The Stormmere Marches lay at the farthest reaches of the Bloodbane Empire, a place where the wind cut like a knife and the sea howled like a mad god denied his offering.
Here, the land was a treacherous mix of jagged cliffs, misty marshes, and forests so thick they swallowed men whole.
It was a place where exiles, outlaws, and forgotten sons of fallen nobility often found themselves appointed as "wardens," which was just a polite way of saying the Empire needed bodies on the border and didn't much care whose.
Beyond the walls of fortresses Blackthorn, the sea stretched out like a great silver plate, calm and endless under the evening sun.
Fortress Blackthorn—a monolith of black stone and iron, perpetually damp with sea spray—was the first and last line of defense against any who dared cross the Stormmere Marches.
The view here was almost serene—if one could ignore the fact that this was a place where pirates, raiders, and worse made their home.
