Nio Civilizations

Introduction

The Nio go by many names—Nyo, Gomirna, Nzyunyakel, Gemren, Ndarampalagara, and others—but they all share certain common points. All speak some language descended from Proto-Nio, a heavily prefixing language spoken on and around Lake Gah-Rém, in the eastern midlands of the Chom Plateau. All share certain physical similarities—a tendency to be short and a little fiery, and indeed they also tend to be red, dark red of hair and orange of irises (ranging from brown to gold) and even pinkish-red of skin. All have a love of pantomime that has led to some of the mosr strangely evocative dance traditions in the world, on par with those of Salvi and the Impassioned Maidens of Acarios. And all bear common descent from an ancestor who Spoke the Name of the Dance, and who could control the waters where he lived. Others called out to different Names as time went on, but all Nio have a deep affinity for the water, seeking it out wherever they can.

One thing more is common: the Nio as a culture have a bad habit of deflecting the truth to a degree, especially when it comes to relationships. It matters very little what people actually do—what counts is that what they do doesn't contradict the view society has of itself.

Pumirna: The Birthing Isle

Lake Gah-Rém sits in a large valley on the eastern side of the Chom Mountains, fed by twenty-four rivers borne across the landscape by a rush from hundreds of icy streamlets. And yet the valley itself, for all its nearly sheer cliffs on all sides, is quiet and peaceful. The lake, like many a lake in this region, is quite deep—certainly deep enough for boats and even ships.

It is here that agriculture began on the Chitem Sea, the birth of the Three Mothers and One Father. Maize was domesticated from a grass called teosinte, while beans and squash found their way into the mix. These Three Mothers were riverbank crops, grown with relatively little irrigation. The One Father, riceroot, served a different purpose; the seeds could be gathered in large amounts, proving puffier and tastier than maize, while the thick, tuberous rhizome can be used both for cuttings and as an emergency foodstock. Soon enough, these were joined by the One Outside—grapevines were domesticated, in the high desert.

At some point during the Middle Archaic Period, the Nio began to start using the *tnednyor or "chinampa", a word which survives in modern Eralca as sendur. First these were simple extensions of the wetlands they cultivated for fishing, but they evolved into entire patches of lake where immense gardens could be grown. And the same wooden framework also provided sufficient means for the driving of earth to the lakebed too, creating whole man-made islands.

This was where the first cities of the Nio arose—cities renowned in history and myth. Pumirna itself, the Island in the Lake. Dói-Dleh, surrounded by water so clear it mirrored the sky. Gí-Bai, where riceroot grew most plentifully, and which lay close to mines of copper and tin. Dwanyanu, famous for its limestone quarries. Yimbim, furthest inland, but the site of great forests.

Many key elements of Nio culture developed here. Men and women traditionally had separate housing, for example, even within family compounds, and separate adulthood rituals. There was a longstanding custom of taking on a younger person of the same sex as a student and lover; this was attested even as early as the 3rd Century BC. Even some of the gods are recognizable—the Three Mothers are well-attested, but so is the turtle-shell of Gū-Pyám the water-goddess, and the broken pot of Mtwadnubé the Fleet of Souls, and the maned wolf's head of Ur-Palmas the god of wine. They had primitive writing in the form of message-sticks carved with certain symbols, which they passed from band to band along the lakeshore to herald important events. Each city worshipped a tetrarchy of gods—a father, a mother, their child, and a companion deity.

All good civilizations must come to an end. Archaeologists are still uncertain as to what caused Pumirna's. Perhaps something as simple as a plague; the first occurrences of lizard-rash, leading to meningitis in the brain stem, a white scale-like rash across the skin, impaired thermoregulation, and in extreme cases rapid rhabdomyolysis, seems to have appeared around this time, likely transmitted by pinflies. A population increase combined with decreasing fertility levels (and decreased sanitation) is a secondary possibility, and a third is internal warfare. It may well be a combination of all three. Stories mention a further fourth explanation, the "death of the sea", suggesting a possible major drought, but evidence for this is still forthcoming.

Reogal: The Lost Child

Whatever the origins of Reogal might have been, they have long since been lost to time. Some say the land was founded by fleeing refugees from the collapse of Pumirna, and there may be something in this. Other stories speak of a much, much older civilization, which the Pumirnans merely stumbled upon and integrated into. Whatever the case may be, there are some telltale signs of Pumirnan architecture in the great towers of Reogal—ablaq, for example, the patterns of different-coloured stones in rows up the building, although the use of beehive-shaped domes atop four arches appears to postdate the migration. Little things nevertheless; and the valley of Tzingugaramsu, the Kingdom Among the Heavens, today resembles the land around Gáh-Rem not at all.

And yet, for two thousand years, the small lake around which Reogal was built was the heart of a new empire. Stories from other lands speak of a legendary founder, Ngalgalampa, who called upon the Name of the Identity, a spirit not of water but of the earth. High in the mountains, the stones themselves were made to walk as gukalanggara, golems, powered by sacred words spoken by priests and written in an arcane script within their ceramic heads. The kingdom that was born lasted for two thousand years, with golems doing the work of a whole society—warriors, farmers, even makers of golems. A paradise on earth, say the old tales. And they expanded across the mountains, spreading their culture and their rule from their old homeland around Lake Gāh-Rém in the nirth, to the yak-herders of Chom to the west, to the Idamdesi Desert in the south, to Lake Vanjiri in the east. All they needed was taken care of by the golems; the golems were woven into the magic of the world by the priests who acted as intermediaries. Ngalgalampa's empire seemed better than a rebirth—it was an ascendancy.

And yet two thousand years later into their rule, five thousand years before the present day, the Empire of Ngalgaumpa vanished off the face of the earth.

To this day, it's not quite certain what happened. The Ndarampalgara are the last of that people on this world, and they survive only in exile from their valley. Today, they live among their distant cousins in Nù-Tāh, blending in with the populace. But every so often, they will visit a marapuwa, a speaker of wisdom, and will listen to tales of how once they ruled an empire from sunrise to sunset. And how, by the construction of a tower reaching all the way to the heavens, to reach the noon as well, they angered Ngkakalamsa, the Great God, who brought the shadow of that tower to life, and called it Gusuranta. And Gusuranta roared, and swallowed her makers and turned them to monsters. Only the Ndarampalagara survived, because they were beyond the borders. Even the gukalanggara died. Gusuranta is still there, thrashing around and turning the empire of old into a kingdom of ash...but the tower keeps her pinned down, just as it created her, and so it shall be until the end of the world. Not just they; stories of the Age of Clay, predating the Age of Seed (when the Three Mothers birthed all the peoples of the world), of a great world-eating dragon, and of shadows that have lives of their own are common to all Nio cultures. But the Ndarampalgara really remember, or so they say. And their role is to make sure, by whatever means necessary, that it never happens again.

When people think of Reogal today—even the name is foreign, Gykkeni for "secret fortress" instead of the old name of Tzingugaramsu—what comes to mind is a place of dread. A place where swift black-skinned runners scout in the night and trade with others, where red-skinned giants work farms which never seem to bear crops, and where albino spider-like wraiths clamber around and within the monoliths which dot the landscape. There are stories of cannibal ghouls, of golems made of flesh, of secret tunnels where dark things hide beneath the earth and mad cults worship beasts from the gulfs of night...

Ghibak: The River Kingdom

Of the remaining Nio civilizations, Ghibak has a legitimate claim to being the oldest. Like a great many early civilizations, it sits along a river—in this case, the Pulyen, draining Lake Gah-Rém and flowing gently across the landscape until it reaches the Chitem Sea. The Pulyen snakes through quite a dry landscape, without much in the way of additional rivers and streams, but a shifting course from year to year that leaves behind plenty of oxbow lakes. And yet it remains steady enough in its course that many farms and cities can lay claim to a foundation story millennia old.

Ghibak appears to have been founded by refugees fleeing the fall of the Pumirnan civilization in the 32nd Century BC. At first, the settlements would have been small and scattered, each remaining a safe distance downriver—as far downriver as they dared to go. Others went further; mankelebel, the Ghibaktjil called them, deserters, those who would forsake the waters of their ancestors. So long as they stayed close, they could keep the river's protection, and soon they would be strong enough to return. So the earliest legends say—but it took another three hundred years for the city of Keleng-Din to grow to 1,000 people, and by that point very few seemed intent on leaving.

For a time the towns along the river squabbled and traded with one another, kidnapping Chosen Women for the local king (pudum) to distribute as he saw fit to the warriors of his city. The pictograms on the message sticks became more stylized, written on clay instead, and the river saw a glut of different cuneiform scripts emerge, much like how they were developing in the Senok Desert. That is, until the pudum Kegyod of Nul-Thu-In managed to unite the four broad kingdoms which emerged along the upper Pulyen, and crowned himself the Fourfold King (pudum-u-gok). Often this was just shortened to High King (o-pudum), at least in common parlance. Even then, there was no complete abolishment of the other monarchies; instead, they were brought to live in Nul-Thu-In as hostages against their people rebelling, and their harems were added to the High King's own. And last but not least, a single cuneiform script was made standard along the river.

Ghibak had a reputation in the ancient world, somewhat for licentiousness but mostly for solidity. Yes, people did go around half-naked, which offends the sensibilities of many a modern man and woman; but there was nothing more licentious than that, and in any case it was often necessary in their home climate. No temple prostitutes, as were found in the Senok; houses of Chosen Women, yes, but these were positions of quite some power in the Empire, regardless of what the o-pudungkel wanted people to think. The sacrament of marriage was still active and well, and if a person took on a student, well, did it do them harm to do so? They would be welcomed into the household as beremel, sacred guests, "apprentices" to their foster-father or foster-mother. And if by some chance there were children, well, those could only be the children of the teacher's family, yes? Of course the system was abused, there are always those who will abuse it. But that was not the point. The point was to provide fresh blood, and new workers, and provide heirs. Nothing could be simpler.

…well, at least the Gemrenel thought as much. In reality it got a little complicated, because while the priest-kings of Krotsk and the alchemists of the Empire Insistent didn't much care for their mores, they cared very much indeed about the vast fertile expanse of the river that never stopped flowing, and the farms it raised in the dry desert. And so, despite a history of nearly six thousand years, the Good River Lands have been under independent rule for maybe three, if that.

There have always been plenty of kings (pudungkel), but only one High King. Today, that High King is the Sultan of Lantar, and he sits on the throne of Betami, but that doesn't bother the locals too much. Once there were gods for every village and town along the River; now, old Chidurat priests try to maintain good order within the cycles against the zeal that Uyerazo has enflamed among the common folk. Once the capital was Nul-Thu-In, or Keleng-Din; now it is Yimbim, sitting among the mangroves at the river delta, and every house is an orchard while the Governor's Palace is a forest of its own.

Ghibak does not have pyramids like Acarios, Mujara, or Quiram, but it does have tetraconches—extensions of the four arches supporting a beehive-shaped dome, surrounded by gardens. The cities traditionally have no walls—no army can cross the desert, not without a miracle. There simply aren't—or weren't—the animals for it. They do herd ibexes, however, which provides a staple, and they have cultivated turkeys for millennia since their introduction by the Empire Insistent, and these they keep with them. A good shepherd can keep 100 ibexes, if he is careful.

The Nzunyakel: Desert Cousins

Presumed to be from a migrant population that travelled even further south, the Nzunyakel reached a desert of their own, the Idamdesi. Their crops did not grow as well here, and the river Wozuba, for all its greater length, was not sufficient to support as large a population without the irrigation systems for which the Senok had become famous. So the Nzunyakel stayed as they were, subsisting, hunting, raiding, passing out of memory. Their gods stayed much the same, they marked themselves with ochre as before...but there were further changes. Of all the Nio peoples, the Nzunyakel are the most egalitarian, to the point of indolence at times. Their desert home does not allow for much in the way of great feats, because any short-term profit for them (through increased hunting and the like) risks long-term damage. To be completely fair, the opposite is also true; long-term gains often mean privations in the short term. For those who have settled around the Idamdesi, this is slightly less problematic, but then they are usually called nggamgetal, "greedy people", by their desert cousins—they harvest riceroot and some long-ago population bartered for ibexes from the other side of the High Plateau, which birthed a hardy race of shepherds and fishers. Mind you, the farmers and herders universally call them the agozusi, the "lazy people"—because they decide to laze around in the forbidden wastelands trekking down animals over hundreds of kilometres and foraging for a myriad of potential roots and nuts instead of settling by the river and doing a proper day's work. Not that there's much allowance for them to join in, these days. But they don't mind; when your ancestors still guide you to water, and bid you deflect what your enemies throw at you, is there any point in complaining that the nggamgetal hoard so much to themselves? They wouldn't last five minutes out here, not when they've forgotten so much…

The Nzunyakel are not the only people of the Idamdesi, although they form one of the more prominent language families. The shepherds and fishers have mostly adopted Chidurat, and a few have made a lot of money out of those who wish for guides into the Idamdesi to procure opals and azurite. A few have converted to Uyerazo instead, and are vehemently protesting the use of what they see as slave labour in the desert mines—ironic, given that most of their customers are Hercuan and Zanguenese merchants.

Nù-Tāh: The Lakeshore Cities

While Ghibak is the closest spiritual successor, the closest geographic successor is the Nù-Tāh Empire, named for its ruling dynasty. The remaining wetland gardens were still cultivated, albeit to a lower degree, and soon enough the cities of Gí-Bai and Dói-Dleh had returned to their former glory. The two competed for a while, before Nù-Tāh of Gí-Bai successfully led his fleet to victory over Kréi-Goi of Dói-Dleh.

...the kingdom became notable for one more thing: tyò-lein, elsewhere called Lewidzian Blue. Like Lewidzian Blue in the country through which it would become renowned, tyò-lein is a barium copper silicate, made through combining baryte with quartz and copper, as well as lead to act as a catalyst. This became a major export to the downriver kingdom of Ghibak, and was a frequent reason cited for the occasional attempt to conquer the lake, which usually held for a generation or two. They also traded with the Rechen of Chom, who in turn provided various trade goods from across the mountains.

Socially, the Nyo are divided into twenty bloodlines, each of which lays claim to a sacred shrine on the lake. The bloodlines are not purely genetic; it is more than possible to join a different bloodline via adoption, even for foreigners. What is most important to the Nyo is the preservation of the shrines, and the promises of miracles that they bring. The twenty gods also mark the passage of the year; the calendar of the Nyo, like those of Ghibak and Bimparja, is divided into twenty segments of fifteen days, and each segment bears the name of one of the deities in the shrines. (As a matter of course, each bloodline counts their month as the beginning of the year, which occasionally makes things a little confusing.) Men and women live in separate parts of a compound, even in small houses in the cities. Each city also has two separate temples to the patron deity and their consort of the opposite sex, where travellers may take shelter. In Gí-Bai, for example, the patroness is Nù-Tāh, the Waking Dragon, in a temple of red stone; across the plaza is the limestone temple of Mye-Ghyà-Kēiy, He who Comes Forth from the Monolith.

Nù-Tāh was for a long time ruled by a council of travelling eunuchs, the only people who could safely pass between the houses of men and women without fear of offending either. It became increasingly less important that one actually demonstrate proof of one's sexlessness as time went on, and the term used, rèu-ngo, instead became the standard term for "bureaucrat". As a corollary, women did occasionally join as well, given the general lack of testing required; many would choose to "retire" at some point and head back to their communities, but several stayed on to become full bureaucrats. And if, from time to time, they spent, say, a year visiting a particular Women's House (kì-nye-liu, Hercuan quinhello) and at the end of that year someone else in that house birthed a child, well, it was fortuitous that they had a eunuch close by to aid them, yes?

Today, Nù-Tāh is a diocese of the Aregan Church, something which has caused much consternation among the Ghibaki to the south. It is also, however, under the economic aegis of Trei Men, a Zanguenese state just over the mountains to the west. This makes life rather complicated for everybody. Things are especially complicated by the fact that the Men's and Women's Houses, despite the best efforts of the

Bimparja: Kings and Companions

Bimparja is the furthest-removed of the civilizations, and to a degree the farthest-removed. No longer linked to Lake Gām-Rém, Bimparja alies along the northeast coast of the Chitem Sea, completely removed geographically from everywhere from Ghibak to the Idamdesi. A sunny place, most of the time, with excellent harbours and plenty of places to grow the Three Mothers.

Bimparja has seen many overlords since its foundation. The Empire Resurgent was the main one, and the one whose expulsion was accompanied by the removal of the Puppet Kings under the Nhão, but Ghibak, Mujara, the Teshmur, Lantar, and even Zahng Kwen have all tried to contain the territory. Currently Lantar has the unenviable job of trying to bring them into line, while the merchants of Zahng Kwen are more than willing to trade regardless of religious scruples for the fine coral they collect.

Bimparja's army comprises many thousands of acaji (singular acatu), a word best translated as "battle couple". These are pairs of lovers, placed together on the battlefield, in the hope that each will fight all the more strongly to keep the other alive. Trust is an absolute; abuse has no place in the army. Training is immaculate, and each man will be taught to fight by his çodu, his erastes, and will in turn teach his sarta, his eromenos, when the time comes. They fight fiercely and without regard for a great many things, such as personal safety. (They are very good at taking prisoners, though. Take enough of them, they think, and the enemy loses their will to fight.) Once, they were led by the kings whose job was to protect and limit access to the ogucipi where rhe women lived; now, they represent themselves in the great fuserçi (singular fusernu) to cast ballots, while arbiters (alji, singular alja) are chosen once every two years by lot to decide on important issues for the city.

The Gomirna have a religion of their own, one derived from the practices of old. They still worship a tetrarchy of gods…only now those gods have been standardized, and the role the religion plays is different. The aim is to reach an enlightenment of a sort, to become an arecu, a "singularity", serving one of the Four (Yegiocu). Enhugu the Erastes of Creation, Terca the Eromenos of War, Llemba the Mother of Balance, Jegramu the Child of Prophecy…all may be called upon, all serve a purpose.

Nauism is not an evangelical religion, although its followers are not unwelcoming to converts. Instead, the intent is to maintain some semblance of tradition for the Gomirna, and the preservation of social institituions nearly two millennia old. Founded in a time of hostility, Nauism is a trader's faith, a hitchhiker's faith, a holy warrior's faith. It has one or two aspects which may seem unusual to outsiders—the sequestering of women in ogucipi (a term which the Hercuans translate derogatorily as "convent-harems") and the erastes-eromenos relationship expected between men among them—but it allows for the continued function of their society and there is something to be said for that. Besides, neither of these are absolute. There is no guarantee that a man will take on a teenager as a lover as opposed to merely a student, expected or not, and women are allowed to leave their ogucipu—veiled, yes, but there are different degrees to which one may be veiled, from opaque orthodoxy to bright colours to nearly sheer fabric (although this is more of a foreign stereotype than actual reality), and the face may go from being all blank save the eyes to a simple headscarf. The ogucipi have a vote in the assemblies as well—one vote per ogucipu, true, but the last vote, and a veto power besides. Note further that such restrictions and traditions apply more to the upper and middle classes; among the lower classes and foreign visitors, such behaviours and attires are encouraged but not compulsory.

Currently, like Ghibak, Bimparja is a part of the Lanmuri Empire. Allowed freedom of religion (to a degree), the Gomirna have become staunch advocates for the empire, even against larger powers such as Qoldishtar, Hercua, Zahng Kwen, and even Mujara.