02 - Iron Kingdoms W.. - Captain Spud Is Amazing

330 Iron Kingdoms
108.1.141.197
this stretch of shore. To this day Cygnaran watch keeps
are inhabited by stalwart lookouts from Giant’s Head
to Morovan. They are equipped with field glasses in
order to watch the waves and sky and stand ever ready
to light massive warning beacons whenever trouble
comes calling.
Ios
Has our day passed? Is our time
beyond us? Certainly the humans have
proven this. Lyoss is lost. Our gods…
They are gone, save one, who lies ill even
now. Each year we see more Iosans born
without souls. Without souls! So what
are we to do? I ask you, do we permit our
great people to fade into history? Do we?
Or do we rattle the sword and shield,
draw the bow, and make such a clamor
as to be remembered for all time!
—The Consul Caelcyr Nyarr, speaking before
the assembly of the Consulate Court, 605 AR
Men are not the only forgers of great nations
by any means. Also among the empire-makers of
Immoren are the elves who came from the east long
ago from the Empire of Lyoss, which in their hubris
they destroyed. It appears all empires must eventually
fall, but the Iosans, descendants of the Lyossans,
ended theirs prematurely annihilating hundreds of
thousands of inhabitants in the process and sending
the remaining few thousand into the west on a trek for
a new homeland. Their empire was laid waste after the
cataclysm that befell the Bridge of Worlds, an assembly
built over hundreds of years in order to bring them
and their gods closer. It ended up stranding their gods
among them, closing them off from the great Veld and
its energies, and in time inducing their disappearance
(see callout “Fading Shadows: Ios Languishes,” pg. 44,
and the IKCG pp. 50–52, 245–253 for more).
With the collapse of Lyoss, the elves were
devastated as a people. Great accomplishments
that had taken millennia were lost; the magic and
science of modern Ios is but a fraction of the glory
of their former empire. Ever since settling in western
Immoren, they have refused anything but the barest
contact with their neighbors. Outsiders think this
stems from an inherent flaw, some predilection for
arrogance making them detached as a species and
placing thems in a position to view the rest of the
world as beneath their attention. In truth their selfimposed
isolation comes from a deep source of misery.
Ios is ill. Its people struggle with a terrible cancer, for it
is a nation slowly dying from the inside.
This sickness as a species has led them to mistrust
anything unfamiliar, and it grows ever worse. In fact,
prior to the 500s AR, some exiles and diplomats could
be found outside of their homeland. Though always
aloof and reluctant to part with their secrets, they made
some effort to conduct commerce, politics, and mild
relations with the other kingdoms—if but a trickle.
Today the defense of their borders has become ruthless
in the extreme. They no longer deign to entreat the
other kingdoms whatsoever. The borders of Ios are
closed; visitors are unwelcome and unwanted.
The landscape of Ios is breathtaking. Its dense,
unspoiled forests contain thick stretches of pines
and spruces but are dominated by high, white- and
gray-barked aspens. Its fields and high plateaus of
thick grasses and wildflowers, such as hawkweed and
cinquefoil, are roamed by herds of elk, bison, deer,
boar, and smaller game as well as predators such
as coyotes, lynxes, and burrow mawgs (see entry
MN1). One of the most notable features of Ios is
its birdlife, and lording over the various warblers,
owls, and goshawks is the regal-looking Iosan eagle
of the southern peaks. The extensive highlands of
the plateaus include subalpine grasslands and wet
meadows scattered among its rich forests while the
entire south is separated from the Bloodstone Marches
by the sheer Iosan Peaks. The most famous is Mount
Shyleth Breen likely because it is the most noticeable
Iosan landmark to outsiders.
The combination of plateaus, wet meadows,
countless streams, and snow-packed peaks lend to Ios
one of its signature traits: Iosan mist. Much of the time
wide tracts of land are wreathed in a drifting brume of
pale gray that obscures sight and distorts sound. It is
said the mist is sentient, that it has a life of its own and