The sickness moved like a horrible wave across the Old World, killing all in its path.
The weather is bleak. Rain and wind sweep in from the ocean. The winters are long and bitter. One of the first settlers complained, “Only those made of iron dare live in this foul place”—and thus our land was named.
Before the Ironlanders, before even the firstborn, another people lived here.
We live in communities called circles. These are settlements ranging in size from a steading with a few families to a village of several hundred.
Leadership is as varied as the people. Some communities are governed by the head of a powerful family.
The wardens are our soldiers, guards, and militia. They serve their communities by standing sentry, patrolling surrounding lands, and organizing defenses in times of crisis.
Magic is rare and dangerous, but those few who wield the power are truly gifted.
The people honor old gods and new. In this harsh land, a prayer is simple but powerful comfort.
The firstborn have passed into legend.
Monstrous beasts stalk the wild areas of the Ironlands.
We are wary of dark forests and deep waterways, for monsters lurk in those places. In the depths of the long-night, when all is wreathed in darkness, only fools venture beyond their homes.