as movement.

Scholars classify Anda magic as ambient resonance, an unmediated channeling of raw Essence between the physical and spiritual planes. Its manifestations vary widely between species. Some, like the Oldan, focus or shape their resonance through song, dance, or pattern, while others, such as the Kekhal, manifest it as reflexive camouflage, mimicry, or psychic projection. Even lesser Anda, such as wyrms and skarnulfs, exhibit forms of innate enchantment tied to their physiology: adaptive hides, elemental breath, or dream-sense.

The precise mechanism of Anda magic remains one of the enduring mysteries of Galdercraft theory. Rune matrices record no measurable casting pattern, and attempts to replicate the effect through artifice or study have failed. Some theorists propose that Anda possess a direct link to the world’s foundational Essence, bypassing the need for mediation through runes, spirit, or will. Others, particularly among Ernari scholars, argue that they represent the original state of life, unsevered from the Source that mortals now reach only through craft.

Despite their diversity, all Anda share a peculiar resistance to structured magic. Runecraft and spellweaving often falter near them, suggesting a harmonic interference between mortal and natural resonance. Some believe this is a form of self-preservation woven into their nature, while others fear it is a lingering echo of the age before the world fractured.

Folkgaldr is the ritualistic, voice-driven magic of rural communities, preserved through charms, chants, and simple rites passed quietly across generations. Practitioners often claim descent from ancient Fryndari or other forgotten traditions, though much of its origin remains obscure. Historically, Folkgaldr workers faced persecution as heretics or charlatans, and among religious institutions such as the New Voluskar Order the practice remains strictly forbidden. Secrecy kept it alive, rooted in the fields, kitchens, and sickrooms of common folk, where Runecraft was too rigid or distant to reach.

In modern times Folkgaldr has seen a cautious resurgence. Its strength lies in practicality, with spells to heal, protect, bless crops, or ward a home. Folk charms and amulets have become increasingly sought after, and some governments have even employed village practitioners for military wards or agricultural blessings.

The magical art of inscribing and activating runes to channel elemental power. Every spell requires the full set of five Source Runes (Essence, Will, Mind, Spirit, and Body) combined with at least one Elemental Rune (Water, Lightning, Wind, Fire, Smoke, Stone, Magma, or Ice). Additional rune types such as Compound, Augmentation, Ephemeral, and Composition can be layered to bind, intensify, shorten, or guide effects.

Runecasting cannot raise the dead, cure terminal disease, halt aging, conjure matter from nothing, or transmute one substance into another. It can accelerate natural healing or even close wounds completely depending on the skill of the caster. It is also widely used to move earth, fuel engines, and shape the course of battles. Runes may be carved, inked, or tattooed, though permanent marks often hold less raw force than spells cast directly.

Runecasting is both craft and discipline, requiring precision in symbol and balance in intent. A single misdrawn line can unravel or severely weaken a spell.

The following sections describe the runes themselves, divided into their major categories. Every runecaster studies these symbols, from the five foundational Source Runes to the primal forces of the elements and the specialized runes that shape, bind, or intensify their effects.

Runecraft combines elemental or conceptual roots with suffixes that define how a spell manifests. The root names the force, such as fire, blood, or lightning, while the suffix shapes its expression, such as strike, burst, or shield. Together they create active invocations used to bind, channel, or release power.
A simple casting may use only a root. For example, an ice spell might require nothing more than Iss alone, though such runes are harder to control and tend to yield unpredictable results. Some roots can also serve as suffixes, as in Rehkfunha. Some carry overlapping meanings, and others are unique to specific traditions or regions. The system is flexible as long as the caster’s intent is clear and deliberate.

Anda — Collective term for magical beasts of Heimshuhl, ranging from mildly enchanted fauna to ancient horrors. Examples of Anda include the Oldan, Kehkal, and Skuggormur and the Bograz.
Bograz, the — See Characters.
Dyfa — Brilliant carrier birds trained to bear messages across continents with unerring accuracy.
Furdig — Muscular, horned riding beast bred for endurance and war, calm and reliable under pressure.
Gilfet — A stout, tusked marsh-beast with slick gray hide and wide, splayed feet suited for bogs. It grazes on reeds and shellfish, storing thick layers of fat that give its meat a briny, oily flavor prized for preservation.
Kragwyrm — A small, rock-skinned wyrm that blends seamlessly with stone and cliffsides, using its camouflage to ambush prey or bask unseen among the terrain.
Kuras — Pink-furred livestock kept for meat and textiles, docile and central to rural economies.
Raven — Symbolic bird of fate and omen; none live on Heimshuhl, but myths persist of the Stafa taking raven form.
Skarnulf — A large predator with plated hide and razor-sharp talons.
Skilfing — Spiny blue reptile that looks deadly but isn’t; its burrowing aerates soil and keeps insect swarms at bay.
Skuggormur — A massive tentacled forest monster that poisons the land where it sleeps.
Tus — Tiny orange-furred creature known for musical chirps that are believed to bring good luck.
Ulfa — Broad-humped pack beast that stores food and water for weeks, making it perfect for long expeditions.
Yugga — Round, furry pet with markings, beloved for its intelligence, long life, and affectionate nature.

The Fyrisian calendar predates the modern Fyrisian Federation by over a thousand years. Despite the name, it originated in the ancient region of Fyrisi in northern Fyrisia, where early signs of recovery appeared after the Great Purge, a cataclysmic era that collapsed institutions and erased much of the world’s recorded history.
Today, most of the Eastern Hemisphere uses this system. The current cycle is 4836, based on reconstructed timelines. Earlier cycles are inconsistent due to lost records, and there is some question as to the accuracy of the earlier cycles.
While the Fyrisian calendar is the most widespread, some cultures keep their own reckoning. The Oldan, for example, follow star-based charts tied to their Celestial Way, and scattered frontier communities, particularly in the west, still use local seasonal counts.

The Fyrisian calendar predates the modern Fyrisian Federation by over a thousand years. Despite the name, it originated in the ancient region of Fyrisi in northern Fyrisia, where early signs of recovery appeared after the Great Purge, a cataclysmic era that collapsed institutions and erased much of the world’s recorded history.
Today, most of the Eastern Hemisphere uses this system. The current cycle is 4836, based on reconstructed timelines. Earlier cycles are inconsistent due to lost records, and there is some question as to the accuracy of the earlier cycles.
While the Fyrisian calendar is the most widespread, some cultures keep their own reckoning. The Oldan, for example, follow star-based charts tied to their Celestial Way, and scattered frontier communities, particularly in the west, still use local seasonal counts.

Across Heimshuhl, power is divided among councils, churches, and orders that each claim divine, moral, or practical authority. Some unite nations; others divide them. Together they shape the politics, wars, and faiths of the age.

The governing council of Asteron, composed of appointed ministers and naval representatives from its major ports. The Concord serves as both parliament and admiralty. While officially independent, it coordinates closely with the Fyrisian Council of Lords, maintaining joint policies on trade, defense, and foreign affairs. The Concord’s disciplined structure and focus on collective decision-making have earned it a reputation as the stabilizing force of Sehdgard, loyal to the Federation yet proud of its autonomy.

A federation of provinces bound by mutual defense and commerce, the Federation is ruled by the Council of Lords, dominated by hereditary nobles. The Speaker, elected from among their ranks, acts as arbiter and voice of state, empowered to handle daily governance while major decisions like war, law, and taxation require a Council vote. Despite its veneer of democracy, the system serves those already born to privilege.

Noble Titles of the Federation

Hertog / Herta — Senior lords and ladies who govern large provinces and hold dominant influence in the Council.
Vard / Varda — Frontier nobles tasked with border defense and trade regulation.
Eldor / Elda — Provincial administrators overseeing towns and estates.
Vegar / Vega — Minor nobles managing small holdings under greater houses.
Styrr / Stina  — Lowest noble rank, usually ceremonial, granted for loyalty or service.

A secluded coalition of outcasts, scholars, and Ernari faithful who sought refuge beyond the reach of the New Voluskar Order. Though the Ernari form its heart, the Cove shelters many who reject Voluspan rule, including runecrafters, freethinkers, and those deemed heretical or unfit for temple life. Governed by consensus rather than decree, its people value self-determination and mutual aid over doctrine. While outsiders often regard it as a hidden enclave of mystics, Koltja’s Cove endures as a rare haven of cooperation in a divided world. See Heimsid.

See Heimfolk.

See Heimsid.

A secluded coalition of outcasts, scholars, and Ernari faithful who sought refuge beyond the reach of the New Voluskar Order. Though the Ernari form its heart, the Cove shelters many who reject Voluspan rule, including runecrafters, freethinkers, and those deemed heretical or unfit for temple life. Governed by consensus rather than decree, its people value self-determination and mutual aid over doctrine. While outsiders often regard it as a hidden enclave of mystics, Koltja’s Cove endures as a rare haven of cooperation in a divided world. See Heimsid: The Ernari.

See Interactive Map of Heimshuhl

Heimshulan curses often draw on the gods, using traits or stories tied to them to add weight, irony, or bite to a moment.
Phrases like “Wyrdikk’s beard,” “Gharr’s blood,” “Koltja’s dregs,” “Skyrda’s bones,” and “Stoltkot’s eyes” are flexible in use, shaped by tone and context. They might express frustration, surprise, realization, or mockery depending on the speaker and situation.