Recovered from the archives of the Aenarchs and gifted to Eolon of Oemon during his visit to Perama. The document is believed to have been written three centuries after the lifting of Darkness by an unnamed Aenarch scout operating beyond the borders of Zargovia. According to military records, the author never returned. The report reached Avaton tied beneath the leg of a hawk that had barely escaped Dominion arrows. The final pages show signs of haste, water damage and what appears to be dried bile.
The report ends abruptly. Military records offer no account of the spy’s disappearance after dispatching the message. Dominion authorities never acknowledged the incident. The author’s name remains unknown. He most probably serves as undead in the vast moving wall.
Report Regarding the Dominion of Zargovia
To the Commander of the Vorea Stratia,
I submit the following observations regarding the realm known as Zargovia. Though I intended to remain only long enough to chart its roads and fortifications, circumstances allowed prolonged infiltration. The information below was gathered over three months spent travelling disguised as a stonemason between the cities of Rend and Ivox. I spent almost three years preparing for this mission. The conclusions may be unwelcome. I urge caution before any military action against this nation.
The Border of the Dead
No map adequately describes the borders of the Dominion. The southern kingdoms imagine walls of stone or lines of soldiers. Instead, I discovered that the land itself has become a weapon. The forests surrounding this nation appear diseased from afar. Entire hillsides of black and crimson trees stand twisted into unnatural shapes. Their roots emerge from the earth like the fingers of buried gods. Streams of dark sap drip continuously from their bark and gather in stagnant pools. The smell resembles spoiled blood mixed with smoke.
Few animals survive there. Birdsong disappears long before reaching the frontier. The silence becomes unsettling. Within these forests wander the dead. Thousands upon thousands. I witnessed them personally.
Entire companies of corpses drift through the trees without direction. Some wear armor so ancient it has become fused to bone. Others still possess fragments of flesh. Many bear the signs of old battles and forgotten wars. They do not sleep, nor feed. They simply wander and at night attack outsiders immediately.
Somehow, they ignore the people of the Dominion. I confirmed my observation repeatedly. A soldier carrying firewood passed within arm’s reach of a skeletal creature that would have torn me apart moments earlier. Neither acknowledged the other. The dead merely stepped aside, as one might move aside for a passing wagon. The implications are troubling, Although people are taught to stay away from the borders, I could not determine whether this immunity is inherited, bestowed, or maintained through sorcery. The Dominion possesses an army that requires no food, no payment and no barracks. More alarming still, that army extends for hundreds of miles.
The Fumes
Crimson forests are not the only defense of the Dominion. A poisonous mist shrouds the land. Not natural fog born from rivers and morning dew, but a strange vapor carrying the smell of blood, sulphur and rotten earth. It drifts through valleys and between hills in slow-moving tides, as if guided by unseen purpose. Entire roads disappear beneath it.
Travel becomes impossible without guides. I learned quickly that the Hounds possess knowledge no foreign army can hope to match. They move through the fumes as sailors navigate the sea. New paths seemed visible in their eyes alone. Villages emerged suddenly from the deathly mists like apparitions, only to vanish again behind them as the Hounds led us onward.
One begins to understand why no invasion has succeeded. An army may conquer walls. It cannot conquer a landscape determined to hide itself. This country is surrounded by enemies, but these are kept outside by unnatural forces, forces that also keep the Zargovians locked in like mice in a dungeon.
The People
Instead of cruelty alone, I discovered discipline. Zargovians rise before dawn and the cities awaken in silence. There are no drunken brawls, no gambling dens, no wandering beggars. Even the poorest districts possess an unnerving order. Workers report to their assigned duties almost without complaint. Children march to temples and schools in organized groups supervised by clerics or veterans. Markets open precisely on schedule.
I encountered women serving as officers, magistrates and priests with a frequency uncommon elsewhere in Therasya. Their authority appeared accepted rather than exceptional.
Fear exists, but belief is stronger. People genuinely trust their institutions. Many have never travelled beyond their province. They cannot without a permit. Most have never seen another kingdom. Yet they speak of Dominion with a certainty usually reserved for religion.
Fear exists, but belief is stronger.
They do not claim it is perfect. I heard this distinction repeated often. Dominion is necessary in their eyes and hearts. Citizens may criticize local officials, they complain about taxes, food quotas and military recruitment, but they never openly question the Dominion itself. To them such a concept appears absurd, and those who persist in questioning it are removed like weeds from a field.
The Absence of Families
Among the strangest customs I have witnessed is the relationship between parents and children. Families exist. Yet they are strangely diminished. A mother may raise a child through his earliest years before the state assumes responsibility for education and training. Fathers are frequently absent, simply detached. Children know their mothers, but most barely know their fathers.
At first, I believed this evidence of social decay. Further observation suggested the opposite. The arrangement appears deliberate, for every institution I observed seemed designed to place loyalty to the Dominion above all. Children are taught that their foremost family is the Dominion itself. The process begins early and continues throughout life.
I observed no resentment. Children speak proudly about joining guilds, military orders or religious institutions. Mothers surrender sons and daughters with solemn pride rather than sorrow. That acceptance frightened me more than open oppression. Oppression breeds rebellion, but acceptance breeds a kind of permanence.
The loyalty of a Zargovian belongs first to the Dominion and only then to blood.
Rend
Rend is perhaps the finest example of Dominion architecture. The city rises from red clay plains like a fortress built by priests. Every structure appears designed for both defense and ceremony. At its center rises Therion Hill, so immense that local legends claim an ancient beast carved it from the earth with a single claw.
Statues of devils line the major roads. The people do not worship these beings as conquerors. Rather they revere them as protectors and teachers. This theological distinction appears genuine. Many public squares contain fountains, shrines and monuments dedicated to sacrifice, duty and discipline.
The most striking feature is the omnipresence of armed citizens. Weapons are everywhere. Not hidden but displayed. Swords hang from walls, spears decorate taverns, suits of armor stand beside doorways. A weapon in Zargovia serves the same purpose as a family heirloom elsewhere. It represents status, identity and personal achievement. Even common laborers maintain their tools of war with extraordinary care. I rarely encountered a rusty blade or a Zargovian unarmed.
The Hounds
No organization deserves greater attention than the Hounds. Officially they are scouts, rangers and protectors of the wilderness. In practice they function as the nervous system of the Dominion. Their influence extends everywhere. Roads remain safe because of them, supply lines function because of them, border incursions are discovered because of them. The average citizen speaks of them with admiration bordering on reverence. Unlike knights or nobles, Hounds live among the people. Many children dream of joining their ranks.
I observed several companies entering settlements after patrols. The reception resembled victorious soldiers returning from war. What surprised me most was the demeanor of the Hounds themselves. No boasting, no celebrations and no demands for praise. Only reports, inspections and immediate preparation for the next assignment. The organization appears obsessed with competence. I could not infiltrate their guild, but I witnessed their harsh punishments from outside their walls. Failure was not tolerated.
Ivox
Ivox is unlike any city I have ever witnessed. Its avenues are immense, leading to plazas filled with monuments. Government buildings resemble temples. The structures do not aspire toward beauty as understood by the southern kingdoms. There are few graceful arches, no delicate carvings, and little ornamentation. Instead, enormous masses of white stone and marble dominate the skyline. Government halls rise like cliffs carved by deliberate hands rather than built by masons. Vast rectangular towers cast long shadows across entire districts. Their walls are smooth and severe, broken only by narrow windows and monumental reliefs depicting soldiers, martyrs and Fallen Angels.
The city seems constructed to inspire obedience rather than admiration. Buildings do not invite a visitor inside. They instead loom over him. Even the temples possess the appearance of fortresses. Their facades are formed from immense blocks of white stone fitted so tightly together that no blade may pass between them. Stairways are broad enough for armies. Courtyards could host entire regiments. Every structure appears intended to endure siege, rebellion, famine, and the passing of centuries. Walking through Ivox, one gains the unsettling impression that the city was not built for the comfort of those living within it, but for the perpetuation of the Dominion itself. The scale appears deliberate. Citizens seem insignificant beside such structures, as though every stone serves as a reminder that nations outlive men.
The city exists in a perpetual state of readiness. Military formations march through the streets daily and supply wagons arrive constantly. Clerics, monks and soldiers move with equal authority.
The distinction between religion, government and military appears almost nonexistent. Each supports the others. The result is remarkable efficiency. Citizens accept military presence as naturally as market stalls. No visible tension exists between civilian and military populations. The two have effectively become one.
The Monasteries
Every city possesses temples, every village possesses chapels and every road eventually leads to a monastery. The clergy are everywhere. They oversee schools, funerals, public records, military ceremonies and countless other duties. Black-robed monks walk the streets carrying scrolls and censers while armored priests inspect fortifications and train soldiers.
Gaining admittance proved impossible, their structures are heavily defended, and my attempts nearly exposed my disguise. I suspect their clergy serve purposes far beyond religion. Soldiers are treating them like army officers.
Necromancy
I searched diligently for necromancers, but I found none. Yet the dead remained everywhere and this realization troubled me greatly. The unliving laborers hauling stone through Ivox had no visible masters. Skeletons guarded storehouses watched over by a handful of silent monks. Corpse-servants transported grain between villages while nearby clerics copied scripture beneath the shade of temple walls.
The magic clearly exists, but its practitioners remain hidden. Or perhaps hidden so well that ordinary citizens no longer distinguish miracles from routine. I once followed a funeral procession beyond the walls of Rend hoping to witness their burial rites. No burial occurred. The body disappeared into a vast furnace shrine maintained by silent monks. Hours later the clergy emerged alone. The dead man did not. I never learned what became of the body. Nor did I find anyone willing to explain without raising suspicion.
Necromancy in the Dominion is not viewed as forbidden knowledge as it is among our people. It appears woven into the very foundations of their society. That realization should concern every neighboring kingdom. For if one ignores the moral burden, the practical advantages become undeniable.
The dead do not tire. The dead do not demand wages and the dead do not desert. One begins to understand why the Dominion can field armies while still keeping its farms, roads and workshops functioning.
The Fallen Angels
The word devil is shunned, uttering it is a crime against the foundations of this state. You will not find one Zargovian breathing it. The fallen angels remain elusive and in my short time I saw none directly, although I devoted much effort toward uncovering evidence of the beings Zargovians call the Six. In contrast to Heraldon or Darklight where Angels roam the streets, here they exist in the shadows, yet evidence of their influence appears everywhere. You see them in temples, statues, doctrines. Even their laws bear unmistakable Avernic influence and military insignia resemble the emblems of the devils.
This distinction is significant. Most citizens genuinely believe these beings sacrificed divinity to protect mortals. Whether true or not, the narrative has proven extraordinarily effective. The devils rarely appear. Which makes them more powerful. A ruler who must constantly demonstrate authority possesses little of it, but one whose authority is assumed possesses immense power. This absence became more unsettling than any manifestation could have been. It felt as though invisible hands had shaped every stone, every law and every custom before retreating into shadow.
Final Observations
During my stay I witnessed public punishments, mutilated criminals displayed as warnings, and citizens disappearing after questioning the clergy. I have no doubt that cruelty exists within the Dominion. Yet it would be a mistake to assume cruelty alone sustains it. Fear may maintain a kingdom for a generation. But faith maintains it for centuries.
Fear may maintain a kingdom for a generation. But faith maintains it for centuries.
The people are fed, crime is low and corruption appears rare. Women possess unusual influence. I observed their war veterans receiving care, their roads remain secure. Slavery is strictly prohibited, punishable by the eternal servitude of undeath. It is impossible to find beggars or street urchins in their cities.
Perhaps that is its greatest defense. A tyrant is easy to hate, but cruel care is far harder. I conclude with a warning: should war come, commanders must not assume the population will welcome liberation. Its people trust in their nation with a fervor I have never witnessed elsewhere, surrounded by hostiles on every side. There exists no more dangerous enemy than a man convinced he defends something sacred.
— Extract from the journal of General Ylarchos of the Fifth Shoma
