@Nerevarine Sorry mate,I've had a nation cooked up in PMs for those north west isles for a hot minute. [hider=The Morkt][center][h2]Morkt[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/48/8d/01/488d01c45466ff67d0285c1aade112e3.jpg[/img][/center] [hider=Map][center][img]http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e201/crinkls_photo/TheMorkt.jpg[/img][/center][/hider] [h3]Government[/h3] To those on land, there is no secret of who commands the Morktish waters. The Mistress, high dictator of Morkt, rules with a looming noose just tight enough to feign the illusion of free will. In reality, all non-cecaelian inhabitants are slaves to the master race, the Morj, which lurks below the waters. Whether their collection was achieved by naturalized birth, or as acquired trinkets; they are bound to service of their mistress for life. Enchanted neck rings are fastened onto each humanoid subject after their initiation below the black waves. To ensure Her hold, shaman’s known as [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/51/8e/43/518e43a8413a59774f96aba77e87ed2a.jpg]“plagues”[/url] are sent with any party of humanoids who leave the Morktish waters. These agents of the Mistress are fowl servants who poison not only the minds of their crew, but often those whose shores they land upon. Beneath the icy tides, the lines of power blur. The seas are a dark and vast place with many whispers. Though the Mistress maintains control, her rule is a loose hegemony of various mobs with ever morphing allegiances and tolerances. These mercurial desires do unite on their hatred of land bound creatures, and the merciless use of such beasts to appease the personal, political, and religious ends of the Morj. The only such human swine to escape their grasps live high in the icy mountains trapped on all sides by swarms of loyal agents and tides of the sea… where still greater dangers lie. [h3]Geography[/h3] The archipelago of Morkt is located in fiercely arctic waters. Amongst its steep fjords, the major portions of humanoid slaves cling to an existence in the form of wharf fishing villages. Deeper into the interior of these islands are bog lands that—through some twist of dark magic or geothermal runoff—stay temperately humid warmth. These swamps are the proving grounds for those whose blood can handle the guiles of magic. It is in these bogs that the [i]plagues [/i]are forged. The center island of the archipelago lays a massive volcano, known to be as fickle and violent as the merfolk who lie beneath. Due to its chronic billow, the island is covered in a misty cloud of soot. It is said that a great voyager returned here after traveling to the far East. Since that day the volcano has cracked back to life. [h3]Culture[/h3] The enslaved population of Morkt hails from all corners of the known globe and beyond. As such, their culture largely mirrors this melting pot boiled together over the furnace of their merfolk masters. The frigid conditions and almost total reliance on the sea for sustenance has bonded them into a quiet, no-nonsense people where trust is a rare but prized commodity. All religions except for strict Primordial worship are wholesale banned by the merfolk and enforced ruthlessly by their plague agents. It is further professed that the primordial seaborn offspring hold an infinitely higher status than their bastardized land dwelling ilk (who were little more than agents of the deep much like [i]plagues[/i]). The merfolk themselves gather in a loosely clan based structure and inhabit a labyrinth of caves and gothic crevice cities. They make sport of hunting creatures of the land and sea, frequently performing elaborate sacrifices to appease their primordial ancestors. Juxtaposed to this predatory, often barbaric, society is a taste for the finer things. The merfolk adore fine jewels and metals. They have a keen sense of fashion and aesthetically design their structures and tools to the point of obsession. They are inherently elitist and though they can survive on the surface for hours, the thought of such depravity often disgusts them. The only reason they tolerate the enslaved land dwellers is their pension for looting treasures, capturing more live offerings, and filling their nets with fish. However, were the Mistress not so fond of them, they might endure a much mixed fate. [h3]Military[/h3] The humanoid arm of the Morkt exists almost solely as fishers and raiders, often relying on both traits during their distant incursions. They generally arm themselves with an ax and shield which is finely embossed with the cephalopod figures. Their true strength lies in the form of the [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/5b/24/7b/5b247bcc83867165fa5606ccbf3b5240.jpg]longboats[/url] and dragonships which are capable of cutting even rough surge with blistering speed. It is this quickness both on open sea and in brackish shallows that is the hallmark of Morkt raids. They often strike at the softest targets and sow massacre and black magic in their wake. However, their attacks are more than a business enterprise as unsuccessful raids often risk their lives more than the combat itself. The Morj expect returns or the price raiders pay is gruesome. The true destructive power of the Morkt lies in their fight at sea. The Morkt armies focus on one enterprise only, sinking ships and drowning air breathers with cackling delight. To this end they often prefer the thrill of destroying a hull by hand: cutting the bottom from boats, fishing sailors with billhooks, or destroying the hull and mast to watch the crew fester to death from immobility. For sturdier tasks they often use an array of metal netting chained to whale-beasts. They often use subsurface currents to maneuver large warbands with unmatchable speed hidden below the oceans depths. However, the Morj are cripplingly water bound. Though they can survive in amiable surface weather for a matter of hours, their appendages reduce their speed to a slow jog at best. [h3]Heroes[/h3] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/87/73/dc/8773dcef002532b24d4f39a3c29a1d55.jpg]The Mistress-[/url] The Mistress is the most recent Lady of Morkt to ascend to the throne. Her title is not without contest, but her recent use of the land dwellers has proven a powerful political lever. It was her great grandfather who saw an opportunity for such exploitation and the family business has flourished. At her core, the Mistress is a talented sorceress. However, the fear of her name and seemingly omnipotent surveillance of her waters has increased her power parity tenfold. Her only known hamartia is a penchant for fine foods from across the globe. The subjects under her crown are wise to tailor their gifts to such ends. [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ed/08/57/ed0857164347e67e14cbd663a6471d21.jpg]The Voice-[/url] A siren of the deep, this vile creature ranks chief among her kind. The Sirens of Morkt have played an intricate role in the “settling” of the islands by their wayward human colonists. It is said that the call of the Voice can be heard even across continents for those who know to listen. [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b3/7e/5f/b37e5f4d49e55223f3a2afd54c159855.jpg]Trygve-[/url] Like most of the rabble who inhabit the isles of Morkt, Trygve was not born in this land. He and his father were captured off the North coast of Tarkima when he was a child. His father, a renown berzerker both in his homeland and in the service of the Morj, was killed shortly after enslavement. However, Trygve’s orphanhood was not a lonely experience. He was raised by the island and rose to prominence from a young age. As a maverick raider his exploits became the stuff of legend, said to have even sailed around the southern horn of the dragon kings and returned with the fangs of a vampire. His rise to prominence has caught the attention of the rules beneath with whom he plays a precarious game of prized pet or threatening usurper. He is untamable, inspired and an artist with an ax. Trygve’s crew bear the mark of a [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9b/a1/e6/9ba1e627188b4785ae4c0614d31dea0b.jpg]seahorse[/url]. --- [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d1/39/51/d13951c867dbe6551890db7d402a74f5.jpg]The Sound-[/url] A colossal whale said to hunt the deepest trenches of the earth. [h3]History[/h3] The Morkt has long been the ancestral home of the Morj, an eldritch cecaelia who rule its waters with an iron fist. Though it is rumored that a few native humans have lived for centuries on its mountain peaks, these freefolk are little more than myths for the hordes of slaves who inhabit its fjord coast. These slaves have been bound both geographically and more recently by enchanted throat manacles to the Morj who inhabit the icy waters around them. From within their human ranks the Morj have recruited and trained shamans ([i]plagues[/i]) to act as their agents abroad. These agents are commissioned a boat and act as the thrall master of the crew for the means of raiding, slaving, or trading as the situation seems fit. These missions enjoy a fair amount of autonomy, wealth, and prestige provided they capitalize on this tightly monitored freedom. However, it is a dangerous game to become famous on these islands. [h3]Relations[/h3] Pending personal convos. [h3]Characters[/h3] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9b/5e/eb/9b5eeb14e3228a5a70758c3bd61b012d.jpg]Ida-[/url] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/81/25/66/812566baac42b050db19d6d1fa6ac15a.jpg]Yvette-[/url] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a2/74/6c/a2746cd4be9e2fdce41aa28d3381b1ff.jpg]Gnima-[/url] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/3c/05/7a/3c057ac699162b09b47971a44476a47c.jpg]Radoslaw-[/url] [/hider]