In the past . . .
It's said that Vontier was once the cultural hub of Evonae, the southern continent. One of the world's leading colonial powers, Vontier was on the way to absolutely dominating the inter-Greoulian sea trade. Having reached a long term agreement with their barbaric neighbors, the Covenant of Tribes, the monarch Belai enjoyed vast increments of wealth gained solely from his agreement with the Covenant: in return for peace between their nations, Vontier volunteered to assist in the Covenant's construction products. These projects, however, most often required deforestation and environmental destruction across the Covenant's territory, offering Belai the opportunity to sell the rich and rare resources within Covenant swamplands for almost excessive profit.
Despite this, the people of Vontier were once regarded as the most faithful the world had ever seen. For decades, the entire country had devoted itself to the worship of one of three deities: Ezekiel, the God of Battle; Saqin, the God of Death; and Lucien, the God of the Sentinel. Each of these churches valued infinitely different beliefs, yet they managed to refrain from committing bloodshed upon one another. Vontier, after all, was a peaceful nation--connected, respected, and untouched by the litany of war and the excess of violence the world around it so heartily valued.
And then, over the course of months, all that was wiped out.
One hundred years later . . .
A century following the End, Vontier rises once again. Where wooden shacks once burned, brick houses have risen. Where dirt roads were once littered with charred and smoldering bodies, cobblestone and subterranean infrastructure have embedded themselves into the earth. And where once stood shoddy walls bound by twine now stand hefty stone fortification.
Vontier survived the End of the World, and from it, grew. Homes and establishments, oft towering to three stories high, bunch together into intricate patterns, separated only by cobblestone roads and bisecting brick alleys. Carriages are drawn by horse as regular traffic, demanding the need for raised paths-- sidewalks --on either side of the roads, roads which are illuminated at night not by the lanterns in every household, but by the subterranean grid connecting numerous tall, metal towers nearly the height of the average Vontier manor, metal towers that offer luminescence through a bright flickering bulb.
Men walk the sidewalks, bound in button up coats, hats, and scarves, from home to their rigorous workplace. Women guard the hearth by day, teach their children, send them off to school-- provided the money to afford the proper education --and maintain the income of their husbands. Businessmen turn a blind eye to the plights of overworked employees. Entrepreneurs promise their best and deliver their worst. Ladies and gentlemen gallivant the streets by night, dancing and drinking their way to bliss.
The rich man carries his flintlock at his hip, the poor man has his knife in his drawer. Uniformity is valued in the workplace and only the truly gifted wear elaborate suits and dresses and stand out in any crowd in which they stand.
This is the look of Vontier's capital city, Espoir.
A century has left Vontier isolated, however. As one of the last bastions of civilization upon Evonae, their borders are the end of their world. In the fire and madness of a hundred years ago, knowledge of the outside, and of the Old World, was lost to the survivors, all of whom rebuilt and re-civilized on their own. There still exists stories and old legends of magic and lore, but they are simply that: myths. False stories told by old wives and senile great grandfathers.
Beyond the bustle of Espoir, the outlying towns and villages are much more quiet, much more peaceful, and much more in tune with the world of a hundred years ago. They trade amongst themselves in the Old World way, valuing resources over currency and effort over politics. The countryside is vast and expansive, stretching from one horizon to another, and densely populated by what the high-brow folk of Espoir refer to as dirt farmers and yokels.
This is Vontier, forgotten by Dystopia, one hundred years later.
