Vinnde is a small and fiercely independent settlement tucked into the depths of The Cold North. The population is modest, made up mostly of hardy Faunids with caribou, moose, or elk traits(their frames built to withstand the cold). Life here is difficult, and most who settle do so with purpose. Those with thinner frames or gentler lineage can survive here only with assistance, and usually only for limited seasons. Few Vinnde-born Faunids choose to remain. Many die in their growing years. Some leave for kinder lands, though they often return in older age—if they survive.

There is no main export. Vinnde trades out of necessity. Simple furs, carved bone tools, and hardened root vegetables stored in communal vaults. Occasionally, traders from the south bring metals or dried herbs in exchange for snow-creature pelts or spiritual artifacts.

Vinnde’s architecture is built for survival first, reverence second, and beauty never. Low-slung stone buildings are close to the earth, their roofs sharply sloped to shed snow and ice. Walls are layered in packed stone, permafrost-hardened timber, and fur-lined interiors. Homes are often dug partially into the frozen ground, using the earth itself as insulation against cruel winds. Every surface is heavy, blunt, and enduring. Structures feel as though they’ve been buried in snow for centuries and will remain long after their builders are gone.

Antlers, bone, and blackened wood are common materials. Roof beams often end in sharpened antler-tips, a tribute to Herne’s crown piercing the sky. Doorways are carved with cervidic runes in inifnitum. Reverence is built into the bones of every home. Communal long-halls stand at the center of most settlements, warmed by shared fires and layered hides. These halls serve as gathering places and sactuaries. The architecture, like the people, is stark, solemn, and built to endure.

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After Herne’s bloodied battle with Fenris, it is said that the god -broken, furious, and ashamed - turned north. Not running in triumph, but in grief. With each step, the world changed beneath him: the soil hardened, the sky darkened, and the air grew sharp with frozen hatred. Cold poured from his hooves and leaked into the land like a poison, turning rivers to glass and forests to arboreal skeletons. He ran to forget. But the farther he ran, the heavier the sorrow became. Eventually, Herne collapsed beneath the snow, body numbed by his own divine rage. In that moment, he froze.

The Cold North was born.

With Herne buried in frost and grief, the world grew quiet. Faunids all across Atalav, who once sang with the god and shared in his physical warmth, found themselves severed from him entirely. No dreams. No whispers. No signs.

In his absence, the world grew twisted. From the edges came the Corrupted. These infamous ex-Faunids who had not mourned Herne, but instead honored the goplike powers of Fenris. The anti-God who killed Herne. Many followed. Many died. But some did not kneel. Some held fast, choosing to endure this new chaotic world and survive. These Faunids retreated into the Cold North, not because they were exiled—but because they believed if Herne had truly buried himself in grief, they would meet him there.

It is said that the god stirred only when he felt their footsteps above him. Not simply in their worship, but in their defiance of death. Not just in prayer, but in the will to live despite his neglect. Their intense devotion and their endless passion - these became a beacon to awaken the god.

Herne returned in a quiet thawing. Just enough to remind the strong that they were seen.

But Herne did not melt the North with his return.
He left it as a monument to suffering, yes - but also to perseverance.

Vinnde stands in that monument.

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In Vinnde, Herne is not just the god of life, but of persistence. Herne is the breath caught in your throat as you push through whiteout storms, the sting of frostbite that tells you your body still feels, and the ache in your bones that proves you’re still standing. Here, survival is sacred. Survival is your worship. Herne isn't just love or life; Herne is the fight to stay alive when both seem far away.

Unlike nearly all of Atalav, Faunids of Vinnde believe Herne walks The Cold North still. Silent and vast, his antlers tower into the heavens to pierce the sky until it bleeds the Veilfire - the pale, shimmering lights that dance across the frozen sky. To see the Veilfire is to see Herne’s presence made manifest, a sign that endurance will be rewarded. That the night will not last forever.

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Fauns of Vinnde do not worship with temples. They worship with calloused hands, broken antlers, and quiet grief. They honor Herne through survival and through discipline.

Herne's fur and antlers are intensely idolized in Vinnde. For his antlers cast light upon seemingly endless and brutal nights. And his fur envelops not just those who seek warmth through the night - those that are are on the brink of death lay claim to an intense and divine heat washing over them as they die. Not even the most frigid winters have ever relinquished the one comfort a faun can experience in the moments before their soul returns to the God Tree.
His antlers are carved into walls and armor reminders of his sorrow and his passage through pain. His fur is sacred, symbolized in thick cloaks to be passed through generations. To wear it is not to be protected but to declare:

"I walked where Herne wept and I did not break."

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