Rookery Isles
The Rookery Isles are not merely a land they are a wound still healing. Three years ago, ten years of dragon fire finally ended. The rubble still smokes. The graves are still fresh. And across two continents and three myth-bound islands, survivors are learning to live again in a world that will never be the same.
🔥 The Shadow of the War
"We do not speak of 'before the war' in my village. There is no one left who remembers it."
Ten years of dragon fire. That is what the Rookery Isles survived. Ten years of Rhaenor Mudae's shadow riders descending on villages at dawn. Ten years of cities reduced to ash. Ten years of children growing up knowing nothing but the sound of wings and the smell of burning flesh.
The destruction was absolute. Entire regions were scorched to bare rock. The Golden Fields of Thaloria are now the Ashen Plains a wasteland where nothing grows and mass graves stretch beyond sight. Frosthold's outer walls still bear the black scars of dragon breath. The great harbor of Marinia lost half its fleet in a single night. Whole bloodlines were erased. The Isles lost nearly a third of their people to fire, sword, and the famine that followed.
The war ended only three years ago. This is not history this is yesterday. Veterans walk the streets with hollow eyes. Orphans grow up in makeshift shelters. Widows still wear black. Some cities are being rebuilt; others never will be. In the countryside, there aren't enough farmers left to work the fields. Famine still stalks the land.
Culture in the Rookery Isles cannot be understood without understanding this: everyone lost someone. Every tradition now carries the weight of those who will never practice it again. Every celebration is shadowed by empty chairs. Every feast hall echoes with the names of the dead. The culture is not just ancient it is grieving.
👑 The Game of Power A New World
⚡ Unprecedented in History
Before the Celestials intervened, there was no Rookery Isles as a unified realm. Each nation ruled itself. Each house answered to no one. The very concept of a single Regent ruling ALL the Isles was unthinkable. This is the first unified government in history. Created from the ashes by divine beings who watched mortals nearly destroy themselves. No one knows if it will last. And everyone EVERYONE is fighting to control it.
"In the old days, we only had to fear our neighbors. Now we must fear everyone because everyone is our neighbor, and the throne belongs to whoever can take it."
In the Rookery Isles, politics is not a pastime for nobles with nothing better to do it is survival. The war created a power vacuum unlike anything in history. Before, each house schemed only within their own borders. Now? The Regent seat offers control of EVERYTHING. And it sits there, vacant, waiting.
Every house sees the opportunity. Old rivals make temporary alliances. Enemies smile at each other across feast halls. Marriages are being negotiated at a frantic pace. Information is being bought and sold. Assassins are finding no shortage of work. The war may be over, but the battle for who rules the peace is only beginning.
And underneath it all: the scars. The hatred. The grief. House Mudae burned the world for ten years, and now they want to play politics like everyone else? Some houses would rather see the Isles burn again than let a Mudae anywhere near power. This is not just a game of ambition it is a game played over mass graves, by people who remember exactly who filled them.
⚠️ Understanding the Stakes
Your house exists within a world that is simultaneously broken and being reborn. You can rise to Council seats, scheme for the Regency, build alliances, make enemies. But understand: you will not always be in favor. The war taught everyone that power shifts, that allies betray, that yesterday's victory means nothing if you lose tomorrow. If your house acts against the Regent's interests consequences. If you make enemies on the Council closed doors. If you play the game and lose you LOSE.
This is not drama for its own sake. This is the story. This is the world. Power is earned, held, and lost. There is no safety. There is no middle ground.
The Unwritten Rules of Court
- Alliances are currency. The house with the most friends today may rule tomorrow. The house with none will not survive the year.
- Debts are remembered. If someone does you a favor, they will collect usually when you can least afford to pay.
- Insults echo. A slight at a feast may seem small. Years later, it may cost you a trade agreement, a marriage, or a war.
- Information is power. What you know, and what others think you know, can be more valuable than gold or soldiers.
- The Celestials are watching. They rarely intervene in mortal politics but when they do, it is absolute. Do not give them reason to notice you unfavorably.
- The Regent's word is law. Once elected, the Regent rules. Even those who voted against them must bend the knee or face the consequences.
- But even the Regent has limits. They rule mortals, but serve at celestial pleasure. Harm the Hand, insult the Crown, or make catastrophic decisions and discover how quickly a Regent can fall. The wise Regent balances mortal rule with divine favor. The foolish become cautionary tales.
- The Hand is protected. They are the Celestials' voice. Cross them, and you cross Ashley and Trystane themselves. Regents who forget this do not remain Regents.
⚔️ The Current Political Climate
The Great War reshaped everything. Old alliances shattered. New ones formed from necessity. And one house fell so far that their very name became a curse. Understanding where the houses stand with each other is not just useful it is essential to survival. A wrong word, a misread alliance, a forgotten grudge these are the things that end bloodlines.
"Know your friends. Know your enemies. And know that in three years, most have become the other."
🐉 The Mudae Question The Wound That Will Not Heal
House Mudae is not merely unpopular. They are despised with a hatred that borders on religious. For ten years, Rhaenor Mudae's dragons burned the world. Shadow riders descended on villages at dawn. Cities became mass graves. Children grew up knowing nothing but fire and fear. And it was Mudae banners that flew over every atrocity.
The war ended three years ago. Three years. The graves are still fresh. The orphans are still children. The veterans still wake screaming. Almost everyone in the Isles lost someone to dragon fire a parent, a child, a spouse, a friend. To wear the Mudae name is to wear the blood of thousands.
The frozen north remembers. Every burned village. Every broken oath. Every child who froze to death because the dragons burned the grain stores. Skjaldor warriors spit at the mention of Mudae. The Jarl has forbidden any formal contact. Some younger warriors speak openly of finishing what the war started.
The Golden Fields are now the Ashen Plains. Three generations of Thalorian knights died fighting the dragons. The feudal lords speak of justice, but what they mean is blood. They smile at court and sharpen their swords at home. The day is coming, they say. The day is coming.
The heroes of Suncoast lost more members fighting the dragons than in any other war in their history. They follow the Celestials' decree of mercy, but they watch. Every Mudae movement. Every Mudae word. Waiting for the mask to slip. Waiting for proof that the dragon's blood runs true.
Both houses carry shame from the Dark Age. Rhaenor forced Skyrider's druids into breeding abominations a stain they still struggle to cleanse. Some say Skyrider understands Mudae's burden of inherited guilt. Others say that understanding makes them suspects. Are they sympathizers? Or survivors of the same monster? The answer depends on who you ask.
The mages of Azura helped defeat Rhaenor with powerful magic. They also hid behind their arcane barrier while others bled. When Sandstinger mages speak of Mudae's crimes, veterans from other houses laugh bitterly. "Easy to judge from behind a wall," they say. The mages do not appreciate the comparison.
"They gave us mercy. The Celestials, in their wisdom, decided House Mudae deserved a chance at redemption. But mercy is not forgiveness. And the dead do not forget."
⚡ The Major Fault Lines
Beyond the Mudae hatred, the Isles are fractured along several major divides. These are not petty rivalries they are fundamental disagreements about what the Isles should become. Wars have been fought over less.
🌳 Nature vs. Progress The Silent War
The Environmentalists: Houses Seaquill & Skyrider
The ancient elves of Sylvaria and the druids of Drakoria have watched the forests for millennia. They remember when the world was wild. They see Sunpeak's factories as a cancer, spreading smoke and poison, devouring ancient groves for fuel. To them, this is not about politics it is about the soul of the world itself.
The Industrialists: House Sunpeak
Valoria's engineers see Seaquill and Skyrider as relics clinging to a dead past. Progress is survival. The war proved that Sunpeak's ships and weapons turned the tide. Should they stop building because some elves worship trees? The factories will keep running. The forges will keep burning. And if the nature-lovers don't like it, they can try to stop it.
"Found another one yesterday. Sunpeak engineer, throat cut clean, left hanging from an oak at the edge of the Thornwood. No note. No witnesses. Third one this month. The elves say they don't know anything. The druids say nature is 'reclaiming what was taken.' And Sunpeak's factories? They're hiring guards now. Lots of guards."
This conflict has no swords yet. But forests are being felled. Druids are being found dead near industrial sites. Engineers are disappearing in the wild. It is only a matter of time before someone draws steel.
⚔️ Honor vs. Gold The Eternal Argument
The Honor-Bound: Houses Dawnstar & Sunflare
The warriors of Skjaldor and the heroes of Suncoast believe in deeds, not deals. A person's worth is measured in what they do, not what they own. They fought the war with blood and steel while merchants counted coins. They remember who stood on the front lines and who stood behind them, calculating profits.
The Pragmatists: Houses Darkcliff & Greenscale
Marinia's admiralty and Zandara's senators understand a truth the warriors refuse to see: wars are won with gold. Ships cost money. Soldiers need food. Information has a price. The honor-bound can sneer at merchants all they want but when the next crisis comes, they'll need Darkcliff's fleets and Greenscale's intelligence networks. Pride doesn't fill bellies.
"Sat next to a Skjaldorian at a feast last month. Big fellow, more scars than sense. Spent the whole meal telling me how 'gold-counters' like me were ruining the realm. How honor was worth more than coin. Very inspiring. Then the bill came, and guess who couldn't pay? Honor doesn't buy mutton, friend. I covered his tab. He didn't even say thank you."
"You want to know what I think of Darkcliff's gold? I think it spends real well when you're buying friends. I think it buys nice ships and nice clothes and nice smiles. But I also think it wasn't Darkcliff gold that held the line at Frosthold. It wasn't Darkcliff gold that bled in the mud at Thornwood. When the dragons came, gold didn't save anyone. Steel did. Courage did. Remember that, next time a merchant tells you what the realm needs."
At every Council meeting, this divide surfaces. The warriors want martial solutions. The merchants want economic ones. And in between, the realm fractures a little more.
✨ Magic vs. Mundane The Question of Power
Magical Supremacy: House Sandstinger
The mages of Azura believe they are superior. They don't say it in those words usually but their academies are exclusive, their secrets jealously guarded, and their prices for magical aid are steep. They see themselves as the true power in the Isles, with mere warriors serving as muscle when needed.
Innovation Over Sorcery: House Sunpeak
Valoria's engineers are proving that machines can do what magic does cheaper, faster, and without the arrogance. Every new invention is a thumb in the eye of Sandstinger's monopoly. The mages don't like competition. The engineers don't care what the mages like.
Strength of Arms: House Dawnstar
The warriors of Skjaldor trust neither spells nor gears. A good axe, a strong arm, and the will to use them that is power. Let the mages and tinkerers play with their toys. When it matters, cold steel decides.
"Went to Azura last spring, needed a healing charm for my daughter. The mage looked at me like I was something stuck to his boot. Said the 'consultation fee' was more gold than I earn in a year. Then last month, a Valorian tinker came through selling mechanical braces. Half the price, works just as well. My daughter walks now. And you know what? She didn't have to bow to anyone to get it."
👑 Old Blood vs. New Worth Who Deserves Power?
Ancient Lineages: Houses Emberwave, Seaquill & Sandstinger
Some houses trace their bloodlines back thousands of years. They ruled before the war, during the war, and expect to rule after. Bloodlines matter. Tradition matters. These upstart guilds and industrial councils are symptoms of a world gone wrong useful perhaps, but never equals.
Merit Over Birth: Houses Sunflare & Sunpeak
Sunflare accepts anyone with skill and courage peasant or noble, human or elf. Sunpeak's industrial republic promotes by ability, not ancestry. They look at the ancient houses and see fossils clinging to power they no longer deserve. The war proved that bloodlines don't stop dragon fire. Competence does.
"My family has held this seat for eight hundred years. Eight HUNDRED. Through wars, plagues, famines we endured. We built this realm. And now some... some FACTORY FOREMAN thinks he can sit at the same table as me because he invented a better plow? The world has gone mad."
"You know what your bloodline got you, my lord? A fancy name and a burned castle. My 'better plow' is feeding ten thousand people who would have starved otherwise. So yes, I'll sit at your table. I'll sit at the head of it, if I damn well please. What are you going to do about it?"
This is the quiet war beneath all others. Every appointment, every marriage, every seat at table is it decided by blood or by worth? The answer shapes everything.
👑 The Race for the Regency
The Regent's seat sits empty. The most powerful position in history, waiting to be claimed. Every house is calculating. Every alliance is being tested. The question on everyone's lips: who will rule the peace?
Gold recognizes gold. These three houses share economic interests that transcend old rivalries. If they unite behind a single candidate, they could buy enough influence to control the Council vote. But who among them would accept second place?
Those who bled together in the war have not forgotten. The martial houses respect each other, even when they disagree. A Regent from their ranks would prioritize strength and honor. But the warriors are proud too proud, perhaps, to follow each other.
The old powers. Elves, mages, and druids who remember when humans were young. They move slowly, think in centuries, and trust none of the younger houses. If they chose to unite, their combined magical and natural power would be formidable. But they rarely agree on anything.
No one knows what the Fae want. They attend Council meetings when it amuses them. They make bargains that seem to benefit everyone until the true cost becomes clear. Any candidate they openly support becomes immediately suspect. Any candidate they oppose... also becomes suspect. The Fae prefer it that way.
"Everyone wants the throne. No one wants to be the first to reach for it. The first to reach is the first to be cut down. So we wait. We watch. We sharpen our knives in the dark."
"Saw Lady Vance dining with the Darkcliff envoy last night. Then this morning, her carriage was spotted heading toward the Emberwave compound. By afternoon, she was taking tea with a Sunflare captain. That woman's playing every side of the board at once. Either she's brilliant or she's about to get herself killed. Possibly both."
"You want to know who'll be Regent? I'll tell you who WON'T be: anyone stupid enough to want it right now. First Regent gets to clean up ten years of dragon mess, rebuild half the realm, and somehow make twelve Great Houses stop hating each other. And if they fail? They'll be the one everyone blames. No thank you. I'll wait for the SECOND Regency. Let some fool break themselves on the first one."
📜 What This Means For Your House
Every character who enters the Rookery Isles enters this web. There is no neutral ground. Your house has allies, whether you know it or not. Your house has enemies, whether you've met them or not. The war your parents fought still defines how others see you.
- Know your house's position. Where does your house stand on the major fault lines? Who are your natural allies? Who will never trust you?
- Know the Mudae question. Where does your house stand on House Mudae? This single issue has ended more conversations and started more fights than any other.
- Alliances are survival. No house stands alone. The ones that try become cautionary tales. Find your allies. Protect them. Use them.
- Enemies are inevitable. You will make enemies. It cannot be avoided. The question is whether you choose them wisely or let them choose you.
- The Regency race affects everyone. Even if you don't want the throne, you will be affected by who takes it. Choose sides carefully and be prepared to change sides when necessary.
- The Celestials are watching. In all your scheming, never forget who truly holds power. Play the game, but never play it so hard that you draw divine attention.
⚠️ The Only Rule That Matters
In the Rookery Isles, there is one truth that rises above all others: power is earned, held, and lost. Your house's position today means nothing if you cannot defend it tomorrow. Every alliance can shift. Every enemy can be turned. Every friend is a potential traitor. Trust is a luxury. Vigilance is survival.
Welcome to the game. Play well or don't play at all.
🛡️ Shared Beliefs Across the Isles
Despite their distance and differences, the peoples of the Rookery Isles are bound by old truths. The land is ancient and watching. Oaths have weight. Names hold power. Magic is real but so are the consequences. There are no small deeds, only stories not yet finished.
Across the Isles, hospitality is sacred. In the poorest fishing village or the grandest Suncoast villa, a guest is offered food, drink, and fire before questions are ever asked. Refusing hospitality is a grave insult; violating it, worse than a crime. Guest right is one of the few laws that transcends house and nation.
"Lord Maren gave guest bread to Lady Voss. Three days later, he had her poisoned in her sleep under his own roof, after breaking bread together. You know what happened next? His own guards turned on him. His own FAMILY turned on him. By morning, there wasn't enough left of House Maren to fill a grave. Guest right isn't just tradition. It's the one law that even killers fear to break."
The spoken word is binding. Oaths are carved into the soul broken promises curse more than reputations. In Skjaldor, they carve their oaths into runestones. In Sylvaria, oaths are sung into enchanted trees. In Thaloria, they are sealed in dirt and water. A person's word is their bond, and breaking it marks them forever.
"Be careful what you promise, child. Be VERY careful. I knew a man once, swore he'd love a woman until the stars went dark. Pretty words. He thought they were just words. But this is the Isles. Words have weight here. When he broke that oath... well. Let's just say the stars noticed. And they weren't pleased."
🌿 Regional Traditions & Ways of Life
☀️ Suncoast (House Sunspear)
Blends desert wisdom and coastal grandeur. Its people value beauty, innovation, and diplomacy. Festivals are sun-drenched affairs with music, storytelling, and pageantry. The Phoenix Queen's image is everywhere not as a ruler to fear but as a symbol of hope, rebirth, and unification. Here, the Celestial Court holds sway, and to be in their favor is to stand at the center of the world.
"First time I visited Suncoast, I thought I'd wandered into a dream. Everything's golden. Everyone's smiling. The food's better than anything back home. Took me three days to realize they're not just being nice. They're watching. Testing. Deciding if you're useful or dangerous. Prettiest snakes you'll ever meet. I love it there."
❄️ Skjaldor (House Dawnstar)
Harsh and frost-bitten. Here, survival is earned daily. The five clans live by codes of honor, lineage, and martial strength. Elders pass down history in saga halls, and the training of warriors begins in childhood. Yet even the fiercest raider respects nature's laws. Death is considered a companion, not an enemy and a good death in battle opens the doors to the eternal feast halls.
"My southern friends think we're savages because we don't curtsy and simper. Fine. Let them simper. When winter comes when REAL winter comes we'll be feasting in warm halls while they freeze trying to remember which fork to use. The north doesn't need their approval. We have something better. We have each other."
🌳 Sylvaria (House Seaquill)
Steeped in elven tradition, Sylvaria respects the old magics and the quiet between moments. Nature and arcane study are one and the same. Silence is not rude it is reverent. Festivals here are quiet, luminous, and ethereal, guided by moonlight and memory. The elves think in centuries while others think in years.
"I traded with an elf once. Took me an hour to negotiate a price for three bolts of cloth. They don't understand hurry. They'll sit and think and consider and 'feel the moment' while you're standing there wondering if you'll make it home before dark. Infuriating. But that cloth? Still perfect, twenty years later. Maybe they know something we don't."
🦅 Drakoria (House Skyrider)
The mountain aeries where druids bond with griffons, pegasi, and eagles. Here, the connection between rider and beast is sacred a partnership of souls, not a mastery of animals. The Dark Age stained this tradition when Rhaenor forced their druids into breeding abominations. That shame lingers. They work to cleanse it, one honorable bond at a time.
⚙️ Valoria (House Sunpeak)
Steam and steel. Innovation and industry. Valoria looks to the future while others cling to the past. Their shipyards build the finest vessels in the Isles. Their factories produce wonders and pollution. The Industrial Republic believes progress is survival, and they will not let tradition stand in their way.
"Magic is nice. Tradition is lovely. But you know what actually wins wars? Better ships. Better weapons. Better armor. The mages can wave their hands all they want my forge produces a hundred swords a day. Let's see them match that with their fancy spells."
🎭 Zandara (House Greenscale)
A confederation of city-states where bards are politicians and pleasure is an art form. Here, information flows through wine halls and theaters. The Guild of Pleasures is not merely entertainment it is one of the most powerful intelligence networks in the realm. In Zandara, everyone is watching, and everyone has a price.
"Want to know something secret? Come to Zandara. Want to keep something secret? Stay far, far away. Every wine server is a spy. Every courtesan is a collector of whispers. Even the street sweepers report to someone. It's exhausting. It's exhilarating. It's the most honestly dishonest place in the world, and I wouldn't live anywhere else."
🔮 Magic, Religion & the Divine
Magic is as natural as the wind in some parts of the Isles and as feared as fire in others. In Azura, it is studied and structured the Council of Magi guards its secrets jealously. In Suncoast, it is revered and mythologized. In rural places, hedge witches practice quietly, offering herbal cures and charms. But dark sorcery is outlawed nearly everywhere only fools or tyrants dare bend the old rules too far.
"My grandmother could call rain from a clear sky. Nothing fancy just a knack, she said. Learned it from HER grandmother. Then the Azuran mages came through, told her she needed a 'license' to practice. A LICENSE. To do what her family's done for six generations. She told them where they could put their license. They haven't been back. Smart of them."
The gods once walked this land or so it's said. Some revere celestial beings like the Phoenix Queen or the Guardian Archangel, while others whisper prayers to forgotten spirits of sea, shadow, and stone. Shrines dot the landscape: some grand, some hidden in groves and cliffside caves. Faith is a part of life, whether you follow a temple, a totem, or the beat of your ancestors' drum.
And then there are the Fae Courts. Summer and Winter, ancient and inscrutable. They do not worship they are worshipped. Their bargains are exact, their memories infinite, their motives unknowable. Wise folk leave offerings at the old stones. Wiser folk avoid the old stones entirely.
"You want advice about the Fae? Here it is: don't. Don't seek them. Don't bargain with them. Don't even think about them too hard. My uncle made a deal with a Summer courtier once. Got exactly what he asked for. EXACTLY. He asked for wealth beyond measure and got it. Gold coins appeared everywhere he went. In his pockets. In his bed. In his food. In his lungs. They found him three days later, drowned in his own fortune. The Fae aren't evil. They're PRECISE. And that's worse."
👁️ Superstitions & Social Taboos
- Never speak the true name of the sea at night something might answer.
- Never toast with an empty cup it invites hollow luck.
- A knife gifted is a friendship tested. A knife returned draws blood.
- When you see three crows, a god is watching. Or judging.
- Never break guest right the old gods remember, and they do not forgive.
- Do not speak of the dead during the moon's dark phase they might hear you.
- If a Fae offers you a gift, consider carefully before accepting nothing from them is free.
"Laugh all you want, city boy. I've seen what happens to folks who don't respect the old ways. Saw a man spit on a crossroads shrine once. Said the old gods were dead and couldn't hurt him. Next morning, he couldn't find his way out of his own village. Walked in circles for three days. When we finally found him, his hair had gone white and he couldn't stop muttering about 'the eyes in the fog.' You keep your modern thinking. I'll keep my offerings at the old stones."
Ritual is sewn into the Isles' fabric. Weddings involve sand and ash. Funerals vary from region to region: burning in Suncoast, sky burial in Skjaldor, burial beneath songtrees in Sylvaria. The Isles remember their dead. Ancestors are honored, not merely mourned and in some places, they are still consulted.
🛡️ Status, Fashion & Social Standing
Clothing is not just fashion it's language. In Suncoast, flowing fabrics and bright embroidery show wealth and favor. In Skjaldor, fur-lined cloaks mark a warrior's deeds each trophy earned in blood. Sylvaria favors minimalism adorned with nature-born jewelry. Thalorians wear practical woven garb, often dyed to reflect the harvest season.
Tattoos, scars, and jewelry all carry meaning: lineage, tribe, completed quests, or even political loyalty. Body markings are especially meaningful in Skjaldor and Zandara, where every line tells part of a life story. To read someone's markings is to read their history and to fake them is a crime punishable by death.
In the Rookery Isles, culture is not background it is survival. Every tradition carries the weight of those who died practicing it. Every alliance is built on graves. Every celebration happens in the shadow of what was lost.
The war ended three years ago. The world is being rebuilt. And for the first time in history, someone will rule it all.
Choose your allies carefully. Remember your enemies. Never forget who burned the world or who let them. Power is earned, held, and lost. There is no safety. There is no middle ground. There is only the game and those who survive it.