Post by David on Aug 26, 2005 17:12:18 GMT -5
The Land of Fate is a true melting pot, peopled by humans in all shapes, sizes, and colors (and both genders, too). For the most part, Zakhara lacks the racial prejudice and segregation of less civilized realms. Indeed, were a demi-human or humanoid to embrace Zakharan culture and society, they would be welcomed as a brother or sister far more readily than a similar-looking human who embraced a different culture. For instance, a half-orc learned in the Law of the Loregiver, fluent in Midani, and respectful of Zakharan traditions would find far greater acceptance in the Land of Fate than nearly anywhere in the Flanese. Not even ogres or gnolls are shunned in Zakhara. Although some are brutes, as surly and crude as their foreign counterparts, Zakharans do not allow the rough-tempered minority to color their opinions of the entire group.
Lifestyle—not race—tends to separate Zakharans. In the Land of Fate, people fall into one of two broad groups: those who are nomads and those who are not. The nomads, or Al-Badia (ahl-BAH-dee-ya), dwell in the most hostile areas of Zakhara, where men are as near to the gods as they are to death. They are driven by the search for simple necessities: water, food, and grazing land to sustain their herds. As a result, the nomads are a sinewy breed with keen senses. Sloth and obesity are virtually unknown to them; many subsist on a little more than few dates and a flask of sour milk each day. With so little food, and only a goat’s-hair tent to provide shelter, the Al-Badia are more impoverished than many can imagine. Yet they consider themselves to be the richest of all Zakharans. Their wealth lies not in possessions. Nomads do not value gaudy clothing, a warm house, or a mass of personal fortune. They value their independence.
Although nomadic life is fairly insular, the necessity of trade brings the Al-Badia into contact with the “other half”, of Zakhara’s culture: the Al-Hadhar (ahl- HAH-dar), whose lifestyles are stationary. Artisans, merchants, craftsmen—all are Al-Hadhar. Even the wandering tinker belongs to this group, because his life is inexorably linked to the village or city bazaar, and therefore to the trappings of settled men.
Virtually all Al-Hadhar know more creature comforts than the nomads. Only a few, however, are truly flush with silver, belonging to the Al-Hadhar’s upper class. Such wealthy men and women usually dwell in cities, though many own land in far-flung towns. The sweat and labor of the lower classes makes their existence possible.
For the most part, the Al-Hadhar are poor. Their homes are small and simple, made of mud brick or thatch, huddled around an oasis or a single well. Some are laborers. Others are farmers, residing on land that belongs to another, tending dates, wheat, and other paltry crops in exchange for a small share of the harvest. Their plots are small. In comparison to the farmers of other realms, most are little more than gardeners. But from a tiny patch of desert, they can create a paradise.
The Al-Badia and the Al-Hadhar tend to view one another with pity if not with a touch of disdain. Even the poorest villagers believe themselves to be more cultured and more civilized than the nomads. Through the eyes of the Al-Hadhar, the nomads “madly” choose an austere existence, while the Al-Hadhar dwell in luxury. (Certainly most villagers can boast a roof over their heads, fresh water, and a full stomach, as well as a regular bath.) Further, the Al-Hadhar worship their gods in impressive mosques, with the benefit of “educated” priests to guide them. Hence, the settled Zakharans believe themselves to be more pious than the Al-Badia, and therefore closer to the gods.
The nomads, of course, maintain the opposite opinion. After all, what could be holier than living beneath the expanse of the heavens and placing oneself directly at the mercy of the gods? The Al-Badia
pity the Al-Hadhar for their softness, which results from their ardent pursuit of material comforts. Moreover, the nomads pity the Al-Hadhar for their lack of freedom and their inequality.
The nomads bow down to no one but the gods, while the Al-Hadhar, say the nomads, must kneel to other men. All nomads believe themselves equal before the gods and before Fate. The same cannot be said for the Al-Hadhar. Though some disparities in nomadic wealth exist, they are small compared to that of city dwellers, and a sheikh who is not generous with his tribe does not retain his position.
Nomadic women also know greater freedom than their settled counterparts. The family cannot survive without every nomad’s work; in turn, the women share equally in the rewards. In contrast, many city-dwelling women live like prisoners or slaves. The fact that they are “pampered” slaves only brings further pity or disdain from the nomads.
Despite these differences in lifestyle, the Al-Badia and Al-Hadhar coexist in peace. Ultimately, both the nomads and the city dwellers believe that a man and a woman should be judged on their own merit—not by the construction of their house. At least in principle, a person’s ability and strength of character outweigh any other distinction.
Is a seafaring princess whose ship is her home an Al-Hadhar? Is the handsome adventurer who occasionally sleeps beneath the stars an Al-Badia? Such people defy rigid classification, but to a Zakharan, the questions are trivial anyway. In turn, they would ask, “Is she an honorable woman? Is he an honorable man?” If the answer is “yes,” each group would readily embrace either character as one of their own. In their hearts and minds, all Zakharans have more similarities than disparities. They share a common language, Midani, and common culture that transcends their differences. More importantly, they share an underlying code of ethics and behavior which shapes their everyday lives. Nomad or townsman, sailor or thief, prince or pauper—all understand and embrace these Zakharan themes: honor, family, hospitality, purity, and piety. These interdependent beliefs make them Zakharans.
Lifestyle—not race—tends to separate Zakharans. In the Land of Fate, people fall into one of two broad groups: those who are nomads and those who are not. The nomads, or Al-Badia (ahl-BAH-dee-ya), dwell in the most hostile areas of Zakhara, where men are as near to the gods as they are to death. They are driven by the search for simple necessities: water, food, and grazing land to sustain their herds. As a result, the nomads are a sinewy breed with keen senses. Sloth and obesity are virtually unknown to them; many subsist on a little more than few dates and a flask of sour milk each day. With so little food, and only a goat’s-hair tent to provide shelter, the Al-Badia are more impoverished than many can imagine. Yet they consider themselves to be the richest of all Zakharans. Their wealth lies not in possessions. Nomads do not value gaudy clothing, a warm house, or a mass of personal fortune. They value their independence.
Although nomadic life is fairly insular, the necessity of trade brings the Al-Badia into contact with the “other half”, of Zakhara’s culture: the Al-Hadhar (ahl- HAH-dar), whose lifestyles are stationary. Artisans, merchants, craftsmen—all are Al-Hadhar. Even the wandering tinker belongs to this group, because his life is inexorably linked to the village or city bazaar, and therefore to the trappings of settled men.
Virtually all Al-Hadhar know more creature comforts than the nomads. Only a few, however, are truly flush with silver, belonging to the Al-Hadhar’s upper class. Such wealthy men and women usually dwell in cities, though many own land in far-flung towns. The sweat and labor of the lower classes makes their existence possible.
For the most part, the Al-Hadhar are poor. Their homes are small and simple, made of mud brick or thatch, huddled around an oasis or a single well. Some are laborers. Others are farmers, residing on land that belongs to another, tending dates, wheat, and other paltry crops in exchange for a small share of the harvest. Their plots are small. In comparison to the farmers of other realms, most are little more than gardeners. But from a tiny patch of desert, they can create a paradise.
The Al-Badia and the Al-Hadhar tend to view one another with pity if not with a touch of disdain. Even the poorest villagers believe themselves to be more cultured and more civilized than the nomads. Through the eyes of the Al-Hadhar, the nomads “madly” choose an austere existence, while the Al-Hadhar dwell in luxury. (Certainly most villagers can boast a roof over their heads, fresh water, and a full stomach, as well as a regular bath.) Further, the Al-Hadhar worship their gods in impressive mosques, with the benefit of “educated” priests to guide them. Hence, the settled Zakharans believe themselves to be more pious than the Al-Badia, and therefore closer to the gods.
The nomads, of course, maintain the opposite opinion. After all, what could be holier than living beneath the expanse of the heavens and placing oneself directly at the mercy of the gods? The Al-Badia
pity the Al-Hadhar for their softness, which results from their ardent pursuit of material comforts. Moreover, the nomads pity the Al-Hadhar for their lack of freedom and their inequality.
The nomads bow down to no one but the gods, while the Al-Hadhar, say the nomads, must kneel to other men. All nomads believe themselves equal before the gods and before Fate. The same cannot be said for the Al-Hadhar. Though some disparities in nomadic wealth exist, they are small compared to that of city dwellers, and a sheikh who is not generous with his tribe does not retain his position.
Nomadic women also know greater freedom than their settled counterparts. The family cannot survive without every nomad’s work; in turn, the women share equally in the rewards. In contrast, many city-dwelling women live like prisoners or slaves. The fact that they are “pampered” slaves only brings further pity or disdain from the nomads.
Despite these differences in lifestyle, the Al-Badia and Al-Hadhar coexist in peace. Ultimately, both the nomads and the city dwellers believe that a man and a woman should be judged on their own merit—not by the construction of their house. At least in principle, a person’s ability and strength of character outweigh any other distinction.
Is a seafaring princess whose ship is her home an Al-Hadhar? Is the handsome adventurer who occasionally sleeps beneath the stars an Al-Badia? Such people defy rigid classification, but to a Zakharan, the questions are trivial anyway. In turn, they would ask, “Is she an honorable woman? Is he an honorable man?” If the answer is “yes,” each group would readily embrace either character as one of their own. In their hearts and minds, all Zakharans have more similarities than disparities. They share a common language, Midani, and common culture that transcends their differences. More importantly, they share an underlying code of ethics and behavior which shapes their everyday lives. Nomad or townsman, sailor or thief, prince or pauper—all understand and embrace these Zakharan themes: honor, family, hospitality, purity, and piety. These interdependent beliefs make them Zakharans.