Broadsea

The sigil of the Republic: the Eight-pointed Compass, which symbolizes our freedom. In the center is the Sun-Dove, which reminds us of light and hope.

Broadsea is, well ... the world now. The habitable one. The civilized one. Or, the most civilized one. It boundaries are the Tolstead Mountains to the west; the Frostlands to the north; the great expansive Broadsea to the east; and the Empire of Orcs to the south. Natural boundaries on three sides—murderous vengeful killers to the south.

This is the Last Bastion of Mankind. The Dimming Light. We huddle here to await our fate, and people, people like you, continually work to push back the encroaching darkness.

Broadsea was mostly underwater during the God-Emperor's reign. An archipelago of islands, with the Tolstead acting like a natural dam, keeping the rest of the ocean away; only the Haven Mesa remains of it. At some point, the surviving texts indicate that the God-Emperor pushed the water back, revealing the land beneath. Nobody knows why, though the best guess it that he used the shifting tide to drown the nation of El-Karis, on the other side of the sea. Punishment for their heresy.

And after his death, the lands were swallowed anyway, by the eldritch and fearsome abominations that scour the land. Pushing us back, back back ... to this, our final stand. Some of the entities have been quelled for the time being, others, like Rykkelm, continue to push. And we continue to push back.

Broadsea is a Republic, because we shun the machinations of the God-Emperor. We are a free and ... mostly united front. We hold elections. We take care of our sick and weak. We elect leaders. If we die here in the shadows, we will do so free.