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Name: Arda

Region: Tingel Arm
System: Indigo Reef
Suns: One: Main Sequence G-Class Yellow Star
Orbital Position: 149,200,000 km
Moons: Three: Priad, Memnes, & Andromak
Coordinates: W-6 - The Tingel Arm, Due East of Mon Calamari
Rotational Period: 29 Hrs
Orbital Period: 414 Days

Class: Oceanic Terrestrial
Diameter: 13,996 km
Atmosphere: Type I
Climate: High Temperate, Equatorial
Gravity: Standard
Primary Terrain: Atoll Reefs, Lagoons, Islands, Reefs, Bays, General Oceanographic Features

Native species: N/A, Save for Non-Sentient Flora, Fauna
Immigrated species: Human
Primary languages: Proto-Typical Coruscanti Basic w/ Islander Variations
Government: Decentralized – Local Chieftains maintain basic authorities, elected based on communal agreement~
Population: 16 Million
Demonym: Ardan
Major cities: Karybdis, Scyaela
Major imports: N/A
Major exports: N/A
Affiliation: Levantine Sanctum


Indadh Runners: Sometimes, for a few wayward lives, the communal life common amongst island tribes and clans is too much for some with an ear to the wind. These they name Indadh, zephyrs with a zest for fast sailing and long sojourns. Often they are tasked with delivering word to neighboring atolls, carrying in their charge rare letters hand-writ on frond-paper. Supposedly only Indadh know the whisper in a breeze, secrets of how to outrun even the mighty Su-enae: the Waterspout.

Sendan: The Fisher Caste. Reserved for the strongest and boldest of the sea-faring communities, and tasked to bring home the fish and food hauls for their people to subsist. Tall, sinewy, featuring complex acid tattoo’s upon their left cheeks and brow, they brave hunting straits reserved for both prey and predator. The greatest of their brethren are known to only hunt the Loligo: rare things from the bottom of the lightless trenches, with folding arms of iron and strength enough to split small islands apart. But to take one is to give your family and people enough sustenance to feed for a year uninterrupted. A risk worth taking, indeed.

Orthan: For Ardans, history is a nebulous thing. Memory changes from generation to generation, with only a set few things that have managed to become a matter of permanent commemoration. There’s a rare kind that practices that reading and writing arts, utilizing scrimshaw on preserved fangs and bone. Accordingly, when the time is right to transcribe the Laws of Tide for their generation, Orthan awake suddenly with uncanny clarity. Furiously they take to the largest pieces of discarded bone and begin their craft. None are allowed to interrupt them. When they are finished, the sign is displayed for all to see. Orthan afterward wait at the morning tides for when washed up pieces of peculiar stone appear in the pebbles. So it goes these are single sets of history: brief memories of older Orthan reaching out to their descendents. An Orthan’s life can be measured in the amount of carved rocks he or she collects in their time, or perhaps how many they send out in return.

Kee: The mantle of Chieftain or King/Queen. Chosen every twenty years, Kee are raised up based on the village’s cumulative decision. It is a station of incredible responsibility and only those who have proven wise for their people’s need are asked to lead them on. It is said the worst curse you can place on your enemy is to wish for them to be Kee.

Su-enae: The collective name for the worst kinds of seaward phenomena. Whirpools, waterspouts, and tidal waves. So called for an ancient witch that gave birth to a sea devil. Her birthing pangs were so terrible that the tides were forever altered, resulting in cataclysms that have returned to eternally torment the waters. It’s said her child still roams the blacker straits, red eyed, of awful bulk and strength, awaiting its time to rise and devour the islands.

Calabed: At the end of the summer season as the oceans shift for the Rainy Age, at times the waters grow too warm. The winds gust too fast. And from the unseen waves comes the worst of Arda’s woes. Calabed, the Hurricane, the collected souls of those lost to the sea combining their voices to scream in sorrow. There is nothing to do when Calabed comes: only batten down everything within reach and brace for the cries of the dead.

Mandorin: ‘The Songs.’ A day’s work is often put to song and even dance as the sun falls. There are no set rhymes of lays, simply a set rhythm and beat. Each song is simple improvisation, as the Ardan belief is that all is transitory, memory fickle. Why focus on preservation when creation is so much more fun?

Technology: The general attitude towards progress is this: if it makes things float better, than all the power. Arda has strictly set in a general state of pre-iron-age primitiveness, though by choice or not remains to be told. However, with that said, their arts in fishing, boat crafting, cloth stitching, and the upkeep of their island homes borders on the preternaturally skilled. Give an Ardan a tree bough and a whittling knife, and within hours he or she will have crafted a fire-hardened spear-lance that can take a Wampa in its midriff clean through. They want not for conveniences. For what is more convenient that a fruit drink and a brief smoke of gull-bone?

History: Ardans are not wholly sure to the when and where of how they came to be. A common myth accepted is that one day the Rain decided to become whole. To walk, explore this strange world that seemed swept with seas, and then return to the storms when they’d learned what they sought. Some of the more accomplished swimmers report that in some reefs are buried monuments; stanchions, engine blocks, habitat decks and other vessel pieces nearly submerged in sand and coral growths.

It doesn’t aid that Ardan lore is a murky set of half-remembered stories, mostly dealing with particularly memorable whale catches and the sort. Given their human appearance, the desiccated leftovers of sunken vessels, the only sure theory is this: sometime in Pre-Republic ages, most likely at the height of the notorious Daritha Xim, refugee’s in a swift flee from the Tion Cluster foundered and became lost in their Hyperspace transitions. Eventually, they affected crash landings upon Arda and took to adopting a sea-faring life in order to properly survive.

Time and a lack of mineral resources alongside sustainable electric energy rendered even solar panels ultimately irreparable. Technology discarded, these descendants of wayward voyagers took up an identity that slowly transitioned into this idiosyncratic grounding of tribal and familial communities. Now, Ardans don’t care much if they fell from the skies on chariots grinding void-wind and fire beneath their hulls. What matters is keeping up their season catch of fowl, fish, and spout-meat. Life is too good to be hung up on matters that will one day change around anyhow. What is more pertinent? Dusting off memories that cannot improve their boats today? Or digging out the beaches for when Calabed comes once more?

Notable PC's: N/A

Intent: To simply create a tropic locale for future Roleplaying sessions, and build on the general lore, civilization, and resources over time.
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