The World
Not all of the Wasteland belongs to the clans. There are places where law is negotiated, bought or broken.
Neutral territories. At least in appearance.
The Grey Cities exist between the clans, outside their direct laws, but never outside their interests.
Merchants, slavers, smugglers, mercenaries and fugitives cross their streets under fragile pacts.
Here an enemy can sit down to negotiate. And an ally can sell you out before dawn.
A city of trade, debt and betrayal.
Its docks receive goods from all the clans, even those that pretend not to deal with each other.
Merchant councils, captains without a flag and armed men sustain a balance that never quite becomes peace.
Ruin, forge and arena.
Built among remnants of the old world, the Iron Pit lives on weapons, bets and blood.
Those who cannot pay with coin pay with strength. Those without strength become spectacle.
An oasis where everything has a price.
Poisons, pleasure, information and promises circulate beneath sweet perfumes and trained smiles.
From afar it looks like rest. From within, a web of debts.
A city that is not always in the same place.
Ships, platforms and floating wreckage join or separate as convenient.
When useful, it is a port. When danger threatens, it vanishes into the mist and tide.
Beyond the control of the Arcontes.
The Free Islands are not a kingdom, nor a clan, nor a nation. They are refuge, market and threat.
There survive corsairs, exiles, fugitives and captains who accept no law but their own.
The Custodians do not govern their docks. But even there they try to cast their shadow.
Main port of the Salt Pirates.
A labyrinth of floating docks, houses on stilts and agreements sealed with salt, blood or threat.
In Black Fin no one asks where you come from. Only how much you are worth and what you are willing to lose.
The forge of the sea.
Born around a flooded crater, Broken Isle lives on salvaged iron, fire and shipwrecks.
Its blacksmiths work with ancient remnants, hardened coral and metal that still seems to remember war.
