With silent wings may your soul fly to the Spirit Home
The wind blows out of the West. It is warm and gentle. It rolls over the rough terrain. A man is standing, one foot on the soft sandy ground, the other stepping on the ruin of a once great column. He has a hawk upon his outstretched gloved hand. It takes flight. This is Aviansis. This is the Wings of Sand.
The Order of Serpenthia has been a social group that uses Sarethian motiffs. It has been a gentleman’s/ noble order for many years. It seems to center around supporting traditional values and forms, as well as respect for Elders.
In the land of Aviontix there are ruins. A lot of ruins. There are many sand buried cities, king’s tombs (They were a very religious people, focused upon their leaving to the afterlife), and huge statuary. However, Aviontix was a kingdom so long ago, that everything has been looted. (Figure there has been a whole historical epoch or two since then) There might be a hidden tomb or something somewhere in the lands, but it is unlikely. This does not stop people from selling maps to them all the time.
They were a very religious people, focused upon their leaving to the afterlife. They associated magical spirits/ gods with birds. It is difficult to determine if this was metaphorical or actual.
Aviontix is designed to be an "ancient kingdon" to be inserted into a game world as history. However, you can make it a current game world, if you want.
A brilliant and driven man, he has emerged as a major merchant from the sands of Aviansis (the hard lands of the Aviontix). He has other goals beyond mere successful merchantry. He does not want to take over the country, he wants the world… for the good of everyone.
This is a city deep in the hills of old Aviansis. The path to Merideth is magically obscured, so only those with the pathfinder’s gift can find it. The city is still bustling with souls after all these centuries. They trade with each other, make deals, sell things, and even send messages. Unfortunately only a few of them have warm bodies or heartbeats.
There are those as rich as kings but dress as peasants and worry not about funding. To visit their true homes one would see wealth of untold value scattered as dirt is in a hut. They know the monetary value of their possessions but they have long lost any true value to their owners. Experience is their currency and their curse. They dispense secrets of the ages as if discussing the weather. Few things have they not experienced so that very little gives them joy. They are the lost ones looking for new life while humoring the mortals around them.