1-995 CE
From 1 to 995 CE, the Uralians were hunters and fishers of the endless taiga, peoples who followed reindeer herds and river salmon across lands so vast that summer sun never set. From Siberian forests to Baltic shores, they carried with them drum-songs, spirit-tales, and the knowledge of how to thrive where farming peoples could not survive.
The Uralians were not one people but a constellation of related tribes scattered across the greatest forest on earth — the boreal taiga stretching from the Ural Mountains to the Baltic Sea and beyond into Siberia's frozen heart. What bound them together was language: tongues so strange to Indo-European ears that Greek and Roman writers barely tried to describe them, yet clearly related to each other across thousands of kilometers. Finns and Estonians on the Baltic coast could not understand the Khanty hunters of the Ob River, but linguists can trace both languages to a common ancestor spoken somewhere in the Urals perhaps six thousand years ago.
These were peoples shaped by cold, forest, and water. They hunted elk and beaver, fished rivers teeming with salmon and pike, gathered berries during the brief summers, and in the far north followed reindeer herds across the tundra. Agriculture reached them late and never fully — the growing season was too short, the soil too poor, the old ways too effective. While southern peoples measured wealth in grain and cattle, Uralians counted furs, dried fish, and the knowledge of where game could be found when snow lay deep.
The Uralic homeland defies easy mapping because it was always in motion. The oldest traces point to forests around the Ural Mountains, where rivers flow east to Siberia and west toward Europe. From there, over millennia, different branches spread outward: westward to Finland and the Baltic, southward onto the steppes, eastward into Siberia's immensity. By the first century, Uralic speakers occupied a crescent of territory from the Gulf of Finland to the Yenisei River — not continuously, but in pockets wherever the forest offered what they needed.
Life followed seasonal rhythms dictated by prey and weather. Winter camps clustered near fishing holes and hunting grounds; summer dispersed families to berry patches, bird-nesting sites, and trading gatherings. Housing ranged from semi-underground pit-houses insulated with turf to portable tents of birch bark and reindeer hide. Boats were essential — dugout canoes for rivers, skin-covered craft for arctic waters. A family might travel hundreds of kilometers annually, yet return to the same winter site generation after generation. They did not wander randomly but moved through landscapes memorized in song and story.
Uralian warfare was the warfare of hunters: patient, opportunistic, and deeply personal. Bows designed for elk and bear worked equally well against human enemies. Ambush was preferred to pitched battle — why risk precious lives when you could strike from cover and fade into forests no outsider could navigate? Skis gave winter mobility that southern armies could not match; knowledge of ice thickness meant safety across frozen lakes that swallowed pursuers. The Uralians did not conquer territory because they did not think in terms of territory. They controlled resources: hunting grounds, fishing sites, trade routes through the taiga.
This made them difficult to defeat but also difficult to unite. Chieftains led through skill and reputation, not inherited authority. Large-scale organization emerged only when external pressure demanded it or when trade wealth concentrated power in certain families. The Magyars, originally Uralic forest-dwellers somewhere east of the Urals, transformed into steppe cavalry after generations of contact with Turkic nomads — proof that Uralian identity could adapt radically to new circumstances. Those who remained in the forests kept older patterns, raiding when profitable, trading when peaceful, always retreating into the trees when empires sent armies.
Uralian spirituality centered on the drum and the shaman — the noaidi of the Sami, the táltos of the Magyars, specialists who could send their souls traveling to negotiate with spirits. The world was alive with invisible powers: spirits of animals who decided whether hunters would find prey, spirits of water who controlled fish runs, spirits of ancestors who watched over the living. Offending these powers brought disaster; honoring them through proper rituals, offerings, and taboos ensured survival. The shaman's drum, painted with cosmic maps, served as vehicle for journeys to upper and lower worlds where human fates were decided.
Society was egalitarian by necessity. In the taiga, every adult needed the full range of survival skills — no one could afford specialists who only knew one craft. Gender roles existed but overlapped; women hunted small game, men prepared food when necessary. Hospitality was absolute: a traveler arriving at a camp received food and shelter without question, understanding that next winter the roles might reverse. This mutual aid extended to information — knowledge of game movements, weather patterns, and safe routes was shared freely because hoarding it might doom relatives elsewhere.
The Uralians connected worlds that barely knew each other existed. Furs trapped in Siberian forests reached Constantinople through chains of trade involving Uralian hunters, Bulgar merchants, Viking middlemen, and Byzantine buyers. Baltic amber, Arabic silver, and Chinese silk all passed through Uralian hands at various points. The great rivers — Volga, Kama, Ob, Yenisei — served as highways binding this trade network together, and Uralian peoples controlled critical stretches.
Different Uralian branches followed different fates. The Magyars, pushed westward by Turkic expansion, burst into Central Europe in the ninth century as fearsome cavalry raiders before settling the Pannonian Plain — Uralic forest-hunters transformed into the kingdom of Hungary. The Finns absorbed Scandinavian and Slavic influences while maintaining their language and forest culture. The Sami retreated northward into the Arctic, where reindeer herding remains their livelihood today. Volga Finns built trading towns that drew Viking attention and eventually Slavic domination. Yet through all these transformations, elements of the old taiga culture persisted: the shamanic worldview, the forest skills, the languages that still connect Estonian fishermen to Siberian reindeer herders across four thousand kilometers of separation.
In Glory of Civilizations, the Uralians embody peoples who harvested what nature provided rather than reshaping land through agriculture. Their peasants can gather from hexes with calamities — frozen rivers, burned forests, flooded plains — reflecting knowledge of how to find sustenance where settled farmers saw only disaster. The inability to recruit peasants conventionally represents their non-agricultural society; instead, population grows naturally in territories they control, as families join successful bands.
Using experience cubes to gather resources captures how Uralian survival depended on accumulated knowledge: reading animal signs, remembering seasonal patterns, knowing which plants fed and which poisoned. This is expertise that cannot be hired, only learned through generations of taiga life.
No. You gain only 1 peasant per province regardless of how many units you have there, as long as you have at least 2 units. It's more effective to spread your units across multiple provinces (2 units each) to maximize peasant gains.
Yes. Any combination of units counts — military units, peasants, vessels. If you have 1 peasant and 1 Galley in a province, you meet the requirement and gain 1 peasant during the achievement phase.
No. The word "cannot" has the highest authority in the rules. Your nation's restriction on recruiting peasants overrides any ability that would allow you to recruit them, including adopted alliance abilities.
Yes. Since you may use experience cubes to gather resources, you can mix them with action cubes. For example, if re-gathering requires 2 cubes, you could spend 1 action cube and 1 experience cube.