The County of Tisov

 

The County of Tisov is an independent principality in the north-east of Brythunia. It is bounded to the north by the Greyskull Mountains, and to the east by the Vychegda River, which also serves as the boundary between it and the lands of the Amir of Ijevan. 

Although the County is nominally under the rule of Count Vladislas II, in fact, power is shared between him and the two noble families that control the strongholds of Medenin and Buzuluk, which lie to the west and the south-west respectively.

 

The population of the county consists primarily of Brythons, who are fair-haired and fair-skinned. However, there are many inhabitants of Zamoran stock descended from migrants who crossed the Vychegda River in the last two to three decades, fleeing the murderous civil wars that have raged in Zamora during that time. A few elves and dwarves can be found living in most of the towns of the County, although their numbers are far smaller than those of their brethren who live in the Free City of Tregaron that lies to the northeast of the County, on the far side of the Vychegda.

 The lands of the County are under perpetual threat from the numerous Orcish tribes that dwell in the rugged hills to their north, and from the barbarian Hyperborean tribes that live to the northeast. It is only because of the alliances that the predecessors of Count Vladislas forged in the past with the City of Tregaron, and with the High Elves of Starfrost City further north, that the fertile farmlands of the County have been kept safe.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Tale of the Shemitish Flower Girl

Image
  There was once a flower-girl by the name of Bracha, who lived in the city of Ijevan. Now, this girl was in fact the daughter of a cloth merchant from Askalun, who had married a Zamoran woman and settled down in the city many years earlier. But, although he had been very wealthy, the cloth merchant had an unfortunate weakness for gambling, and one night, when he had drunk far more wine than he should have, he had foolishly gambled away everything that he owned. Saddened by the loss of his fortune, the merchant had thrown himself into the dark waters of the Vychegda River that very night, and drowned.        His poor unfortunate wife, who had come from a wealthy family herself and never learned any kind of trade in her youth, was left with no choice but to work as a washerwoman in order to support herself and her young daughter. There was very little money to be earned in this way, and life was hard for both mother and daughter. So, as soon as she came of age, ...
Read more

Lyriana's Tale

Image
There was once a young girl named Lyriana, whose heart was as vast and open as the skies above the rural lands of Brythunia. Born to a loving mother and a kind-hearted father, her early years were filled with laughter and joy. Her days were spent frolicking through the fields, her hair a dark waterfall that trailed behind her as she chased butterflies and listened to the whispers of the ancient trees. Her nights were spent nestled in her mother's embrace, her imagination soaring on the wings of bedtime tales spun from the rich tapestry of the land's folklore. But as the seasons changed, so too did the fabric of her world. Her father's passing cast a pallor over Eldara, and her mother sought solace in the arms of another—Aleksander, a man whose love was as fleeting as the spring rain. His cruelty grew like a malignant weed, choking the joy from their lives and leaving only thorns in its wake. Despite the storm brewing within her own home, Lyriana found refuge in her friendsh...
Read more

Jessa's Tale

Image
   by Jessa McNeil   My name is Jessa, and this is my story of complete and utter submission.  I grew up in a small village nestled in the embrace of the Barony of Kempas, where the air was thick with the scent of fresh-tilled earth and the whispers of ancient oaks. Life was simple, untouched by the decadence of the city. I was a child of the land, my days filled with the laughter of my friends and the warmth of the sun on my back as we played in the fields of gold.     The village was a tapestry of thatched roofs and cobblestone streets, where every face was a story, and every hand a history of toil. My mother taught me to cook, her recipes passed down from generation to generation, and my father taught me the value of hard work, his calloused hands guiding mine as we tended to our garden. Our home was humble, but it was filled with love—a love that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the earth beneath our feet. In the quiet of the night, I would ...
Read more