HIGHMARCH
Highmarch is a nation built in defiance of both empires and Wake Sovereigns alike. Perched on the fringes of explored lands, its capital city, Brightmarch, stands as an unbroken bastion against all enemies. Beyond its southern mountains stretch the wilds—untamed regions teeming with Wakes, always pressing to reclaim the civilized world.
From the east looms the Chainspire Dominion, an ever-present threat whose warlords bide their time, ready to strike with battalions of loyal soldiers and enslaved Shardkin. Highmarch endures between these forces, a stronghold where resilience is not a choice but a way of life.
BRIGHTMARCH
Brightmarch dominates the northern plains beyond the Highmarch mountains, where fertile fields stretch toward the horizon. It is the crown jewel of the region—a city of banners and bastions, standing as both a political hub and a military stronghold. Elegant spires and rune-marked walls rise above sprawling barracks and bustling markets, their intricate markings revered as symbols of protection. Though these runes hold no real power, they endure as cultural relics, etched into stone to comfort a people living on the edge of the unknown.
Life in Brightmarch hums with commerce and command. Merchants hawk wares beside armored couriers bearing sealed orders, while the Citadel of Dawn looms at the city’s heart—a shardsteel fortress housing Highmarch’s ruling council and the nerve center of its armies. Lantern pylons glow faintly at night, not because they repel Wakes, but because tradition demands it. Here, faith and fear intertwine, and superstition clings to stone and steel as the Wardens whisper that such symbols are powerless against the creeping dark.
LANVERRA
If Lanverra ever falls, Torhaven becomes the final bulwark before Brightmarch—a southern bastion standing between the capital and the chaos of the frontier. Positioned along the main supply road, Torhaven is more than a town; it is a military hinge on which Highmarch’s survival turns. Its squat stone fort bristles with iron gates and ballista mounts, while the Legion watchtower looms above, ready to ignite its beacon fire and warn Brightmarch within minutes.
Around this hardened core sprawls a modest civilian district, where blacksmiths, farriers, and traders sustain the war machine with steel and shardcraft. The clang of forges and scent of oiled armor define Torhaven’s rhythm, feeding the Legion’s endless campaigns. Though small, it is a place of vigilance and resolve—a settlement where soldiers muster, weapons are tempered, and the shadow of the frontier presses ever closer.
Always ready against the Wakes, Lanverra lies at the southern foothills of the Highmarch mountains, guarding the vital trade pass that links the frontier to the heart of the nation. Known as the Gateway to the Frontier, it is both a thriving hub of commerce and a defensive bastion against the wild reaches beyond. Fertile fields surround its fortified walls, feeding caravans that haul grain, livestock, and shard salvage through its bustling markets. The town’s heartbeat is trade, but its soul is vigilance—every gate and watchtower stands ready for the twin threats of bandit raids and Wake incursions.
Behind Lanverra, the mountains rise like a natural wall, funneling travelers through narrow passes that serve as choke points for defense. Reinforced palisades, iron gates, and a permanent legion garrison make Lanverra one of the most secure strongholds in southern Highmarch. Farmers, traders, mercenaries, and frontier hunters mingle in its crowded streets, creating a vibrant but tense social fabric. For merchants and soldiers alike, Lanverra is the last bastion of order before the chaos of the frontier.
TORHAVEN
LOWENFORD
Nestled at the edge of sprawling woodlands, Mosshaven is a modest farming settlement where survival clings to soil and tradition. Home to barely two hundred souls, its moss-laden cottages lean beneath ivy and fungal blooms, softened by the mist that drifts in from surrounding fenlands.
Life here is communal yet fiercely independent—farmers till barley and root crops while hunters vanish into shadowed groves, bound by a quiet resilience that masks growing unease. Each season, the forest presses closer, its creeping growth and discolored soil whispering omens the villagers refuse to name. In Mosshaven, peace is fragile, and the hush between wind gusts feels like the breath of something waiting.
For those willing to brave the frontier and slip past the watchful eyes of Lanverra, there is another way into Highmarch—the river ford at Lowenford. Nestled on the banks of the Greywater River, this rugged settlement guards one of the few natural crossings in the southern wilds. Its broad, shallow ford offers a lifeline for traders and wanderers alike, but also a shadowed path for smugglers and mercenaries seeking to bypass the mountain passes. Here, the river is both gateway and gamble: a vital artery for commerce, yet a breach point for bandits and Wakeborne horrors drifting downstream from corrupted biomes.
Lowenford thrives on adaptability rather than elegance. Timber docks jut into slow-moving waters, crowded with barges laden with grain, timber, and shard salvage. A reinforced stone causeway spans the river, doubling as a choke point for defense, while taverns hum with whispers of cartel deals and frontier rumors. Its people are ferrymen, traders, and survivalists—hard-eyed folk who know the river’s moods and the dangers lurking in its fog. For those who choose this route, the ford promises freedom from prying eyes—but at the cost of stepping closer to the chaos beyond.
MOSSHAVEN
BLEAKMOOR
Beyond the river routes and mountain passes lies Bleakmoor—a remote woodland village where the forest closes in like a living wall. For those who shun the crowded roads and dare the shadowed wilds, this settlement offers anonymity at a cost.
Timber halls crouch beneath moss and mist, their iron-banded doors etched with warding glyphs that hold more superstition than strength. Life here is barter and blood-oaths, sustained by hunters and trappers who vanish into groves where Wake spoor festers. Fog drapes the clearings, concealing fissures and coal-black wolves drawn by shard whispers. In Bleakmoor, silence is not peace—it is warning, and every gust through the pines feels like the breath of something waiting.
Deeper still into the southwestern frontier lies Luthmere—a village shrouded in fog and silence, far from the roads and the reach of Highmarch. Hidden among mist-laden forests and stagnant marshland, it is a place few outsiders ever see and fewer understand. Timber homes sag beneath the weight of perpetual damp, their lanterns glowing faintly like distant stars across blackwater streams. Unlike Mosshaven or Bleakmoor, Luthmere keeps to itself, trading only with other frontier hamlets and guarding secrets that fuel endless rumors—whispers of forbidden shardcraft, or pacts with forces best left unnamed. Whatever truth lingers in the mist, one fact remains: while other villages fall to Wake incursions, Luthmere endures, and that endurance is its most unsettling mystery.
