A red shield bearing a black raven, symbol of memory, omen, and the region's ancestral ties.
Nestled between the wild forests of the Hinterlands and the windswept hills of Grauhoft, Hovekk is a wedge of land hemmed in by sea and rivers. To the west looms a lone, dark-cragged mountain known as Grimfjall, overlooking the stormy coastline. Conifer forests cloak the eastern marches, whispering with old stories and darker things.
Hovekk is a land of contrasts: though its lords have long converted to the Church, they rule over a people whose hearts still beat with old songs. Many of the peasants in Hovekk honour saints at the chapel by day and whisper prayers to the spirits of the woods and waves by night. Most nobles tolerate this duality, some even secretly maintain pagan rites, cloaked in Christian language.
Seaturm, a stone keep perched atop sea-facing cliffs, is both the seat of House Hovekk and a critical trade and military outpost. Its watchfires are never unlit, guarding against fleets from across the North Sea.
The Night of Black Feathers Held on the winter solstice, this is both a harvest-end festival and a day of mourning. Ravens, sacred in local lore, are said to carry the souls of the dead. Effigies made of bundled reeds and charcoal are cast into the sea as offerings, each one bearing a carving of a raven to guide the departed to rest.
Brinewake’s Eve A midsummer festival that honors the sea’s bounty. Nets and sails are adorned with carved driftwood charms depicting fish, waves, and ancient runes. Bonfires are lit along the coast, and local youths leap through flames while elders tell stories of the Sea-Wives, spirits said to protect Hovekk’s fisherfolk in return for offerings. The King's Ember A newer tradition since the king’s death. On the anniversary of Seaturm's siege, the people light a single beacon-fire on Grimfjall’s peak. The ritual is both a vow and a warning, Hovekk remembers, and it will not fall again.
The Whispering Fir: It is believed that some trees near the eastern woods retain the souls of oathbreakers. They whisper at dusk, and should you hear your name among them, it means your death will come within the year. Tide-Wolves: Fishermen speak of large, wolf-like creatures that stalk the northern shorelines when the moon is high. Said to be the cursed souls of drowned raiders, they emerge during storms to claim those who defy the sea’s warnings. Ravens on the Tower: A raven landing atop Seaturm is believed to be an omen. If it caws thrice before flying away, it is a warning of blood to come. If it stays and sleeps, it means a child will be born to House Hovekk that year.
The uneasy harmony of Christianity and paganism was part of why Hovekk declared for the king. The Bishop's purges of "heathenry" threatened not just the faith of many people, but their way of life. The siege of Seaturm left its scars: their hamlets were razed, and the once-bustling harbor now limps under heavy watch, rebuilding its merchant fleet with what little coin can be spared.
Hovekk’s warriors are known as the Fyrnwache among locals. Skilled in archery and sea skirmishes, they have watched the horizon with vigilant eyes for centuries. Since the war has strained the region’s coffers, many hire themselves as mercenaries along the coast. Though not wealthy, Hovekk’s strategic location makes it invaluable. It trades timber, smoked fish, and funnels exotic goods from overseas inland. Merchant cogs from the Isles, England, and even the Low Countries dock here, often paying a premium to avoid the heavy tithes imposed by the Anselm’s personal control of nearby ports.