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Kurestians
The ancestors of today’s Kurestians were a rugged, seafaring people. Their arrival in Prism and their ensuing struggles to build a new home for themselves were marked by hardships and tribulations.
Eventually, they reached the shores of the continent we now refer to as the Spine. Their spirit of exploration soared, and they roamed far and wide, exploring every corner, leaving no stone unturned. It wasn’t long before they laid down roots, shaping the land into the home and nation Kurestians cherish today.
Kurestal has since grown into one of Prism’s richest nations, its progress fueled by the land’s generous bounty and the bold ambitions of its rulers, both past and present.
Ameranneans
Soft-spoken yet deeply wary of outsiders, the ancestors of today’s Ameranneans arrived in Prism to find much of the Spine’s hospitable lands already inhabited by the Aegles and Kurestians. Rather than settling there, they chose to sail north in search of their new home.
Their journey was long and perilous. Food and fresh water supplies dwindled. Many of the young and the elderly succumbed to illness.
But then, just as hope was at its nadir, green, glorious land came into view on the horizon. It was wet; it was fertile; it was lush forests and rolling verdant valleys. Most importantly, it appeared unclaimed.
They would come to bestow this newfound land with the name Ameranne.
Novans
Novans and Kurestians share one lineage—descending from the same rugged, seafaring ancestors who crossed the Halcyome together, arriving in Prism after the Aegles.
The harrowing journey through the Halcyome had taken its toll on the entire fleet. The passengers were wrecked with emotional anguish, their spirits weakened by the crossing, while the ships themselves had sustained heavy damage—hull planks had been warped, keel timbers twisted, sails shredded beyond repair. Given the critical damage to the ships, to sail further would risk endangering the lives of everyone onboard.
Through a combination of sheer luck and salt-blooded seafaring skills, they made landfall at the first shores they sighted: the island chain we now call the Novan Isles.
The islands were small and rocky, their shores battered by frequent, fierce storm winds. Vegetation was sparse—spindly trees clung to thin soil, their roots like clawed talons digging desperately into the rock.
After assessing the damage to their ships, these seafaring ancestors concluded that repairs would take months, if not years, especially given their lack of resources. Shelter became their first priority. They moved inland to escape the full brunt of the storm winds, squeezing into caves where they could find them, and building makeshift dwellings from furs, ropes, and whatever other materials from their ships’ holds that could be put to such use.
Their struggles deepened when they discovered the soil was rocky and poor, yielding only a pittance in crops. Their catches in the surrounding waters brought in meager amounts of small fish and scattered shellfish, enough to stave off hunger—but leaving bellies unfulfilled and hope thinner still.
Weeks passed and months followed. A series of strange events led to a small number of these seafaring ancestors—about a tenth of them—to believe that a goddess from their old homeworld had followed them into this new world and made the islands her sanctuary. These believers claimed she spoke to them and implored the others to rekindle their faith in her and the old gods, insisting that loyalty to the old ways would lead them to the glorious future they had been seeking since leaving their homeworld behind.
The other ancestors thought them mad, afflicted by delusions born of their ill-fated flight from their homeland.
Those who believed the goddess to be nothing more than a figment of imagination—visions conjured by hardship and desperation—made up nine-tenths of the original fleet. By that time, they had thoroughly explored the islands and come to a grim realization: the Novan Isles lacked both the resources to support long-term growth and the space to sustain their expanding population.
Convinced the isles held no future for them, the majority poured all their focus and effort into repairing their damaged ships. Such was their determination and industriousness that, within a year, their vessels were seaworthy once more.
And so, nine-tenths of the seafaring ancestors—with a handful of new, shorter companions born beneath the isles’ stormy skies—departed the Novan Isles in search of richer, more fertile lands, leaving behind those who claimed loyalty to the old ways.
Those who had set off sailed for months, braving treacherous waves and furious storms. In time, they made landfall on the coast of a new continent—near a spot that, many years later, would grow into the bustling port we now know as Port Jemsworth. Their descendants would go on to become the Kurestians of today.
As for those who had placed their faith in the goddess, they could only watch in disapproval as those who had once been kin departed the isles. As the last ship disappeared beyond the horizon, they mourned what they saw as their tribespeople’s unfaithful ways. The goddess had spoken to them—and for that, they chose to remain. They chose to believe in her, to be faithful to the old ways. They chose to stay.
Their descendants would go on to become the Novans of today.
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