Roaming the tundra, following massive herds of caribou, are dozens of tribes of free folk. Most refer to them as barbarians, though the tribes simply believe they are more free than those others who live in cities, under governors, forever trying to gather money and material wealth.
The Free Folk are mainly humans that were born into the lifestyle, though there are naturally some dragonborn who choose to join. Money has very little value in their society, with the economy being barter-based. Honor and strength are more highly valued than any "useless" metals like gold and silver. However, there are those who will sell things to travelers they come across, as they recognize that gold will get you things like steel weapons from the city folk.
Leaders within each tribe are usually chosen by a contest of strength, though with any decentralized system, there are those who do things differently. Some tribes will be democratic and some are even monarchies. There is one elected leader of all the tribes, called the All-King, who is called upon to resolve tribal disputes. Once a year, there is a Kingsmoot held somewhere on the tundra, where the tribes gather to elect a new All-King. The All-King has authority over all tribes, though somewhat paradoxically, not over individual tribes. Each individual Chieftain/King/Warlord is in charge of his own tribe, but when there is an issue affecting an entire tribe or a dispute between tribes, the All-King is in charge of the decision. Additionally, each individual leader is bound by honor to follow the decree of the All-King, though it is to their discretion how they do so.
This festival is held once per year, in a mutually-agreed upon location, which is usually wherever is closest to the majority of the tribes and has lots of open land. The festival is where everyone boasts about their conquests, trades their various goods both with each other or any merchants that visit from the cities, and mingles with other tribes. Three days of these festivities are enjoyed before the tribes get to the actual business at hand: voting. There is a cleared out and roped-off area created in the center of the moot, where the various tribal leaders put forth their goals and values, and make arguments as to why they should be the All-King. Occasionally feats of strength are held here, or non-lethal duels to settle arguments between candidates prior to voting. Each tribal leader casts a single vote for who they want as the All-King using a tribe-specific rune placed into a marked pot, then a feast is held where all the candidates make peace and return to friendship before the winner is declared. After the feast, the voting pots are emptied and counted, and the winner is crowned as the All-King and asked to declare his first ruling. Traditionally, this first ruling is to continue the festival for another day, to great applause. The festival then ends, unless a day is added, in which case the last day will return to the trading and festivities of the first three days.
The tribes fared better than most in the initial Manastorms. Most people hunker down in homes and bunkers, relying on the spiritual power of a static Home to repel uninvited guests. Additionally, blocking all windows and doors as tightly as possible serve to keep the more physical threats at bay. These two barriers combine to keep everyone safe during the storms, but the tribes do not have these luxuries. Instead, they simply shelter in their tents, huts, or whatever other home they travel with, and fight off any physical intruders as the North does not experience the same difficulties with the Storms as the rest of Feredas does.
Many scholars have investigated why there is no spiritual attack in the North, as the Storms always attack those in the open with Spiritual, Mental, and Physical forces. A few conclusions have been reached as to why the Storms are so much weaker in the North, and the most commonly accepted ones are:
The entire tundra has been the nomadic Home to hundreds of thousands across millenia, so the concept of an inviolable spiritual Home persists across the region. People elsewhere are more tied to the idea of a physical home, and thus are only safe in their perceived homes.
The Rider does not kill indiscriminately, instead taking only a few tribesmen each storm. No one knows what the Riders' criteria is, but those that are taken are blessed and celebrated as having Ascended to another life.
Most of the physical monsters that arrive with the Storms are weakened by the vast barrier of Home, and thus very few brave the ferocious tribes in search of easier prey. Additional theories state that the Faceless (what some call the winged monsters common in the storms) do not actually need to eat, but instead simply relish violence for its' own sake and prefer to end as many mortal lives as possible before theirs is ended. Brave scholars also report seeing fewer and fewer Faceless as the storm travels north, theorizing that perhaps the monsters slowly disappear through some other unknown mechanism.
The Walkers, or Striders, don't ever cross the Ironbark Forest. For unknown reasons, one perhaps being the Guardian of the forest, the Walkers are simply incapable of crossing the dense and vast forested barrier. Many report the Walkers crossing into the Ironbark, then simply fading away as they travel.
Odin's Gate is a massive metal door covered in intricate carvings depicting battles and various important figures and set into the side of a mountain, towering over 300 feet high. Up until the Cataclysm, this door was shrouded in mystery, with an entirely new monastic order devoted to trying to discover its' secrets. This door is made of a mysterious black metal that seems to be immune to steel tools, magic, fire, cold, and anything else mortals have managed to throw at it. No keyhole or any mechanism for opening it has been discovered, and no bolts or locks have been identified.
Post-Cataclysm - Once Morrow's Shield managed to bring the fully-charged Blade of Eternity to the mysterious door, an enormous metal-on-metal thud was heard, and the door slowly swung itself open. It did not seem to be affected at all by the various wooden buildings the Seekers of the Key had built up against it, crushing them without slowing down. Once it had opened enough, the sickly red light of the Doomstar had illuminated a small doorway that led down to the Well of Ascension. The Martyr entered, triggering the end of the Cycle and sealing the mountain behind him. The doors stayed open, and remain standing open today, standing more as mythical testaments to the story of Morrow's Shield than of any great mystery of long-passed deities.
For the ancient order of the Seekers of the Key that no longer exist, see their deprecated page entry.
There are towns that have persisted and grown in the North, made up of those who don't want to live under the banner of Harithma or have escaped subjugation of the Orcs. Some even go North to seek their fortune, hoping to strike it rich in the Mudeel trade or find gold in the vast northern mountains. The north is, by necessity, much more sparsely populated than anywhere else in Feredas, save for the non-oasis regions of the Great Dune Sea. The north is surprisingly self-sufficient, however, growing hardy vegetables like potatoes and carrots, and fishing the massive lakes and the ocean shores. Grain does have to be shipped from the south, however, making most vegetables cheaper to live off of than any breads. Parsnips are usually grown to make wine out of, lending the regions native wines an earthy, carrot-y taste. Ale, mead, and other alcohols are shipped from the south, though a few have had luck raising hardy breeds of bees around hot springs in the southernmost region with flowers and tomatoes serving as their pollen. The mead brewed from this honey has a weaker and more earthy taste, though it is cheaper than imported meads. Many towns will have fresh meats available year round, using the permafrost and snow to preserve them after butchering.
The towns of the north are detailed in the Locations sub-page.
These burrowing eels occupy all 3 lakes and are prized by fisherman as a valuable haul. The oversized brains of these eels are highly prized by alchemists for the strange mental effects they can produce, fetching a very high price of 100 gold per pound. The glands that produce the mucous on their skin are also desired by some less reputable markets, rumored to be involved in the production of some sort of narcotic. The meat is plain but dense, capable of feeding several people per typical eel. The bones are typically used to make stocks for soup and the bulbous, oversized skull can be used to make intricate carvings.
The mudeel will burrow into the mud at the bottom of a lake to sleep or wait for prey. They primarily eat the fish within the huge lakes, though they can skim the bottoms for refuse if need be. The mudeel grows slowly but continuously, with the largest specimen on record over 8 feet long and 350 pounds. They have a curious ability to cause vibrations in the water around them, aiding them in burrowing and communication. This ability is thought to stem from their oversized brains, which also cause a large bulbous protrusion on the front of their heads, giving them a caveman-esque brow appearance. Mudeel come in a uniform dull grey color. Their teeth are similar to a sharks, with multiple rows of small, serrated teeth. The teeth are sometimes sold as ornamentation, though usually only with particularly large specimens with appropriately large teeth.
The strange and mysterious dragonborn people are the only true natives of the north. Their scattered villages have existed since the first human made their way north, scattered throughout the tundra in villages of no more than 100 individuals. Despite the biting cold and the ripping wind, dragonborn only wear minimal clothing, typically for modesty only. The only individuals that have to actually keep themselves warm are the rare "True Scales", who are dragonborn born without the typical dull blue or red scales. Silver, Bronze, Green, Black, and White are just a few of the True Scaled dragonborn, so named due to the rarity of their coloration and perceived purity of their heritage. The blues are born with ice in their veins, and so are naturally immune to the cold. The reds are born with fire within them, so they naturally warm themselves from within. The other colors do not have these advantages, and so must warm themselves as any other. Physically, they appear to be the same size and build as the average human, albeit with scales, a tail, and a more dragon-like face. As for a real-life comparison, the Dragonborn in Feredas are much more similar to Argonians (Elder Scrolls series) than to the dragonborn art in the Player's handbook. They still have their legendary strength, despite their appearance. The average dragonborn is going to be significantly stronger than the average human, even when they are the same size and build.
Nowadays, they have been pushed more out to the fringes of civilization, living in the shadows of the mountains or in the great depths of the arboreal forests. They have a relative peace with the rest of the civilized races, though they are met with distrust and scrutiny in the northern towns. They are now more or less accepted into modern northern society, with the unspoken rule of "You stay in your space, we will stay in ours."