Chail, Patron of a Custom - Printable Version

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Chail, Patron of a Custom - The Caer Sidi Royal Post - 09-17-2020

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From the Sídhe in Bastion came knowledge of the eastward Juni, a Fey tribe hidden beneath the hills of a wet and quiet valley, which had been routinely flooded to deter Fomorian patrols. From their smials sprung the second great foundation of the Diarchy’s influence, the use of their sculptive magics pulling a city together block by block.

The thick channels once used to spill rough waters onto invading interlopers instead became canals leading straight to the sea, and an impressive stretch of cobbled cargo docks sprung up around the thickest waterways. Combined with the system of dams and tunnels used to control the water with the naturally steep terrain ringing the valley, and Chail became the first reasonably safe settlement outside of Bastion, and the easy access to the sea and the natural Juni magics charmed merchants and craftsmen alike, drawing them to the city best able to fuel their craft and fill their pockets.

Juni sorcerers became adventuring wizards for hire, using their spells to pull rock, grow wood, catch game, and even protect caravans, all much faster and safer than if it’d been done by hand. Others of their kind turned their underground burrows into a thriving subterranean village, as they were now willing to brave using their powers to shape the earth to their imagination rather than to their need. No longer were they hiding from the Chaolich, but rather standing with their new allies in blatant defiance against him.


Where Bastion’s harbors are filled with supply convoys and warships, Chail’s are filled with tradesails and cargo hauls. From the docks spill spice and wine, gold and silver, fruit and fish, feather and lace, goods pulled from across every sea by traders and pirates to be put to market in the greatest bazaars the Queensland can offer, providing a hub through which all things known to be bought or sold must pass.

Aside this great exchange of coin, so to is there a great exchange of culture. Even the rarest and most reclusive races have passed through Chail, or one day they soon will, leaving their mark on the city’s very stones. Ideas and knowledge are traded freely and liberally on every street and in every shop, spoken in every language and offered from every creed.


In Chail there is always a party somewhere. Every holiday across the Warren has a celebration in the city, filling the alleys with odd decorations and the air with foreign cheers. There are parties for the coming of a new year, for victories in battle, for dancing with the dead, for birthdays and weddings, and all manner of things, and when the music echoes and the wine flows, none are barred from the festivities, even the somber remembrances of homelands swallowed by darkness.

Bastion is a place for formal business, but Chail is a wild heart beating at the center of the Queensland, breathing fierce vigor and hapless reprieve to a land in desperate need of both. Despite proximity to the front lines, the war is more distant here, as Chail feels like an island in the eye of a storm. The bloodshed cannot by ignored, but there is a confidence in the air that war cannot reach them in the valley.

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