I know a lot of players don't stick to a monotone cultural getup when they play, but a lot of players probably do what I do; try to stick to culturally appropriate armours and weapons for the culture I am playing. I take this mentality with me to smithing as well, where I try to smith and use weapons that suit my characters culture appropriately. But I have some exceptions; I often use animal pelts for shoulder armour when playing as a Vlandian or Imperial. If I play as a Sturgian I may use some Khuzait armour. And if I play as a mercenary or Lord for a different cultural faction than my character is from, I may use a mix of regional armours and use my own culture for a weapon. Example; I played a Nord corsair mercenary for the Empire. I used gilded scale Imperial armour with gilded scale shoulderguards, golden pirate gauntlets and boots, and a brass Aserai helmet with a Nord one handed sword with gilded pummel and handguard. Anyone else give themselves similar cultural restrict...
Our fathers tended to these lands for generations, never gazing or caring for beyond. A simple, cold, rushed life to prepare for Sturgia's bitter winters. Our mothers raised us, loved us, they were gentle to ensure the cold does not take us when not due. As kids we played with each other, lost in the imagination, longing to be great heroes for Sturgia. Much of life was spent within confines of our cities, a happy life early on, but much has changed since the Empire brought the full weight of her armies to our homes.
It began with incursions, distant battles that our folk retold but which had no meaning or sway in our lives. This soon changed by the call to arms of our people by our Lord and Masters. Came the men in heavy steel and hulking horses to take us under their banner. All able males, young and older were conscripted, knowing little of the horrors to yet endure. We made our good-byes with our fathers, our mothers, our friends and our memories of past. Some of us hoped to embrace them again, but some of us understood better. Throughout, our elders knew best, as they waved us off with cold, soulless eyes.
My initial days were brutal, beaten, cold, hungry, beaten more. Our trainings were relentless, our captains merciless. All can be adapted, except for this Godless bitter winter. The cold snipped away our fingers, our hands, our legs and our lives. It cared not for your condition, frail or strong. It satisfied it's hunger as it pleased as we marched through the tundra.
Our march never faltered, the dying were left behind, the surviving cried, cried as they had no inkling of strength left but march on they must so that they may live. We found comfort in each other, each of us committing to bear the weight of the other should they falter. We did what we could, but could no longer at times. Funny that we did not cause this misery, yet fully took the blame as we leave our brethren behind as their burden is too great to bear.
Many died in these marches, many died from the winter, but little did we truly know just how many were yet to die in the battles to come. Our march has ended. Sturgia has met the gaze of the Empire, a sea of lavender filled the horizons. Men, just like us, have come to our reaches of the North to take what is ours. I understand now why I must fight, why I must endure. We have been disturbed, we have been forced, we have been awoken and now we must defend. I fight not for myself, I consider my life a debt overdue. I fight for my father, my mother, I fight for those who fell to Winter, to those too frail in our marches. I fight for them so that their families, their sons, their daughters do not live the life we have lived. I wonder, do the men of the Empire fight for the same?
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